In early September, a riot of colour spilled through downtown Nairobi. Children, cyclists, artists and policy wonks marched to Uhuru Park — not for a carnival, but for survival.
It was the International Day of Clean Air for Blue Skies, and the enemy was one they cannot see: pollution.
Led by Nairobi City County and the Clean Air Fund, the campaign began in schools with art contests and student-led projects. It ended with a rallying cry against the toxic air suffocating Kenya’s capital.
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The data is damning: in August, Nairobi briefly became the second most polluted major city on Earth, according to Swiss-based monitor IQAir. Kampala, Kinshasa and Addis Ababa weren’t far behind. East Africa, it seems, is choking on its own progress.
But Nairobi’s children pay the steepest price. In slums like Dandora and Mukuru, the young are growing up not with promise in their lungs, but poison. One school child near the infamous Dandora dumpsite spoke of smoke so thick “you get sick here often, coughing and breathing difficulties.”
This isn’t metaphor—it’s a warning siren. The numbers are chilling. Air pollution caused 8.1 million deaths globally in 2021, the second leading risk factor for death in children under five, after malnutrition. In that year, more than 700,000 children under five died from breathing dirty air. That’s nearly 2,000 young lives lost every day, not to war, hunger, or disease—but to the air itself. These are not abstract deaths. The villain of the story is particulate matter, especially PM2.5—tiny particles smaller than a grain of dust, small enough to slip into lungs, bloodstream, and brain tissue.
Scientists now say these particles kill over 4 million people annually, and reduce global average life expectancy by more than two years. Inequality adds insult to injury. Children in Nairobi’s informal settlements like Mukuru experience asthma symptoms at 1.5 times the rate of their counterparts in richer suburbs (9.5 percent versus 6.4 percent), yet are far less likely to be diagnosed or treated. Health clinics are scarce, same as inhalers. The geography of poverty mirrors the geography of pollution.
Nairobi’s poorest are crammed into the city’s dirtiest corners—wedged next to dumpsites, factories, or traffic-choked roads. Transport alone accounts for around 40 per cent of the city’s fine particulate emissions, thanks to fleets of ageing diesel vehicles belching black smoke through unregulated engines.
And yet, there is a breath of fresh hope. In 2022, Nairobi passed its first Air Quality Act, giving the county legal teeth to license and penalise polluters. A five-year Air Quality Action Plan (2025–2029) is now under development, aiming to turn legislation into implementation. Nairobi has joined the ranks of data-driven cities by launching its first city-owned air quality monitoring network. A patchwork of 87 low-cost sensors now covers the city, feeding real-time data to officials and the public alike.
Some reports claim only 50 sensors are operational—a reminder that transparency is as vital as the tech itself. Still, it’s a bold move in a region where many governments still rely on sporadic air quality snapshots.
The school campaign that preceded Clean Air Day was was a bridge—between policy and people, law and lungs, ambition and action. But if Nairobi’s air is to be cleaned, this cannot be a one-off parade. It must be a sustained movement backed by political will, public pressure and private compliance. Diesel bans, waste regulation, green spaces and better public transport are not luxuries; they are life-support systems.
The writer is Executive Director, Kusudi Cause Communication Trust
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By Kentice Tikolo