Header photo credit: Ggaba action research team. Market vendors undertaking a soil filling activity to rid stagnant water.

Note: This article presents the views of the authors featured and does not necessarily represent the views of the African Cities Research Consortium as a whole.

The African Cities blog is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International (CC BY-NC-ND 4.0), which means you are welcome to repost this content as long as you provide full credit and a link to this original post.

Header photo credit: Nairobi co-research team.

Note: This article presents the views of the authors featured and does not necessarily represent the views of the African Cities Research Consortium as a whole.

The African Cities blog is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International (CC BY-NC-ND 4.0), which means you are welcome to repost this content as long as you provide full credit and a link to this original post.

With many thanks to the following contributors for their invaluable support and collaboration to the water and sanitation project:

• The Mukuru community, for their active participation and support throughout the project
• The AMT team, for their dedication and commitment
• The NCWSC technical and social teams, for overseeing and supporting the implementation
• NCCG, for providing overall coordination and leadership
• The Know Your City TV (KYCTV) team, led by SDI Kenya, for filming and producing the video

Video credits

Produced by: Know Your City TV Kenya and SDI Kenya
Videographers: Jarvis Kasndi and Rholinx Otieno
Additional footage: Peris Saleh
Editor: Jarvis Kasndi
Scriptwriting and voiceover: Sarah Ouma

Header photo credit: Know Your City TV Kenya

Note: This article presents the views of the author featured and does not necessarily represent the views of the African Cities Research Consortium as a whole.

The African Cities blog is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International (CC BY-NC-ND 4.0), which means you are welcome to repost this content as long as you provide full credit and a link to this original post.

Mwaura’s story

In early 2017, during the first months of my fieldwork in the neighbourhood of Ituura, where Nairobi’s expanding sprawl meets the tea-growing highlands of central Kenya, I spent practically all my time with Mwaura. Then nineteen years old, Mwaura was the son of my hosts and an unlikely university student from one of the neighbourhood’s poorer families. Sharing a love of football, we spent hours playing an old edition of the FIFA video game series on his second-hand laptop. On weekends, we went to the local “Motel” to watch Premier League football, especially Mwaura’s beloved Manchester United, a team whose then turgid, workman-like style he was always capable of looking past.

For me and Mwaura, our lives of leisure obscured his family’s hardships. Mwaura’s father, Paul Kimani, a fifty-two-year-old long-haul lorry driver, made only sporadic appearances at the family home. The inconsistency of his earnings kept the family in a near-constant state of economic uncertainty. Mwaura’s mother, Catherine, was often forced to cobble together money for Mwaura’s university fees through borrowing from wealthier friends and relatives.

Nonetheless, these months were a time of optimism, the family’s hopes pinned on Mwaura’s fortunes after graduation, the aspirations for him to find “kazi”, formal paid work of the sort that would pay a consistent salary and help them “make it” (kuomoka) to the “stability” of something like middle-class status. With Mwaura stuck on the homestead due to strike action in Kenya’s university sector through early 2017, it was through him that I came to know the neighbourhood, its characters, and pressing dilemmas.

Selling ancestral land

On one of our trips to the Motel to watch a football match, talking during half-time, Mwaura pointed out to me a middle-aged man from Ituura who was making soup for the other guests. Mwaura was appalled by this man’s situation because he was known to have sold a large portion of his inherited land.

“He sold his land for like 7 million shillings in February!”, Mwaura exclaimed. “And now you’re a cook? You’ve finished that 7 million already!? How!?” I was taken aback at Mwaura’s tone of condemnation. At the time, I assumed he was echoing his father’s sentiments. Like other senior men from Ituura, Kimani regularly insisted that selling ancestral land was wrong, tantamount to parental neglect, a failure to pass inherited wealth forward to the next generation. But, as Mwaura’s words pointed out, this very same land was becoming extremely valuable in the shadow of an expanding Nairobi. I asked Mwaura why someone would have sold such a valuable asset. “Some people you can’t understand,” he explained. “They sell their land because they’re poor.” I asked what he had spent the money on. “These ones with short skirts,” he said bluntly, a reference to the women who sometimes accompanied older men to the Motel and were seen to be part-time sex workers.

The speed of expenditure had been shocking. “He was not seen for like four months, and he came back with just 50,000 … Imagine! He was taking taxis around everywhere,” he told me, emphasising the lavish expenditure land sale had afforded this man. “If you’ve got money, how can you walk?” he asked rhetorically. I asked him who had bought the land. According to Mwaura, the buyer could only be identified as “some outsider”.

In 2017, Mwaura’s judgement of this neighbourhood man echoed wider debate taking place across Kiambu about the existential dangers of selling inherited, “ancestral” land. For its smallholder families, the vestiges of a peasantry now working for wages, land is inherited on a patrilineal basis but has been divided over successive generations into smaller and smaller chunks. With shrinking plots, it was becoming increasingly attractive for senior men to sell their family land, sometimes unilaterally, to generate “chunks” of money to cover household debts, to launch small-scale businesses such as chicken rearing, but also, to access heightened lifestyles of conspicuous consumption.

Local commentaries on such acts spoke of the dangers of alienating such family heirlooms, the effects of ancestral “curses” (kĩrumi singular, irumi plural) left by long-dead grandfathers who decreed that ancestral land should never pass out of family ownership. The speed at which land money was spent was often taken to be the kĩrumi at work, destroying the lives of land sellers, turning foolhardy excessive consumption into poverty and destitution. With not an ounce of sympathy, local newspapers condemned the so-called “poor millionaires” of Kiambu County who sold their lands but spent the proceeds on alcohol and women, only to be left with nothing in the end.

High-rise buildings in upper Kiambu

What Mwaura could have not known then was in a few years he too would be put in the same unfortunate position as the soup-seller’s son. With his own grudging consent, Kimani would sell a large part of his family’s land for millions of shillings, passing on none of the proceeds. In 2022, Mwaura continued to live on his family’s shrunken plot of land, hoping that his father would someday come through with his part of the sale money, while becoming increasingly bitter towards his hypocrisy.

The shadow of Nairobi

The trajectory of Mwaura, my friend and closest interlocutor, across the years between 2017 and 2022 captures a central topic in this book: the fate of Kiambu smallholders as their meagre plots of land skyrocketed in value in the shadow of an expanding Nairobi. In a region already profoundly shaped by colonial histories of land expropriation, Peasants to Paupers explores the terrain of peri-urban Kiambu as the city extends into its poorer northern hinterlands.

Drawing upon my fieldwork with Mwaura’s family, his neighbours, and friends in Ituura over these years, this book illuminates the way an urban frontier encounters a stratified post-agrarian landscape, creating new categories of “winners and losers” amidst the beginnings of a construction boom.

While some smallholder families were building rental housing on their land and becoming landlords, for others the commodification of land created a crisis of kinship as male heads of households sold ancestral land at the expense of their children. Within this urbanising terrain, this book observes the hollowing-out of a moral economy of patrilineal kinship. Despite the insistence of senior men that their land was “ancestral” and therefore inalienable, land sales took place, uprooting families, depriving children of their inheritances, and accelerating a region-wide process of downward mobility as younger generations contemplated their fate as a new class of landless and land-poor paupers.

Masculine breakdown

Peasants to Paupers traces the effects of this process by exploring a wider loss of confidence among young men in the moral horizon of patrilineal kinship and its emphasis on working towards the future by returning wages to the homestead. Faith in this vision is being eroded on the one hand by the grim economic terms of the peri-urban informal economy, with low-paying jobs that operate on a piecemeal basis.

But confidence in a normative vision of masculine responsibility is also undercut by land sales themselves – experienced within patrilineal families as acts of moral transgression that render young men like Mwaura doubly hopeless, contemplating his father’s betrayal of kinship’s future-orientation and the principles of passing on wealth.

Such overt practices of private accumulation served to compound a sense of patrilineal kinship’s breakdown when they came at the cost of others. It was not only senior men who were seeking to escape poverty through land sale. Amidst rural destitution, young men were seeking desperate and piecemeal attempts to cope with hopelessness about their futures through drinking alcohol. Meanwhile, young women were cultivating extra-marital relationships with wealthy “sponsors” precisely because their male peers were “wasting themselves”. Knowledge of such relationships further entrenched male distrust of women’s intentions, undermining the ideal of the harmonious patrilineal household, and fomenting a gendered self-perception of male abjection.

Against the backdrop of an eroding belief in the achievement of patrilineal household, Peasants to Paupers explores how Kiambu’s young and poor cope with their downward mobility. It charts their challenging journeys as they ward off hopelessness, struggling not to become “wasted” like their alcoholic peers. It draws out the moral debates taking place on the economic margins about whether work can materially provision a reasonable middle-class future. These debates reveal the limits of a bootstrap mentality of labour’s virtue under conditions of wage-limited precarity. While some manage to maintain their hopes for a better tomorrow, for others the grim realisation that they will never meet their aspirations prompts a deep hopelessness and a “giving up” on the future.

In highlighting these themes, this book argues that Nairobi’s expansion is driven not only by the outward push of an urban frontier but by the vulnerability written into the city’s rural hinterlands by the region’s colonial and post-colonial history. The urban frontier’s “expansion” can just as easily be seen as a “retreat” for Kenya’s peri-urban post-peasantry, no longer able to maintain the moral economy of patrilineal kinship and keep the family tethered to land. In such a changing landscape, this book argues for the study of kinship’s moral economy as a critical field, especially as scholars of an urbanising Africa begin to explore the way expanding cities shape their once-rural hinterlands.

Across the globe, enormous numbers of people’s lives are defined by their access to land, which is in turn mediated by kinship. In such settings, kin relations themselves become central mechanisms in the creation of new class distinctions, shaping economic fates across generations. This book closes by calling for a return to studying the imbrications of class, kinship, and landed property.

> Read the full, open access version of Peasants to Paupers by Peter Lockwood

Photo credits: Peter Lockwood

Note: This article presents the views of the authors featured and does not necessarily represent the views of the African Cities Research Consortium as a whole.

The African Cities blog is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International (CC BY-NC-ND 4.0), which means you are welcome to repost this content as long as you provide full credit and a link to this original post.

By Ahimbisibwe Paul and Elisha Seddugge, researchers in ACRC Kampala’s urban youth action research project

Across Uganda, awareness of government youth programmes – such as the Parish Development Model (PDM), Emyooga and various livelihood initiatives – is impressively high. Yet youth participation remains stubbornly low.

These programmes are primarily aimed at improving young people’s skills, as well as increasing access to economic and development opportunities. Our recent study sought to understand why knowing about these programmes does not necessarily translate into active participation.

The information gap: Awareness without access

Our study findings show that the flow of information about youth development programmes is multi-layered and often indirect. Instead of reaching young people directly, information travels through multiple intermediaries – including local leaders, community agents, peers and social networks. While this structure helps to ensure cultural and community legitimacy, it also slows down the flow of accurate and timely information.

We identified two main information pathways: vertical (top-down) and horizontal (peer-to-peer). For a clear understanding of the gap, the layers can be categorised within these two pathways, as presented in the figure below.

The vertical (top-down) pathway

Information usually starts with programme implementers – government agencies, such as the Kampala Capital City Authority (KCCA) and the PDM Secretariat, and non-governmental actors like Uganda Youth Development Link (UYDEL), Tiko and religious institutions. These institutions rely heavily on local community leaders – local council youth group leaders, religious and cultural heads – to relay messages to their communities.

This approach leverages trust. Local people tend to believe their community leaders more than outsiders, as one female programme implementer explained:

“When we have outreaches, we reach out to the local and youth leaders first. They understand their people, and when they speak, the youth listen. Otherwise, if they don’t know you, they think you’re a mufere (conman).”

Community members echoed similar sentiments during focus group discussions:

“We normally get this information through our chairman or church leaders – they always tell the truth.” (Female, Katwe)

“Our youth councillor told us about the skilling programme. He came door to door looking for girls interested in tailoring, bakery and hairdressing.” (Female, Kisenyi)

While this process builds legitimacy, it also limits reach and speed. Information is often shared using megaphones, community radios or word of mouth, which are effective but time-bound and localised. By the time information reaches many young people, deadlines have often passed or details have become diluted.

As one focus group respondent put it:

“There is a lady who moves with a megaphone passing information. Whenever she does, we know it’s true – but it happens rarely.” (Female, Katwe)

The horizontal (peer-to-peer) pathway

The peer-to-peer or horizontal information flow occurs when young people share opportunities among friends, neighbours or group members. This method is fast, informal and widely trusted – especially when it happens via WhatsApp groups, phone calls and everyday interactions.

“It’s my friend who told me about the programme. We look out for each other.” (Male, Ggaba)

This pathway is powerful for spreading awareness, but less reliable for detail. Information is often incomplete, outdated or distorted by the time it circulates widely. As a result, young people may know that a programme exists, but lack the “how, when and where” needed to participate effectively.

Why awareness does not equal participation

The study concludes that the bureaucratic, multi-layered communication chain is the biggest barrier. By the time information trickles down from implementers to the grassroots, it is often late, diluted or missing key details. Youth at the “bottom” of the chain end up hearing about opportunities that have already passed.

Furthermore, structural barriers – such as political patronage, corruption, illiteracy and digital exclusion – limit equal access to credible information. The reliance on intermediaries makes it easy for gatekeeping and misinformation to thrive.

The way forward: A centralised and inclusive information platform

Both vertical and horizontal pathways are important, but they should be complemented by a centralised, transparent information platform – such as a digital or community-based ‘youth opportunities portal’. Such a platform would enable all young people, regardless of background, to directly access up-to-date information on available programmes, eligibility criteria and deadlines.

A centralised system could also minimise political interference, ensure inclusivity and build trust between implementers and young people. Only then can high awareness translate into meaningful participation – and Uganda’s youth realise their full potential as agents of sustainable development.

Header photo credit: Zach Wear / Unsplash. Young people playing basketball in Uganda.

Note: This article presents the views of the authors featured and does not necessarily represent the views of the African Cities Research Consortium as a whole.

The African Cities blog is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International (CC BY-NC-ND 4.0), which means you are welcome to repost this content as long as you provide full credit and a link to this original post.

1. Kamyufu networks are more than meets the eye

“Kamyufu” might sound like local slang for a handy electrician who fixes wiring or hooks up power quickly for landlords, tenants or business owners in the informal settlements. But our findings paint a more intricate picture. Kamyufu is a sophisticated network of alternative service providers operating both vertically (from high-level suppliers to end-users) and horizontally (across community layers like neighbours and local leaders).

These networks position themselves as essential facilitators in the electricity value chain, from supply and connection to distribution and maintenance. For residents in Kisenyi and Nakulabye, turning to a Kamyufu often feels like the most viable option, as they are readily available to provide the service. Formal processes can be daunting, requiring residents to fill out subsidy applications or repair forms for faults, wait for approvals and navigate bureaucracy. In contrast, Kamyufus offer speed and accessibility at a friendly and negotiable cost. However, these fixtures are often non-standard and may pose safety risks to the Kamyufus and residents.

This setup thrives because it fills gaps in the formal electricity service delivery system. Government authorities and regulators sometimes downplay the reasons why locals prefer these informal routes, citing impatience or rule-breaking. Our research, however, shows that in complex urban environments, people prioritise reliability and urgency. For instance, a tenant might pay a Kamyufu a premium in order to avoid weeks without lighting, even if this means skirting official channels. This underscores how subsidies, while beneficial, can be undermined by embedded informal structures.

2. Subsidised connections and the barriers of complexity

Electricity subsidies are publicised as gamechangers: reducing illegal connections, lowering costs and boosting socioeconomic opportunities. In theory, they help households afford legal, safe power, enabling everything from running small businesses to studying after dark. Yet, our study revealed that accessing these subsidies is often a labyrinthine process.

In some parts of Kisenyi and Nakulabye, an entire community missed out on subsidies, due to powerbroker networks. Brokers position themselves as “helpers”, charging unofficial fees to “expedite” applications or connections, and often colluding with official utility installers. What starts as a free or low-cost government programme ends up burdened by hidden costs, eroding trust and participation. Residents shared stories of endless paperwork, unclear requirements, and delays that push them back into informal connection.

This complexity is not just frustrating – it is a barrier to equity. Low-income households, already stretched thin, find the formal path too convoluted, leading them to opt for Kamyufus, despite the risks. Our findings highlight a need to simplify processes – clearer guidelines, community-led outreach and safeguards against exploitation could make subsidies truly accessible.

What this means for Kampala’s urban landscape

These insights illustrate the existential complexity of urban informal settlements, with interconnected issues of governance, economics and social dynamics that defy simple fixes. Government actors often focus on the supply side – building infrastructure and rolling out subsidies. But without addressing the horizontal (community networks) and vertical (institutional layers) complexities, these efforts fall short.

For residents, informal connections might provide quick power, but they come with the risk of fire, electrocution and unstable supply – as alluded to by respondents during the action research (see case study above). Subsidies could break this cycle, but only if they are disentangled from broker networks.

A holistic, collaboratively produced approach is needed, which engages communities in design, regulates informal actors and streamlines distribution to ensure subsidies reach those targeted.

Overall, these findings point towards the need for adaptive strategies. Policymakers could pilot community-vetted application processes or integrate regulated Kamyufu roles to harness their networks positively. For community agency, awareness campaigns are key to demystifying subsidies, in order to provide broader choices for the residents.

> Read more about Kamyufus and community perceptions of them in Kampala’s informal settlements

Photo credits: ACTogether Uganda

Note: This article presents the views of the authors featured and does not necessarily represent the views of the African Cities Research Consortium as a whole.

Declaration on use of generative AI: Grok 4 (xAI), accessed via grok.com between October–November 2025, was used to assist with structuring ideas, suggesting phrasing and light editing. All findings, fieldwork data, quotations, and conclusions are the author’s own. The final text was reviewed and approved by the author.

The African Cities blog is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International (CC BY-NC-ND 4.0), which means you are welcome to repost this content as long as you provide full credit and a link to this original post.

By Jimmy Kanonya, community researcher in ACRC Kampala’s Electricity Access Subsidy Action Research (EASAR) project

Informal settlements in Kampala are home to approximately 60% of 2.3 million residents. Despite numerous interventions, access to electricity remains a critical challenge in these settlements. Electricity outages disrupt security and livelihoods. Many inhabitants face barriers to formal electricity connection, leading to widespread reliance on illegal alternatives.

A 2022 report revealed that a significant number of informal settlement residents are participating in unauthorised electricity connections. This practice not only leads to substantial financial losses for service providers but also diminishes government revenues and poses serious risks to the safety and wellbeing of users.

Through our research into the electricity supply and distribution value chains in Kampala’s informal settlements, we are trying to learn more about why electricity subsidies fail to reach those in most need – and the alternatives that residents turn to, in order to gain access to power.

Communities’ experiences with electricity in Kampala

Many residents expressed varying experiences and frustrations when it came to electricity connectivity. Many reported inheriting connections from previous eras, such as during Uganda Electricity Board’s (UEB’s) tenure, only to face disruptions with subsequent providers.

According to some community members, applications for formal connections through Umeme – now Uganda Electricity Distribution Company Limited (UEDCL) – can take months or even years to process, leaving residents without timely access to much-needed power. Along with frequent delays to connection processes, exorbitant costs and discrepancies in unit (tariff) allocations continue to exacerbate electricity access among households.

Besides these challenges, some community members do appreciate progress being made with electricity access, including the installation of prepaid “Yaka” meters, which enhance users’ control of the power.

As residents navigate the complexities of accessing electricity in Kampala’s settlements, some inevitably turn to Kamyufus as an integral alternative service provider.

Besides these challenges, some community members do appreciate progress being made with electricity access, including the installation of prepaid “Yaka” meters, which enhance users’ control of the power.

As residents navigate the complexities of accessing electricity in Kampala’s settlements, some inevitably turn to Kamyufus as an integral alternative service provider.

Kamyufus and their role in electricity access

The term “Kamyufu” refers to a network of informal electricians or illegal connectors who facilitate unauthorised access to electricity. Kamyufus acquire electrical skills through practical experience, such as observing licensed technicians or experience working in the electricity sector. In some cases, they are former employees of utility companies, who were either laid off or have transitioned to independent practice.

Kamyufus are integral to the ecosystem of illegal electricity access in informal settlements. While often labelled as criminals, they are tolerated, protected by the community and even sought after by residents because they address electricity service provision gaps such as delays in electricity connections.

Community perceptions on Kamyufus: Benefactors or opportunists?

Communities hold divergent views on Kamyufus. On one hand, they are criticised for engaging in rentseeking behaviours – withholding information and exploiting vulnerable residents. Their clandestine methods typically involve tapping into existing legal electricity lines or creating makeshift connections without proper authorisation.

However, Kamyufus have undeniably filled a service gap, bridging electricity access to households overlooked by formal systems. Some community members view them as community-embedded helpers, while others suspect collusion with formal entities. This duality underscores the complex socioeconomic dynamics in service provision and access in informal settlements, where necessity often overrides legality.

Household connecting wires

Why do communities continue to rely on Kamyufus?

Despite the evident dangers, residents turn to Kamyufus for several reasons. Foremost is affordability – the official costs of formal connections, specifically those without a subsidy element, are prohibitive for many low-income households. Even when subsidy programmes are available, they are often short-lived, limited in scope or hampered by bureaucratic hurdles. Local leaders and those involved in the rollout of subsidy initiatives frequently introduce additional indirect costs, further complicating access.

Efficiency is another driving factor. Kamyufus offer rapid solutions, often completing connections in hours or days, rather than years, which outweighs the perceived risks for those in urgent need.

Information deficits

A pervasive issue exacerbating these challenges is the lack of public awareness about formal electricity access programmes. During transect walks, surveys and focus group discussions in these settlements, it became evident that information dissemination was inadequate. If there were posters or informational displays, they were rarely visible, even in areas where electricity access programmes are active.

According to community members, communication is primarily received via media outlets, which have limited reach, or local leaders, who may lack the education or sensitisation to effectively interpret and relay details. Many residents struggle to explain the origins, purposes or even names of ongoing initiatives, hindering word-of-mouth dissemination. This knowledge gap perpetuates reliance on informal alternatives and undermines electricity programme effectiveness.

Electricity subsidy programmes bridging access

Limited awareness about government subsidy initiatives, such as the Electricity Access Scale-Up Project (EASP) and the Wetereze campaign, in areas of implementation hamper access. Often, information disseminated was mixed up, while there were also reports of extortion, exclusion and a limited scope of impact.

In Nakulabye Parish, located in the Lubaga Division of Kampala, some subsidy programmes have seen varying degrees of success. A particularly noteworthy initiative is the Pamoja programme, perceived as an awareness campaign. This programme effectively engaged community leaders in its implementation and facilitated the generation of reports that are widely believed to have inspired the development of subsequent initiatives, such as Yaka and Government Egabudde (government electricity connection).

The Pamoja and Ready Board programme provided free meters, bulbs and electricity poles, with most recipients reporting that these items were indeed provided at no cost. Despite its success, many community members were excluded, due to the programme’s limited scope and time constraints of waiting three to four months for installation.

A lack of clear understanding around the operations of subsidy programmes has limited access and allowed for manipulation. For instance, the government’s Egabudde initiative, often referred to as a “President’s Programme” under Umeme, aimed to provide free connections and meters. However, the programme was plagued by allegations of corruption.

Recommendations for improvement

The mapping exercise revealed a network of key actors in electricity access: residents approach Kamyufus for immediacy, landlords for tenancy-related issues, and politicians for advocacy. Formal offices like Umeme (now UEDCL) are seen as distant and unresponsive, leading to reliance on informal networks.

While Kamyufus provide a pragmatic workaround in the face of systemic failures, their role highlights deeper frustrations with formal processes, subsidies and information gaps. Community members’ aspirations for fairer access through expanded subsidies, zone-based interventions and collaboration with landlords need to be taken into consideration. Subsequently, sustainable solutions in electricity provision must focus on streamlining applications, expanding subsidies and bridging awareness divides to foster inclusive development in Kampala’s informal settlements.

To address these issues, the government and relevant stakeholders should prioritise enhanced awareness campaigns. This could include widespread use of community posters, simplified information materials, and training for local leaders to better understand and communicate about programmes. Revising outreach strategies to ensure clarity and accessibility would empower residents, reduce dependence on Kamyufus and promote safer, more equitable electricity access.

> Read more about electricity subsidy experiences in Kampala’s informal settlements

Photo credits: ACTogether Uganda

Note: This article presents the views of the authors featured and does not necessarily represent the views of the African Cities Research Consortium as a whole.

Declaration on use of generative AI: Grok 4 (xAI), accessed via grok.com between October–November 2025, was used to assist with structuring ideas, suggesting phrasing and light editing. All findings, fieldwork data, quotations, and conclusions are the author’s own. The final text was reviewed and approved by the author.

The African Cities blog is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International (CC BY-NC-ND 4.0), which means you are welcome to repost this content as long as you provide full credit and a link to this original post.

Header photo credit: Chris Jordan

Note: This article presents the views of the authors featured and does not necessarily represent the views of the African Cities Research Consortium as a whole.

The African Cities blog is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International (CC BY-NC-ND 4.0), which means you are welcome to repost this content as long as you provide full credit and a link to this original post.

By Jerry Okal and Jack Makau

The Evidence Fund Early Market Engagement (EME) event, organised by the Foreign, Commonwealth and Development Office (FCDO) and PricewaterhouseCoopers (PwC), gathered a diverse group of policymakers, researchers, academics and practitioners together in Nairobi earlier this year.

The aim was to enhance discussions on inclusive and locally grounded research and evaluation approaches. The focus of this engagement was to clarify research priorities and the application process of the evidence fund, showcase exemplars for creative ways of research dissemination, and explore ways of shaping equitable research partnerships – and redefining the ways in which knowledge is sourced, appraised and valued.

The Evidence Fund (EvF), supported by FCDO’s East Africa Research and Innovation Hub (EARIH), is increasingly recognised as a vital tool for promoting evidence-based decisionmaking in alignment with the UK’s development goals. Emmeline Skinner, FCDO’s adviser on evidence, innovation and inclusion, set the tone for this session by discussing the challenges within the current funding landscape. She emphasised the importance of utilising limited funding to achieve greater impact and build stronger local research ecosystems.

Localising research?

Emmeline raised several critical questions, including:

> How can we collectively address the power dynamics that influence funding for research organisations?
> Who determines the research agenda, and what topics should we focus on?
> How can we ensure that local knowledge and priorities are taken into account?
> Is the research being utilised in local contexts?
> In what ways can southern researchers and experts be meaningfully engaged in the research process?
> How can we effectively integrate gender equality and social inclusion (GESI) in research, and what barriers do researchers face?
> Finally, what actions can be taken to address these challenges?

To provide some initial reflections on possible ways forward in response to the questions raised by Emmeline, two representatives from ACRC, Jack Makau and Wavinya Mutua, shared their insights about community-led led research initiatives collaboratively produced with local action research partners and ACRC researchers in Nairobi.

ACRC approach to localising evidence

“We are examining complex issues in urban environments.”

Jack Makau, ACRC’s Nairobi city manager, spoke clearly and precisely about the consortium’s ongoing research agenda, which is aimed at transforming various aspects in five focus cities in Africa: Nairobi, Accra, Harare, Kampala and Lagos. He emphasised that the localisation of research is not a luxury but a necessity for developing relevant and sustainable interventions.

Collaboration with waste workers in Mathare

Following this, Wavinya Mutua, ACRC’s community knowledge team lead in Nairobi, painted a vivid and sobering picture of the informal waste economies in Mathare Sub-County, highlighting the groundbreaking work her team has done to uncover the often-overlooked layers of the waste labour economy.

“We identified waste workers in the six wards of Mathare Sub-County … I developed a basic waste value chain. Amongst these waste workers (co-researchers), there are vulnerable or marginalised individuals, including children and those struggling with substance abuse, as well as waste pickers.”

“First, we mapped the waste value chain, noting the role of waste workers at each stage. At the bottom of this value chain, we found highly vulnerable individuals – including children, street-connected people, and those struggling with substance abuse – working as waste pickers or temporary waste collectors. From this mapping, we identified 18 waste workers across the six wards of Mathare Sub-County, who then formed a co-research team.”

Participatory methods

Wavinya elaborated on the participatory methods used to determine research questions around community priorities collectively. These included intentional time spent in Mathare sharing tea or conversing, transect walks and site visits. These approaches deepened trust and improved the quality of evidence gathered. Additionally, the waste workers’ expertise shaped the data collection process.

Specifically, the waste pickers in the team contributed knowledge on the waste market, which motivated the co-research team to expand the scope of data collected on the local waste market.

“We now have data on price variations for 18 waste categories sold across Mathare Sub-County, as well as data on ten additional categories of waste that are either unsold or handled by one or two local aggregators.”

Supporting the process

Data analysis was also a community-driven process. Analysis of dumpsites in Mathare was done using a settlement map, while waste prices were manually recorded and drawn on graph paper. The analysis process exposed significant literacy asymmetries within the team, pushing the team lead to experiment with different approaches when it came to data dissemination.

“Members with significant literacy gaps struggled with formal presentations, though they comfortably shared knowledge in more relaxed settings. Therefore, they have taken leadership roles in community-to-community dissemination work, where the setting is more informal. We also organised a documentary where waste workers shared their daily experiences. Because the research itself had already shifted their work, they ended up presenting a considerable amount of findings – again, without the pressure of a formal audience.”

Wavinya’s reflection underscored a frequent challenge in participatory research: not only gathering data with communities, but also involving communities in unpacking what the data means and communicating it back in accessible and meaningful ways. This process required resources to support co-researcher leadership, openness to genuinely learn from the community, and a willingness to embrace alternative methods of collecting, presenting and disseminating data.

These observations painted a clear picture of an informal ecosystem that, though often overlooked by policymakers, is crucial to the city’s functioning and operation. Her research reveals that community waste workers act as vital nodes in an informal waste economy – one driven by necessity rather than intentional design. Additionally, her research revealed that when the research agenda is set locally, it is far more likely to generate direct and meaningful community impact.

What is surprising is that early engagements with relevant staff within the Nairobi City County Government point out the importance of this work in adding to existing knowledge about how waste value chains work. Professional and academic analysis conducted previously has missed out some important and highly vulnerable groups of workers. There is an ongoing discussion with local authority staff to draw out the policy and programming implications of this research.

Next steps on the Evidence Fund

The event featured an interactive segment that encouraged participants to consider the essential elements of equitable research partnerships. During roundtable discussions, several key messages emerged: the main barriers preventing local institutions from participating in evidence for policy (EvF) opportunities are often structural. These include bureaucratic procurement processes, limited access to international networks, and funding models that predominantly benefit large institutions in the global North.

Participants urged FCDO and PwC to simplify research support application processes, enhance outreach efforts to organisations rooted in the community, and incorporate flexible application processes to accommodate non-traditional suppliers. The message was clear: inclusive evidence ecosystems must be built with – not merely for – those they seek to serve. As one table concluded:

“Valuing local knowledge means sharing power, not just data.”

The Evidence Fund has expressed a willingness to embrace change. With advocates like Jack and Wavinya leading the way, the event established a strong foundation for a more equitable and effective research model – one that values community knowledge derived from lived experiences, rather than relying solely on insights from within institutional confines.

This early market engagement showcased promising signs that are likely to influence the funding and design of future research initiatives in the East African region. To sum up the resolutions from the meeting, one participant remarked:

“The future of evidence lies in relationships, not just research.”

Photo credits: Nairobi waste co-research team

Note: This article presents the views of the authors featured and does not necessarily represent the views of the African Cities Research Consortium as a whole.

The African Cities blog is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International (CC BY-NC-ND 4.0), which means you are welcome to repost this content as long as you provide full credit and a link to this original post.

By Molly Adawo, member of the Nairobi waste co-research team

From 7-8 August 2025, the Mathare solid waste co-researchers – consisting of waste workers from Mathare subcounty in Nairobi – travelled to Naivasha, approximately 100 kilometres away, for a two-day learning exchange. This was a journey filled with eye-opening lessons, inspiring stories and practical ideas that we have brought back home.

The aim of this exchange was to deepen understanding of waste systems in cities, learn about the lived experiences of other waste workers and reflect on alternative pathways for capturing waste within the circular economy.

Day 1: Learning and sharing

The first day was all about connecting and exchanging knowledge. We met fellow waste workers from Naivasha, introduced ourselves and shared our experiences on how waste is currently managed in both Mathare and Naivasha. There were three key lessons from the first day.

1. Waste zoning: This was one of the most striking systems we discovered. Naivasha town is divided into two areas: the Central Business District (CBD) and the estates.

> In the CBD, the County Government is responsible for waste collection.

> In the estates, community waste groups under the umbrella body Naivasha Grassroots Waste Management (NAGAWAM) handle waste.

NAGAWAM organises trucks to transport valuable waste to sorting yards and the valueless waste to dumpsites. The estates themselves are further divided into smaller zones – each group works only within its assigned zone, and no one is allowed to collect waste outside their area. This zoning reduces conflict, enhances accountability and ensures every part of the estate stays clean.

2. Waste collection payment rates: An interesting part of Naivasha’s system is that landlords are considered waste generators. They are responsible for ensuring payment for waste collection, which is usually passed onto their tenants. The rates are standardised:

> Single-room house – KSh 100/- monthly

> Double-room house – KSh 200/- monthly

> Three-bedroom house – KSh 300/- monthly

> Businesses – KSh 300-500/- monthly, depending on the size and type of business

This structured payment system ensures that waste groups have a steady income to fund their operations. 

We also learned more about the role of NAGAWAM in maintaining the efficiency of the waste sector. It coordinates groups, negotiates with authorities, organises trucks for waste transport and provides a structure that keeps operations smooth.

Note: We believe a similar approach in Mathare – with fair and transparent rates – could improve efficiency and provide resources for better waste collection services.

3. The nexus between age, gender and waste collection: A particularly inspiring discussion was around the relationship between older waste pickers and youth. In Naivasha, these two groups often work side by side – the older pickers bring experience, networks and wisdom, while the youth contribute energy, fresh ideas and technical skills. Mutual respect is fostered through mentorship and clear role definition, creating an environment where both generations can thrive.

Women play a more prominent role in Naivasha’s waste sector. They are prioritised for jobs like segregation in the yards. In contrast, in Nairobi, many women scavenge independently, selling waste without the same level of support.

We were also touched to see how waste workers in Naivasha expand their roles beyond just collection. Some become trainers, teaching others about sorting and safety, while some take on advocacy roles, engaging with local governments.

Additionally, there are those who become innovators, transforming waste into products that can be sold.

Note: In Naivasha, scavengers are better integrated into formal systems. In Mathare, on the other hand, many still work independently, which makes collaboration, safety, and bargaining power more difficult to achieve.

Day 2: Field visits and practical lessons

On our second day, we ventured into the field for hands-on experiences. We visited well-maintained areas and observed sorting activities in the yard, comparing them to what we do and see in Mathare. We also witnessed creative reuse of materials and sustainable innovations, such as:

Yard owners in Naivasha do not wait for government trucks, which are mandated to move waste. Instead, they pay for private trucks to avoid delays, keeping operations fast and efficient.

Another positive dynamic observed was the symbiotic relationship between waste pickers and authorities in Naivasha. The authorities support waste pickers by protecting them from harassment. In turn, waste pickers ensure public spaces remain clean and well-managed.

What stood out the most?

There were a number of standout learnings from our time in Naivasha, including:

> Only 10% of waste ends up in dumpsites – 90% is reused or recycled.

> The power of organising – working in groups is more effective than working alone.

> The creativity and innovation in transforming waste into valuable resources.

> No holding sites in Naivasha – all waste is taken directly to the yards.

> The proven benefits of zoning: reduced conflict, better waste collection coverage and enhanced accountability.

> The harmony between waste workers and authorities.

> The speed and independence gained when yard owners hire their own trucks instead of relying on government schedules.

> A reliable waste fee collection system through landlords ensures consistent funding for waste operations.

Our next steps

This exchange has expanded our perspective and confirmed something important: most waste is not useless; it is a resource waiting to be transformed. We now return to Mathare, inspired and ready to:

> Apply zoning and mapping systems to organise waste collection.

> Foster collaboration between older and younger waste pickers.

> Create fairer opportunities for women, youth and marginalised groups.

> Introduce creative reuse of waste and compost manure production.

> Explore low-cost, sustainable horse carts.

> Improve our engagement with authorities to ensure support and recognition.

By working together and adapting these lessons to our context, we believe Mathare can move closer to a cleaner environment, a stronger waste economy and a more united waste picking community.

Photo credits: Nairobi waste co-research team

Note: This article presents the views of the authors featured and does not necessarily represent the views of the African Cities Research Consortium as a whole.

The African Cities blog is licensed under Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivatives 4.0 International (CC BY-NC-ND 4.0), which means you are welcome to repost this content as long as you provide full credit and a link to this original post.