When motherhood meets the workplace: Kenya's breastfeeding struggle

Every August, the world marks Breastfeeding Awareness Month, celebrating breastfeeding as more than nourishment; it is a quiet bond of skin, heart and hope.

From Ngong in Kajiado to the polished corridors of Aga Khan Satellite Hospital in Meru, mothers share a universal rhythm: a baby’s suckle, a mother’s heartbeat and a moment when the world seems to slow down.

At Ngong Level 4 Hospital’s Elizabeth Warner Maternity Wing, 23-year-old Mary Selempo cradles her newborn son as a ceiling fan sweeps slowly overhead. "He latched immediately," she says.

"I was scared it would hurt. My aunties had warned me about cracked nipples and pain. However, the nurses here showed me how to hold him. It’s like a bonding moment."

Across the country at Aga Khan Meru Satellite Hospital, 34-year-old tech consultant Sylvia Mogaka begins her breastfeeding journey in a private suite, with her husband, Patrick, timing feeds on his smartwatch.

"I read everything about skin-to-skin and colostrum. I didn’t want Sylvia to feel alone in this," Patrick says. "He knows more about let-down reflex than I do," Sylvia laughs. A nurse adjusts the baby's position and reminds Sylvia that feeding is more than nutrition; it is also comfort and connection.

From Ngong to Meru, Nairobi to Turkana, breastfeeding experiences differ, but the bond remains. In Nairobi’s Kayole estate, grandmother Jane Njeri recalls breastfeeding in the 1980s, when neighbours and village women offered support.

Today, she says, her daughter is learning largely on her own through YouTube. In a market in Maralal, Samburu, trader Grace Nailantei breastfeeds her six-month-old between serving customers, her baby strapped to her back. When he stirs, she pauses business to feed him. "If he is hungry, business must wait," she says.

The breastfeeding picture is not always serene. Some mothers return to work within weeks of delivery, expressing milk in cramped office bathrooms. Others face pressure from relatives to supplement with formula. Dr. Esther Mwangi, a pediatrician, says she sees the pattern daily.

"We have enough global evidence that six months of exclusive breastfeeding lowers infant mortality, boosts immunity, and strengthens the emotional bond," she notes.

Societal support remains uneven, with workplace demands, public stigma and myths about breastfeeding forcing some mothers to stop earlier than planned. Simple support, such as a partner providing water or an employer allowing flexible pumping breaks, can make a difference.

"Sometimes it’s just telling her she’s doing a good job. There’s so much guilt – is the baby full, am I producing enough? My job is to protect her peace," says Patrick.

WHO and UNICEF recommend exclusive breastfeeding for the first six months, followed by continued breastfeeding with complementary foods for up to two years or more.

Kenya has made progress, with 61 per cent of babies under six months exclusively breastfed in 2022, up from 42 per cent a decade earlier.

"We must create enabling environments for mothers – at home, in workplaces, and in healthcare facilities," notes Dr Julius Adede, a pediatrician.

Still, cultural myths, limited workplace support and stigma remain barriers. Community initiatives, such as breastfeeding spaces in churches and markets, are helping mothers. "However, this is not the end of the road of achieving 100 per cent in the breastfeeding score-card," says Nelisa Mwangemi, a community nurse and breastfeeding expert.

"There are barriers and resilience challenges to conquer, some of which include cultural myths such as those that say 'thin milk' or the idea that crying means hunger for solids."

At Ngong, Mary’s mother brings her daughter bone soup and millet porridge.

"The baby eats from her, and she eats from me," she says. From Ngong to Meru and Maralal, breastfeeding remains a bond between generations, sustained by family, community and care.