In the heart of Nairobi’s Majengo slums, the cholera outbreak sweeping parts of Kenya feels like a distant echo. Life carries on with a strange normalcy, even as the Ministry of Health confirms more than 125 infections across the country, with six fatalities already recorded. Here, in the narrow alleyways flanked by rusted tin homes and open sewers, cholera is less of a crisis and more of a background risk one of many threats woven into the daily routine.
Charles Bongo, a longtime resident of Majengo, embodies this quiet resistance. Every day, he eats from the same roadside kibanda, drinks untreated water from makeshift pipes, and walks past heaps of garbage with barely a second thought. For him, the fear of disease is less pressing than the need to survive. “We’ve heard about cholera for years,” he says, sipping from a plastic cup, “but honestly, I’ve never seen anyone here fall sick from it.” To Bongo, health is almost a matter of luck or divine favor and decades of exposure to poor conditions have only hardened that belief.
Bongo isn’t alone. Faith Syokau, a mother raising two children in Majengo, lives surrounded by stagnant water, open sewage, and the constant hum of daily struggle. Though she admits to hearing about cholera on the news, she sees no sign of it in her immediate community. Her response is not ignorance, but resignation. “We’re still safe, I think,” she says with a tired smile, standing outside her home as a slow stream of raw sewage snakes past her feet. “I try to keep things clean, but how do you stay clean when waste is running outside your door?”
It’s a question with no easy answer. For residents of informal settlements like Majengo, access to clean water and proper sanitation is not just limited it’s almost non-existent. Food vendors set up next to gutters, children play near open drains, and homes share space with heaps of uncollected waste. This proximity to contamination creates the perfect breeding ground for waterborne diseases like cholera. Yet, life persists.
Virginia Mutila Musyoki, who runs a small shop and food business in the area, has taken steps to adapt. Health workers and community health promoters have trained her on cholera prevention. She’s learned to wash hands, keep food clean, and maintain some order around her shop. Still, her efforts are often undermined by the unrelenting presence of open sewers and trash. “I clear the garbage every day,” she says, “so at least the waste doesn’t block the water and stay near my stall.”
Medical professionals, like Dr. Esther Mwaura, warn that cholera is a fast-moving threat that can become deadly in hours if not treated quickly. The bacteria that causes it Vibrio cholerae spreads through food or water tainted by human waste. Yet in places like Majengo, where most people can’t afford bottled water or fuel to boil it, avoiding contamination is a daily gamble. Even when the symptoms diarrhea, vomiting, and dehydration do appear, many brush them off as ordinary stomach upsets.
The Ministry of Health has deployed teams to educate communities, urging citizens to boil drinking water and use Oral Rehydration Solutions at the first sign of illness. But the challenge goes beyond awareness. It lies in the systemic failure to provide clean water, safe waste disposal, and adequate healthcare infrastructure for Kenya’s most vulnerable.
Globally, cholera remains an enduring crisis. The World Health Organization reports that, just in early 2025, over 800 deaths were recorded from cholera across 23 countries. In Africa, the case fatality rate remains alarmingly high, driven by poor infrastructure and limited access to basic health services. Kenya’s own numbers echo this trend, with Nairobi, Migori, and Kisumu counties leading in confirmed cases.
Back in Majengo, as the sun sets over rusted rooftops and children play barefoot in murky puddles, the real danger of cholera lingers not just in bacteria, but in a society where survival has become an act of faith more than science. Amid this environment, the disease thrives not as a sudden catastrophe, but as a silent, ever-present risk tucked into the routine of everyday life.
