The Mother Behind Light and Hope for Children with Disabilities

Light and Hope for Children with Disabilities begins with the inspiring story of Joyce Kiarie, who was born in Taita. When family conflicts arose, she and her grandmother had to move to Korogocho, one of Nairobi’s largest informal settlements. Life was tough, but her grandmother remained a steady mother figure.

Joyce did well in primary school and was accepted to secondary school. However, her father dismissed the idea. He remarked that educating a girl was not necessary and that she should prepare for marriage instead. 

Fortunately, her grandmother refused to let that be the end of Joyce’s education. She fought for her granddaughter’s right to go to school, and Joyce was able to enroll in high school. 

Even so, the weight of responsibility became overwhelming, leading Joyce to drop out of school in her second year. Not long after leaving school, she got married.

The following year, she welcomed her first child, a baby girl she fondly named Cece. Life seemed bright then. Her young family was happy, and she was hopeful about what the future held for her.

In November 2000, Joyce gave birth to her second child, a son named Prince.

In the course of the next few months, she grew worried. Something was not right; he cried differently and missed milestones. He seemed weaker and less active.

Unsure of what to do, Joyce asked other women for advice. Many reassured her that it was normal, saying kids develop at their own pace. She tried to believe them, but facts were saying something different.

Prince was sickly and was in and out of the hospital. At one point, while hospitalized, the matron mentioned there was a possibility that Prince might have a developmental disability. This put such a strain on their marriage.

But the challenges Joyce faced were far from over.

Prince kept getting sick, and after his first birthday, he spent 3 months in the hospital. This marked the last time her family lived together, signaling a major change in Joyce’s life. 

With nowhere else to turn, Joyce returned to the only place she had ever known as home: her grandmother’s. 

Her grandmother, whom she had always called ‘mom’, welcomed and encouraged her, saying, “Mwana muciare ndateyagwo,” a Kikuyu proverb, meaning, “You don’t throw away a baby that is already born.”

But even at the grandmother’s home, peace was short-lived. 

Her relatives resented the added burden of Joyce and her two kids. Meanwhile, Prince’s health struggles never seemed to end, and Joyce was in and out of the hospital for the next few years.

A Mother on the Edge

Joyce told me how stress consumed her: a sick child, no work, and no support from family. Her son’s disability seemed to define her life. 

For the first time, a painful thought whispered insistently that perhaps all this suffering was because of Prince.

Confused and desperate, Joyce began to wonder if Prince would be better off without her. She had seen other children abandoned at Kenyatta National Hospital and thought that, at least, if she left him there, he would receive consistent medical care.

So one afternoon, when Prince was four and once again admitted, Joyce made the most difficult decision of her life.

At 1 p.m., she walked out of the hospital, leaving her little boy behind. She returned to Korogocho at her grandmother’s home.

Her grandmother immediately asked where Prince was. When Joyce explained, her relatives seemed kind of relieved. They even gave her a thousand shillings to travel to Mombasa and find her father, afraid the hospital would come after her for abandoning her son.

But as Joyce prepared to pay a ticket to Mombasa, her daughter tugged at her clothes, asking, “Mum, where is my brother? Mum, did you leave my brother?” 

Guilt washed over her in waves, and she knew she couldn’t run away.

With only the thousand shillings her family had given her, Joyce found an abandoned building in Korogocho and tried to start over. 

She bought a few essentials and started from scratch, but soon lost them to theft. She survived by taking day labor jobs, like washing clothes. 

Once again, Joyce Kiarie found herself starting life from the very bottom.

Not long after, Joyce crossed paths with a stranger in Korogocho. 

He was leaving his house vacant for a while and offered it to her and the children. For the first time in months, they had a roof over their heads. 

Still, Joyce had to find work to feed her children. 

With Prince strapped to her back, she walked the streets searching for odd jobs, while her daughter spent hours at a nearby daycare.

When the stranger eventually returned, Joyce could no longer afford the rent to keep using the house, and she was forced to move to a smaller and more affordable one. 

From there, she pieced her life together through various jobs, including utensil-washing work, short-term market work, and whatever day labor she could find. 

Sometimes, when there was no one else to care for Prince, she was forced to pull her daughter out of school to watch him. 

In those moments, the weight of carrying everything alone was harder than ever.

By the time Prince turned seven, the hopelessness had grown unbearable. 

She felt invisible, abandoned by the world, and with no one to lean on. 

Convinced there was no future for her or her children, she decided it was better if they all left this life together.

One evening, she made the decision that come morning, she would end it all, because no person in the world cared about her or her children.

But someone did.

It was James, a neighbor and friend, who often called out Joyce’s name in greeting whenever he passed by. 

That morning, when he called out and she did not respond, he grew suspicious and let himself in. He arrived just in time to stop Joyce from going through with her plan. 

James promised to support Joyce and her children until they could get back on their feet. His help made things a bit easier, but the challenges remained. Joyce still felt overwhelmed, and after a few weeks, despair returned.

She convinced herself that perhaps her children would be better off without her.

One day, Joyce left them behind, planning never to return. Thankfully, her neighbors noticed. They reached out to Catholic sisters working in Korogocho, who agreed to take the children into a home.

The Day Everything Changed

On the very day the children were to be taken away, Joyce’s conscience pulled her back. She returned for them, unable to silence the voice inside her that reminded her she could never abandon her children.

From that moment, Joyce resolved that no matter how hard life became, she would stay. 

The suffering would not push her away again. 

She would stick it out for the sake of her children.

Not long after, James introduced Joyce to Mr. Wanjama, a man who had grown up with a disability and started an organization to help families facing similar challenges. Meeting him would change Joyce’s life.

When Joyce finally met Mr. Wanjama, he asked her how she would like him to help.

By this point, Joyce had been taking Prince to therapy and had met many parents facing challenges similar to hers. 

What she longed for was a sense of community, so Joyce told him she wanted to start a support group for caregivers of children with disabilities. 

If such a space had existed for her earlier, she believed she would not have sunk so deeply into despair.

Back in Korogocho, Joyce began mobilizing parents, and they were able to form a self-help group where they could share their stories and challenges openly. 

True to his word, Mr. Wanjama continued to visit Joyce’s group, sometimes bringing other visitors to encourage and support them. 

During those meetings, however, Joyce noticed something troubling. 

Most caregivers left their children at home. The stigma around disability was still so strong that parents feared ridicule if they brought their children into public spaces.

Determined to change this, Joyce volunteered to care for the children herself while the parents attended meetings. 

Alongside James and another mother, Judith, whose child also had a disability, she started a small daycare in her own house. 

At first, they looked after just five children, scraping together food with the help of small donations from well-wishers.

The Early Beginnings of Light and Hope for Children with Disabilities

As the daycare grew, Joyce realized that change required visibility. 

Together with James and Judith, she began approaching local chiefs, requesting time at community barazas to speak about disability and fight the stigma head-on. As word spread and more parents listened, trust in Joyce grew, and parents began to bring their children out of hiding.

Soon, the small room in Joyce’s house was no longer enough. 

With more children coming in, they moved to a nearby church, where they operated Monday through Saturday. 

On June 30, 2008, what had started as a handful of children in Joyce’s home became known as Light and Hope for Disabled Children, Korogocho.

At the time, fifteen children were packed into a small ten-by-ten mabati room that was sweltering and cramped. 

When the late Dr. Osnat Keidar, wife of Ambassador Jacob Keidar of Israel, visited through a mutual friend, she was heartbroken by what she saw. 

The heat, the overcrowding, and the fragile structure spoke of hardship, but she could also see the love with which the children were cared for.

When Dr. Osnat Keidar asked Joyce how she could support them, Joyce, without hesitation, said they needed a larger space to rent.

The following day, Dr. Keidar returned with news that left Joyce almost speechless.

She and Ambassador Jacob Keidar decided that instead of renting a room, they would buy a proper space for the daycare.

In three days, Joyce, James, and Judith managed to find a landlord willing to sell, and soon after, construction of a new center began.

When the building was complete, it was officially handed over in an opening ceremony led by William Samoei Ruto, who was then Minister of Agriculture and is now Kenya’s president.

From that point, Light and Hope for Disabled Children began to grow steadily. 

More parents brought their children, and new supporters from NGOs, charities, and businesses started coming on board.

Light and Hope for Disabled Children Today

The center now supports 147 children, not only in Korogocho but also in nearby communities such as Kariobangi, Dandora, Huruma, Baba Ndogo, and Lucky Summer.

When a child is brought to the center, the team first considers whether they can attend school. 

If they are able, they are enrolled at Daniel Comboni Primary School, which has two specialized classes, one for children who are deaf and another for children with intellectual disabilities. 

Some of the kids from Light and Hope for Children with Disabilities have finished their secondary education and joined Mathare Youth Polytechnic Special School.

Joyce believes that every child, regardless of ability, deserves a good life.

“Our main goal is to ensure that every child in Korogocho, not only in Korogocho, but any child with a disability, gets the best.” 

It is a goal she backs with action, by advocating for children and equipping the caregivers who raise them.

Looking back, Joyce has learned to see her own hardships as a seed. 

The pain she once thought would destroy her is now what she uses to encourage other women walking the same difficult path. 

To better support other mothers, Joyce even went back to school and earned a certificate in counseling psychology. Today, she uses that plus her own experience to help caregivers at share their stories and find support.

Light and Hope for Children with Disabilities has continued to expand. 

With support from OSIEA and Humanity & Inclusion (EU-funded), the women involved have created ten self-help groups. 

These groups concentrate on advocacy, caregiving, and income-generating projects that give families a chance to build stability.

For Joyce, Inclusion Matters as Much as Care.

She urges parents to let their children attend regular schools when possible so they can grow up as part of the community. 

At the daycare, she also started the Super Sibling project, where brothers, sisters, and playmates are encouraged to support children with disabilities, help them reach the center, and speak up for them when needed.

She also partners with NGOs to help caregivers start small businesses. 

With her guidance, many caregivers have received the stock and materials they need to run their own shops or stalls.

Today, Joyce’s firstborn, Cece, is 29, and her third-born is 14. 

Prince, now 24, continues to need round-the-clock care. He was recently diagnosed with scoliosis, adding new challenges to his condition, but his family remains devoted to him.

Joyce and Prince now.

Joyce’s journey as a mother, caregiver, and advocate has formed a message she carries for all parents of children with disabilities.

“Don’t hate yourself. Love yourself. Love your child, because if you cannot show them love, even other people will struggle to show them love too. When you love your child, even the community will love your child.”

According to Joyce, self-stigmatization is the most damaging thing a caregiver can do because the effect of that spills over to your child and how the community sees them. 

“Accept the situation because there is nothing you can do about it. You cannot change it, but you can manage it through love and care.” — Joyce Kiarie, Founder, Light and Hope for Disabled Children.

See also: From Sofia Village to the World: Catherine Syokau’s Story