By Wacuka Maina
At two in the morning, while my baby slept beside me in a rented house in Amelemba, a few meters from Masinde Muliro University of Science and Technology, I was chasing deadlines in another time zone. My laptop sat permanently tethered to a wall socket; it had no batteries.
The room would go dark whenever Kakamega’s electricity failed, taking my internet connection, my unfinished assignments, and sometimes my income with it. In those moments, I would stare at the black screen and calculate how much money had just disappeared.
Most people imagine university as lecture halls, student clubs, and youthful freedom. My third year looked different. It looked like motherhood. When I became pregnant, my parents withdrew financial support for my education. Determined to complete my degree, I returned to school only weeks after giving birth.
Leaving my child behind was not an option. I wanted to breastfeed and remain present in those critical first months. My life had completely changed; I now needed rent, food money, school fees, and a house help to care for my child while I attended lectures. Education was no longer my only responsibility. I was now financing an entire household.
Like many young Kenyans searching for flexible work, I turned to the gig economy. I joined online platforms, created accounts on freelance websites such as Fiverr, and purchased a second-hand laptop with money I could barely afford to spend. Before I could even begin earning, I had to pay 3500 for training from someone who promised to teach me online writing. The lessons were very inadequate. Most of what I eventually learned came through trial and error.
The promise of gig work was attractive. It allowed me to work around lectures and childcare responsibilities. Unlike traditional employment, no one asked whether I was a student or a mother. If I could deliver the work, I could earn.
My experience mirrors the recent findings of Siasa Place on the gig economy in Kenya, which notes that the flexibility of online freelancing has created opportunities for women to participate in paid work while balancing domestic responsibilities. Without that flexibility, completing my degree while raising a young child would have been a dream.
But flexibility came at a price. The Jobs were unpredictable. In some weeks, I secured only two assignments, sometimes none. Payments arrived in dollars, which sounded impressive, but the work was irregular. The income could not cover basic needs, it could not guarantee stability.
The uncertainty was especially visible during holiday periods when work often slowed dramatically. According to the Siasa Place report, titled The Gig Economy in Kenya: An Analysis of Gig Workers and The Ecosystem of the Gig Economy in Kenya, income volatility and seasonal fluctuations are defining features of gig work, a reality I experienced repeatedly.
Eventually, I found a broker who owned established writing accounts and subcontracted work to other writers. The arrangement solved one problem and created several others. Because he controlled access to the gigs, he also controlled my livelihood. Every payment had to be shared 50/50 between us. Sometimes work was plentiful. Sometimes he withheld opportunities without explanation. At times, he hinted that access to more work depended on more than just professional performance.
In theory, digital platforms remove barriers. However, in practice, many women encounter new forms of dependency hidden behind a computer screen. My experience reveals a contradiction at the heart of Kenya’s gig economy. The sector creates opportunities where few alternatives exist, especially for women balancing caregiving responsibilities. Without online work, I may never have survived. Yet the same system transfers enormous risks onto workers themselves.
There was no health insurance, paid leave, sick days or guarantee of tomorrow’s income. A power blackout, a sick child, a broken laptop, or a difficult client could instantly interrupt the flow of earnings. Every emergency became a financial crisis.
My experience reflects a broader pattern within Kenya’s gig economy. According to the Report, men account for 64% of gig workers compared to 34% for women. This gap cannot be explained by skill alone. Women often bear these risks more heavily than men.
While many male gig workers return home after work, women frequently begin a second shift of raising children, managing households, and caring for family members. The flexibility celebrated by the gig economy often masks an exhausting reality for women because they are expected to be available at all hours while carrying responsibilities that never clock out.
The challenge was not simply finding work. It was finding work while raising a child. To attend lectures and meet deadlines, I had to hire a house help, effectively paying another woman to perform the caregiving labour expected of me. Even then, there were days when I hid in my bedroom to finish assignments because the moment my daughter saw me, she wanted my attention.
Meanwhile, many of my competitors for work were men who could remain online for longer hours and accept assignments at a moment’s notice. To keep receiving jobs from the broker, I had to work harder simply to be retained. This shows that indeed the gig economy rewards availability, but women often enter that competition carrying responsibilities that reduce their time, opportunities, and ultimately their earnings.
Later, I began training other women interested in online writing. Many saw freelance work as a pathway to independence. Yet most faced the same barriers I had encountered. They needed laptops, internet access, training, and a dedicated workspace before earning a single shilling.
Those with husbands and young children struggled even more. The late-night hours required to meet client deadlines often collided with caregiving responsibilities. Many dropped out before they could establish themselves. Their experiences revealed another uncomfortable truth. Access to gig work is often presented as open to everyone, but the costs of entry quietly exclude many women.
Despite its challenges, gig work gave me something invaluable: a chance. It allowed me to stay in school when my options were running out. It helped me pay rent, hire childcare, buy food, and continue pursuing a degree. For that, I remain grateful. But gratitude should not prevent honest reflection.
Kenya’s gig economy survives on invisible labor. The workers deliver services, meet deadlines, answer clients, and keep digital platforms running. Yet too often they do so without stability, protection, or dignity. Their contribution remains largely unseen until something goes wrong.
Today, conversations about the future of work often focus on technology, innovation, and digital transformation. Those discussions matter. But so do the people behind the screens. The Siasa Place 2026 report on the gig economy in Kenya recommends the development of social protection systems tailored to gig workers, particularly women.
Access to affordable health insurance, income protection during emergencies, and support mechanisms would reduce the risks currently borne by workers themselves. The future of work cannot be measured only by how many jobs platforms create. It must also be measured by whether those jobs allow workers to live with security, fairness, and hope.
In the end, I graduated debt-free. But my success should not obscure the larger reality of Kenya’s gig economy.
Reference
Siasa Place 2026, The Gig Economy In kenya: An Analysis of Gig Workers, and the ecosystem of the gig economy in Kenya 2026 (Page 23-29)
