By: Cynthia Soita
I will never forget the day I wheeled my uncle into a hospice in Nairobi. He had battled Parkinson's disease for nearly ten years, but now, the tremors had worsened, his speech was slurred beyond recognition, and he struggled even to swallow. The hospital had done what it could. The doctors told us he needed "comfort care" — not more tests, not more medicine, but dignity in his remaining days.
As I sat by his bedside that evening, listening to the slow hum of machines and the muted voices in the hallway, a realization hit me hard: Kenya is not ready for dying. Not when families have nowhere to turn. Not when palliative care is a privilege of the few.
And definitely not when many people are left considering desperate measures, like mercy killing, simply because dying in dignity seems out of reach.
Palliative care focuses on relieving pain, improving quality of life, and offering emotional and psychological support to patients facing serious illnesses. It doesn't aim to cure; it aims to comfort.
In countries with strong healthcare systems, palliative care is recognized as a basic human right. Patients don't have to die in agony, nor do families have to watch helplessly.
But in Kenya, the story is different. According to the Kenya Hospices and Palliative Care Association (KEHPCA), only about 10% of Kenyans who need palliative care can access it. The rest—millions every year—are left to suffer, often in rural homes or overcrowded public hospitals unequipped for end-of-life support.
Without access to proper care, the emotional, financial, and physical toll on families can be overwhelming. Loved ones spend their last days in unnecessary pain, while caretakers are crushed by guilt, exhaustion, and debt.
This is the reality that pushes some people to consider euthanasia—not because they don't value life, but because they see no humane alternative.
Poverty makes everything about dying harder.
For most Kenyan families, paying for extended hospital stays is impossible. Morphine, a basic painkiller recommended for terminal illnesses, is often either unavailable or heavily regulated, leaving countless patients to endure unbearable pain.
Home-based palliative care services are growing but remain out of reach for the poor. Private hospices, while doing commendable work, are few and often expensive.
In the absence of affordable options, poor families face a brutal choice:
Watch their loved ones suffer in pain,
Sell their remaining assets to afford minimal care, or
Contemplate more desperate, irreversible decisions.
Without significant investment in palliative care, Kenya risks creating a society where the poor are not just dying—they are dying badly.
As debates around euthanasia and mercy killing gain traction in Kenya, especially among the urban and educated classes, there is an urgent need to strengthen palliative care.
Legalizing euthanasia in a country where palliative care is almost non-existent would be dangerous.
Families struggling with poverty could feel pressured to see death as a way to cut costs rather than an informed, compassionate choice by the patient.
Providing strong, affordable palliative care across public hospitals, rural clinics, and community centers would:
Give patients real alternatives to suffering.
Ease the emotional and financial burden on families.
Uphold human dignity without resorting to desperate solutions.
In short, it would ensure that no Kenyan ever has to choose between unbearable pain and premature death simply because they are poor.
First, public hospitals must integrate palliative care units as part of their standard services. Healthcare workers should be trained in end-of-life care, pain management, and compassionate counseling.
Second, legislation must prioritize access to essential pain medications, particularly opioids like morphine, under strict but reasonable controls.
Third, awareness campaigns are needed to educate families about palliative care options and remove the stigma around seeking hospice services.
Finally, funding partnerships between the government, NGOs, and private sector can expand home-based care programs—especially in rural areas where the need is greatest.
Because true dignity in dying should not depend on how much money you have.
As I watched my uncle take his final breath, surrounded by kind nurses and my family, I felt a deep mixture of sorrow and gratitude.
Sorrow for all those who don't get the same care. Gratitude that, somehow, we could afford to give him dignity at the end.
But it shouldn't be about luck or privilege.
It should be about humanity.
And that is why I will always believe Kenya must do better.
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