We marvel at the wealth of dynasties abroad and wonder how empires are built. Yet right here in Kenya, we bury thriving businesses with our parents. From duka za mtaa to five-acre farms, from mitumba stalls to successful mjengo supply chains—legacies are abandoned, forgotten, or intentionally shut out.
Why?
“In Kenya, we hustle hard for our children—then leave them out of the very thing we built for them.”
Walk through Gikomba, Toi Market, or any roadside vibanda and you’ll see stories of Kenyan resilience stitched into every tarp, stall, and sack of waru. Businesses started out of desperation became lifelines. A woman begins selling mutumba clothes under a tree, and twenty years later, she owns three stalls. A man starts farming in Eldoret on inherited land and now supplies a local supermarket. A couple opens a kiosk in Umoja and expands into a mini wholesale outlet. The narrative is inspiring—until it ends abruptly.
Not because the business wasn’t viable.
Not because there wasn’t potential.
But because it died with its founder.
The Myth of 'Doing It for the Kids'
Parents often say, “I’m doing this for my children.” But somewhere along the way, the children become strangers to the grind that raised them. The mother at Marikiti Market leaves the house before sunrise and returns after dark. Her children only see her tired. The father who runs a hardware in Nyeri spends every waking moment in the shop, never once taking his children with him to learn the ropes. He’s too busy making a future for them to involve them in it.
The irony? That same child may now be in an office, underpaid and overstressed, while the once-thriving family business sits locked and dusty.
Why Don’t We Pass It On?
Let’s name the real reasons:
1. Pride in Education
We believe that if you’ve educated your child “well,” they shouldn’t dirty their hands in a market stall or farm. A mother selling mutumba in Gikomba will proudly say, “My daughter is a nurse in Australia.” But she won’t teach her daughter how to run that stall. She doesn’t want her to know that kind of struggle. She forgets the business is what paid for that degree.
2. Fear of Entitlement
Some parents fear that if they bring their children in, they will become lazy or entitled. So they gatekeep. They hoard the knowledge, the contacts, the suppliers. They don’t teach, they instruct. By the time the child is ready to learn, it’s too late—or the child no longer cares.
3. Trauma and Shame
Some of our parents carry shame around how they started. They were chased by auctioneers, slept in kiosks, went hungry. The business was born from that pain. To bring their children into it is to revisit wounds they’ve worked hard to bury. So they distance. But healing can’t happen in silence.
4. A Legacy of Secrecy
Many Kenyans were raised in homes where money matters were not discussed. Parents hid land titles, didn’t talk about loans, never mentioned debts. So even when the intention is to pass something down, the process is wrapped in secrecy and mistrust.
5. “Ni yangu. I built it.”
There’s often a deep emotional attachment to the business. For many Kenyans, the business is not just a source of income—it’s a symbol of personal triumph. The kiosk, the mpesa shop, the boda spare parts business… these are monuments to survival. Sharing it can feel like giving away a piece of their identity.
6. The 'Hustle Culture' Mentality
Many older Kenyans believe the younger generation must “suffer first” to appreciate success. They feel like handing over something built over years on a silver platter will weaken their children. They want them to earn it—and unfortunately, sometimes that means excluding them altogether.
7. Fear of Conflict
Money is deeply personal in Kenya. Mixing family and business often causes strife, and many parents fear introducing their children into the business will cause arguments—over profits, direction, or fairness. So they avoid it entirely.
8. Gender Bias
Sometimes, especially in rural setups, daughters are excluded from learning family businesses under the assumption that they’ll marry and leave. Sons are chosen by default—even if they have no interest or capability. This bias silently kills legacy.
What We Lose
When we don’t pass our children through our businesses—no matter how small—we lose legacy.
We lose continuity.
We lose wisdom that cannot be Googled.
That mutumba stall? It took twenty years to build relationships with suppliers and customers.
That mabati shop in Kayole? The owner knows which fundi to call when a delivery is delayed.
That cabbage farm in Limuru? The farmer knows when the rains will come just by the feel of the wind.
You can’t teach that in a university. And when it’s gone, it’s gone.
So What Can We Do Differently?
1. Start Young
Your children don’t have to be your employees. But let them see you work. Let them hear your frustrations, witness your wins, understand your rhythm.
2. Normalize Money Conversations
Talk about your profits. Share your mistakes. Tell them why you stopped working with that supplier or how you handled a rude customer. This is curriculum. You are the lecturer.
3. Heal Out Loud
If you’re ashamed of how you started, say so. But don’t let that stop you from handing over the torch. Your journey may be hard, but it is holy.
4. Let the Business Evolve with Them
Maybe your son doesn’t want to run the kiosk exactly as it is—but he can turn it into a delivery service, digitize it, brand it, or open a branch. Don’t insist on sameness. Invite growth.
So, Where Do We Begin? Practical Steps for Kenyan Parents
1. Start With Small Exposure
Involve your kids in small but regular ways. If you run a hardware shop, let them shadow you for a few hours on weekends. If you’re a tailor, show them how you measure, stitch, or deal with customers. Children learn by seeing, not being told.
2. Have Regular Business Conversations at Home
Make business part of dinner talk. Ask for their opinions: “What do you think of this new supplier?” “Should I try home deliveries?” This makes them feel invested and valued.
3. Appoint Them to Roles Based on Their Strengths
If your child is good with social media, let them digitize your business. If they’re good with numbers, involve them in budgeting or record-keeping. The idea is to let them shape the business, not just inherit it.
4. Create a Mentorship Culture Within the Family
Instead of barking instructions, take a coaching approach. Share your wins and failures. Let them ask questions, challenge you, and bring in new ideas. Legacy is not just about ownership—it's about relationship.
To the Children: Ask for the Baton
This is not just on parents. If your mum is selling mboga or your dad runs a welding shop—ask questions. Spend a weekend with them. Offer to do stocktaking. Learn their stories while they’re still here.
Because one day, when the shop is closed and the key is nowhere to be found, you’ll wish you had asked.
How Children Can Show Genuine Interest
Legacy is a two-way street. Children can:
1. Spend Time at the Business (Even if Just Watching at First)
Show up. Help stock shelves. Learn the rhythm. Be present.
2. Ask for Stories
How did dad start his mjengo business? What challenges did mum face setting up her duka? These stories hold strategy, resilience, and emotional investment.
3. Offer a Fresh Perspective Without Dismissing the Old
Instead of saying, “This is outdated,” ask, “Can we try this new way and see if it helps?” Respect goes both ways.
4. Show Financial Commitment—Buy Shares
Yes—children can and should buy into their parents’ businesses.
This is a game-changer.
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A daughter can offer to invest 20K into her mother’s salon for a share in future profits or to help with expansion.
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A son can co-finance new tools for his father's welding business and help digitize bookkeeping.
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Parents, in return, can create informal or formal shareholder agreements, even with basic written terms.
This not only builds a sense of ownership—it teaches responsibility and respect for the process.
Addressing the Fear: “What If They Misuse It or Ruin It?”
This fear is valid—but manageable.
1. Set Boundaries and Responsibilities Early
Clearly define what their role is. Don’t just give control—give them structure.
2. Use Milestones to Grant Access
Tie responsibility to behavior: e.g. “If you work with me every Saturday for six months, we’ll explore how you can co-manage stock.”
3. Involve a Third Party Where Needed
Engage a lawyer or family friend to help create a succession plan or facilitate difficult conversations. Family businesses need structure, not just emotion.
To the Parents: Legacy Is Not in a Will. It’s in a Handed Tool.
Let them sit with you in the stall. Teach them how you negotiate. Let them see how you handle rude customers. Talk to them about the dream that built the business in the first place.
They may not do it exactly like you—but they will remember.
Reimagining Legacy in Kenya
Legacy is not about owning ten buildings in your child’s name.
It’s not about surprising them with a title deed on your deathbed.
It’s about walking with them—showing them the soil, the sweat, the sacrifice—and letting them add their own footprints to the journey.
And if done right, they will build upon your work, not abandon it.
Legacy is a Partnership
It is not enough to build. You must also pass on. Otherwise, it is not a legacy — it’s a long job with no retirement benefits.
Let’s change this narrative. Let’s move from secrecy to sharing, from fear to trust. From solo struggle to generational strength.
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