A childhood between injections: Growing up with Type 1 diabetes in Kenya
By Willow Health, September 11, 2026Kenya’s paediatric diabetes burden is far larger than many realise. For children diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes, growing up means daily insulin, frightened families and the constant risk of a medical emergency.
At a weekly paediatric clinic in Chuka, they are learning not only how to survive a condition many still associate with adults, but how to reclaim their childhoods.
Six-year-old Natasha Muthomi should have been worrying about nursery school, playground games and bedtime stories. Instead, her childhood became defined by insulin injections, blood sugar tests and hospital visits after an illness that almost claimed her life.
Her father, Steve Muthomi Micheni, recalls the frightening weeks before doctors worked out what was wrong: stomach problems, dramatic weight loss, then difficulty breathing. “The chest was clear, but she was struggling to breathe,” Micheni recalls. “That is when the doctor realised this might be something to do with diabetes.”
Natasha was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes, an autoimmune condition in which the immune system mistakenly attacks the insulin-producing beta cells in the pancreas.
Beta cells make insulin, the hormone that helps the body absorb sugar from the blood for energy. When they are damaged, diabetes follows, and without insulin, glucose cannot enter the body’s cells, making lifelong insulin therapy essential.
By the time her condition was identified, Natasha needed intensive care. “When they told me her sugar levels were extremely high, I knew she had diabetes, but I didn’t know there were different types,” Micheni says.
Counselling after her discharge proved as important as medication. Natasha is one of dozens of children receiving care at the paediatric diabetes clinic at Chuka Level 5 Hospital, established in November 2024 under paediatric endocrinologist Dr Winnie Saumu, bringing together doctors, nurses, nutritionists, psychologists and social workers.
She got a call from her daughter’s school saying she was unwell, then her legs had swollen
Natasha’s story is far from unique. For Favor Mwende, 15, the warning signs were just as easy to overlook. Her mother, Christine Kawira, got a call from Mwende’s school saying she was unwell, then a second call saying her legs had swollen. The school nurse checked her blood sugar: 28 mmol/L, roughly seven times higher than the normal range of 4 to 7 mmol/L. At that level, the body can begin producing toxic acids, a condition called diabetic ketoacidosis, or become severely dehydrated, both potentially life-threatening without prompt treatment.
Before diagnosis, Mwende had symptoms she couldn’t explain: weakness, frequent urination, constant thirst, and exhaustion. Christine struggled to understand how her daughter could develop diabetes without any family history. “The doctor explained that nowadays children can also develop diabetes.”
“At first, I was in denial,” Mwende admits. “It took me time to accept that I had diabetes and that I would need medication for life.” Acceptance came gradually, through support at Chuka’s clinic. “I am grateful because we met Dr Saumu. She helped me realise that diabetes is not a terrible disease but a condition that can be managed,” she says.
Christine says the family struggled with expensive insulin, dietary restrictions and feeding Mwende differently, which left her feeling isolated. Today, after learning carbohydrate counting, the whole family eats the same food, with insulin doses adjusted to match. “Now she feels she is part of the family again,” Christine says.
That shift reflects a growing understanding of Type 1 diabetes worldwide. Though many still see it as a childhood disease, the International Diabetes Federation’s Diabetes Atlas 2025 estimates that about 9.5 million people worldwide live with it, with more than 500,000 new diagnoses and around 174,000 premature deaths each year, most of them adults.
In Kenya alone, an estimated 6,500 children and young people live with Type 1 diabetes
Africa carries a disproportionate share of that burden. Around 31,000 Type 1 diabetes deaths occur across the continent every year, many from delayed or missed diagnosis. In Kenya alone, an estimated 6,500 children and young people live with the condition, about 1,380 are newly diagnosed annually, and approximately 570 die each year. Experts believe the true toll is likely much higher, since many children die before receiving a correct diagnosis.
According to Dr Saumu, delayed diagnosis often happens because symptoms resemble other common childhood illnesses. “A child may present with weight loss, frequent urination or even bedwetting after previously being dry at night,” she explains. “These are often mistaken for tuberculosis or urinary tract infections instead of diabetes.”
Caroline Cheruiyot, Programme Manager at the Clinton Health Access Initiative (CHAI), says the consequences are devastating. “Many children die before they are even diagnosed,” she says. “That is why early diagnosis is so important; it reduces illness, prevents deaths, and allows children to live healthy lives.”
For Edna Murugi, 23, the warning signs also went unnoticed. While at school, she developed excessive thirst, frequent urination, and constant sweating, and assumed it was a passing illness. Visits to the school nurse produced only painkillers while her condition worsened. By the time her mother took her to hospital, her blood sugar had reached a dangerous 32.8 mmol/L. “I stayed in hospital for three months,” Edna recalls. “At first I was in denial. I thought diabetes was a disease for older people and believed I was going to die.”
School brought another battle: her special diet made her stand out. “My mother was asked to buy the shopping I needed, including greens.” At one point, her glucose testing strips were stolen, and she faced rejection from her peers. Only after teachers and students were educated about Type 1 diabetes did the stigma fade.
Years later, Edna credits Chuka’s clinic with transforming how she manages her condition. She had believed avoiding carbohydrates altogether was the answer, until structured education taught her to match insulin doses to what she ate. “Back then, I didn’t even know what carbs counting was. I would just eat vegetables, small portions of carbohydrates and starch.” Her HbA1c, which shows average blood sugar over the past two to three months rather than a single moment, has fallen from 11 per cent to nine per cent.
Amos Makori’s story follows a similar pattern of delayed recognition. He was in Form Four when he noticed blurred vision after school games, struggling to read from the back of the classroom, and soon experienced rapid weight loss. Doctors were astonished that he had managed to function with blood sugar levels that were dangerously high.
He learned to administer insulin, adjust his diet, and manage his medication while at boarding school, where teachers stored his insulin in the fridge and the cook prepared suitable meals.
Later, at Chuka University, Makori was introduced to a basal-bolus insulin regimen delivered through insulin pens, giving him greater flexibility and privacy than traditional injections. “It looks just like an ordinary pen,” he says. “You can excuse yourself, inject your insulin and come back without drawing attention to yourself.”
Stories like these show why experts believe awareness remains one of Kenya’s greatest challenges. Dr Saumu says many children arrive at hospital only after developing diabetic ketoacidosis (DKA), a life-threatening emergency caused by severe insulin deficiency. Some develop cerebral oedema, a dangerous brain swelling that often requires intensive care. “Most of our patients present with diabetic ketoacidosis during their first diagnosis,” she says. “Delayed presentation can be fatal.”
Some primary healthcare facilities also lack glucometers or trained staff, further delaying diagnosis.
We’ve seen an increase in number of children diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes
To close these gaps, Chuka Level 5 Hospital has adopted a multidisciplinary model of care that goes beyond prescribing insulin. Every clinic day brings together paediatric endocrinologists, nurses, nutritionists, psychologists and social workers, each addressing a different aspect of living with a chronic illness, from insulin administration and glucose monitoring to mental health, nutrition and family support.
The clinic is part of a national initiative led by the Ministry of Health, the Paediatric Endocrine Society of Kenya and CHAI, which developed Kenya’s first national guidelines for managing Type 1 diabetes in children, backed by healthcare worker training. “We finished the trainings in 2024. And we feel like we’ve seen an increase in the number of children that have been diagnosed,” Cheruiyot says.
Training has also changed nursing practice. Paediatric nurse Margaret Bebbora says children were previously managed mainly with Mixtard insulin, often with inconsistent results. Following CHAI-supported training in 2024, the hospital moved to a basal-bolus regimen, ensuring a consistent supply of insulin and other essential commodities. “Most of the time we lacked the supplies. But with the current programme that we have, we have never missed.”
Rosalid Kendi, the clinic’s nutritionist, explains that healthcare workers previously applied dietary advice designed for adults with Type 2 diabetes, low-carbohydrate, highly restrictive diets, to growing children with Type 1 diabetes.
“What we advise them, they should measure their food first so that they can calculate the number of carbohydrates in that diet. Then they divide the number of carbohydrates by their insulin ratio. Let’s say it’s 11. They are taking 60g of carbohydrates in their diet. So, they divide by 11. So, what we get is the insulin they inject.”
Families are now taught carbohydrate counting instead, calculating each meal’s carbohydrate content before working out the right insulin dose for each child. “It is no longer about banning foods,” Kendi explains. “It is about measuring carbohydrates accurately so insulin matches what the child eats.”
Healthcare workers phone families who miss appointments, carry out home visits, and teach families to store insulin safely using a traditional two-pot cooling system where refrigeration is unavailable. Schools are also being engaged so teachers can recognise emergencies such as hypoglycaemia.
Even with these advances, affordability remains a major obstacle. Steve Muthomi says his daughter’s family still spends thousands of shillings on testing strips and insulin, with good nutrition adding further to household costs. Cheruiyot says cutting the cost of these supplies remains essential, since children with Type 1 diabetes depend on them every day for survival.
Under the Social Health Authority (SHA), diabetes care is covered but with limits: medicines and specialised tests up to Ksh5,000 per patient per quarter, primary outpatient care at Ksh900 per person annually, and Level 4 to 6 consultations at Ksh2,000 per visit for up to four visits a year. Patients with complex needs may get further support through the Emergency, Chronic and Critical Illness Fund.
For Natasha, Favor, Edna and Amos, Type 1 diabetes remains a lifelong condition. There is no cure, only careful daily management. Yet their stories show how timely diagnosis, specialised care and sustained family support can turn what was once considered a fatal childhood illness into a manageable one.
Inside a clinic that opens every Wednesday morning at Chuka Level 5 Hospital, insulin is only one part of the prescription. Education, counselling, nutrition, community outreach and compassionate care have become equally important medicines, offering frightened children and their parents something every family hopes for: not simply survival, but the chance to grow up healthy, confident and able to live life on their own terms.