Raising Children in Australia as a Kenyan Mother

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You don’t realise how different it is until the child is actually here.

Before that, it’s just ideas. “Better schools.” “Better opportunities.” “Watoto watakuwa sawa.” It sounds straightforward.

Then reality starts showing itself in small, quiet ways.

Like language.

Your child comes home speaking differently. Accent imechange, words zimechange, even the way they express themselves. At first it’s cute. Then you notice they’re more comfortable in English than Kiswahili. Or worse, they understand you but they don’t respond back in the same language.

And you start asking yourself, am I losing something here?

Because language is not just words. Ni culture. Ni how we joke, how we correct, how we connect.

Then there’s discipline.

Back home, things are clearer. Respect looks a certain way. Boundaries are understood. Here… it’s different. You’re being told to “explain more,” to “reason with the child,” to avoid certain types of correction.

And you’re there thinking, so what happens when they just don’t listen?

You don’t want to be too harsh. You don’t want to be too soft. You’re trying to balance two systems that don’t always agree.

Hakuna manual.

School is another world.

Your child is learning things you didn’t grow up with. Different values, different ways of thinking. Sometimes good, very good. They become confident, expressive, independent.

But sometimes you feel out of sync.

They question things you never questioned. They push boundaries in ways that feel uncomfortable. And you’re there trying to guide them while also learning the system yourself.

It’s like you’re parenting and adapting at the same time.

Then comes identity.

This one is deep.

Your child is growing up here, but they are Kenyan. But also… not fully Kenyan in the way you are. They are in between.

At home, you’re trying to pass on culture, food, language, respect. Outside, they are absorbing a completely different world.

And one day they ask something that catches you off guard.

“Am I Australian or Kenyan?”

You realise this is not a simple answer.

Even you are still figuring it out.

There’s also the practical side.

Childcare is expensive. Time is limited. You’re working, maybe studying, managing the house. There’s no extended family around to step in easily. Hakuna auntie wa kusaidia, hakuna neighbour wa kusema “acha mtoto hapa kidogo.”

Everything is structured. Everything is planned.

And when things go wrong, you feel it fully.

Some days you’re just tired.

Tired of making decisions. Tired of trying to get it right. Tired of feeling like you’re carrying the responsibility alone.

But then there are moments.

Small ones.

Your child laughing in that mix of cultures. Switching accents mid-sentence. Eating ugali one day and asking for something completely different the next. Teaching you something they learned. Challenging you. Growing in front of you.

And you realise… this is what you wanted.

Not perfection.

Opportunity.

A wider world.

And maybe the goal is not to raise a “perfect Kenyan child” or a “perfect Australian child.”

Maybe it’s to raise someone who understands both. Who can move between worlds without losing themselves.

It won’t be clean. It won’t always feel like you’re getting it right.

But kidogo kidogo, you find your own way.

Not exactly how you were raised.

Not exactly how things are done here.

Something in between.

And maybe that’s enough.