In the sprawling informal settlements of Mathare, "Jane" (not her real name) starts her day at 5:00 a.m. She is not a CEO, nor is she a civil servant. She is a Community Health Promoter (CHP), one of the thousands of foot soldiers who form the backbone of Kenya’s healthcare system. Last week, on International Volunteer Day, she received a text message thanking her for her service. But thanks, as she wryly notes, do not pay school fees.

As the dust settles on the December 5 celebrations, a stark reality remains. A compelling editorial in the Daily Nation this week, titled "Let us truly value volunteers in 2026," has reignited a fierce national debate. It poses a question that makes policymakers uncomfortable: If volunteers are so vital, why are they so vulnerable?

The numbers are staggering. According to recent data, Kenyan volunteers contribute an estimated 669 million hours of labor annually. In economic terms, this translates to approximately 3.66 percent of our Gross Domestic Product (GDP)—a contribution valued at roughly $2.3 billion (approx. KES 300 billion). To put that in perspective, the volunteer economy is larger than some of our key export sectors, yet it remains largely unregulated, uninsured, and underfunded.

The Economics of Kindness

For decades, the Kenyan spirit of Harambee has been romanticized as a cultural artifact. But economists are now arguing it is a critical subsidy to the state. When the government cannot reach a flood-hit village in Tana River, the Red Cross volunteers are there. When the health ministry cannot track every pregnant mother in rural Kilifi, CHPs step in.

"We are essentially running a parallel public service on zero budget," notes a senior analyst at the Institute of Economic Affairs, who requested anonymity to speak freely. "If these volunteers downed their tools tomorrow, the cost to the Exchequer to replace their labor would crash the budget."

Despite this, the financial commitment from the state has been shaky. Earlier this year, CHPs faced a significant blow when budget allocations for their stipends were slashed by KES 1.4 billion. While the government has promised to clear arrears, the inconsistency sends a mixed message: you are essential, but you are not a priority.

Policy Paralysis

The tragedy is not a lack of knowledge, but a lack of action. Kenya actually has a National Volunteerism Policy, adopted in 2015. It was meant to be a game-changer—promising legal recognition, insurance covers, and standardized stipends. Ten years later, it remains largely a paper tiger.

A draft Volunteerism Bill, which would give these guidelines the force of law, has been gathering dust, awaiting tabling in Parliament. Without this legal framework, volunteers operate in a gray zone:

• No Insurance: If a volunteer is injured during a rescue operation, they often pay their own medical bills.
• No Pension: Years of service count for nothing in old age.
• No Job Security: They can be dismissed at a whim, with no recourse.

Looking to 2026

There is a glimmer of hope on the horizon. The United Nations has designated 2026 as the International Year of Volunteers for Sustainable Development. The upcoming "State of the World's Volunteerism Report" will introduce a new Global Index of Volunteer Engagement (GIVE), which will rank countries not just on how many volunteers they have, but on how well they support them.

For Kenya, this is a deadline. We cannot enter 2026 with 2015's unfinished business. The government must move beyond the rhetoric of "resilience" and offer the reality of resources. Valuing volunteers means integrating them into the national payroll, protecting them with insurance, and passing the Volunteerism Bill.

As Jane puts it, packing her bag for another day of unpaid rounds: "We don't need another applause. We need a plan."