Sending children to rural homes during December holidays is not genuine care but urban opportunism

Every December, as schools close and Nairobi begins its familiar rhythm of end-year frenzy, an old tradition resurfaces: urban parents pack their children off to their rural homes for the entire holiday. For decades, this movement has been framed as cultural grounding, a way of reconnecting the young with their roots, and an opportunity to strengthen bonds with grandparents. Yet behind this nostalgic explanation lies a more uncomfortable truth that many are unwilling to admit. For a significant number of urban parents, sending children to the village during the long December holiday is not genuine care but a convenient escape—an act driven more by urban opportunism than by the noble intentions often claimed.

Urban life is demanding, yes, but it also offers parents an easy alibi for abandoning responsibility under the guise of cultural preservation. The long holiday becomes a chance for parents to free themselves from the daily burdens of childcare at the very moment children need connection most. Instead of using the period to bond, teach values, or guide their children, some parents prefer to outsource their parental duties to grandparents, aunties, and neighbours in the village. These elderly caregivers, already dealing with age, illness, or financial strain, are expected to absorb the full weight of child-rearing simply because they represent “home.” The assumption that the rural home is automatically a better, safer, or more wholesome environment becomes a convenient excuse that absolves parents from the hard work of being present.

Economic considerations are central to this opportunism. December is one of the most expensive months for urban families. Food prices rise, transport costs shoot up, schools have just closed with numerous financial demands, and the festive season brings pressure for outings, gifts, and celebrations. For many parents, sending children to rural areas is a cheap solution disguised as a cultural necessity. Feeding and supervising children in Nairobi is expensive and time-consuming. In contrast, rural homes seem to offer free labour and free childcare. Grandparents are expected to provide meals, manage discipline, offer supervision, and absorb the behavioural and emotional complexities of growing children—often without receiving any meaningful support from the parents.

The holiday also coincides with a period when parents want freedom: freedom to attend endless weddings, parties, office end-year functions, and road trips; freedom to rest, socialize, and indulge in leisure without interruption. In many cases, sending children away is less about offering cultural experiences and more about clearing space for personal enjoyment. Parents who spend the entire month hopping from one social event to another often justify themselves with statements like “the children are better off in the village,” when in reality the village simply offers them uninterrupted entertainment.

Even more troubling is the emotional distance that develops during these extended separations. For modern urban children, the December holiday should be a time for bonding, learning life skills from their parents, developing memories, and strengthening trust. Unfortunately, many children spend these critical weeks or months feeling abandoned, confused, or unwanted. The village environment, while peaceful, is not always emotionally nurturing in ways children need. Some are left to fend for themselves among cousins or neighbouring children. Others are exposed to poor supervision, accidents, or harmful influences. And in some cases, the rural caregivers are not equipped to handle the needs of urban-raised children whose behaviours, expectations, and vulnerabilities differ drastically from traditional rural norms.

The long separations can strain family relationships. Children may return to Nairobi feeling more connected to rural relatives than to their own parents, or worse, feeling like strangers in the very homes they call theirs. When parents choose convenience over connection, they unknowingly erode the emotional foundation that stable families are built upon. Children sense neglect far more deeply than many adults realize. They internalize the message that they are burdens to be off-loaded when inconvenient.

Some parents disguise this opportunism with the rhetoric of culture. They argue that children must know their roots, must learn the mother tongue, must interact with nature, must understand rural life. These are worthwhile values—yet genuine cultural transfer requires intentional involvement, not delegation. A parent who sends a child to the village but does not bother to call, support financially, or follow up on wellbeing is not preserving culture; they are abandoning duty.

The assumption that rural areas automatically offer safer environments is also questionable. Yes, Nairobi has its risks, but rural areas have their own dangers: rivers, wells, unsupervised animals, hazardous tools, poor medical access, and sometimes even exposure to harmful social practices. Children roaming freely without proper supervision can face accidents or fall into behaviours that parents only discover long after. The idea that “the village will handle it” is an excuse that masks the lack of proper planning and involvement.

Furthermore, rural relatives are often placed in unfair positions. They may not have the financial capacity to feed additional children for weeks. They may be elderly, unwell, or dependent on limited income from farming or small businesses. But in the Kenyan cultural context, it is almost impossible for them to refuse. The sense of obligation traps them into becoming default caregivers, even when the parents have not offered any support. This exploitation of family loyalty is another layer of urban opportunism that deserves honest examination.

Perhaps the biggest tragedy is that this practice perpetuates a cycle of emotional disconnection. Children grow into teenagers who feel little attachment to their parents, and parents later wonder why communication becomes strained. When the most formative holiday of the year is repeatedly spent away from parents, family bonds weaken. No amount of January school shopping can compensate for that lost time.

This is not to say that rural visits are inherently bad. Many children benefit from time with grandparents, from exposure to nature, and from experiencing life outside the city. But for these benefits to be meaningful, they must happen within a framework of parental involvement, not abandonment. When parents send children away simply because the holiday is long, expensive, or inconvenient, it becomes a form of neglect disguised as tradition. Genuine care means being present, intentional, and responsible. Opportunism means shifting the burden to others under convenient cultural narratives.

The December holiday is an opportunity for families to reconnect, repair broken bonds, and create lasting memories. When parents choose escape instead, they reveal the uncomfortable truth: for many, sending children to rural homes is less about love and more about convenience. And until society confronts this honestly, the practice will continue to mask neglect behind the comforting language of culture.

By Ashford Kimani

Ashford teaches English and Literature in Gatundu North Sub-county and serves as Dean of Studies.