Around the world and especially
in low-resource countries
like my home country of Kenya,
mental health problems
prevent young people
from living independent
and successful lives.
I was born and raised
in a small sugarcane farm.
Some of my early memories
are those of my younger brother and I
walking around and pretending
that we owned the sugarcane.
But most of these memories
were actually from school.
My parents and especially my mother,
made sure that I knew
how much they'd sacrificed
for me to have the education
and the path to success that they did not.
They were very clear
that the stakes were too high.
There was no room for disappointment.
There was no room for failure.
When I was 12,
I moved to the boarding section
of a local primary school.
Here we will wake up at 4am
to a set of math problems
that we had to solve before breakfast.
We'd only go to bed, sometimes after 11,
if we solved that night's
science problems.
In high school,
the pressure was even higher.
The early-morning to late-night routines
were now supplemented
by Saturday and Sunday classes.
It was here in high school
where I began to notice the personal,
emotional and behavioral toll
that this pressure-cooker system
had exerted of myself and those around me.
I noticed it, for example,
when tired of cramming
the production of sulfuric acid,
I stopped taking notes or engaging
with chemistry in 10th grade.
I noticed it when my friend Onsongo
tired that his life had been reduced
to a letter grade,
had enough and quit school.
I noticed it when a schoolmate,
whom I will call Otieno,
took his own life.
But all this time,
all this time, what came to mind
was that this was life.
Life was trouble sleeping
or sleeping too much.
Life was little interest or pleasure
in doing the things that gave you joy.
Life was constantly feeling down,
crushing under the weight
of the feelings of hopelessness.
That was life.
It was only recently,
some five years after high school,
that I began to realize
that what we thought was life
could have, in fact,
been mental health problems.
Was it possible that we were struggling
with depression and anxiety
and just didn't know about it?
That, in fact, was the case.
Studies now show that almost
50 percent of Kenyan adolescents
struggle with mental health problems.
And in such a youthful country,
where half the population
is 19 years or younger,
youth mental health has now become
an urgent public health priority.
Over the past few years,
I've been working to turn
this public health problem
into an opportunity for young people
to reimagine and redefine
what mental health care could look like.
We're doing this by tackling
the three big issues
that prevent young people
from getting help.
One, the lack of mental health experts.
Two, the stigma around mental health.
And three, the sad reality
that most mental health treatments
were not built and designed
for young people
who look like me and have my background.
Because we have only two clinicians
for every one million Kenyans,
and two -- yes, only two --
child and adolescent psychiatrist
in the whole country,
we are expanding mental health care access
by training [18- to 22-year-old] Kenyans
as lay providers.
These young Kenyans are delivering
evidence-based care to their peers
through a structured and tiered model
that ensures that all young people
who want can get help.
Because of a stigma of mental health
that still exists from
Kenya's colonial past,
we are delivering interventions
without a formal diagnosis
of mental health,
and our interventions focus
on building character strengths,
on strengthening individual autonomy
and on improving overall
human functioning and well-being.
Because our lay providers
work within the communities
where they come from,
in the school systems
that they themselves went to
and deliver what is truly a for-youth
and by-youth mental health care treatment,
we are fixing the divide
between mental health treatment
and the social and cultural needs
of the communities that they serve.
Since 2018, we have used
this youth-based model
to bring mental health care across Kenya.
And what we have found
is that this model works.
Young people are reporting reductions
in depression and anxiety symptoms.
They’re reporting improvements
in their social relationships
and in their views about their abilities
to change the world.
And in what will make my mom happy,
they are also reporting improvements
in their academic grades.
Mental health is not a Kenyan problem.
It is not an African problem.
This is a global problem.
We need big ideas to tackle this problem.
And our case for optimism
is that our youth-oriented,
community-focused model can be a template
for the rest of the world.
One other early memory from childhood
is a story that my grandmother,
Yunita, told me.
A long time ago,
before the sugarcane farms,
before the grass-thatched huts
and the round compounds,
the animals lived happily
because there was plenty in the land
and a future to look forward to.
But farming threatened the land,
and the future was all of a sudden bleak.
And so the lion roared.
But there was no water.
And the elephant grunted.
But there was no water.
And the cheetah yelped,
but there was no water.
But when the young antelope
asked them to come together
and build a well, there was water.
There was a future.
There was hope.
This is our young antelope moment.
Let us come together
and let us build a world
where all young people, all over the world
can flourish and thrive.
Thank you.
(Applause)