Nixtone Ambicha in Migori curving waste plastic into Home decor
In a small room in Migori County, discarded bottles and jerrycans are being transformed into treasures. For Nixtone Ambicha, a 33-year-old pharmaceutical technologist, waste is not just an environmental nuisance but raw material for innovation.
“I really dislike waste. You walk around and find glasses scattered everywhere, even in dumping pits. People even try to burn them, yet glass doesn’t decompose. Over time, it just piles up into huge heaps. That is why I decided to turn waste into treasure,” he says.
Ambicha began his journey while working night shifts at a pharmacy in Meru. The rising cost of living made it impossible to rely on his salary alone. Each morning, on his way home, he noticed bottles littering the streets. “I thought, why not do something with these bottles? That way, I could help with disposal while also earning something to add to my income,” he recalls.
That thought led him into the world of upcycling and reuse. Unlike recycling, which often requires industrial processes, Ambicha focuses on giving waste new life directly. From plastic jerrycans, he crafts multipurpose baskets that can serve as laundry hampers, grocery carriers, or even lampshades. From glass bottles, he creates sleek tumblers, mugs, and flower vases.
“Our store is mainly focused on reusing, upcycling, and recycling. Right now, we don’t recycle much because that requires big machines. But if you bring us a bottle, we either reuse it as it is or cut and reshape it into something useful,” Ambicha explains. His small-scale workshop has already diverted thousands of items from landfills. “Since I started, I’ve recycled less than 5,000 glasses and about 2,000 jerrycans. If you add the smaller containers, the number is much higher,” he says proudly.
Collecting materials often depends on goodwill and luck. In Migori, one restaurant struggling to dispose of its bottle waste became his first major supplier. “They had so many bottles they didn’t know what to do with them. When they heard I could recycle, they started delivering sacks of bottles to me. They even covered their own transport costs. They became my first steady customer,” Ambicha recalls.
Despite the challenges, demand for his products is growing, especially online. Customers order baskets with colorful kitenge liners, decorative flower pots, and even custom glass engravings. Yet scaling up requires investment. “Three people cannot recycle all the glasses in a town. I need a store with big machines, a furnace to melt glass, a milling machine to grind it into powder. That way, we can make things like pots and even lab apparatus. The potential is huge,” he says.
Beyond the practical benefits, Ambicha sees his work as a contribution to climate action. “If waste keeps filling our rivers and streams, we’ll lose water reservoirs. Lake Victoria itself is threatened by plastics and glass. If that lake dies, people will lose food, jobs, transport, and even tourism. That’s why this work matters,” he stresses.
But not everyone sees value in what he does. “Some people discourage me. They say, even if they lack a job, they’d never collect waste bottles. Others are amazed and want to learn. Some even send their children to me to be trained. So I know I’m making an impact,” Ambicha says with a smile.
Looking ahead, he dreams of establishing collection points in every town, where glass and plastics can be sorted before being reused or sent back to factories. His message to young people is simple: “Many youths think recycling is dirty work. They all want white-collar jobs. But if we join hands, recycling can create employment and protect the environment. I can’t achieve it alone, but together, we can.”
Kenya’s war against plastics and glass pollution is far from over, despite years of bans and promises of reform. The country generates an estimated 24,000 tonnes of mixed waste every day, according to the Ministry of Environment. Out of this, only about 25 percent is potentially recyclable, and less than 10 percent is actually recycled. The rest either ends up in landfills, rivers, or is burned in the open, releasing harmful toxins.
According to environmental chemist Evans Nangulu, plastics remain one of the most stubborn pollutants. While plastics are technically a resource, only about 20 percent are recyclable. The rest, particularly single-use plastics, inevitably end up polluting the environment.
“The technologies to recycle plastics do exist, but Kenya’s local recycling capacity is very limited,” Nangulu says. “For example, Polyethylene Terephthalate, commonly called PET bottles for water and sodas, are sometimes collected here but shipped abroad for recycling. Even in developed countries, recycling plastics isn’t always a priority because the process demands a lot of energy, water, and labor. In many cases, it’s cheaper to make new plastics from virgin materials than recycle old ones.”
The result is widespread plastic pollution. Most plastics break down into microplastics, which infiltrate rivers, lakes, and oceans. These particles are ingested by fish, livestock, and ultimately humans, posing a growing public health risk. A 2024 UNEP report warned that Lake Victoria, the world’s second-largest freshwater lake, is choking under the weight of plastic waste, much of it from urban centers in Kenya, Uganda, and Tanzania.
Kenya banned single-use plastics in 2017 through the National Environment Management Authority (NEMA), but enforcement has been weak. Nangulu points out that flimsy wrappers and bags are still widely used. “Even near NEMA headquarters, right at their gate, you’ll find sugarcane vendors using banned plastic wrappers openly. Yes, the law prescribes hefty fines, but enforcement is inconsistent. And then there are exemptions, companies paying for permits to continue using plastics. In essence, people are paying to pollute.”
In Kenya, the ban on single-use plastic bags attracts a penalty ranging between KES 2 million and KES 4 million, or a prison sentence of up to two years, or both. The regulation, which came into effect in August 2017, outlaws the production, sale, and use of these bags, with limited exemptions granted for industrial and hazardous waste.
After initial gains—cleaner streets, lifestyle changes, and consumers carrying reusable bags—loopholes have undone progress. Farmers have also borne the brunt, losing livestock that ingest plastics.
Glass, on the other hand, is often overlooked but equally problematic. While it doesn’t decompose, glass recycling in Kenya remains minimal. “As far as I know, it’s only Milleglass in Mombasa actively recycling,” Nangulu notes. “And even then, recycling glass requires huge energy input, and not all glass types are accepted. Beer companies, for example, only want specific bottles. So a lot of glass waste is left out of the system.”
Glass, since it is not biodegradable, also acts as a breeding ground for mosquitoes, especially during the rainy season. This poses another public health threat, increasing the risk of vector-borne diseases like malaria, dengue, and Zika.
Beyond the recycling challenges, waste collection itself is bogged down by bureaucracy and cost. Experts warn that proposals require anyone wishing to run a collection yard to pay licensing fees of over KSh 40,000, with each waste vehicle needing separate, costly permits from both national and county governments.
“The truth is, most waste collectors are small hustlers,” Nangulu explains. “They earn very little from selling glass bottles or plastics, yet they risk facing heavy licensing costs. On top of that, they frequently face harassment by police and county officials demanding bribes. This makes waste collection unsustainable.”
Financing is another stumbling block. Small waste collectors and community-based organizations cannot access loans because banks view the sector as high-risk. “These are cottage industries. They lack collateral, and financial institutions are not willing to back them,” Nangulu adds.
At the policy level, the chemist is blunt: Kenya’s laws are more punitive than supportive. Meanwhile, foreign investors enjoy tax holidays and subsidized rent. “It’s like a crime to collect waste here,” Nangulu laments. “We wield a stick instead of dangling a carrot. If local innovators were given a five-year cushion—reduced taxes, supportive policies, and fewer bureaucratic hurdles—we could scale real solutions.”
He points to energy recovery as one untapped solution. Countries like Ethiopia have successfully turned waste into electricity, but Kenya’s much-publicized proposals remain shelved.
“Every government promises to turn Dandora dumpsite into an energy plant, but nothing materializes. Waste is both a problem and a resource. We could generate clean energy from what cannot be recycled.”
Ethiopia’s Reppie Waste-to-Energy Plant in Addis Ababa, commissioned in 2018 on the former Koshe dumpsite, is one of Africa’s pioneering facilities of its kind. The plant processes around 1,400 tonnes of municipal waste daily, converting it into electricity through combustion technology. With a generation capacity of 25 megawatts, equivalent to about 185 gigawatt hours annually, it contributes a significant share to the national grid. To address environmental concerns, the facility is equipped with advanced flue gas cleaning systems that ensure its emissions meet strict international standards.
Kenya’s waste sector faces persistent challenges, including limited uptake of innovations, high entry barriers for entrepreneurs, and inconsistent enforcement of regulations. As a result, plastic and glass waste remain widespread, posing risks to the environment, livestock, and community livelihoods.
1 comment
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