From Prison to Purpose: How Kenyan Social Enterprise Tuwe Bora Gives Women a Second Chance

In a workshop on the outskirts of Kenya's Kitengela town, a quiet revolution is taking place. Here, garment workers sit in rows before specialised sewing machines, transforming fabric offcuts into finished pieces that would otherwise have ended up in landfill. This is Tuwe Bora, a social enterprise founded by Linda Sigilai that trains and employs women leaving prison, refugees, and marginalised youth, using garment production as a pathway to dignity and economic independence.

For Rainbow Report, this story resonates far beyond Kenya's borders. It speaks to a truth we know all too well in South Africa: that the carceral system too often punishes poverty rather than crime, and that true justice requires more than releasing someone from a cell. It requires giving them the tools to build a life.

Why Tuwe Bora focuses on women leaving prison

Sigilai, a nutritionist by training, spent six years working in public health before her transition into fashion. Her journey began in 2019, when she started working with women leaving prison.

“Landing in fashion was purely because we were supporting women in prison. And we found that most prisons have programmes such as sewing, and the skill that most women in prison have is dressmaking. So, we looked at it as an easier route to create a way for them, as they're coming out of prison, to have a place to land as they're reintegrating into their community,” she said.

Tuwe Bora started in 2019 as an informal support group where five young mothers met to exchange income-generating skills. Membership grew to 100 before the group became Tuwe Bora Ltd in June 2021.

The link between poverty and incarceration

As Sigilai worked with women leaving prison, she realised that employment alone was not enough. The root causes of their incarceration remained unaddressed.

“When we started, we were working with women specifically who were in prison and were transitioning. In the process, we realised that we were trying to solve something that has already happened, yet it can be prevented. We realised that social inclusion is the biggest issue,” she said.

Teresa Njoroge, founder and chief executive officer of Clean Start Africa, confirmed this harsh reality. She herself spent time in prison after being wrongfully convicted following a fraudulent bank transaction she handled as a bank employee.

“The government has substantiated that 70 percent of women who are incarcerated are incarcerated due to petty survival offences, as they're trying to fend for themselves, not just for themselves, but also for their children,” she said.

This echoes a pattern familiar to South African activists: the criminalisation of survival. When women lack decent, sustainable livelihoods, the revolving door of poverty and incarceration continues to turn.

“This revolving door of poverty and incarceration continues to perpetuate because we are not addressing the root cause of their being arrested, which is the lack of a decent, sustainable means of livelihood,” Njoroge said.

What the research says about rehabilitation and recidivism

A May 2025 study, Examination of the Effects of Imprisonment on Recidivism: A Review of Kisumu County, Kenya, interviewed 700 former convicts, 85 prison officers and 15 probation officers. It found that 82 percent of former convicts had participated in some form of rehabilitation or treatment programme while incarcerated, while 14 percent reported having no access to such services.

The findings underscore what activists have long argued: rehabilitation programmes are not a luxury, they are a necessity. Without them, the cycle repeats.

Joyce Wanja's journey from Lang'ata Women's Prison to business owner

Joyce Wanja is living proof of what is possible when someone is given a real chance. Now 60, Wanja spent 13 years at Lang'ata Women's Prison, from 2008 to 2021, after being convicted of robbery with violence. Her original sentence was death, later commuted to time served following the declaration that the mandatory death penalty was unconstitutional.

When she arrived at Tuwe Bora after her release, Wanja already knew how to sew, having learnt in prison on single-needle manual machines. The challenge was adapting those skills to modern equipment and market standards.

“The market demands higher quality, so we just had to show her how to thread modern machines, balance speed, and do a clean finish as per international requirements,” Sigilai said.

Wanja spent about two years training at Tuwe Bora before starting her own business in Kitengela. She now makes school bags, laptop bags and custom clothing. She also spent time doing prison ministry, returning to facilities similar to the one she had once left.

“I trained under Ms Sigilai for about two years while regaining my footing, then went on to start my own business. I am back to living and healing with my children, and I can see my grandchildren,” Wanja said.

How Tuwe Bora sustains itself financially

The enterprise generates revenue through its upcycled garment line, white-label production for corporate clients, and paid short courses that train people for employment within four weeks. They also recover textile waste and turn fabric offcuts into new products.

But combining social impact with commercial sustainability remains difficult.

“You have a community that you have to take care of, but you are also a business, and you need to make a profit at the end of the day,” Sigilai said.

Tuwe Bora imports most of its raw materials, making it vulnerable to shipping delays and rising transportation costs. High electricity and labour costs also made it difficult for Kenyan manufacturers to compete with imported garments. These are structural challenges that will be familiar to anyone fighting for economic justice in the Global South.

What is next for Tuwe Bora

Despite those challenges, Sigilai said the business model allowed Tuwe Bora to continue creating opportunities for people who had struggled to find work. The enterprise plans to expand its textile waste recovery work while continuing to train post-incarcerated women, refugees and vulnerable youth.

Sigilai also works directly with Kajiado Women's Prison, where she established a textile centre and supplied machines and training. The aim is for women to leave prison with skills they could use to start businesses or find employment without having to relocate to the Tuwe Bora workshop.

For the women who passed through its doors, however, the measure of success was simpler: whether the skills learnt could help them earn a living and build a life after prison.

For Sigilai, Wanja's transition represents what she has set out to achieve: giving people the skills and support to build livelihoods independently.

“We are holding space for others to be able to exist and do what they're able to do. That is where my sense of satisfaction comes from,” she said.

In a world where the legacy of colonialism and apartheid continues to shape who gets locked up and who gets left behind, Tuwe Bora offers a model of what restorative justice could look like. Not just punishment, but a path forward.