Kenya has educated itself into foolishness by killing learning

Once upon a time in Kenya, education was the sacred altar where dreams were sacrificed for a better tomorrow. Teachers were priests, parents were faithful, and pupils were little disciples. But alas! The altar now reeks of rot, a decayed relic of greed, deception, and showmanship. Today, education in Kenya has become a full-blown tragicomedy, part soap opera, part horror film, with a soundtrack composed by the ghosts of our national conscience.

Let us begin with the ghost schools; those phantom academies that exist only on paper yet receive millions from the Ministry of Education. Somewhere in the heart of nowhere, a headteacher of a nonexistent “Bright Future Primary” signs documents with invisible ink to receive real money. Meanwhile, real schools have no classrooms, no desks, and no light, only the bright future promised in their names. Teachers teach under trees while their “ghost” counterparts receive digital funds straight into equally ghostly accounts. If irony had a home, it would surely build its headquarters in the Ministry of Education.

And then there are the teachers and school managers, the modern-day prophets of profit. Gone are the days when teachers were custodians of knowledge and virtue. Now they are custodians of programmes! And oh, what beautiful, creative, extortionate programmes they are! The “Milk Programme” (Sh200 per term); because apparently, calcium is now a luxury item.

The “Balanced Diet Programme” (Sh1,000 per child) because your child must eat imported sausages to pass KCPE. The “Prayer & Intercession Programme” (Sh500 contribution) because God listens better when you pay first.

And if that doesn’t drain the poor parent’s pockets, wait for the “Motivational Talk Programme” (Sh800 per child). They say a motivational speaker will come! Some man with a wide tie and a wider smile, shouting “You can do it!” to hungry children. Parents are convinced to pay “for the sake of their children’s future.” The language teachers use to woo parents is no different from that of betting companies or miracle pastors. “Mzee, don’t miss this blessing, invest in your child’s success!” or “Mama, imagine if your child becomes the next doctor; this contribution is a seed!” Seeds that never germinate, except in the wallets of the self-appointed educators of extortion.

Teachers now run schools like small churches! full of “faith offerings,” “breakthrough events,” and “development crusades.” I wouldn’t be surprised if soon we hear of “Exam Revival Week,” complete with fasting and anointed chalk from Jerusalem, sold at Sh1,500 per piece. Some teachers even coach students to feign sickness “Tell your parents you need special diet; we are planning the Thanksgiving Programme.” The poor parents, already victims of economic witchcraft, borrow money to please these modern messiahs of manipulation.

And what happens on prayer day? Oh, what a spectacle! The school becomes a catwalk of hypocrisy. Parents drive in with rented vehicles, the engines humming with borrowed pride. In the villages, boda bodas are decorated like wedding chariots, ferrying mothers clutching “elephant-sized cakes” for their kindergarten stars. In towns, limousines glide into school gates, and photographers click endlessly as if it were a presidential inauguration.

Meanwhile, the orphans and children from humble homes stand aside, watching in silent agony — their stomachs growling as they stare at the KFC buckets, assorted chips, and chocolate fountains spilling over. Some remember their fathers, killed by greedy politicians who stole their land and left them with “scholarships of suffering.” The rich parents laugh loudly, preaching charity in church every Sunday but refusing to share a single drumstick with the poor child seated beside their own. Oh Kenya, land of contradictions!

Inside the classroom, children have stopped learning humility; they now study ‘show-offology’. They learn to compete not in academics but in fashion, phones, and food. Mothers trade Bible verses for make-up tutorials, and fathers sponsor hairstyles more expensive than a year’s tuition. Even baby class graduations now feature tents bigger than church crusades, cakes the size of Mt Longonot, and sound systems that could wake the ancestors.

And when you ask, “Why all this?” they say, “It’s our child’s big day!” Big day indeed! for wasting money that could have kept five orphans in school. 

Fast forward to the universities. The final graveyard of academic hope. Lecturers are on strike again, their chalks broken, their spirits too. They are not asking for riches, only the basics; a CBA, a salary that can buy them painkillers without taking a loan. But the government, in its characteristic arrogance, responds with empty promises and English so polished it could win a Nobel Prize in deception.

As the President declares, “We are making Kenya a world-class nation by 2055.” One wonders world-class or worst-class? Lecturers now live like forgotten dogs; no medical cover, no allowances, no hope. Some resort to herbalists and witchdoctors for healing when faith fails. “Was getting educated a crime?” they ask. Their students, the ones who dropped out to join politics or wash-wash cartels, drive sleek cars past their former professors. You can almost hear the laughter of corruption echoing across the valleys.

Who cursed Kenya? Was it the ancestors or the architects of greed? How did we become a nation where thieves negotiate with the state, where committees are formed not to fight corruption but to sanitise it? Look at the endless “task forces” that exist only to share allowances. And now, new universities sprout like mushrooms; quantity over quality, certificates over sense. In five years, there will be more universities than secondary schools, each one a factory for unemployed graduates.

Still, somewhere deep in this madness, a flicker of hope glows, the child who studies under a tree yet dreams of becoming a doctor; the teacher who still believes that education is sacred; the parent who shares a banana with an orphan instead of showing off chicken from Java.