What school heads miss when managing teachers with unique emotional problems

Hillary Muhalya/Photo File

The morning sun has barely kissed the horizon when the first stirrings of life ripple through the small homes surrounding the school. Wanjiku (Kikuyu), a married mother of three, moves like a conductor orchestrating chaos. The breakfast table is a battlefield: spilled cereal, shoes missing, uniforms half-worn, and a toddler wailing over a broken pencil. “Children, eat quickly! You don’t want to miss the bus!” she calls, snatching toast midair to prevent it from falling. Her husband sips tea with the patience of someone who has learned to pick his battles. “I’ll handle lunchboxes today. You focus on the class,” he murmurs.

By seven, Wanjiku walks into her classroom, shoulders squared, eyes sharp. Thirty students chatter, some eager, some still adjusting to the early hour. “Today, we explore ionic bonding,” she announces. Hands shoot up, voices ask questions, and she kneels beside a struggling student. “Imagine electrons as dancers moving between partners,” she explains, drawing diagrams that make abstract chemistry tangible. Relief spreads across the boy’s face as understanding dawns.

Meanwhile, across the hall, Achieng (Luo), unmarried and fresh from college, battles nerves and uncertainty. Her first-year students are restless, testing her authority with whispers and side glances. “Why are you whispering?” she demands, her voice calm but firm. After class, she sinks into a chair in the staff lounge, shoulders heavy with the day’s mental load. Her heart skips when the Principal, Kamotho, bursts in. “Why didn’t you follow the seating chart exactly as instructed? Discipline starts with order!” His voice cuts like a whip. Chebet, the Deputy Principal (Kalenjin), steps forward with quiet authority. “Sir, Achieng has been managing additional responsibilities. Guidance rather than reprimand could yield better results,” she says. Achieng exhales, grateful for a shield in the storm of hostility.

Kipkoech (Kalenjin), widowed and father of two, approaches his classroom with a heaviness that no professional training can remove. His children’s needs tug at him constantly, yet thirty adolescents await knowledge, attention, and care. “Good morning, class,” he murmurs. “Today, we discuss African independence movements.” His voice is steady, but his hands tremble slightly as he turns the pages of his lesson plan. During break, he approaches the Principal cautiously. “Sir, may I supervise fewer afternoon sessions? My daughter needs support.” Mr. Kamotho leans back, arms crossed. “Your personal life is your problem, Mr. Kipkoech. Students come first. Always.” Chebet steps in before tension escalates. “Sir, Kipkoech has maintained excellent outcomes despite personal challenges. A compromise can benefit both staff morale and student performance.” Relief floods him; he returns to class fortified by the Deputy’s advocacy.

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Across town, Namutebi (Luhya), a single parent, wakes to a household alive with clamor before dawn. Breakfast, uniforms, homework, and school prep unfold like clockwork, though exhaustion sits heavily on her shoulders. “Mom! I can’t find my notebook!” her youngest cries. By the time she steps into her classroom, fatigue is a familiar companion. Yet she kneels beside a student struggling to read aloud. “No worries, we’ll solve this together,” she reassures him. During lunch, the Principal mutters under his breath, “Single-parent teachers are excuses in action.” Chebet notices the tension etched across Namutebi’s face and whispers, “Ignore the harshness. You are doing more than enough. Let’s plan ways to share responsibilities so you aren’t stretched thin.” The reassurance settles her like a warm blanket.

In the wide, echoing corridors, Chinasa (Kisii), differently-abled, navigates with a cane that taps against polished tiles like a metronome marking patience. Each lesson is an exercise in creativity: adapting diagrams, moving chairs, modifying activities, ensuring no student is left behind. Mid-lesson, the Principal storms in unannounced. “Why are you not using standard visual aids? Students need consistency!” Chinasa hesitates, and the class freezes. Chebet steps forward. “Sir, Chinasa’s methods engage students effectively despite challenges. Outcomes have improved under his guidance.” The Principal scowls but departs. Students watch, inspired by a teacher who turns limitation into innovation.

Sanyu (Luo), vulnerable and orphaned, notices a student wiping tears. “I can’t afford the exam fee,” the student whispers. Sanyu kneels, offering comfort. “I understand,” she says softly. “We’ll figure it out together.” Later, in a tense staff meeting, the Principal challenges her leniency. “Policies exist for a reason!” Chebet intercedes. “Sir, Sanyu ensured learning outcomes while accommodating students’ needs. Her approach is practical and empathetic.” Relief washes across the staff room; compassion has found its ally.

A cluster of youthful teachers—Juma (Kamba), Fatuma (Somali-Kenya), and Brian (Luhya)—burst into the staff room, bright-eyed and eager. Their lesson plans are meticulous but untested, their confidence fragile under scrutiny. The Principal’s glare sharpens their anxiety. “Why haven’t you organized your classroom rotation schedule?” he demands. Chebet’s calm voice intercedes. “They are new to the profession, Sir, and have been shadowing senior staff. With guidance, they will adapt quickly.” The young teachers exchange relieved glances; mentorship has given them a lifeline.

As the morning unfolds, the staff room becomes a stage for whispered confessions and camaraderie. “Balancing home and school is relentless,” Wanjiku sighs. “Mentorship saved my first year,” Achieng smiles. “Some days, it’s overwhelming. Flexibility helps,” Kipkoech admits. “Single parents need support to thrive,” Namutebi adds. “Adaptive resources are crucial for differently-abled teachers,” Chinasa nods. “Youthful teachers need patience and guidance,” Sanyu contributes. Through Chebet’s quiet leadership, the staff room becomes a sanctuary amid tension and hostility, a place where resilience is nurtured.

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By mid-morning, the first lessons of the day have settled into rhythm. Wanjiku kneels beside a student struggling with a chemical equation; Achieng guides a reluctant reader through poetry; Kipkoech paces slowly, monitoring students’ engagement; Namutebi coaches a shy student through a math problem; Chinasa adapts a science experiment for accessibility; Sanyu reassures anxious students; the youthful teachers shadow, observe, and learn, occasionally faltering but growing under mentorship.

The Principal prowls the corridors, eyes sharp, impatience palpable. A misaligned seating chart, a tardy student, a minor discipline lapse—each a spark for his criticism. Yet Chebet moves silently beside him, diffusing tension, explaining decisions, advocating for teachers, and ensuring learning continues uninterrupted. Her presence is a buffer, a protective shield for staff whose personal lives and professional dedication intersect.

Lunch brings a brief interlude, but also highlights pressures outside the classroom. Married teachers discuss balancing school and family, sharing strategies for homework supervision and meal preparation. Unmarried staff debate strategies for classroom control and professional growth. Widowed and single-parent teachers share anxieties about time, safety, and student outcomes. Differently-abled and vulnerable teachers recount logistical challenges and emotional strain. Youthful teachers listen intently, absorbing wisdom and learning that experience cannot be taught in a manual.

The afternoon is a flurry of extracurricular activities. Sports day begins with controlled chaos: children run races, cheer squads practice routines, and relay events unfold with a mixture of joy and tension. Wanjiku monitors her students while sneaking glances at her own. Kipkoech manages registration and scorecards, worry etched on his face. Namutebi coordinates logistics, ensuring no child is left behind.

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Chinasa modifies activities for accessibility. Sanyu comforts anxious participants. The youthful teachers run games and events under watchful eyes, occasionally faltering but learning from seniors. The Principal hovers, critical and exacting, while Chebet quietly orchestrates the smooth functioning of every activity.

Evening approaches. Teachers prepare lessons for the next day, bodies tired, minds restless. Wanjiku drafts chemistry worksheets; Achieng revises reading plans; Kipkoech checks student notebooks; Namutebi organizes math exercises; Chinasa adapts science experiments; Sanyu prepares moral stories; youthful teachers review notes under senior guidance. The Principal’s shadow is ever-present, demanding excellence, testing patience, yet Chebet ensures that respect, mentorship, and support remain the invisible force sustaining the staff.

By nightfall, the school is silent, except for the occasional flutter of pages and quiet reflections of teachers. Each has faced personal trials, professional pressures, and leadership hostility, yet within these classrooms, a quiet heroism thrives. Teachers—married, unmarried, widowed, single-parent, differently-abled, vulnerable, and youthful—carry not just curricula but compassion, resilience, and hope. Their lives intertwine with those of students, mentors, colleagues, and administrators, forming a complex tapestry of struggle and triumph.

Teaching demands resilience, creativity, and compassion. Diverse personal circumstances intersect with professional responsibilities, often under tense or hostile leadership. Empathetic, supportive administration, mentorship, and inclusive policies empower teachers to perform at their best. When teachers are supported, they model perseverance, empathy, and excellence, nurturing classrooms that inspire growth, resilience, and hope.

By Hillary Muhalya

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