The day you finally find yourself in charge of secondary school teenagers – especially in a boarding school setting – will be the day you understand that running a Kenyan school is not a managerial role. It is an extreme sport. It is crisis management, financial acrobatics, human psychology, diplomacy, and prayer rolled into one. Teenagers carry an appetite for food that is unyielding, insatiable and unpredictable. Their demands stretch far beyond the bell for meals; they want quality, quantity and consistency. Yet out here, principals are expected to satisfy these appetites on budgets that are shrinking faster than the nation’s patience. It is only when you walk in their shoes that you finally appreciate how difficult it is to be a school principal in Kenya.
School principals exist in a paradox. They are entrusted with the lives, security, and learning of hundreds – sometimes thousands – of energetic adolescents. At the same time, they must run complex institutions with no guarantee of full capitation and no assurance that parents will pay school fees on time. They juggle debt, suppliers, teachers’ needs, Board expectations, Ministry directives, and unpredictable teenage behaviour. Yet at the slightest misstep, the public is quick to call them rogue, dictatorial, incompetent, or uncaring. What many fail to understand is the delicate tightrope that principals walk daily, a rope so thin that one wrong move can plunge the entire school into chaos.
The government has, over the years, reduced capitation or delayed disbursement in ways that choke school operations. Principals are expected to feed students on a budget that is a shadow of what is required. The price of maize rises. Beans become expensive. Sugar becomes a luxury. Cooking oil shoots up. Transport costs grow heavy. Yet the school menu must remain constant. Teenagers do not negotiate about food. They do not understand inflation. They do not care about reduced government funding or fee defaulters. All they know is that their stomachs must be full, and the quality of meals must be maintained. The cost of living does not excuse a principal from serving three hot meals every day, and in many schools, even more.
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And here lies the heart of the problem: teenagers do not forgive food issues. A delay in lunch becomes a crisis. A change in the rice-to-beans ratio becomes a grievance. A slight reduction in quantities is interpreted as disrespect. When students whisper that the school is “cutting food,” the administration loses peace. Rumours spread faster than wildfire; suspicion grows, discipline gets strained, and if the administration does not manage the narrative swiftly, the entire school sinks into unrest. In this environment, principals must remain calm captains of ships sailing through unpredictable storms.
Yet the public, especially those who have never stepped into school leadership, often imagines principals to be autocratic or wasteful. Calling them rogue is failing to understand the invisible battles they fight daily. Most principals are not tyrants; they are exhausted professionals trying to keep institutions alive on budgets that died months ago. They borrow food on credit from suppliers who are also bleeding financially. They negotiate debts, chase school fees, plead with the Ministry, and still show up smiling at assemblies. They must maintain the façade of control even when internally they are drowning.
Consider the pressure points they juggle at once. If the school buys insufficient food, the students revolt. If they buy enough food but on credit, the suppliers threaten to withdraw services. If they reduce non-essential costs, the Board questions their priorities. If they increase fees to survive, the Ministry clamps down. Every decision creates friction. Every action has consequences. And every mistake is judged harshly by a society that has little understanding of what school leadership entails.
It becomes even harder when you remember that Kenyan teenagers today are not like those of the past. They have access to information, opinions, and online narratives that shape their expectations. They are more vocal, more demanding, and more aware of their rights – but not always their responsibilities. A slight dissatisfaction can escalate into murmurs. Murmurs become unrest. Unrest becomes threats. And threats, in many schools, have ended in fires. It is a tragic reality that when teenagers are dissatisfied, they do not write petitions – they burn dormitories. Principals, therefore, live in constant fear that any tension – real or imagined – could lead to the destruction of millions worth of infrastructure within minutes.
The hardest part of the principal’s work is its loneliness. When the school succeeds, everyone celebrates the students and teachers. When the school fails, everyone blames the principal. When the government delays capitation, no one calls to apologize. When parents default on fees, no one sends a message of understanding. But when the school misses a single meal, the principal becomes the villain. Their work is invisible until something goes wrong; only then does the spotlight turn harshly upon them.
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And yet, day after day, they wake up before dawn, walk through the school inspecting kitchen stores, checking on security, talking to staff, solving student issues, responding to Ministry memos, managing expectations, mediating conflicts and planning lessons. They supervise teachers, inspire learners, negotiate with Boards and still find time to attend funerals, community meetings and government trainings. They carry burdens that the public rarely sees.
To call Kenyan principals resilient is an understatement. Their work is difficult, thankless, and emotionally draining. Yet they persist because they understand that at the heart of everything are the children, their education, their safety, their future. Principals hold the system together, often with nothing but courage and creativity.
If the nation truly understood its daily predicament, it would treat them with more respect. It would fund schools adequately, support them fully, and appreciate the complexity of their roles. Because behind every thriving school is a principal who has sacrificed comfort, sleep, peace and sometimes personal safety.
The truth remains: principals in Kenya perform some of the hardest, most unappreciated work in the education system. And until you have walked a day in their shoes – even just once – you will never truly understand.
By Ashford Gikunda
Ashford teaches English and Literature in Gatundu North Sub-county and serves as Dean of Studies.
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