Do our leaders watch news to see the cries of Kenyan parents?

In Kenya today, the stark contrast between the struggles of ordinary citizens and the actions of those in power has never been more glaring. As the nation navigates the Competency-Based Education (CBE) transition—with over 1.13 million learners moving into Grade 10 senior secondary schools in January 2026—thousands of families face heartbreaking barriers to education. Single mothers, hawkers, and low-income parents often bear the heaviest burden, unable to afford even the basic requirements despite government assurances of support.

Recent reports paint a painful picture. By mid-January 2026, only about a quarter of eligible Grade 10 learners had reported to school, leaving hundreds of thousands at home. In counties like Nakuru, Nandi, and Nyeri, parents queue desperately, pleading for more time to pay fees, uniforms, books, and other charges. One parent described the ordeal: “Every time you get to school, you are informed of other charges. It is one payment after another. Poor parents like me are exhausted.” Another family in Makueni resorted to breaking stones for income, while a single mother in Transmara spoke of being overwhelmed by rising costs amid a high cost of living and reduced household earnings.

These stories are not isolated. The transition to senior school has amplified long-standing issues: hidden levies, delayed capitation funds, and the economic squeeze from inflation and unemployment. Youth unemployment hit alarming levels in 2025, and many households allocate a disproportionate share of income to education—sometimes ten times their monthly earnings. Bright students, including girls who excelled in the Kenya Junior School Education Assessment (KJSEA), are turned away or left stranded, their dreams deferred or shattered. For single parents, often the sole providers, this means choosing between food on the table and a child’s future.

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Yet, amid this crisis, headlines frequently feature large donations to religious institutions. These announcements, often made during church services, have become a recurring pattern. While framed as personal or faith-based generosity, they spark widespread outrage. Critics question the optics: How can millions flow to symbolic projects when public schools face teacher shortages, lecturer strikes over unpaid arrears and families begging for mercy?

The backlash is not new. In early 2025, similar donations (including Ksh 20 million pledges) triggered protests, with youth attempting to occupy churches and demanding accountability for what they called “taxpayers’ money.” Some denominations, like the Catholic Church, have outright rejected such contributions on ethical grounds, citing the risk of political entanglement and perceptions of “dirty money.” Pastors and bishops have warned against accepting funds from politicians, arguing it compromises the church’s independence.

Defenders of these donations maintain they stem from personal conviction and support community development. Ruto has defended his actions, emphasizing faith and rejecting critics as those who “don’t believe in God.” However, the timing and scale fuel perceptions of misplaced priorities.

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In a country where education is constitutionally guaranteed as a right, and where the government allocates billions in capitation (Ksh44.2 billion released for Term One 2026), the disconnect feels profound. Day secondary schools remain tuition-free under the Free Day Secondary Education program, with capitation at Ksh 22,244 per learner, but boarding fees are capped (up to Ksh 53,554 annually in urban areas) and additional costs persist. When leaders publicly commit vast sums elsewhere, it raises questions about resource allocation and empathy.

This disparity erodes public trust. Television news segments showing tearful mothers walking long distances with children in tow, only to be turned away, stand in painful contrast to footage of multimillion-shilling pledges. If leaders tuned in regularly, these images should indeed stir conscience. Yet the pattern continues, suggesting a deeper issue: a political culture where symbolic gestures to influential groups take precedence over systemic fixes for the vulnerable.

True leadership demands prioritizing the most urgent needs – ensuring every child, regardless of background, accesses quality education without financial ruin for families. Redirecting focus toward timely fund disbursement, addressing hidden charges, hiring more teachers and supporting marginalized parents could transform lives far more than any single donation. Until that shift happens, the nausea many feel watching these stories unfold will persist. Kenya deserves better: a government that feels the pain of its people and acts accordingly.

By Ashford Kimani

Ashford teaches English and Literature in Gatundu North Sub-county and serves as Dean of Studies