Supervising Seniors: The CSO ranking mess that’s killing curriculum delivery in schools

There is a silent crisis in Kenya’s education system that many people fear to talk about openly, yet it plays out every day in schools, staffrooms, and education offices. It is a crisis of authority, structure, and professional respect. A Curriculum Support Officer (CSO) is expected to supervise teachers, guide instruction, enforce curriculum standards, mentor school leadership, and report to the secretariat. CSOs sit at the centre of implementation, the bridge between the head of institution and the secretariat, the hinge on which curriculum delivery swings.

Yet here is the bitter truth: in many cases, the CSO is supervising teachers who are in higher job groups than the CSO himself.

That contradiction is not small. It is not a minor administrative gap. It is a serious institutional weakness that threatens the credibility of curriculum supervision and sabotages quality assurance from within. It is like sending a corporal to inspect a colonel, then expecting the colonel to salute. It is like asking a junior officer to enforce discipline among seniors and then blaming him when he fails. It is unfair, unrealistic, and destructive.

The CSO is positioned as the technical link that ensures policy does not remain a document on paper but becomes practice in classrooms. He is supposed to interpret curriculum reforms, advise teachers, strengthen lesson delivery, support professional development, and ensure learning outcomes are improving. He is meant to walk into schools not as a visitor, but as a professional who carries the mandate of curriculum improvement.

But the system undermines him by placing him in a lower grade than the very professionals he is mandated to supervise.

This is where the work becomes painful and complicated. A teacher in a higher job group may listen politely, nod, and even sign attendance sheets, but inwardly dismiss the CSO’s guidance. Not because the advice is wrong, but because the human mind easily reads supervision through the lens of rank. In the staffroom, job group matters. In the corridors of power, titles matter. In the culture of institutions, grade speaks louder than duty. So the CSO becomes a messenger rather than a technical leader, a person who “came to check on us” instead of a professional who came to strengthen learning.

The result is predictable: resistance.

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Sometimes it is open resistance—questions thrown like stones, sarcasm masked as humour, and a deliberate refusal to implement what has been advised. Other times it is silent resistance—slow compliance, selective cooperation, delayed submission of documents, and a subtle undermining of the CSO’s work through indifference. In both cases, the outcome is the same: supervision is reduced to a ritual, not a meaningful professional process.

And this is where Kenya must confront an uncomfortable truth: supervision cannot thrive in an environment where authority is structurally crippled.

You cannot ask a CSO to evaluate teaching practice and curriculum implementation when the teacher being evaluated sees himself as “above” the evaluator. You cannot demand professional accountability from teachers when the system itself creates a hierarchy that contradicts the chain of supervision. It becomes a tug of war, and the CSO is the rope being pulled from both ends—by the head of institution who expects results, and by the secretariat which demands reports and compliance.

This is why the CSO Scheme of Service is not a luxury. It is a necessity.

It is not about rewarding individuals. It is about protecting the integrity of curriculum delivery. It is about professionalising the very people who are expected to drive quality assurance in schools. A clear scheme of service would define the CSO’s role, authority, career progression, and facilitation. It would remove the current confusion where CSOs operate in the grey zone—neither fully empowered nor fully protected, yet expected to deliver high-stakes outcomes.

At the moment, the CSO is treated like a middleman. He is expected to perform like a senior technical officer but compensated and graded like a junior. He is expected to travel, supervise, train, report, and resolve conflicts, but often without the necessary institutional backing. He is expected to challenge poor teaching, enforce standards, and demand accountability, yet he is placed in a position where doing so can trigger hostility and disrespect.

That is not how quality assurance is built.

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A proper CSO Scheme of Service should align the officer’s grade with his supervisory mandate. If a CSO supervises professionals, then the CSO must be graded as a senior professional. The scheme should define clearly what supervision means: not bullying teachers, not policing them, not humiliating them, but providing technical support and ensuring standards are met. The scheme should also spell out boundaries, reporting structures, and the scope of authority, so that supervision does not become a personal war between individuals.

Because when roles are unclear, conflict becomes inevitable.

Worse still, the current arrangement creates psychological strain. A CSO walks into a school already knowing he will face teachers who might not respect his position. He must enforce standards, yet he must also avoid confrontation. He must deliver results, yet he must work within a structure that has already weakened him. Over time, that kind of work environment breeds frustration, burnout, and demotivation. It turns capable professionals into tired messengers who simply “do the rounds” and write reports that change nothing.

That is how systems collapse quietly.

And the biggest loser is not the CSO. It is the learner.

When curriculum supervision is weakened, teaching quality suffers. When professional support becomes ceremonial, instructional gaps widen. When teachers resist guidance, learners pay the price. When education officers are disempowered, schools drift into complacency. And when a nation tolerates contradictions in its education governance, it plants seeds of mediocrity in the classroom.

This is why Kenya must stop pretending that CSOs can deliver excellence while operating under structural disrespect.

A CSO should not be sent to supervise higher-graded teachers without a clear framework that protects his mandate. Supervision must be rooted in institutional authority, not personal courage. If the country wants strong curriculum implementation, it must empower those who are tasked with supporting it. If it wants accountability in teaching, it must create an accountability structure that makes sense. If it wants improvement in learning outcomes, it must stop sabotaging the supervisors and then complaining about poor results.

The CSO is not the enemy of teachers. The CSO is supposed to be their professional support system. But support cannot function when the system itself is contradictory.

It is time to fix this. Not tomorrow. Not next year. Now.

Put in place the CSO Scheme of Service. Align grades with duties. Define authority. Protect the mandate. Facilitate the work. Professionalise supervision. Restore respect. Strengthen curriculum delivery.

Because as long as Kenya continues to place CSOs below the teachers they supervise, curriculum support will remain weak, supervision will remain symbolic, and the education system will continue to fight itself from within.

By Hillary Muhalya