A great institution isn’t known by its seating capacity, but by its impact capacity. Don’t judge the greatness of an institution by its student population. Numbers alone don’t tell the whole story; values do.
My piece about Prof. Laban Ayiro’s reflections during the second Archdiocese of Nairobi Teachers’ Day at St. Mary’s School, Msongari, has elicited a myriad of positive responses. Teachers, educationists, students, and alumni from different parts of the country have resonated with the message and the values shared. It has been reposted on several platforms and continues to elicit profound reflections on the role of values in education. That response alone affirms what many have always known but rarely articulate: that character, humility, and integrity are the true marks of a great institution. That is what sound education does—it outlives the graduation gown and examination scripts. It endures in the habits, choices, and quiet convictions of those it shaped.
Daystar University, through the example of Prof. Ayiro, has demonstrated that the length of its buildings does not measure the impact of an institution, but by the depth of its values. I may not be able to respond to all the feedback the article has generated, but I would like to share one message that genuinely moved me. A teacher friend of mine, herself an old girl of Daystar, called me past midnight. She sounded excited, almost breathless with enthusiasm. She told me that the piece was trending on the Daystar Old Students Facebook page. She told me she had forwarded it to the Vice Chancellor himself and mentioned that she knows me. I was quiet for a moment. Not out of disbelief, but deep gratitude. I have never been so humbled.
She went on to tell me something I had not known. That on graduation day, Daystar University gives its graduands towels. A gesture known as the “Order of the Towel.” That single sentence struck a chord in me. She explained that the towel symbolises the biblical story in the Gospel of John, where Jesus stooped down to wash the feet of His disciples. It is a ceremony of humility, of humanity, of servant leadership. In that one act—giving a towel rather than a trophy—Daystar captures its identity. It’s a university that sends its graduates into the world not just to lead, but to serve.
There are many universities in Kenya and beyond. Some are known for their academic strength, others for their sprawling campuses and prestige. But Daystar, it appears, has chosen a higher path. A quiet but resolute path that says: “Before you speak, serve. Before you lead, kneel. Before you teach, live it.” And perhaps that is why Daystar graduates carry something intangible long after they leave—something that makes them stand out not just in interviews, but in relationships, in work ethic, in perspective.
The “Order of the Towel” is more than a symbolic ceremony. It is an identity statement. It is Daystar saying to its students: “We have not trained you to be bosses. We have trained you to be stewards. You do not go into the world to impress. You go to influence. And the way you influence is not through superiority, but through service.” In that sense, a towel becomes more powerful than a certificate.
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Reflecting on that, I realise why Prof. Ayiro’s address touched so many people. It was not because he is eloquent, though he is. It was not even because he is learned, though he certainly is. It was because he lives what he says. He models it. From shared toilets to unlocked lecture halls to environmental stewardship, everything he spoke of pointed back to a central truth: values, not policies, build institutions. Trust, not surveillance, sustains order. Presence, not power, inspires loyalty. And most of all, leadership is not about being followed, but about being worth following.
That late-night call was a reminder of what we often overlook. That education is not just about knowledge. It is about formation. It is about producing men and women who will walk into boardrooms, hospitals, classrooms, parliaments, ministries, and even homes—and carry with them a towel. Quietly. Without needing to be noticed. Without shouting their school motto from rooftops. They just live it.
That’s what good education does. It writes lessons not on blackboards but on hearts. It is invisible, but unmistakable. It teaches not just facts, but frameworks. It instills not just skill, but soul. And when you find an institution that does that—truly does that—you do not need billboards. The alumni become the advertisement.
To all who reached out after reading the piece—thank you. Thank you for seeing beyond the sentences and into the spirit of what was shared. Thank you for reminding me that words, when shaped by truth and inspired by virtue, still matter. And to Daystar University, and especially to Prof. Laban Ayiro, thank you for modelling what we often teach but rarely live.
May many other institutions borrow a leaf. May our schools produce graduates who wear invisible towels around their necks—ready to serve, ready to lift, ready to lead. Not with arrogance, but with grace.
That is the kind of education this nation needs. And that is the kind of teacher I strive to become.
By Ashford Kimani
Ashford teaches English and Literature in Gatundu North Sub County and serves as Dean of Studies.
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