Kenya has a strange but beautiful habit: we can turn ordinary people into national conversations overnight. One minute, a young man is throwing shadow punches in a dusty corner of life; the next minute, the whole country is discussing his jab as if it is part of the national budget.
That is exactly what happened with Portifas Odipo, popularly known as Majembe and Ferdinand Omondi, famously branded Mbavu Destroyer or otherwise ‘weka mawe’. One entered the ring carrying confidence like a borrowed lion. The other arrived with enough hype to wake sleeping ancestors. And Kenya? Kenya became a full-time ringside commentator. Social media exploded, opinions multiplied, and every Kenyan suddenly developed the analytical powers of a retired heavyweight coach. But beneath the noise, memes, chest thumping and verbal uppercuts, there was a lesson schools cannot afford to ignore: talent is not a side dish in education; it is a full meal.
For too long, many schools have treated talent like that child who comes late to assembly; noticed, tolerated, but never fully welcomed. A learner can sing like a swallowed radio, run like rent is chasing them, draw like heaven outsourced design work to them or box like thunder in human form; yet still be told, ‘Focus on books only.’ That mindset is not just outdated; it is educational witchcraft. It has buried potential, mocked giftedness and forced children to apologise for the very thing that could feed them in future.
This is where the Competency-Based Education (CBE) curriculum comes in with the wisdom of a parent who has finally seen the light. CBE is trying to rescue us from the old confusion that believes intelligence is only measured by a school uniform and multiple-choice questions. It is built on a truth that should have been obvious long ago: not every child is wired to shine through written exams alone. Some learners communicate through movement, performance, design, innovation, persuasion, rhythm, leadership, sport, storytelling or practical skill. If schools fail to recognise that, then schools become graveyards of greatness dressed in timetables and report forms.
The fight between Majembe and Mbavu Destroyer reminded us that talent often arrives looking rough, loud and unpolished. It does not always come wearing polished black shoes, neat handwriting and Queen’s English. Sometimes talent comes in slippers. Sometimes it comes with broken grammar and unbroken fire. Sometimes it comes as the child who is ‘too energetic,’ ‘too noisy,’ ‘too dramatic,’ or ‘too stubborn.’ Yet hidden behind those labels may be a future athlete, actor, leader, broadcaster, poet, entrepreneur or national champion. The problem is that schools often diagnose uniqueness as a disturbance. A child who cannot sit still may not be a problem; they may be a possibility. A child who talks too much may not need punishment alone; they may need a microphone and a debate club.
What made this boxing spectacle even more instructive was not just the punches but the platform. Before the lights, interviews, cameras and national hype, these men were not established mainstream stars. But once a stage was created, once visibility entered the equation, people paid attention. Suddenly, there were tickets, predictions, online debates, sponsorship whispers, and public interest. Kenya did what Kenya does best: it amplified a story until it became a movement. And that is exactly what schools need to understand: exposure creates value.
Many gifted learners remain invisible not because they lack ability, but because nobody has ever built a stage big enough for them to stand on. A school without talent platforms is like a farm that waters only one crop. Yes, the maize may grow. But what about the beans, the onions, the mangoes, the avocados and the strange but glorious child who was never born to be only an exam machine? If CBE means anything, it means schools must stop behaving like factories and start behaving like talent greenhouses. Sports days must stop looking like an accident of traffic. Music clubs must stop being treated like decorative nonsense. Drama festivals must stop being a side entertainment. Creative arts must stop being the neglected cousin of ‘serious subjects.’ Talent showcases should not feel like lunch-break emergencies supervised by a tired teacher with a whistle and a blood pressure monitor.
The other powerful lesson from this fight is that raw talent alone is not enough. Excitement can attract attention, but excellence requires training. One of the things many people noticed in the Majembe, Mbavu Destroyer showdown was the contrast between energy and preparation. Hype can make noise, but discipline wins rounds. And that is where schools matter deeply. A gifted child without coaching is like a Ferrari driven by a goat. It may move fast, but nobody should trust the direction.
The work of a school is not merely to identify talent and clap like overexcited relatives at a ruracio. The work of a school is to shape, discipline, refine and stretch that talent until it becomes competence. That is the heart of CBE. It is not simply about discovering gifts; it is about developing them into usable, productive, life-giving abilities. A learner may have boxing power, but they need discipline. A learner may have musical brilliance, but they need structure. A learner may have writing talent, but they need editing. A learner may have leadership charisma, but they need ethics. A learner may have comic genius, but they need communication skills and confidence. If schools only celebrate talent without training it, they are producing noise, not excellence.
There is also something else this fight exposed beautifully: confidence is a competency. Part of what made the event unforgettable was not just the fists but the presence. The slogans, the self-belief, the branding, the aura, the boldness. Mbavu Destroyer did not enter public imagination like a shy church mouse requesting permission to exist. He entered like a man who had signed a private contract with audacity. And whether one won or lost, one thing was undeniable: confidence can carry a person into rooms where timidity would have died at the gate.
Schools must pay attention to that. One of the hidden goals of CBE is not just academic content but self-expression, communication, confidence, identity and problem-solving. We are not just educating children to pass exams and disappear into adulthood like lost parcels. We are supposed to be raising learners who can stand, speak, create, present, collaborate, perform, solve, defend ideas and own space without collapsing like wet mandazi under pressure. The classroom should not only produce children who can answer questions. It should also produce children who can ask meaningful questions.
Perhaps the greatest tragedy in education is not failure. It is a misplacement. It is when a child gifted for one arena is forced to live and die in another. It is when schools reward only one type of brilliance and then act shocked when society later celebrates talents they ignored. Kenya is full of adults who were once punished for the very gifts that now pay their bills. The comedian was once called a distractor. The footballer was once accused of wasting time. The artist was once told to stop doodling. The musician was once branded as unserious. The speaker was once told to keep quiet. The child was not empty. The system was blind.
That is why the lesson from Majembe and Mbavu Destroyer goes beyond boxing. It is about recognition. It is about dignity. It is about a curriculum that finally understands that education must not only prepare children to remember information, but also to become something useful, powerful and fully alive.
READ ALSO: How curriculum design in CBE is turning complex concepts into powerful learning
So let schools stop asking only, ‘What did this learner score?’ That question is too small for the future. Let them also ask, ‘What can this learner do? What problem can they solve? What gift are they carrying? What happens when this ability is nurtured instead of ignored?’
Because somewhere in a Kenyan classroom right now, a future champion is sitting quietly… or loudly… probably disturbing others, failing neatness, forgetting punctuation, but carrying enough fire to shake a nation.
And if CBE is taken seriously, perhaps Kenya will finally stop producing only exam survivors and start producing confident, competent, creative, skilled human beings. That is the real knockout.
By Angel Raphael
Angel Raphael is an educator, trainer and creative writer passionate about language, literature and transformative learning.
You can also follow our social media pages on Twitter: Education News KE and Facebook: Education News Newspaper for timely updates.
>>> Click here to stay up-to-date with trending regional stories
>>> Click here to read more informed opinions on the country’s education landscape
