A massive storm is brewing in Kenya’s education sector, and it’s threatening to cripple public learning institutions nationwide.
As Term Two rolls into its second month, not a single shilling of capital funding has reached public schools—leaving headteachers scrambling to keep their doors open amid what experts now describe as an education emergency.
School principals are sounding the alarm. According to the Kenya Secondary Schools Heads Association (KESSHA), the crisis has reached a tipping point—and unless the government releases funds immediately, learners could be sent home in droves.
“We are no longer managing schools—we are simply trying to survive,” said a visibly frustrated KESSHA chairman Willy Kuria. “We’ve stretched every resource to the limit.”
Despite bold government promises that capitation funds would be disbursed at the start of the term, schools have been left in financial limbo, their operations choked by ballooning costs and dwindling support.
Adding salt to the wound, the Ministry of Education recently shifted focus to rebranding its data system from NEMIS to KEMIS—a move critics call tone-deaf in the face of collapsing school infrastructure.
“What good is data when students can’t stay in school? When there’s no food or electricity?” asked one school administrator. “This KEMIS platform won’t keep the lights on.”
Parents are equally outraged. With no government funding in sight, schools are increasingly shifting the financial burden onto families—despite ministry regulations outlawing unauthorized charges.
“They told us education is free,” lamented Silas Obuhatsa, head of the National Parents Association. “Now we’re paying for repairs, security, even toilet paper. Where is the government?”
In January, Education Cabinet Secretary Julius Ogamba vowed to crack down on illegal school fees. But nearly five months later, schools are still charging “development” and “emergency” fees with zero accountability.
To make matters worse, school leaders say the actual capitation amount has been quietly slashed over time—further squeezing already overstretched institutions.
“We don’t just teach,” Kuria said. “We feed students, pay staff, maintain labs, and run facilities. This all costs money—and we’re running on empty.”
Two years ago, former CS Ezekiel Machogu pledged to raise the per-student capitation to KSh22,244. Today, schools are still surviving on KSh17,000—and even that hasn’t arrived.
But the crisis doesn’t stop at classrooms. In a disturbing turn, reports show hospitals are now turning away teachers due to unpaid dues under the government’s AON-Minet healthcare plan.
“Teachers are paying out of pocket while deductions are still taken from their salaries,” said KUPPET Secretary General Akello Misori. “It’s not just unjust—it’s dangerous.”
Meanwhile, a controversial proposal by Prime Cabinet Secretary Musalia Mudavadi seeks to slash hardship allowances by reclassifying areas previously considered under hardship. The move has ignited fierce backlash from teachers’ unions.
“This government is punishing those who sacrifice most,” Misori declared. “What message are we sending to educators working in remote, high-risk regions?”
From empty classrooms to unpaid medical bills, Kenya’s education system appears to be unraveling. And unless drastic action is taken, the cost may be borne by the very future it’s meant to protect.
