January is the decisive month for many vulnerable families. It is harsher for the families that appreciate the transformative value of education.
These families have seen the fortunes of households change within their lifetimes. Some are their relatives; some are their neighbours. They have seen the practical meaning of education as the universal equaliser.
Those who lived in leaking grass-thatched shacks have changed to semi-permanent structures. They have seen mud and cow dung-smeared shelters graduate into brick and quarry stone houses.
Families that could not afford a meal a day, proper bedding and decent clothing, have seen a facelift through education. Now they know every household needs at least one person with an income, and a heart to support the rest.
Education is a pathway to this possibility. Families need just one compassionate child, with a good education, to change the fortunes of the rest. That one child, with a humane heart, becomes the bridge for others to break the vicious cycle of absolute poverty.
The number one question for vulnerable families is, how will the children go to school? Some of those children are moving to the next class in high school. Some have heavy tuition arrears for the years past. Now they have the New Year school requirements to consider.
Continuing students opened the new school year on Monday. Others will join Form 1 on January 15. While people of means take January for granted, those living on the edge see the month as a time of strain.
Different families struggle in their unique ways to educate their children. Three cases of the familiar struggle stand out:
Family One: A widow from Kibiri ward, Karachuonyo, Homa Bay county, has been in and out of police cells many times during her struggle to keep her children in school.
Brewing chang’aa, an illicit drink, is her source of income. The money pays for her children's education, feeds and clothes her family, and covers their medical bills.
The widow has a son at the university. Another son is entering Form 4, at a national school in Migori county. Another is joining Form 1. She has two more children — one in primary and another in junior secondary school.
The widow was arrested a week before Christmas. She was still in the police cell on Monday — the day schools opened. The children fend for themselves whenever police detain their mother. The children were boiling green maize during the Christmas Day home visit.
Police officers treat the middle-aged widow as a criminal. They have arrested her countless times over the years. Sometimes the police come with rage. Sometimes the police carry away or destroy her brewing gear.
Sometimes rogue police officers demand bottles of chang’aa from her. Sometimes others demand protection fee. But those who know the widow’s struggle admire her resilience. Her love for education for her children is exemplary.
There is good news for the son in Form 4: A benefactor might pay his school fees this year.
Family Two: The family has sold parts of their inherited land to keep their children in school. They had hoped the firstborn son, who qualified to join university in 2017, would be the bridge for the rest of the large family.
The son dropped out of university two years after admission. The family intends to sell more land to pay for the son’s training in a technical institute in Migori.
Family Three offers a living example of the transformative value of education. The firstborn son in this family decided to forgo ‘Advanced Level’ and university education, even though he was qualified to pursue higher education.
The son, from a polygamous family, was among the top students at Kisii High School in 1976. He opted for a course at the Kenya Water Training Institute, where he studied for a diploma in hydrology.
He sacrificed to help his peasant father pay for the education of his many brothers and sisters. The elder son’s sacrifice paid off for the family when one of his brothers picked up the mantle. Then the elder son also had his own to educate.
The love for education, from Family Three, has produced 13 professionals. But the shine of education makes sense if the torch is passed across generations. You don’t light, and then hide a lamp under the bed.
