JSS teachers' story shows why it's a dog's life for many

Some days ago, social media was abuzz with the story of a divorced couple who decided to bare their hearts before the world. Using the same YouTube channel, the man told his version. Then, on the same platform, the woman narrated hers. By going public, they invited us into their story. As human beings, we naturally took sides, gave opinions, and drew lessons. Once a story leaves your lips, you must be ready to listen to how the world retells it.

That, my dear reader, is the nature of life. The world does not revolve around money. No. It revolves around stories. Stories shape our perceptions, values, and destinies. As I always say, nations, like individuals, are sustained by the stories they tell and those they forget. This brings me to another story. It is the story of the Junior Secondary School (JSS) teachers and the Teachers Service Commission (TSC). This is the story I promised to engage you in this week. It is a story that began as a national dream but now reads like a tragic script of betrayal.

Let us go back to the roots. When the Competency-Based Curriculum (CBC) was introduced, we were told that a new dawn had arrived. We designed a system we proudly called 2–6–3–3–3: two years of pre-primary, six of primary, three of junior secondary, three of senior secondary, and then university or college.

It was a beautiful narrative that promised a seamless transition and a well-planned educational journey for our children. I celebrated, but perhaps too early. I forgot that while we educationists envision progress within a logical framework, our work is easily twisted by the political class, which operates on an entirely different frequency.

But somewhere along the way, we lost the plot. When did we agree to collapse Junior Secondary into primary schools? Which scientific research informed this decision? When did we rewrite the script’s plot, and did we meaningfully consult the audience, the Kenyan people? What we are witnessing today is a betrayal of that original promise.

Naturally, we expected structures to be ready: Classrooms, laboratories, learning materials, and a clear management framework as we rolled out CBC. But in our typical fashion, poor planning, haphazard execution, and disregard for wise counsel, we moved ahead of ourselves. If you didn’t know, there is disquiet and discontent across the land.

In many schools, young JSS teachers, armed with degrees and specialisations, find themselves at odds with their environment. Primary school teachers, who have for years mastered the art of multi-subject teaching, now feel threatened by these newcomers with their subject-specific training. The result? Tension, confusion, and resentment.

Every morning, across our nation, a young teacher wakes before dawn. She prepares her notes and walks to school with quiet hope. She is a character in a national drama called Junior Secondary School, an experiment once heralded with fanfare as the triumph of reform. But by dusk, her hope is frayed. She has been asked to teach subjects she never studied. Her contract is temporary.

Her pay is meager, barely enough to meet the simplest of needs. Her professional identity, once a source of pride, is now blurred and uncertain. In the staffroom, she hears nothing but the collective sighs of fatigue, the quiet sound of dreams deferred, ambitions postponed, and potential stifled. She stands at the front of the class, tasked with shaping young minds, yet her own future feels precarious, suspended in a system that seems to have forgotten her. This is not merely the story of JSS teachers. It is the story of Kenya itself, a nation that promises grand visions but delivers little, that drafts visionary scripts yet abandons them midway. For what does it mean when a teacher, entrusted with shaping young minds, cannot shape her own future? What does it say of us when the custodians of knowledge are treated as afterthoughts in the very system they sustain?

I do not think we can afford this unfinished chapter. The government and the Teachers Service Commission must return to the original plot and restore dignity to these teachers. Let us be transparent in recruitment, respect their contracts as JSS teachers, pay should reflect value; their role must reflect purpose.

Let us get it clear that a JSS teacher is not a footnote in Kenya’s education story. She is the protagonist. She carries the nation’s future in her chalk-stained hands. To silence her plight is to silence the very promise of education.

We have heard the government’s story, and we have heard the teachers’ story. It is time to find a lasting solution. Let us set up Junior Secondary as a distinct segment with clear structures. Let us be transparent in employing and promoting teachers. Let us restore coherence, dignity, and direction to our education system.