A curriculum meant to help poor communities ended up hurting them most
Across the highlands and dry plains of rural Kenya, a reform meant to bring equity to education has instead left schoolhouses empty and children walking hours across rough terrain to reach classrooms that can hold them. The 2017 Competency-Based Education overhaul demanded science labs, specialist teachers, and expanded infrastructure from schools that had none — and so families voted with their feet, withdrawing children one by one until some schools held fewer students than fingers on a hand. What unfolds in Kitui county and beyond is a parable familiar to many developing nations: the distance between a policy's intention and its consequences measured not in kilometers, but in the silence of abandoned classrooms and the lengthening roads children must now walk alone.
- Over 2,000 rural primary schools across Kenya are on the verge of closure or have already shut, leaving communities without the anchor institution that once held them together.
- A curriculum designed to lift low-income schools out of rote learning has instead exposed their inability to meet new demands — science labs, specialist teachers, and expanded facilities that rural budgets simply cannot reach.
- Children like twelve-year-old Maureen now walk more than an hour over rough terrain to reach the nearest functioning school, while families face the wrenching choice between proximity and quality.
- The government has announced mergers and closures for over 2,100 schools, but the schools absorbing displaced students are buckling under overcrowding, trading one crisis for another.
- Rural depopulation is accelerating the collapse — young people leaving for cities, families shrinking, villages quieting — and UN-Habitat projects that Kenya will be majority urban by 2050, raising the question of whether these schools can ever be revived.
On a morning that should have rung with children's voices, Kaliluni Primary School in southern Kenya stands nearly silent. Cows graze between open classroom doors. Three years ago, more than 200 students filled these rooms; today there are five — and on the day a visitor arrives, even they are absent. Twelve-year-old Maureen Mwisiwa walks home alone after finding no teacher, no classmates, no school. Her mother, Josephine Muasya, has already decided: Maureen will transfer to a school eight kilometers away over rough roads, a journey of just over an hour each way. "There is no hope," Muasya says.
The emptying of Kaliluni is not an isolated tragedy. More than 2,000 rural primary schools across Kenya are collapsing in the wake of a 2017 education reform — the Competency-Based Education system — introduced with the intention of moving classrooms away from rote exam preparation toward creative, practical learning. The reform restructured schooling so that primary ended at grade six, with a new junior secondary stage inserted for grades seven through nine, requiring science laboratories, additional classrooms, and teachers trained in specialized subjects. For rural schools already stretched thin, these requirements were impossible to meet. Families began quietly withdrawing their children, one by one, in favor of better-resourced institutions. In Kitui county alone, Sooma Primary closed in 2023 with six pupils remaining; Manooni shut the following year with three. There were no farewell ceremonies. Children simply left.
Teachers describe feeling unprepared rather than unwilling. Training, one Kitui educator explained, has been inconsistent — arriving late or not at all in remote areas. Parents like Tabitha Katingu, who now sends her children on a three-kilometer daily walk, frame the choice with painful clarity: "If a school has not enough trained teachers and other required facilities — why would we waste time there?" Education expert Mark Kasyoki puts the irony plainly: a curriculum designed to address inequality may be deepening it.
The crisis is compounded by a broader demographic unraveling. Rural Kenya is emptying as young people migrate toward towns and cities, families grow smaller, and village life grows harder to sustain. About seventy percent of Kenyans lived in rural areas in 2023, but UN-Habitat projects that by 2050 more than half the population will be urban. The enrollment collapse reaches secondary schools too — 2,700 of Kenya's public secondary schools fall below minimum enrollment, and ten were shuttered earlier this year when teachers arrived to find not a single student waiting.
Education Minister Julius Ogamba has acknowledged the scale of the problem, announcing that 2,145 primary schools will close or merge, with forty-five students set as the minimum viable enrollment. But closing schools has opened new wounds: the institutions that remain are becoming dangerously overcrowded, struggling to absorb the displaced. Dr. Emmanuel Manyasa of the Usawa Agenda research organization warns that the government has been "crisis-managing the transition" rather than planning it. Bernard Musyoki, a teacher who watched his rural school merge and found himself transferred to a far larger one, believes the answer lies in capping class sizes and distributing teachers more equitably. "Every child," he says, "whether in a small rural school or a large one, deserves equal access to teachers, classrooms and learning materials." For now, children like Maureen walk the long roads, and the villages grow quieter.
On a morning that should have been filled with the sound of children learning, Kaliluni Primary School in southern Kenya sits nearly empty. Cows graze between classroom doors that hang open onto rows of abandoned chairs. Three years ago, more than 200 students moved through these rooms. Now there are five—and on the day a visitor arrives, even those five are absent, along with the school's sole remaining teacher. Books lie scattered across classroom floors. A girl in uniform, Maureen Mwisiwa, twelve years old, walks home alone after showing up to find no one there.
Maureen's mother, Josephine Muasya, has decided to transfer her daughter to another school where her friends have already gone. The new school is eight kilometers away over rough roads. There is no public transport in this remote corner of Kitui county, more than two hundred kilometers east of Nairobi, so the children take a shortcut across rugged terrain. What used to be a ten-minute walk to school has become a journey of just over an hour. Muasya had hoped the government would restore the school, bring more teachers, upgrade facilities. But she has stopped hoping. "There is no hope," she says.
The collapse of Kaliluni and more than two thousand other rural primary schools across Kenya traces back to a sweeping education reform introduced in 2017. The Competency-Based Education system was meant to move away from exam-focused teaching toward something more creative and practical—a curriculum designed to strengthen schools in low-income communities. Instead, it has devastated them. Under the old structure, children attended primary school through grade eight before moving to senior school around age fourteen. The new system ends primary at grade six, inserting a new intermediary stage—junior secondary school—for grades seven through nine, with expanded science and practical subjects. Primary schools were suddenly expected to house these intermediate grades, which meant they needed science laboratories, additional classrooms, teachers trained in specialized subjects, and new learning materials. Most rural schools had none of these things.
In Kitui county alone, the consequences have been stark. Sooma Primary School closed in 2023 after enrollment fell to six pupils. Manooni Primary School shut the following year with only three registered students. There were no formal farewells, no speeches. Children simply left, one by one, for schools with better resources. Mark Kasyoki, an education expert, describes the infrastructure gaps as acute. "Many rural schools lack basic facilities such as laboratories, yet learners are expected to pursue science and technical pathways," he told the BBC. The irony is sharp: a curriculum designed to address inequality may be deepening it.
Teachers themselves feel unprepared. One educator in Kitui county explained that the problem is not unwillingness to teach the new system but inadequate preparation. "The training has been inconsistent, especially in rural schools," the teacher said. Parents like Tabitha Katingu, who transferred her two children and now sends them on a three-kilometer daily walk, face an impossible choice. "We want the best for our children. If a school has not enough trained teachers and other required facilities—why would we waste time there?" she asked. The decision to close schools is not solely about curriculum, though. Rural Kenya is emptying. Young people are leaving for towns and cities in search of work. Families are having fewer children; life in the villages has become too expensive. Sarah Mumbua from Kilukuya village explained it plainly: "Young people want to marry, but life is hard. Everything is expensive, and many fear they cannot provide for a family."
The demographic shift is profound. About seventy percent of Kenyans lived in rural areas in 2023. UN-Habitat predicts that by 2050, more than half the country's population will be urban. The enrollment crisis extends beyond primary schools. Of Kenya's 9,605 public secondary schools, 2,700—mostly in remote areas—have fewer than the required 150 students. Ten secondary schools were closed earlier this year when teachers arrived to find not a single student waiting.
In January, approximately 1.1 million students—the first full cohort to complete the new system—moved to senior school, a milestone the government celebrated. But Education Minister Julius Ogamba has acknowledged the rural problem. He announced that 2,145 public primary schools would close or merge, and that the minimum viable enrollment for a primary school is forty-five students. "It makes no sense to have a school with just ten students when you need a headmaster, a classroom, a watchman and a teacher," he said. Yet closing schools is creating new crises. Schools that remain open are becoming dangerously overcrowded, struggling to absorb students from shuttered institutions. Dr. Emmanuel Manyasa, head of Usawa Agenda, a Kenyan education research organization, warns that the government skipped critical planning stages. "We have been just crisis-managing the transition, which is not sustainable," he said. Bernard Musyoki, a teacher who spent seven years in a rural school before it merged and he transferred to a much larger institution, sees the problem clearly. "We are moving from one extreme to another," the thirty-six-year-old said. He believes the government should cap class sizes and distribute teachers more evenly. "Every child, whether they are in a small rural school or a large one, deserves equal access to teachers, classrooms and learning materials," he said. For now, children like Maureen walk the long roads to distant schools, and rural communities grow quieter.
Citas Notables
The CBE curriculum should strengthen schools, especially for low-income communities, not weaken them— Tabitha Katingu, parent in Kitui county
It makes no sense to have a school with just ten students when you need a headmaster, a classroom, a watchman and a teacher— Education Minister Julius Ogamba
La Conversación del Hearth Otra perspectiva de la historia
Why did the government think moving junior secondary into primary schools was a good idea if rural schools couldn't handle it?
The curriculum itself was sound—designed to be more practical and less exam-focused. But the implementation assumed resources that didn't exist. No one did a real cost analysis before rolling it out. Rural schools were told to absorb new grades and new subjects without the labs, the trained teachers, or the money to build them.
So it's not that the curriculum is bad, it's that it was imposed on schools that were already struggling?
Exactly. A well-resourced school can probably make it work. But when you're already running on fumes, asking for science labs and specialized teachers is asking for the impossible. The irony is brutal—a reform meant to help poor communities ended up hurting them most.
What happens to the teachers when a school closes?
Some transfer to larger schools, like Bernard Musyoki did. But those larger schools are now packed. He went from teaching twenty students to classes that are dangerously overcrowded. The system hasn't redistributed teachers fairly—it's just moved the problem around.
And the kids in those remote areas—they just have to walk further?
Yes. Maureen's walk went from ten minutes to over an hour. Multiply that by thousands of children, and you're not just talking about inconvenience. You're talking about kids arriving exhausted, or not arriving at all. Some families are relocating just so their children can attend school.
Is anyone saying the closures should stop?
The education researchers are. They're saying the government rushed implementation without a real plan. But the minister's logic is also hard to argue with—you can't run a school with five students. The real failure was not planning for what would happen when you changed the system.
So what's the way out?
That's the question no one has answered yet. You can't reopen schools in villages that are emptying. You can't undo rural migration. But you also can't keep closing schools and expect the remaining ones to absorb everyone without collapsing. It requires investment, better teacher distribution, and honest planning—none of which happened the first time.