UTUMISHI KWA WOTE

Breathe in… then out.

And remember the date: 28th May 2026.

A date that will now sit quietly in the hearts of many Kenyans like an open wound that refuses to heal. A date that turned parents into mourners, classmates into survivors, and dreams into ashes.

This piece is dedicated to the girls of Utumishi Academy. To the survivors who now carry memories too painful for children to carry. To the families whose homes have suddenly become unbearably silent. And to the sixteen young souls whose names should never be forgotten. May the Lord grant comfort to the grieving and refuge to those whose hearts are shattered.

On the 28th of May 2026, Kenya was defeated again. Not by war. Not by famine. But by the very systems meant to protect its children.

Somewhere in the darkness of that night, terrified girls screamed for help. Somewhere, a mother’s phone rang with news that would permanently alter her life. Somewhere, a child who had dreams of becoming a doctor, a lawyer, a teacher, or simply growing old, never made it out alive.

And the painful truth is this: there is no language strong enough to explain the grief of losing a child.

How does a mother sleep for the first night knowing her daughter is gone forever?

How does a father walk back into a house filled with memories but emptied of laughter?

How does a young girl continue with life after watching her friends helplessly trapped in flames?

These are not ordinary questions. These are wounds. And Kenya must stop pretending that such wounds disappear after candlelight vigils, national mourning, and political speeches.

The country has lost sixteen young warriors. Their deaths must never become another statistic buried beneath the next news cycle. These deaths cannot be in vain.

What hurts even more is that school fires are no longer shocking in Kenya. They have become disturbingly familiar. Less than twenty-four hours before the Utumishi Academy tragedy, there were reports of fires at Gacharage Girls in Murang’a and Chesamis Boys High School. We hear these stories so often that we are beginning to normalize them. That should terrify all of us.

So why are our schools constantly becoming places of fear instead of safety?

There are conversations this country has avoided for too long.

The first is our obsession with the boarding school system. Kenya continues to cling to an outdated educational culture that separates children from their families for months at a time under the belief that suffering builds discipline. But many of us know the truth. High school was traumatic. For some, it was the beginning of emotional wounds they still carry into adulthood.

We have borrowed so much from systems that are no longer even fully embraced in the societies we admire. The Western world itself has increasingly moved toward day-school systems, family-centered education, and emotional support structures. Yet here, we continue glorifying the idea of children growing up away from home.

Education should never come at the cost of emotional safety.

Parents are not visitors in a child’s life. They are part of the process. A child needs the presence of home, guidance, affection, and emotional grounding. That connection matters.

Media personality Shaffie Weru once said:

“As long as I have breath in me, I will not let another man raise my children. That’s my job.”

And perhaps those words carry more weight today than ever before.

The second conversation Kenya keeps avoiding is mental health.

We are a country deeply uncomfortable with emotional truth. We rush to provide statements, compensation, and press conferences, but rarely ask what happens to the minds and hearts left behind.

At Utumishi Academy, police officers flooded the school compound trying to calm devastated parents. Yet many Kenyans were left questioning how emergency response systems failed so badly, especially considering that police barracks and the National Youth Service facilities are reportedly only minutes away.

This is what happens when a country assumes instead of prepares.

Sixteen girls paid the ultimate price for that failure.

And after the cameras disappear, another battle will begin, the psychological one. Survivors will struggle with nightmares. Parents will wrestle with guilt and anger. Some students may never feel safe sleeping in a dormitory again. Trauma does not end when the fire is extinguished.

Mental health is not a luxury. It is not weakness. It is not a “Western concept.” It is survival.

If this tragedy teaches Kenya anything, let it teach us that emotional wellbeing must become part of our education system. Schools should not only prepare students academically; they should protect them psychologically. Counseling should not arrive after disaster strikes. It should already exist before tragedy happens.

And finally, there must be accountability.

As Kenyans, we are tired of grieving without answers.

The Cabinet Secretary for Education and the Cabinet Secretary for Interior Security owe this country more than condolences. They owe the nation transparency, responsibility, and urgent solutions. How are schools being inspected? Are emergency systems functioning? Are dormitories safe? Are students psychologically supported? How do we ensure that no parent ever receives such a phone call again?

Because no family should have to identify their child through tragedy.

No student should die in a place meant to shape their future.

And no nation should become comfortable burying its children.

Perhaps the most painful thing about the Utumishi Academy fire is that the girls who died trusted the adults around them. They trusted the school. They trusted the system. They trusted Kenya.

And Kenya failed them.

But maybe the true measure of this country will not be found in how loudly we mourn, but in whether we finally choose to change.

May we remember those sixteen girls not only with tears, but with action.

May their names disturb our conscience long after the headlines fade.

May every parent hold their child a little tighter tonight.

And may this nation finally understand that children are not statistics, political talking points, or temporary news stories. They are living souls entrusted to us by God.

Breathe in… then out.

And remember the date: 28th May 2026.

The night Kenya lost its daughters.