A chronic underfunding, silent lecture halls and Ksh.7.9B to calm lecturers’ storm

This is after the government gave in to their demands following weeks of industrial action that paralysed learning in public universities across the country. 

The beginning of the semester in September 2025 was like no other…when midnight September 17 struck, the much-hyped strike started. Lecturers and university staff had warned the government that if it did not clear their Ksh.7.9billion arrears, the chalk would drop, and it did.

On day one of the strike, the silence in the halls of learning was replaced by a roar outside. Across the country, lecturers protested loudly, their clarion call clear.

“We are not asking for a favour! This is our Collective Bargaining Agreement (CBA). This is a legally binding document! They treat us like we are begging. We will not teach on empty promises anymore!” they said. 

I spoke to students, especially the new first-years who had only been on campus for two weeks. The disappointment was palpable. For them, this was a dream deferred.

“I just finished high school last year. My parents struggled to get my fee. Now, I have to go back home? My entire academic year is now in limbo because of this fight. It’s not fair to us,” one student said.

The government, as expected, obtained a court order declaring the strike illegal. But the union leaders, seasoned by previous battles, were resolute. They defied the order, arguing the legal system could not stop their legitimate fight for pay. From the onset, it was clear that they were very organized.

As the days turned into weeks, the passion of the protest intensified…from the nearly daily colorful protests, lecturers turned university grounds into playfields and dancehalls, quite literally

It was nothing as I had seen in my years of covering lecturers’ strikes. Maseno University, my alma mater, was the star of this strike; every day they showed up, dressed to the day’s theme and protested through dance and art…others played soccer and competed in games.

But as the lecturers doubled down, the students began feeling the heat not just from missing classes, but also from the growing financial burden of staying on campus. They began leaving their rooms to find financial sustenance outside through side hustles

“I’m back in my estate. I am helping my aunt at her kiosk. I should be learning organic chemistry right now, but instead, I'm selling soda and bread. Every day is a loss. I try to study, but it's hard when you don't know when the semester will restart,” says a student. 

Behind the scenes, the negotiations were in chaos. Every time new hope arose, it was quickly crushed. The Education Cabinet Secretary maintained that the government simply did not have the full Sh7.9 billion immediately available. The union leaders were unwavering: 

No classes until arrears are paid in full. The pressure on everyone, the lecturers who weren't getting paid, the students who were stuck, was immense. We were all caught in a limbo of conflicting truths and constant rumours. Every morning, I woke up checking for a break in the news, often only to find more conflicting reports.

By the middle of the seventh week, the economic and social costs became too high to ignore. 

Parliament's Education Committee stepped in, publicly grilling both the Ministry and the unions. The pressure escalated until, finally, the highest offices in the land were forced to act. The learners, driven to desperation, threatened to join their lecturers on the streets…the tension escalated

“If you don’t pay them, we will also go to the streets; it is their right to be paid,” the students said.

It was no longer just a labour dispute; it was a national crisis. We heard whispers that the Deputy President himself was involved in the mediation effort.

The government, finally conceding to the severity of the situation, shifted its stance. The initial demand for a small, token payment gave way to a concrete proposal: the arrears would be paid, but in two phases. A breakthrough seemed imminent.

On Day 49, November 5, 2025, it was over. A Return-to-Work Formula (RTWF) was signed. The terms were that the Ksh.7.9 billion arrears would be paid in two tranches—the first significant payment by December 2025, and the balance by July 2026. The unions also secured a firm deadline for the completion of the new pay negotiations.

The relief was immediate. The campuses were once again alive. But the work was only just beginning. The academic calendar was now in disarray, demanding an intense, condensed semester to recover the lost time.

Covering those 49 days was a lesson on defiance, compromise and the painful cost of delayed justice for learners. It also brought to the fore the deeper, systemic issue: the chronic underfunding of public universities.