By MERCY MUTEMI 

Communication Student,  Chuka University 

University life is often described as a time of growth, discovery and opportunity. However, for many students, it is also a period marked by financial struggle and constant worry about survival. Rising living costs, limited financial support and increasing academic demands have forced students to find creative ways to sustain themselves. Some take part time jobs while others start small businesses. For one fourth year, a veterinary student, Simon Wanjiru, survival has taken an unusual but innovative direction which is hatching eggs inside his small bedsitter. 

Inside his bedsitter residence near the campus, an improvised business quietly operates.  In one corner of the room, cartons are carefully arranged under warm bulb lights which hold dozens of eggs. This is not an ordinary storage but a home-made incubator designed to hatch chicks.

The student who is pursuing degree in veterinary medicine, uses his academic knowledge and practical skills to run the small enterprise. With limited financial resources, he could not afford a modern incubator machine. Instead, he improvised using locally available materials such as cardboard cartons and electric bulbs to provide the warmth needed for the eggs to hatch.

According to him, the idea came from necessity rather than choice. Like many Kenyan university students, he struggled to meet daily expenses, pay rent and afford basic needs. The financial burden pushed him to think beyond traditional student jobs. ‘’I had to find a way to support myself,’’ he explains, ’’Buying a professional incubator was expensive, so I decided to use what I had and apply what I learned in class.’’

The small business requires patience and dedication. The student carefully monitors temperature levels, regularly checks the eggs and ensures the environment remains suitable for hatching according to the marked dates numbered in the eggs. Despite the challenges, the project has started to generate income through the sale of chicks to local poultry farmers and nearby residents.

Running the business alongside academic work is not easy. Balancing lectures, assignments and the daily management of the incubation process demand discipline and time management. Yet the student remains committed seeing the venture not only as a source of income but also practical experience in his field of study.

His story reflects the broader reality facing many campus students today. Economic hardship has become a common experience, forcing learners to become entrepreneurs even before graduation. Students are increasingly turning to innovation as a survival strategy. Experts note that such initiatives demonstrate resilience and creativity among young people. The high cost of education and living expenses continue to push students into challenging situations, where survival often depends on personal initiative.

Despite the difficulties, Simon Wanjiru remains hopeful about the future. He believes the experience is preparing him for life after university and shaping his entrepreneurial skills. ‘’I see it as more than just a business,’’ he says, ‘’It is a lesson in resilience and step towards my future career.’’

His improvised egg hatching project may appear simple but it represents a powerful symbol of determination. In the face of economic struggle, students are not merely surviving, they are innovating, adapting and creating opportunities where non-existed before.

As financial challenges continue to shape campus life, stories like his reveal a generation determined to hatch hope from hardship.

By TERRY MWIHIA 

Second Year BA Journalism and Mass Communication Student,  Chuka University 

On most mornings, he wakes before sunrise, packs his lunch, and leaves home with quiet determination. By evening, he often returns the same way he left silent, hopeful, but unemployed.

For a man who cannot hear, discrimination has never been silent. It reverberates. It echoes. He was born deaf. But he was not born incapable.

Growing up at Kerugoya School for the Deaf and later at Kuja School for the Deaf, excellence followed him naturally. Prize giving days were overwhelming so many awards that his mother sometimes helped him carry them back to the dormitory. Leadership seemed stitched into him. In college, he even vied for student leadership, finishing third among both deaf and hearing students.

“I’ve always known I can lead,” he says.

From a young age, he dreamed of becoming an engineer. Mathematics and science were his world. But ambition often collides with systems not designed for everyone. When he joined college to pursue technical studies, he quickly realized that higher education offered little accommodation. There was no sign language interpreter. Group discussions excluded him. He borrowed notes and studied alone. In courses heavy with mathematics, isolation became his greatest obstacle. Eventually, he failed exams and dropped out.

He tried again at another institution that admitted deaf students. But the facilities were poor, and fees were overwhelming. His mother, a single parent supporting two children, could not sustain both his education and his sister’s schooling. Once again, his studies ended unfinished. “I know I’m bright,” he insists quietly.

For a brief moment, life seemed to align. In 2018 he joined a government sponsored youth employment program and studied an IT related course. He later secured an attachment at Huduma Centre. It was the best year of his life.

He wore suits to work. Delivered assignments diligently. His supervisor trusted him so much that he bought him lunch regularly and even gifted him a shirt. There, his ability spoke louder than silence. But attachments end. He returned home unemployed, older, capable, but still unseen.

For persons living with disabilities in Kenya, his story is not isolated. Recent 2023–2024 estimates place unemployment among persons with disabilities between 33 percent and 60 percent significantly higher than the national average. Youth with disabilities face even steeper barriers, particularly in competitive job markets that prioritize fluent verbal communication and rigid academic qualifications.

In May 2025, Kenya enacted the Persons with Disabilities Act, introducing stricter enforcement measures. The law mandates that all employers with 20 or more employees must reserve at least 5 percent of their workforce for persons with disabilities. Employers are legally required to provide reasonable accommodation including workplace modifications and assistive support. Non-compliance can attract fines of up to KSh 2 million, with severe violations leading to imprisonment.

The Act also introduced incentives: private employers can apply for a 25 percent tax deduction on salaries paid to employees with disabilities and a 50 percent deduction for costs incurred in modifying workplaces. On paper, inclusion is no longer optional. In practice, opportunity still depends on everyday attitudes.

He carries a quiet wish: to live in a country were communicating in sign language is not unusual. “It gets frustrating when I look for a job and someone asks how I will work, how I will communicate with co-workers,” he says. “It feels like they already decided I cannot.”

The discrimination is not confined to construction sites. At banks, tellers have accused him of ignoring them irritated that he does not respond to questions he cannot hear. In hospitals, explaining symptoms becomes an exhausting exchange of gestures and hurried notes, hoping he is understood correctly. Even seeking medical care can feel like negotiation.

While national estimates suggest that up to 40 percent of persons with disabilities may be employed depending on methodology, he questions who those numbers represent. “Even in that percentage,” he says, “how many are people who are deaf or visually impaired?”

Inclusion, he has learned, is not only about quotas. It is about communication. With a long-standing passion for construction, he began seeking work at building sites not as an engineer, but as a mason’s helper. He carried stones. Mixed cement. Took on the smallest manual tasks.

Finding work proved harder than lifting bricks. Each time a foreman realized he was deaf, the response was familiar. “There is no space.”

Some times there was laughter. Some times impatience. Some times quiet dismissal. His written English was mocked, misunderstood as broken rather than recognized as structured differently from spoken language.

One rejection remains unforgettable. While seeking attachment, a supervisor told him there were no vacancies. The following day, his mother visited the same office. Suddenly, there was space. That was when the echoes grew loudest. The law may promise inclusion. But enforcement does not always reach dusty construction sites or small offices where decisions are made quickly and quietly.

Yet once he is given an opportunity, doubt disappears. At construction sites where he secures work, masons compete to have him as their helper. He is efficient. Disciplined. Relentless. The problem has never been his hands or legs only assumptions about his ears.

Before he is allowed to prove himself, however, he must first dismantle suspicion. Many mornings he leaves home with packed lunch and hope. Many evenings he returns without work. The questions repeat: How will you work if you cannot hear? How will you communicate? So, when he is hired, he overworks determined to prove that disability is not inability.

Now in his thirties, he watches agemates advance securing stable jobs, building families, gaining financial independence. He remains hopeful but carries quiet shame. Even relationships have not been spared. Potential partners cite financial instability. Denied work because of disability, denied companionship because of unemployment.  The cycle tightens. Still, he wakes before sunrise. Still, he packs his lunch. Still, he believes.

“I know my potential,” he says. “This is not where I am supposed to be.”

Kenya’s laws speak of quotas, accommodation, and protection. But until inclusion becomes ordinary in offices, hospitals, banks, and construction sites stories like his will continue unfolding quietly across the country. For a man who cannot hear, discrimination is not silent. It echoes. And yet, so does resilience.

By RENNY AKINYI

Second Year BA Journalism and Mass Communication Student,  Chuka University 

Single parenthood in Kenya is no longer a marginal phenomenon, it is a reality that affects thousands of families. Many parents, predominantly women, are raising children alone, navigating economic hardships, social pressures, and emotional strains, all while striving to secure a better future for their children.

The financial burden on single parents is immense. Without a partner to share responsibilities, they bear the full weight of providing for the family, paying school fees, buying food, and managing daily household needs. Beyond finances, the emotional strain is relentless. Single parents often hide their exhaustion and anxiety to remain strong for their children, facing each day with quiet resilience.

Statistics reveal the scale of the issue. Globally, 15–25% of households are headed by single parents. In Kenya, nearly 80% of single-parent households are led by women, many of whom are divorced, abandoned, or have chosen independence. Organizations such as the Single Parent Initiative and the Single Mothers Association of Kenya highlight that unemployment, high living costs, and societal changes are among the key drivers of this growing trend.

Despite these challenges, children raised by single parents often develop a remarkable sense of responsibility and self reliance. They learn to appreciate the efforts behind every meal, gift, and small act of care, understanding that family is defined not by numbers but by the strength of the bonds between those who love and support each other.

Yet, resilience alone cannot shoulder the burden indefinitely. Single parents need practical and sustained support from both government and society. Access to affordable childcare, financial assistance, flexible working conditions, and targeted social programs can help reduce the daily pressures they face. Community-based initiatives and non-governmental organizations also have a critical role in providing mentorship, emotional support, and empowerment opportunities.

The government, in particular, must recognize single parenthood as a pressing social issue. Policies that prioritize economic empowerment, social protection, and healthcare access for single-parent households are long overdue. By easing financial strain, expanding parental leave benefits, and providing subsidized childcare, Kenya can help these families thrive rather than merely survive.

Single parenthood is not a sign of weakness it is a testament to courage and determination. These parents quietly embody resilience, nurturing the next generation under circumstances that would challenge even the strongest of individuals. Supporting them is not only a moral obligation but an investment in the future of Kenyan society. Without deliberate interventions, many will continue to struggle in silence, balancing survival with the hope of giving their children a brighter tomorrow.

It is time for policymakers, communities, and the private sector to step up. By recognizing the realities of single parenthood and putting in place structures to support these families, Kenya can transform the silent struggle of single parents into stories of opportunity, stability, and lasting social impact.

By MACKLINE ACHIENG ODHIAMBO 

Second Year BA Journalism and Mass Communication Student,  Chuka University 

Homes are meant to provide safety, warmth and love but sometimes they become places of fear and pain. Domestic violence does not only affect the two people involved in the conflict; it often leaves the deepest scars on the most innocent members of the family; the children. While adults may argue, shout, or fight, children stand in the shadows, absorbing every painful moment. For them, the echoes of violence do not disappear when the noise fades; they linger in their hearts, shaping their childhood and sometimes their entire future. 

Domestic violence is sometimes aided by silence and fear of reprisals after reporting |ILLUSTRATION

 I was not born blind the situation caught up with me while growing. At the age of 5 years, I was exposed to a violent environment which started when dad lost his job due to his drunkenness and reporting late at the office. The once known respectable man of stature now is the talk of the village, a bad example to the upcoming generation, a failed father and a bad seed in the community. The neighbors became distant all over sudden and their children were no longer associating with us. Home started feeling foreign.

 We wake up every morning long before sunrise. The quiet hours before school are our only moments of peace. When night falls the atmosphere at home changes. Sometimes I wish I could stay back at school when the day closes. My fellow children are so eager to return to their home while I'm full of hesitations and my mind is piled up with worries. My only wish is that may today's episode end early so that we can have enough rest like other children. 

Everyday what begins as a simple disagreement often escalate into shouting, insults and sometimes physical fight. My elder sister Jane always hides us in her small bedroom covering our ears and eyes as our mom cries and dad slams the doors, throwing objects across the house. 

Mom gets at least three scars every day. She is totally a shadow of herself. Her body is occupied with bruises, ripe wounds and a lot of dark marks on her healed wounds. My question is why does she choose to stay yet her life is at high risk. 

 Home is no longer a safe space, instead it has turned into a battle field where I constantly fear of the next outbreak of anger. The tension has slowly crept in every part of my life. In school I'm always lost in thoughts and sometimes shedding tears unknowingly. Teachers notice my struggles in concentration. I have become unusually quiet and no longer want people in my space. I feel so different from them. Teachers are worried that my grades are dropping after every assessment. 

While other children laugh and play during breaks, I would be found locked in latrine behind classrooms, fixed in corridors whipping my heart out.

 I'm always worried of my younger sister who has resolved to violence. She is constantly caught up in cases like fighting classmates, failure to follow instructions and is always lonely. Before joining high school, there was this huge fight that changed situations. Dad came home drunk as usual but this time he was with other two alleys. He called mom a shameless hoe whom he married out of pity.

 He struggled to drug mom from the kitchen, Jane took the pot of boiling water from the stove and aimed at the three men. Unfortunately the hands slipped and the hot water landed on my face and my scream caused the overwhelming tension to cool. I was rushed to the hospital but the damage was already severe, my retina was affected and eventually after so many tests I was declared partially blind. 

A few weeks later mom was diagnosed of a terminal illness due to internal bleeding and untreated wounds. The illness did not take it easy with her. She struggled to fight it but eventually we lost her. Her death acted as an eye opener to dad. He quit alcohol though with a lot of struggles. He tried amending the father -children bond but it was too late for him. My elder sister resented him so much, while my younger sister feared him. I became his number one enemy, the sight of him made me sick.

 I joined guidance and counseling sessions in high school, and in my second year, I was elected the group leader. The aim was to assist my siblings overcome the past occurrence and help other children experiencing the same. Domestic violence has become a silent crisis affecting families in communities around the world. 

While the physical injuries suffered by victims may heal with time, the emotional wounds experienced by children often last much longer. For these children, the constant exposure to conflict creates an environment of fear and uncertainty. With my persistent effort, my younger sister gradually became a better version. My dad became the chief counsellor of our small village, always helping in family disputes and advocated for a homely environment for children in the community.

 Jane becomes a church nun, she couldn't change her perception in marriage and that hurts me because I have failed to talk her out of the bad experience but I hope she finds happiness in her decision. 

"I was born out of wedlock, and my dad always resented me. He often called me the jinx in the family. Any misfortune is always blamed on me. My mom who is ever protective of me bares every insults and beatings. One night dad threw a stole at mom. The mark on the wall scares me every day, I thought I was going to lose mom that day, I was so scared that I eloped from home, luckily I was taken in by an old lady who felt pity upon hearing my story. I vowed never to return home for the sake of the love I got for mom. 

You could notice the sigh of relief in Aisha after sharing her story during the counselling. Children in violent homes always feel helpless. They may want to help or protect the abused parent but lack the strength or authority to intervene. This feeling of helplessness can lead to deep emotional trauma. Some children blame themselves for the violence, believing they somehow caused the conflict. Education also suffers in that a child living in a chaotic home experiences lack of enough sleep, failure to attend to homework and assignments and no peaceful environment for studying causing dropping of grades, limiting them from future opportunities. 

The psychological impact can even be more damaging. Studies have shown that children raised in violent households are more likely to experience depression, anxiety, and low self-esteem. They may struggle to trust others or form healthy relationships later in life. For some, the cycle of violence continues into adulthood, either as victims or perpetrators.

Despite the seriousness of the problem, many cases of domestic violence remain hidden. Cultural expectations, fear, and shame often prevent victims from speaking out. The community therefore plays a critical role in identifying and supporting affected children. A neighbor who offers a safe place space can make a significant difference. Schools should also provide guidelines and counselling sessions to help these children process their experiences and begin their journey towards healing. Organizations working to combat domestic violence also emphasize the importance of breaking the silence surrounding the issue. 

Public awareness campaigns encourage victims to seek help. Public awareness campaigns encourage victims to seek help and remind communities that domestic violence is not a private matter but a social problem that affects everyone. Responsibility to protect these children does not only lie with social workers or authorities. Families, community and society as a whole must recognize the devastating impact of domestic violence and work together to prevent it. We should avoid ignorance and make people's business our concern sometimes.

 Domestic violence may occur behind closed doors, but its consequences reach far beyond the walls of a single home. They shape the emotional well-being, education, and future of the children who witness it. By acknowledging the problem and taking collective action, society can help ensure that these silent victims are finally heard — and that their childhoods are no longer stolen by violence. I’m glad I helped a lot of children overcome fear and depression, most of them have excelled beyond expectations and have very healthy families. How I wish I could regain my sight and see the beauty of life that I yearned of in my childhood. A home filled with love and safety can nurture confident and hopeful individuals. But a home shadowed by violence risks raising a generation burdened by pain and fear. The choice lies with society: to ignore the silence or to listen and act effectively for the sake of our children.

By CHRISTINE MOSETI

BA Journalism and Mass Communication Student,  Chuka University 

The silent storm which exists in Nairobi's leaf-filled suburbs and Kisumu's active street areas consumes middle-class residential areas. The "Njau" or "Ochieng" family appears to succeed because they attend church on Sundays and their children study in elite schools and they maintain a good reputation in community activities. The "Happy Valley" image of the family disappears when the gates close behind them.

A dysfunctional family is not simply one that argues because human relationships contain natural conflicts. The system operates through conflict, misbehavior and neglect which occur as regular events that establish automatic life patterns. The family unit which should provide safety to its members breaks its fundamental promise because family members experience emotional outbreaks that create dangerous situations. 

The Anatomy of Dysfunction

What does dysfunction look like in a Kenyan context? It shows itself through specific harmful behavior patterns which operate to create difficulties for others.

The Enmeshed Family: Here, boundaries are non-existent. Parents share their adult problems with their children through parentification and they expect their children to maintain total emotional dedication to them because they consider any display of independence as a violation of trust.

The High-Conflict Home: Family members communicate through yelling, they use "silent treatments" and they engage in physical threats. Children develop the habit of permanently observing their parents because they need to determine when their parents will become angry again. 

The Perfectionist Trap: Parents will only show their love for their child, when the child achieves the highest academic marks or secures an important professional position. The requirement demands complete success because any error will lead to parents delivering harsh criticism instead of providing support.

The "Elephant in the Room" The whole family works to maintain a hidden truth which they protect because their parents suffer from addiction or mental health problems. People move through their day with extreme caution because they need to maintain their distance from the main issue.

The Roles We Play to Survive

Children in these environments become unable to experience normal childhood activities. They survive through the uncontrollable situation by adopting strict character patterns which they will maintain throughout their lives.

The Social Ripple Effect

A dysfunctional family creates its most destructive impact because its harmful behavior spreads beyond home boundaries. Psychologists warn that these dynamics create a cycle of "generational trauma." Children who grow up in homes without proper conflict resolution methods will face difficulties in their future work environment and bring harmful behavior into their future marriage.  

The "family unit" serves as the foundation of Kenyan society but rising family dysfunction has led to increased depression rates, substance abuse cases and domestic violence incidents. The nation loses both productivity and mental health when home environments act as stress sources instead of providing safe spaces.

Breaking the Chain 

The first step to healing is the hardest: Breaking the silence. Our culture often requires us to "protect the family name" through all available means because silence serves as the power source that maintains family dysfunction. 

Acknowledge the Reality: Admitting that your upbringing was painful isn't "disrespecting your parents" it's an act of honesty necessary for your own growth. 

Set Boundaries: Healing requires people to create physical or emotional distance from their toxic family members who present themselves as problematic. 

Therapy has evolved into an essential tool, which many people now view as an essential part of their treatment, because it has become an essential part of modern therapy. Unlearning your adult survival mechanisms through counseling will help you discover the reasons behind your current existence. Our society must develop a new definition of family, which places emotional safety above social acceptance. The hidden storm must be revealed because it prevents us from constructing homes which will genuinely raise the next generation of Kenyans.

By SAMUEL MWAURA

Second Year BA Journalism and Mass Communication Student,  Chuka University 

In many universities today, education is no longer the only thing occupying students’ minds. Between lectures, assignments and exams, many students are also juggling side hustles just to make ends meet. For many students, financial pressure begins almost immediately after joining university. Tuition fees, accommodation, transport, food, basic personal needs and academic materials add up quickly. While some rely on support from their families or government loans, the money is often not enough to cover daily expenses. As a result, students have been pushed to find creative ways to survive economically while still pursuing their academic dreams. 

For many students, the day does not end after leaving the lecture hall. Instead, it marks the beginning of another shift. Some turn to small businesses such as selling clothes, snacks, or cosmetics within campus. Others offer services like graphic design, hair braiding and tutoring. These hustles, though small, help students cover daily expenses such as food, transport and data bundles.​ For many, the hustle is not about luxury. It's about survival.

Digital opportunities have also opened new doors. With access to smartphones and the internet, students are venturing into online freelancing, content creation, social media management and online trading. Platforms that support remote work allow students to earn money without leaving campus, making it easier to balance academics and income generation.

However, this balancing act is far from easy. Managing coursework alongside a hustle often leads to long days and sleepless nights. Some students admit that they sometimes have to choose between attending a class and attending to customers or completing orders. The pressure can be overwhelming, especially during exam periods.

Despite the challenges, these hustles also teach valuable life skills. Students learn entrepreneurship, financial management, communication and resilience. Many say their side businesses have made them more independent and confident about their future after graduation.

Economic hardship has also strengthened the spirit of community among students. Friends often support each other’s businesses by becoming loyal customers or helping with marketing through social media. This support system helps small student businesses grow and creates a sense of solidarity within campus life.

Education has traditionally been seen as a pathway to economic stability. Yet today’s students are proving that survival sometimes requires innovation even before graduation. Their determination to juggle lectures and livelihoods reflects not only the realities of modern student life but also the resilience of a generation determined to succeed despite financial challenges.

As the cost of living continues to rise, the student hustle culture is likely to remain a defining feature of campus life. From lecture halls to late-night business plans, students are rewriting what it means to pursue higher education in tough economic times.