By CLEMENT OWEN

Communication Student,  Chuka University 

On most evenings, the laughter, the smiles, the joy in the faces outside the hostels at Chuka University is loud and clear enough to imply that life at campus is thriving. But behind the laughter unfolds a different reality behind many closed doors. A reality that is marked by worry, sleepless nights and pressure that few male students discuss openly.

A male university student.|ILLUSTRATION 

Kevin Mwangi, a second-year student, says, “You wake up when already tired. You have fees to think about, assignments to do, classes to attend but you have to behave normally like everything is fine.” The weight builds slowly but compounds over time.

Across universities in Kenya, there are growing concerns of male students suffering the weight of burdens they carry. Burdens of financial pressure, academic stress and mental health all alone without seeking assistance. Even though the issues of mental health conversations have grown in the recent years, most young men on campus still opt to stay down all alone. The reason being, the society rewards toughness and discourages weak men.

For Brian Otieno, another student at Chuka University, he had experienced pressure that made him rethink again and again if he had got to Chuka University to learn or to survive. He claims that all this had happened midway the previous semester when he had ran out of ‘everything’ and had no net to fall on; not even the parents back at home. “You start calculating everything, what to eat, what to ignore, what to postpone,” he explains. “And you can’t let people know because they are already judging.”

Brian says that all that has caused him stress that began to affect his concentration in class, affecting his sleeping patterns even though he had tried to dismiss this as a normal life pressure at campus.

A friend and a fellow student, Dennis Karanja, also shares a similar experience where he describes the emotional isolation many male students experience even when they are around their peers. No one feels like opening up even though they are bleeding deep inside with circumstances of their own.

“We do joke a lot, but we never talk about what we are going through,” Dennis says. “We all look okay and happy on the outside, but deep down we are broken.” He further explains that you may not want to be weak in front of your boys and so you just keep pushing. To most of the male students, opening up according to them reveals one thing, and that is weakness. So they choose silence above everything and cry inside.

Mental health experts warns that this culture of silent endurance if left unattended to, will carry serious consequences.

According to a university counseling professional familiar with student wellbeing, it is notable that male students hardly seek help despite being in need of it. "Many male students are conditioned to internalize pressure instead of expressing it,” the counselor explains. “By the time some seek help, the distress has already gone far,” adds the counselor. The counselor further adds that the root cause and the very common cause of all this is entirely linked to financial uncertainty and this has happened in the past years and the cycle keeps repeating.

I asked Kevin what might help male students to open up more. He pauses for a minute before answering. “Maybe we just need spaces where guys can talk without being judged, where we can be heard and be guided accordingly and perhaps have some therapy sessions,” he says.

From the university guidance and counseling office, it is noted that male students consistently demonstrate lower help seeking behavior despite facing challenges. Experts says that part of the solution lies in normalizing peer conversations alongside formal support systems. Dr. Njeri encourages male students to begin creating safe spaces among themselves where honest conversations and discussions about pressure and mental wellbeing can happen without stigma.

“Opening up to a trusted friend is often the first step,” she says. “At the same time, professional counseling provides structured  support that can help students manage stress  before it escalates.”

She adds that early help seeking, whether through peer support or university counseling services, can significantly reduce both emotional strain and academic disruption. 

Until then, many male students will still continue to suffer in silence even though they may claim to be strong independently, they will be crushing inside in silence. And this is a matter that needs to be treated with quick urgency. Mental wellbeing is essential and as an individual, you should protect it like your life depends on it because your life really depends on it.

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.