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What if we let the young ones discover their paths after KCSE?
When I cleared high school, I had to, more or less, figure out the next few steps by myself.
At the end of November, we will have almost a million young adults at home. These are our children who have cleared high school and are entering the next phase of life.
For context, the population of Lamu, Isiolo, and Samburu counties combined is 873,000, which means that parents will have three whole counties, plus some more, to contend with.
Judging by what this generation has shown us, some parents will feel like they are dealing with a million challenges. Which is why teachers deserve tons of gratitude.
Thank you, waalimu, for holding the fort for four solid years and guiding our children to drink from the fountain of knowledge.
Taking initiative
After clearing high school, like many people during that time, my peers and I went to tarmac in Nairobi’s Industrial Area. Back then, casual jobs were easier to get. You didn't necessarily need a tall relative to get a kibarua. An ID is all it took.
“What are you kids doing here?” older folks in factories used to ask us. “Have you been chased from home by your parents?”
We were baby-faced. We looked like kids. But we reasoned like grown-ups.
“Nope,” we replied, “we don't want to depend on our parents for items like clothing.”
For parents with children who have cleared high school, encourage them to take the initiative. Counsel them to, as we used to say in the streets back then, tia wira. That is Kikuyu for, respect work.
Taking the initiative and respecting work (irrespective of its nature) will immeasurably profit them.
When I cleared high school, I had to, more or less, figure out the next few steps by myself. Sure, my dad wanted me to go to college ASAP.
Immediately after the Kenya Certificate of Secondary Education (KCSE) exam results came out, a friend, Ras, who we cleared high school with - and whose father and my pops were friends - joined Kenya Polytechnic to study cartography. This course was shoved down Ras' throat by his father.
Our fathers were old school. They lived by the maxim that, after high school, they paid our fees - and we studied anything - and then they let go of us.
“Asepuonji; modong’ en sauchi,” they used to say DhoLuo. Which means, “I've educated you; the rest is up to you”.
Ras didn't even want to study cartography. The first time he stumbled on it was in the poly's prospectus. He didn't even know what it meant.
“Why can't you be like your friend Ras and study any course at the polytechnic?” my dad kept haranguing me. “I'll pay for it at the drop of a dime.”
My dad thought that Ras was leaving me behind. That I was wasting valuable time.
“Right now, I don't exactly know what I want to do,” I carefully chose my words. “But what I know is I don't want to go to the polytechnic.”
“Plus,” I told myself inwardly, because it was treasonous to say such things to a parent, “I don't want to do just anything.”
In the fullness of time, I was vindicated. It took me a while to find what I was created to be- which was literally right at my fingertips. And when I did, my dad was extremely proud.
On the other hand, throughout his course, Ras was frustrated. He did the course because that was what was expected of him. Not once did that diploma, which was a dictatorial decree, benefit him. Sadly, he died a frustrated man.
Parents, please don't force courses and careers down your children's throats. Please. You're killing their morale. And don't compare and push them to compete with their peers. Let them run their own race at their own pace.
Allow them to organically find themselves. Granted, it may take longer. But the joy is not in arriving, but in learning and unlearning throughout the rollercoaster.
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