In August this year, Daystar University magnanimously hosted one of the largest and most energetic gatherings of Kenyan writers in recent memory. Organised by the Creative Writers Association of Kenya (C-WAK), the meeting was more than a gathering; it was a cultural pulse check. We came together not just to celebrate creativity, but to interrogate its state in the nation. Among the many issues we deliberated on, one stood out painfully: the loss of critical reading skills.
Looking back at that gathering now, and in view of my recent observations, I am convinced we are in a profound crisis. We often speak of political or economic challenges, but rarely do we acknowledge the erosion of the inner life of our nation. I am worried about the slow thinning of our reading capacity, which has considerably affected our imaginative competencies.
I often think about my own formative years. I remember, as a young person, picking up War and Peace by Leo Tolstoy, a 1,352-page Penguin’s finest thin print, and devouring it in four days. I did the same with many other classics, all bought from Bookpoint on Moi Avenue. Those books opened worlds for me. They shaped my mind and broadened my empathy. They taught me to appreciate the complexity of human life. Through them, I discovered the deep interior corridors of human experience. But can we say the same of many young people today? Can we honestly claim that they engage with serious literature in ways that nurture depth, patience, and imagination? Sadly, the answer is no.
We must be honest with ourselves and admit we are living through the noisiest period in human history. Our days are punctuated by notifications, and our thoughts are interrupted by an endless stream of digital chatter. Silence, which is the natural ally of imagination, has become almost extinct. In this relentless storm of noise, something precious is quietly slipping away: our ability to read deeply.
Consuming literature demands patience. It demands that we digest difficult ideas calmly. We have to enter another person’s world and move slowly through it. A novel unfolds at its own pace. A poem reveals its secrets only to those who linger. Drama requires us to think between the lines. But digital culture, with all its conveniences, is built for speed and not depth. TikTok rewards brevity. Instagram prefers spectacle. X (formerly Twitter) elevates the sharpest punchline, not the most thoughtful idea. In the online world, meaning must arrive in seconds or it will never arrive at all.
This culture is shaping the new Kenyan reader. The new reader struggles to sustain attention. Paragraphs feel long. Sentences feel heavy. A book feels like an inconvenience. What we are witnessing is not a loss of intelligence. I think it is a recalibration of the mind toward immediacy.
Paradoxically, the rise of noise has made literature more urgent than ever. To read seriously today is, to me, an act of cultural defiance. With every page turned, we reclaim our attention from machines that feed on distraction. We remind ourselves that human experience cannot be compressed into a clip or a curated hashtag. Hence, we rediscover nuance, the very thing digital life flattens.
Do not get me wrong. I am not seeing danger in technology. No. Technology is merely a tool. The real danger is that we are allowing it to shrink our imaginative capacity. A society that no longer reads is a society that will find its creativity slowly drying out. Young people are growing up in a cultural environment where everything must be fast, short, and sensational. That is why the world of literature has begun to feel foreign. I think this is why Sweden has opted to remove digital gadgets from the classroom and go traditional. This crisis is personal, social, and national. Ours is a nation losing its readers, its thinkers, and its soul.
That is why our homes, schools, and community spaces must become sanctuaries of reading. A child who sees adults reading will naturally reach for books. A classroom that treats literature as a living conversation, not an examination burden, will produce curious minds. A society that values storytelling will always find its way back to itself. But I am preaching to a lost generation. If you want to know that we have a crisis, just imagine that no constituency has reported using NG-CDF to build a community!
We must also rethink how we introduce young people to the world of books. Reading is not a punishment. It is not a relic of the past. It is a gateway to imagination, empathy, and self-discovery. In a world hungry for quick answers, literature teaches us to sit with questions. It teaches us to listen, to reflect, and to wrestle with complexity. Technology can support reading, but it cannot substitute for it. E-books, audiobooks, and online libraries are welcome companions. Reading demands that we slow down. It demands that we silence the noise long enough to hear ourselves think. That is what we are trying to do at the Francis Imbuga Memorial Library at Wanda Gardens in Kakamega town.
As a nation, if we are serious about nurturing creativity, we must reawaken our reading culture. We must make books visible in homes, schools, and in public life. We must celebrate our writers, support our libraries and encourage our young people to wander through the wide landscapes of stories. This is the best way to push back against the shrinking of our minds.
Prof. Egara Kabaji is a writer, educationist, and researcher based at Masinde Muliro University of Science and Technology. He is also the Vice President of the Pan African Writers Association (PAWA) and the Chancellor of Mt. Kigali University, Rwanda.egarakabaji@gmail.com
