How greed for the fruits of ‘uhuru’ birthed ghost of exam cheating

?London was in political chaos and in Nairobi, anarchy appeared inevitable. At the time, Kenya was working incessantly to shake off the last vestiges of colonialism but citizens were pulling in different directions with sections of the colony agitating for Unilateral Declaration of Independence after secession.

Undeterred, like a rolling stone that gathers no moss, Kenya hurtled down the path of self-governance, unsure of the architecture of her government. In this ensuing confusion of state building, a powerful cartel went to work. This was October 1963 and in two months, Kenya would join the community of states as a free entity.

As the fathers of the nation bickered in Lancaster about the Constitution and the destiny of yet-to-be-born state, some racketeers plotted to gift their children a bright future so that they could benefit from the fruits of uhuru (independence).

At the time, police officers were demotivated and normally patrolled the streets on foot and were evidently ill-equipped to decipher the crime being schemed. However, the consequences of the scheme would haunt the country for generations.

Printed and distributed

Two weeks before the start of Kenya African Preliminary Examination (KAPE), the then Director of Education Kyale Mwendwa and the chief inspector of schools marched into the office of his Permanent Secretary with some urgency.

Mwendwa breathlessly told his boss, Kenneth Matiba, that there had been a major leakage and in effect KAPE papers were out in the streets.

“Two weeks before KAPE was taken, Kyale Mwendwa, the director of education and the chief inspector of schools walked into my office and told me they had received reports that KAPE papers had been leaked and that the leakage was widespread,” Matiba says in his autobiography, Aiming High.

The PS then asked his officers to check again even as he requested for help from the police. Further investigation 24 hours later disclosed that practically every child in the country had seen the papers.

After a meeting of senior education officials, it was decided that a new examination should be set and the compromised examination discarded. Unanimously, the officers felt that was there was still time to have the new examination printed and distributed.

According to Matiba, “that sounded logical and so I gave the go-ahead to the officials. I also obtained additional funds from the Treasury to meet the contingency. These plans were, however, scuttled a few hours later. This was when Education minister Joseph Otiende presented the problem to the Cabinet during a meeting.

Unprecedented measures

Otiende was over-ruled and the cartels had a field day when the government decided that the leaked examination, which was circulating in all parts of the country, would be administered to the estimated 70,000 candidates.

And two weeks after the euphoric country lowered the Union Jack for the last time and the spanking new national anthem sang, the reality of the examination cheating sank.

The results were, as Duncan Ndegwa, then Secretary to the Cabinet said, disastrous because almost all the children in the country obtained A grades. This presented a nightmare for a country which had no teachers or sufficient secondary schools as Kenya was still trying to see how the Sh1 billion at its disposal could be used to meet the needs of a new state.

Previously, the colonial government had crafted its education policy such that there were very few places in secondary schools -- majorly run by missionaries and other private associations. Keen to control the number of graduates churned out by colleges, the colonial government strictly controlled the number of candidates who passed primary school leaving examination.

In January 1964, the Ministry of Education took unprecedented measures to determine who got admitted to secondary schools. Since majority of candidates had scored grade ‘A’, primary school heads were directed to present the performance of their pupils in class examinations. In short the inspectorate decided that for a candidate to qualify, the ministry revisited their previous academic results. Those who had consistently done well were allocated Form One slots.

However, the country was still littered with top achievers who could not get Form One admission because there were no vacancies.

The developing crisis assumed political overtones because at the time, education was devolved and was under the majimbo system. The regional governments which were under the local assemblies were responsible for secondary education but they had no funds. It was equally impossible to expect the impoverished parents to build more schools so that their children who had passed the examinations could be accommodated.

At the same time, both the regional and the central governments could not convince the parents that their children were not that clever and that the grades they had were fake.

While the central government grappled with the demands for more teachers, the regional governments were simply impoverished, and converted any available space into a secondary school.

To fill the void

The regional government decided to open new secondary schools to accommodate the bright candidates.

The ministry could not resist the move even as it made it absolutely clear that there were teachers for the Harambee secondary schools. To fill the void, the regions decided to recruit anybody who was available.

“In the end they came down to even appointing ‘O ‘ level holders as head masters and teachers in Harambee schools,” Matiba wrote.

Even then, it was not possible to absorb all the students as there was no money to create classes for them leading to instances where secondary schools were attached to primary schools.

Although Kanu was in charge of the government, its strongholds too complicated the problem especially in Central and Nyanza where the thirst for education was unquenchable. Central, for instance, wanted more than 150 secondary schools.

Things went out of control because the parents were expected to finance the construction of schools as the regional governments had no money. The fees charged in the Harambee schools were too high because the ministry had no money to pay teachers.

Later, the government started assisting the schools by sending teachers and also started financing some of these schools, easing the parents’ burden.

Duncan Ndegwa has captured these dramatic moments in his book, Walking in Kenyatta’s Struggles: My Story, explaining that the government could not even pretend to supervise the schools which had emerged because of lack of manpower.

He adds, “Some of the schools were not even registered as required by the Education Act and employed unqualified teachers.

At that time, the Cabinet met on Thursdays after every two weeks and the government was operating on a budget of Sh1 billion to run the country at a time policemen had no boots and were patrolling bare foot.

At Independence, Kenya was in desperate need for education and Kenyatta identified this need when he declared that his main goal would be to fight with poverty, ignorance and disease.

It appears that old habits die hard because 55 years later, the ghosts of examination cheating are still haunting the country although some of the Harambee schools have since become reputable institutions.

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