The death trap our schools have become

The dormitory that was damaged by fire at Utumishi Girls Academy in Gilgil, Nakuru county, on May 28, 2026. [Julius Chepkwony, Standard]

Kenya is mourning, again! Another dormitory. Another inferno. Another group of children trapped between flames and locked exits. Another morning of parents standing outside school gates praying that the body covered with a sheet is not that of their daughter. This time, it is Utumishi Girls Academy in Gilgil.

At least 16 students are dead. Dozens are nursing injuries after a fire tore through a dormitory in the wee hours on Thursday May 28, 2026. Survivors say some girls jumped from upper floors to escape the flames. Parents speak of confusion, panic and emergency exits that may not have opened in time. The country is once again asking the same painful question, how many children must die before Kenyan schools become safe? And perhaps the more uncomfortable question is, when did schools stop being centres of learning and become death traps?

The tragedy at Utumishi Girls is not an isolated incident. It is becoming a tragic pattern Kenyans know too well. In September 2001, the Kyanguli Secondary School fire in Machakos shocked the nation after 67 boys were burnt alive in one of the worst school tragedies in Kenya’s history. The images were horrifying. Charred beds. Melted iron sheets. Parents collapsing in grief. The country promised never again.

But “never again” has become a hollow national slogan. In 2017, nine girls died in a dormitory fire at Moi Girls School in Nairobi. Once more, investigators talked about safety gaps. Once more, leaders promised reforms. Once more, the nation buried children and moved on. Then came Hillside Endarasha Academy in Nyeri in 2024. Twenty one boys lost their lives in another dormitory fire. Again, the country wept. Again, task forces were formed. Again, speeches were made.

Now Utumishi Girls joins the growing list of schools stained by smoke, panic and death. The pattern is terrifying because the warning signs have always been there. Overcrowded dormitories. Padlocked exits. Windows covered with metal grills. Faulty electrical wiring. Schools with no fire drills, no extinguishers, no emergency lighting and no evacuation plans. Some dormitories house more than 200 students in structures that would struggle to safely accommodate half that number.

Many Kenyan boarding schools are built like prisons. They are designed to keep students in, not to get them out during an emergency. At night, the danger multiplies. Children sleep deeply. Smoke spreads quickly. Panic erupts instantly. In darkness, one blocked corridor or locked door can become a death sentence. And yet inspections are often superficial. Safety reports gather dust in offices. Recommendations disappear into bureaucracy. Schools carry on as usual, until disaster strikes and suddenly everyone remembers the dangers that were ignored.

In many schools, students suffer in silence. Some complain about overcrowded dormitories, broken systems and unsafe conditions, but fear being labelled troublesome or indisciplined. Parents, on the other hand, place enormous trust in schools because education in Kenya is viewed almost as a sacred path to a better life. Prestigious boarding schools are treated like golden tickets. Families drain savings, take loans and make painful sacrifices just to secure admission for their children.

But amid the chase for grades and glory, one question refuses to go away, what is the point of academic excellence if children are not even safe in their own dormitories, leave alone the death traps of septic tanks and pit latrines?

The most painful part of these tragedies is the recurring image of helpless parents arriving at dawn. Some still in night clothes. Some barefoot. Some clutching phones that no longer ring because they have made a thousand frantic calls with the hope of being reassured their child is alive. No parent sends a child to school expecting a coffin in return.

The country must stop treating these fires as isolated accidents. They are symptoms of deeper negligence. Kenya does not suffer from a shortage of commissions of inquiry. It suffers from a shortage of accountability. Every school principal, every board of management, every county fire department and every education official responsible for approving unsafe dormitories must answer hard questions. Safety cannot remain a ceremonial item discussed during meetings and forgotten afterward.

There should be mandatory quarterly fire drills in every boarding school. Dormitory occupancy must be strictly regulated. Emergency exits should never be locked. Fire alarms and extinguishers must be functional and regularly inspected. Dormitories should undergo independent safety audits, not cosmetic inspections arranged in advance. More importantly, the Ministry of Education must stop reacting only after funerals. The government should provide a standard approved model for all schools instead of leaving this to school boards to decide.

Children who went to school carrying dreams. Children who revised for exams under dim dormitory lights. Children who laughed with friends hours before smoke filled the corridors. Children who trusted adults to protect them. Now some of them are gone. Again. And unless this country finally confronts the dangerous conditions many students live in, the next tragedy is not a matter of if. It is a matter of when.

- Mutinda Musyimi, Dean of Students Daystar University