From boot camps to academic tyrant: Ten types of parents during school holidays

Uniforms disappear, alarm clocks go silent, and suddenly parents are forced to confront the small humans they’ve been outsourcing to teachers for an entire term (Photo: iStock)

School holidays in Kenya are not just a break for students; they are a full-blown season of drama, survival, and unexpected character development for parents. The moment schools close, households transform overnight. Uniforms disappear, alarm clocks go silent, and suddenly parents are forced to confront the small humans they’ve been outsourcing to teachers for an entire term. What follows is a fascinating display of parenting styles, ranging from admirable discipline to pure “acha tu” energy. If you’ve grown up in a Kenyan home, or are currently living in one, these types will feel painfully familiar.

1. The don’t care

This one checked out emotionally sometime in 2015. Whether his son wakes up at 6 am or 2 pm, he is unmoved. As long as his child is not in jail or trending for the wrong reasons, life continues. Meals? “Kuna chakula  kwa fridge, jipangie my friend.” Structure? It's optional for him. He strongly believes holidays are for everyone to take a rest, not only for the child, but for him as well.

2. The military commander

Holidays? What holidays? This mother literally runs the house like a military boot camp. The children must wake up at 5 am before she leaves for work, mop the house, do homework, wash utensils and probably milk imaginary cows, even in Nairobi. For her, free time is merely a rumour. By the end of the holiday, you are either highly disciplined or secretly planning your escape.

3. The entrepreneurial parent

This one refuses to let you “waste time”. Suddenly, you are the assistant manager at a biashara you never applied for. Whether it is a family shop, a farm, selling smokies or kuzungusha melons, you are now officially on an internship. Payment? Character development, meals and occasional pocket money.

4. The academic tyrant

For this parent, holidays are simply extended tuition sessions. “Do you think exams are resting?” he asks while handing out revision papers thicker than your prospects. He will even buy past papers from 2020, just in case. Relaxation, in his view, is a direct pathway to academic failure.

5. The overprotective

Going outside? Why? Who will be there? Who are their parents? What is their blood group? This parent treats the outside world like an active crime scene. His adolescent daughter spends the entire holiday indoors, watching life happen through the window like a prisoner with good Wi-Fi. Instagram conversations are monitored with the precision of a national security operation.

6. The social butterfly

She is rarely at home, but somehow knows everything the children have done. You might suspect she has planted informants everywhere. Weddings, funerals, chama meetings and harambees form her full-time schedule. Yet the moment a child misbehaves, she appears instantly, like CCTV footage replaying evidence.

7. The historian

Every conversation becomes a lecture. “When I was your age…” is practically his national anthem. He narrates how he walked 20 kilometres to school, fetched water from Mount Kenya and still came first in class. Your struggles? Excuses. Your comfort? Highly suspicious.

8. The cool parent

This one almost feels illegal. She watches films with the children, buys snacks and even jokes with them. Such peace feels unnatural in a typical Kenyan household. But do not be deceived, one wrong move and she reverts to factory settings, instantly switching into disciplinary mode.

9. The delegator-in-chief

For her, the children in the house are ‘staff members’. “Chemsha hiyo chai.” “Enda ushikilie huyo mtoto.” “Peleka hii kwa shosho.” “Enda kwa shop.” “Enda kwa neighbour.” By the end of the holiday, the eldest daughter has run more errands than a boda boda rider.

10. The last-minute enforcer

For three weeks after schools close for the first term, she remains unusually quiet — too quiet. Then, one week before reopening, sudden energy emerges. “Why haven’t you washed your uniform?” “Where are your books?” Panic mode is activated. Everything that should have been done throughout the holiday must now be completed in three days.