The news from Nyeri comes with the kind of numbing horror that has become all too familiar. A fire at Hillside Endarasha Primary School, a boarding institution in central Kenya, has claimed the lives of at least 16 pupils, with many more injured and traumatised. The flames, which tore through dormitories in the early hours, have left a community in mourning and a nation asking: how, again?
To read the official statements is to hear a script we know too well. The school had safety protocols. The fire department responded promptly. An investigation is underway. But for the parents who spent the night outside the school gates, waiting for news that might never come, these are empty words. They know what the rest of us suspect: that the gap between policy and practice in many Kenyan schools is a chasm wide enough to swallow children.
There is a particular cruelty to a school fire. Schools are supposed to be sanctuaries, places where children are entrusted to adults who will keep them safe. The dormitory, that crowded space of bunk beds and whispered secrets, becomes a death trap when basic safety measures are absent. We have seen this before. In 2001, a fire at Kyanguli Secondary School killed 67 students. In 2018, a dormitory fire at Moi Girls School in Nairobi left 10 dead. Each time, there are promises of reform, of new regulations, of fire drills that never quite happen.
The human cost is immense, but the cultural shift is slow. In Kenya, as in many parts of Africa, boarding schools are a deeply ingrained tradition, seen as a marker of quality education and a necessity for working parents. To question their safety is to challenge an entire system. Yet the evidence piles up: overcrowded dormitories, lack of fire escapes, padlocked doors, and staff who are often untrained in emergency response. The children, aged between 9 and 13, had no chance.
On the streets of Nyeri, the mood is a mixture of grief and anger. I spoke to a local shopkeeper who knows the school well. 'We heard the sirens at 3 am,' he said, shaking his head. 'I thought it was a robbery. Then I saw the smoke. Those kids had nowhere to go. The windows were barred.' Such details seep into the public consciousness, eroding trust in the institutions that are meant to nurture the young.
The government has promised a thorough investigation. But investigations only matter if they lead to accountability. In previous tragedies, heads have rolled and fines have been levied, but the systemic failures remain. The real change must come from a cultural reckoning: a willingness to admit that the safety of children cannot be left to individual schools and their often overstretched resources. It requires a national standard, enforced without exception.
For now, there are funerals to mourn and survivors to counsel. The psychological scars will last a lifetime. And as the story fades from the headlines, as it inevitably will, the parents of Hillside Endarasha will be left with a simple, devastating question: could this have been prevented? The answer, whispered by every previous tragedy, is yes.
