As the October rains finally rolled in over Kenya’s capital, Nairobi, last week, storm clouds of a different kind were gathering over the country’s universities. Learning ground to a halt and students were sent home as lecturers entered their second week of industrial action over stagnating salaries.
Last Thursday, five of Kenya’s six public universities had closed indefinitely as staff stuck to their guns demanding a 500% pay rise. In a story that dominated the pages of the country’s national newspapers, dozens of lecturers were laid off for refusing to abandon the strike the government had branded ”illegal”. And there were reports of at least three colleges withholding lecturers’ salaries.
Caught in the deadlock between the government and teachers, students vacated their halls of residence in their thousands. Unable to afford to stay at college while not being taught, they left for homes often hundreds of kilometres away with no idea when they would be able to return. And although the strike had progressed peacefully so far, fears were growing that another week of inaction might spark violent riots among dissatisfied students.
As the weekend approached with no end in sight to the conflict, the University of Nairobi was the only institution still teaching students.
However, even at the country’s wealthiest university and, with more than 20 000 students, the largest, the teaching body was split down the middle, with many of its lecturers joining those on strike. Lecturers had last Thursday set up a fund to support their strike, while the government kept refusing to negotiate before lessons were resumed.
This is the second time in recent years that Kenya’s universities have risen up over poor pay conditions. A strike took place in 2003, ending with a deal that saw conditions greatly improved, although with a promise to revisit the issue two years down the line. It was a promise the government did not keep — something that may have fuelled the bitterness this time.
At the root of the crisis lies an uneven development in public-sector salaries. In the 1970s, after the country gained independence, a university professor was paid more than a judge, an MP or even a permanent secretary. But since then the tables have turned. Lecturers’ salaries have been standing still compared to meteoric rises in the pay of other public-sector positions in a country badly hit by corruption.
Lecturers’ salaries have also diverged from those of their immediate superiors. In 2003, top professors earned about three-quarters of a vice-chancellor’s salary. This year, the fraction had shrunk to around one-seventh.
”It’s not justifiable for a V-C [vice chancellor] to earn a million shillings while a professor earns 150 000 a month,” said a striking lecturer at the University of Nairobi, who asked not to be named for fear of losing his job. ”It’s not right, because vice-chancellors are in fact just elevated professors,” he said.
The University of Nairobi is a special case among Kenya’s six public universities, as about 60% of its budget comes from tuition fees paid by self-funded students. This makes it financially more independent than other institutions, which depend on the government for up to 90% of their funding.
This is largely to do with the University of Nairobi’s popularity as the nation’s leading seat of higher education. In the public universities a number of places in each discipline are reserved for students on the basis of their performance in secondary school. Those who qualify receive funding from the government to attend university, while those who fall outside the list have to raise their own funds.
Private students are a lucrative source of income for lecturers as they get a slice of their fees –around 80 000 shillings a year for public institutions. Lecturers with a lot of self-funded students can earn so much that they can almost forget about their actual salaries. This explains why the faculties of the University of Nairobi, such as the faculty of engineering, that struggle to get students, have joined the strike, while those, such as medicine, commerce and law, are still teaching with the most private students.
”Two wrongs don’t make a right,” says Charles Omwandho, a professor of biochemistry who is not on strike. He supports the struggle for better pay, but thinks that persisting with industrial action is the wrong way to go about it. ”There will be no winners” if neither party starts backing down, he says.
There are other reasons for staying at the pulpit, he adds. The University of Nairobi’s medical school is involved in running the city’s main public hospital and the consequences would be dire if staff walked out there. ”If we were to go on strike, the death tolls from outstanding surgeries could go from 40 the first day to 80 the next and 120 the day after that.”
Gordon Nyambok, Anthony Mukhwana Simiyu and Alex Hinga Wainaina are all second-year undergraduates in Omwandho’s department. They are grateful they can still attend classes, but pity their friends who have had to leave for home. ”It’s painful for them, and it’s a waste of money and time,” Nyambok says. Also, they agree, it is difficult for people like them, who are still being taught, as there is nothing they can do to help their comrades.
Kenyan lecturers earn more than their peers in neighbouring countries. What is more, public institution professors take home more than those working in the country’s 10 or so private universities. This message was emphasised by the country’s Education Minister, Noah Wekesa, when pressed to comment on the strike last month.
His words came as the country’s Industrial Court ordered the Universities Academic Staff Union (Uasu) to call off the strike and enter into negotiations with the government. But last week the lecturers were holding fast, although some feared the consequences if the strike continued for more than two weeks.
So far, the strike has proceeded peacefully and students have left their residences calmly. One striking lecturer at the University of Nairobi said his students, who are still around, are treating it as a holiday. But if they feel prompted to join with the cause of the lecturers, things could get ugly, he added.
”As lecturers it is our duty to restrain them. We tell them that this is nothing to do with them. This is between us and the government. But there would be trouble if things got out of hand. Students could get killed,” he said. In a situation where students looked like they were set on going on a rampage, the university would surely close, he added.
Omwandho last week hoped for a quick and peaceful resolution. A two-week break in classes could be dealt with by introducing lost material piecemeal in the normal schedule, he said. Students might graduate a few days later than normal, but the course content would remain intact.
However, the ramifications of the strike may extend beyond simply delaying graduation days this academic year. If the stalemate drags on, staff are likely to become even more disenchanted with their employers.
This could result in apathy and an exodus of teaching talent, says Dominic Makawati, another biochemistry professor at the University of Nairobi.
”What eventually will happen is either that people say enough is enough, and quit their jobs, which will accelerate brain drain. Or people will stay because they have no other option, but when something opens up they will quit. Or the lecturers will look at the pay and say: ‘If they only give this to me I will only give that much back, and concentrate on other work, like consultancy.’ Either way, the university system is a loser.” — Â