It’s 7:45 am. Today is Monday. The classrooms at Girgir Primary School, as every other Monday at this time of the day, are empty. The pupils are all gathering in the open space at the center of the school compound, where some stand in their green while others in their white uniforms. Close by there are numerous signs with inspiring messages hanging from the branches of a leafless tree in the center of the yard that infuse inspiration to the students
“To lift yourself up you need to lift somebody else with you“, “Peace is always beautiful“, or my favorite “nothing is impossible.” In front of them, every learner has taken its place in a box delimited by small rocks in the sand, starting from the youngest- those who have recently entered the school, aged 5 or 6- to the left all the way to the graduating students- around 17 years old-to the right.
Around the school, a general sensation of calm pervades every corner of the landscape. Archers Post, the town where the school is located, is slowly waking up, its villagers willing to make use of the first hours of the day to conduct their business, when the ever present sun is conceding to them a truce from its warmest rays. Lions, cheetahs and leopards, as well as an army of mosquitos, are retreating under the thin shadow of the dry acacia trees in the nearby Samburu National Park after a night of hunting. The mountains, headed by the sacred Ololokwe tower in the horizon with their reassuring but stark rocky presence.
This placid, almost suspended atmosphere is suddenly animated by the joyful and warm voice of the 900 students lined up in the school yard, who chant prayers and their national anthem in both Swahili and English- the two national languages. “We are the land of Simba, the children of Kenya” they sing, after they invoke God’s blessings upon them driven by their sincere faith. In the apex of this choir, the national Kenyan flag is solemnly raised, closely followed by the remarks of Josiah Muriithi, the school headmaster, who congratulates the students for their good deeds and sets the goals for the upcoming week.
As soon as his speech is concluded, the almost military rigidity and attention of the assembly melts into the cheerful rush to class, accompanied by a vibrant sound of laughter and a thick cloud of dust lifted from the sandy ground of the children’s running. In a matter of minutes, the school yard is clear, and the students are ready for their morning lessons.
Subjects such as math, integrated science, physical health, history, swahili and more will be taught throughout the day.
My fellow volunteers and I can use this time to visit the compound, accompanied by the headmaster. Since 1963, year of its founding, Girgir Primary School has expanded to include around 900 students and to cover the current 20 acres of land. Across this area, separate one-story concrete blocks constitute the classrooms where students spend most of their day. The majority of them are painted in a worn-off blue, whereas some have been recently repainted in green and white, giving them a new fresh, and much needed, appearance. In fact, despite the staff and children’s tireless effort to keep the classrooms hospitable, the lack of water to secure proper cleaning and the inability to pay for renewal shows a visible degradation of the pupils’ working place. The latest work from the volunteers and recent donation of new furniture for the classes coming from Maisha Marefu, the NGO that has been devoting its efforts to provide humanitarian and technical support to the schools in the area, have reshaped some of the classrooms, for the joy of the students; nevertheless, renovation is still underway and will require more work, and critically more funding, to include the whole compound. After visiting the classes, we move on to the second section of the compound, where we are shown three blocks, the dormitories, where around 330 students reside permanently. From the outside, the buildings look much like the classes, except for their slightly bigger size. Inside, shaky and rusty beds crammed altogether are the only furniture present, with no space for students’ personal belongings but their beds. Once more, donations from Maisha Marefu have resulted in a big impact, as new mattresses have arrived to replace the old broken ones.
Despite these dire conditions, living in the school is crucial for boarders. It comes with a higher probability of receiving two meals a day and some water, something that cannot be guaranteed to them at home.
It’s around 12:30. We return to the open space at the center of the compound, where the morning assembly took place. It’s lunchtime and students are queuing, with small bowls in their hands, to receive their meal. It normally consists of either rice, maize or ugali, the latter being a typical Kenyan preparation made of wheat flour, usually accompanied with some beans or cabbage as a side. Meat or any sort of variety is a luxury that they cannot afford. As a result, the protein intake for these learners is next to zero. Josiah, the headmaster, explains to us how difficult it is to provide food for all students. Indeed, the government and donors like Maisha Marefu play a crucial role in supplying food, but sometimes it is not enough to counter food shortage and very high prices. Lack of proper nutrition not only endangers the students’ physical health and learning abilities, but it also negatively impacts attendance rates to school, as kids prefer to stay at home in search of something to eat. “There is no learning without food”, the headmaster tells us.
Lunchtime quickly ends and two more hours of classes await the students, followed by interactive initiatives like sport games and debates. At around 5 pm, students who do not sleep in the dormitories start walking back- everyone walks here, irrespectively of their age or distance they have to cover- to their homes, whereas the boarders have some free time to clean or to study. They have been awake for more than 12 hours now, as they always start their days at 4:30 am after six hours of sleep. Nevertheless, the boarders still have the energy to play in the dusty field behind the classrooms, running around barefoot on the sharp stones and using the remaining of what used to be a ball. They are cheerful, smiling, and happy. So little material belongings, so much inner richness.
It’s 6:30 pm. The dying sun, in the most magic and ephemeral hour of the day, sets over Archer’s Post, unleashing a triumph of orange and yellow shades. It’s the end of another day at Girgir Primary school, and it coincides with the boarders supper: beans and maize, a dish called “githeri”, here in Kenya. While the students calmly enjoy their meal, the sun completes its course, taking with it the problems of the school and the community and in exchange laying upon the school a veil of relief and hope.
It’s 7:45pm. Another day has gone by. Life has won at Girgir primary school. It’s something to be very grateful for.
©2025 Lorenzo Bersellini.