FINANCIAL CRISIS AMONG CAMPUS STUDENTS

By Christine Awino 

Across Kenya’s universities, the rhythm of campus life is changing. Lecture halls are still full, but behind the notebooks and group discussions lies a crisis—one that’s pushing students to the wall. The financial strain facing universities is no longer just an institutional issue; it’s a daily struggle for students trying to stay enrolled, stay fed, and stay hopeful.

In March 2025, the Ministry of Education confirmed that 23 public universities are technically insolvent, weighed down by a combined debt of over Ksh75 billion. While the headlines focus on budget deficits and stalled infrastructure, the real impact is felt in the lives of students who now face impossible choices: pay rent or buy food, attend class or go to work, stay enrolled or defer

For many students, the day begins not with books, but with side hustles. Some sell snacks or thrifted clothes, others take up online gigs or ride boda bodas between lectures. The goal is simple—make enough to survive the semester.

The Higher Education Loans Board (HELB), once a dependable source of support, has become unpredictable. Disbursements are delayed, and the amounts often fall short of covering even basic needs. Students report going months without receiving funds, forcing them to borrow, skip meals, or drop out altogether.

The financial pressure is not just economic—it’s emotional. Anxiety, burnout, and depression are quietly spreading across campuses. Counseling services, where they exist, are overwhelmed. Many students suffer in silence, afraid of stigma or simply too busy surviving to seek help.

Some universities have cut back on services, citing budget constraints. Libraries operate on reduced hours. Laboratories lack equipment. Lecturers go unpaid for months, leading to strikes and disrupted learning

Despite the hardship, students are finding ways to support each other. Informal food banks, shared accommodation, and peer-to-peer tutoring have become lifelines. WhatsApp groups double as emotional support spaces. Some students have turned to crowdfunding to raise tuition, while others are building small businesses from their dorm rooms.

This is not the campus life they were promised—but it is the one they are navigating with grit and grace.

The crisis is reshaping what higher education means in Kenya. For many, a degree is no longer a guaranteed path to opportunity—it’s a gamble. And yet, students continue to show up, driven by hope, resilience, and the belief that education still matters.

As one student put it during a campus forum: “We’re not asking for luxury. We’re asking for a fair shot.”