School principals have abruptly released students ahead of the scheduled mid-term break for the second term, as the country braces for another wave of anti-government protests led by defiant Gen Z youths.

Fearing for the safety of learners, school administrators began sending students home from Friday, despite the Ministry of Education’s calendar indicating that the mid-term break officially begins on Wednesday, June 25.

Yesterday, Nairobi’s Central Business District (CBD) was awash with students in school uniforms crowding bus terminals, a scene that has become unsettlingly familiar during periods of political unrest. 

“We closed yesterday, and the school administration released us this morning. We’ll return on June 29,” said a student from Machakos School. 

The early closure was prompted by growing tensions surrounding nationwide demonstrations calling for justice for those who lost their lives during protests a year ago.

The demonstrators are also demanding the resignation of Deputy Inspector General of Police Eliud Langat and justice for blogger Albert Ojwang, whose death in police custody has sparked widespread outrage.

This year, the anger is even more focused. Hashtags such as #LangatMustResign, #JusticeForOjwang, and #OccupyStateHouse have flooded social media timelines, as young Kenyans rally against police brutality, state repression, and the controversial Finance Bill. 

Two rounds of protests last year descended into violence when police fired tear gas, and in some cases live rounds, at the crowds. At least 15 people were killed and hundreds arrested. 

What began as online campaigns on platforms like TikTok and X (formerly Twitter) has evolved into coordinated street protests, even spreading to unlikely places such as nightclubs. 

At Highway Secondary School in Nairobi, parents were notified of a sudden change in the school calendar.

Malava Boys High School in Kakamega sent a similar text: “The school will close on Saturday, June 21, and students will be released on Sunday at 7am. Please make arrangements for your son’s travel.”

Parents, still anxious from previous incidents where students were caught up in protests, have welcomed the decision. 

“I’m relieved that the school is taking steps to protect our children. The situation is quite worrying, and they should be at home rather than out in the streets,” said Jane Wanjaa, a Nairobi mother of two.

Last term, schools had to compress sports and music activities alongside exams to meet deadlines, said a teacher at State House Girls High School.

National Parents Association chairman Silas Obuhatsa praised the early closure, noting it allows learners to get home safely before unrest escalates.

Last year, a teargas canister was fired near Coast Girls High School in Mombasa as police dispersed protesters, deepening fears among parents and educators.

The second term has been repeatedly disrupted as Gen Z protesters demand accountability, transparency, and better governance. By Mike Kihaki, The Standard

The near-total anarchy witnessed in Nairobi last Tuesday should worry us. And learn lessons. What began in Sudan as a militia proxy to crush rebellion has mutated into a monstrous force seeking domination of a country.

The Janjaweed of Sudan, once a paramilitary tool of the state, has now turned its guns on the very system that created it. From helping suppress demands for justice and equality in Darfur to laying siege on Khartoum in pursuit of total control, the Janjaweed’s journey is not just a Sudanese tragedy; it is a warning to all fragile democracies flirting with militarised politics, state-sponsored violence, and outsourcing of repression to hired thugs. 

At the heart of Sudan’s unfolding disaster is a pattern familiar to many African states: when leaders fear dissent, they do not engage in dialogue. They deploy violence. And when security forces appear insufficient, or too professional, they recruit informal actors: militias, gangs, or political goons masquerading as “patriotic defenders.”

These actors are promised protection, power, and payoffs. But in time, they begin to demand more. They begin to believe in their own indispensability. They stop obeying and start dictating. That is how states implode. The Janjaweed’s transformation into the Rapid Support Forces (RSF) and its current conflict with the Sudanese Armed Forces is a textbook case of this political Frankenstein. Initially tasked with helping the Omar Al Bashir regime in Sudan suppress rebellion in Darfur through brutal, ethnic-based violence, the Janjaweed were later integrated into the national power structure. 

They were legitimised, given weapons, and entrusted with power. Eventually, they became co-architects of Omar al-Bashir’s ouster, part of a transitional government, and now tragically, the leading force tearing Sudan apart. The International Criminal Court issued a warrant of arrest against Al Bashir before he was ousted from office.

This pattern, tragically, is not confined to Sudan. It is alarmingly familiar to Kenyans, especially under the current political climate. We, too, are nurturing a dangerous culture of impunity, thuggery, and political gangsterism, under the guise of defending the government or protecting “national interests.” 

When a state turns to street gangs, militias, or “hustler goons” to counter peaceful protest or political opposition, it signals the death of law and the birth of political banditry. It is primitive, retrogressive, and unsustainable. Worse still, it is short-sighted. The same goons hired today to fight demonstrators can be hired tomorrow to fight their political masters. Just as the Janjaweed turned their weapons against the state they once served, Kenya’s own culture of political mercenaries could spiral out of control, transforming local grievances into national instability. 

In Kenya, political violence is often treated as theatre, a dramatic but harmless spectacle around election cycles. But behind this casual acceptance is a dangerous normalisation of criminality. From Mungiki to Jeshi la Mzee, and now the rising wave of political goon squads appearing at rallies, public forums, and protest sites, the message is clear: political power need not be earned through persuasion. It can be taken and protected by force. 

This is a betrayal of our Constitution, our democracy, and our moral values. The right to peaceful assembly is not a favour; it is a right guaranteed by Article 37 of the Constitution. Suppressing it with violence is not only illegal, it is cowardly. Leaders who fear public dissent should examine their leadership, not unleash mobs on their citizens.  

Sudan is showing us the inevitable outcome of ignoring these warnings. A country once full of promise is now bleeding because its leaders chose force over foresight, and tribal militia over national unity. That’s the road we, too, are flirting with. 

Kenya must draw a hard line. We must demobilise political gangs, decriminalise protest, and hold accountable those who hire thugs to silence citizens. The state must lead by example, not by baton. Our future depends not on how well we can suppress opposition, but how boldly we can face criticism, reform, and rebuild trust in public institutions.  The same fires burning Khartoum can, if unchecked, light Nairobi. By Gitobu Imanyara, The Standard

GEDAREF STATE, SUDAN – “Every woman and girl here is at risk, no matter her age or background. No one is safe,” said Khadija*, a midwife at a maternity clinic in Sudan’s eastern Gedaref State.

“Sexual violence has become as widespread [a weapon] as guns and bullets. Women arrive at our facilities exhausted, traumatized, often after months of displacement,” she told UNFPA, the United Nations sexual and reproductive health agency, which supports the clinic. “They are carrying physical and emotional wounds that are difficult to comprehend.”

Now in its third year, the war in Sudan has unleashed a relentless assault on the bodies and rights of women and girls. Across areas affected by the conflict, sexual violence is used as a weapon of war, a targeted tactic to instill terror, enforce displacement and exert control. More than 12 million people – one quarter of the population – are at risk of gender-based violence, with frontline responders and survivors reporting alarming rates of rape, abuse, coercion and child marriage.

“The scale and brutality of violations are beyond anything we’ve previously seen,” explained Dina*, a gender-based violence specialist in Sudan. “We have documented numerous cases of women and girls who have survived rape and sexual violence, including adolescent girls and women and girls with disabilities. Many are left coping with unwanted pregnancies, sexually transmitted infections, and deep psychological trauma.”

Even at these levels, sexual violence often goes underreported, mainly out of fear, shame, inadequate services, and little chance of prosecution for the perpetrators.

“It will take decades to recover from this,” continued Dina. “Yet the survivors we work with are still fighting to survive, to raise their voices, and to access justice.”

Generational trauma

Adding to the trauma are sweeping funding cuts that have shuttered life-saving services across Sudan. UNFPA is currently supporting 63 safe spaces that provide shelter, psychosocial support and referrals for medical care for survivors of gender-based violence, but many of these have been forced to close in the last few months. Across the county, only around one in four facilities that offer clinical management of rape are fully functional.

Emerging reports indicate that serious maternal health risks among rape survivors may be on the rise. Repeatedly displaced, women and girls undertake dangerous journeys through war-torn areas, with scarce access to sexual and reproductive health services or support – some for months on end. By the time they reach a health facility, many survivors are in advanced stages of pregnancy, or battling severe, untreated infections and profound psychological trauma.

“The violence we’re witnessing now will echo through generations,” said Dina. “Children born from these assaults, mothers forced into unwanted pregnancies, survivors stigmatized and ostracized by their communities — all of this trauma will profoundly impact the fabric of Sudanese society long after the guns fall silent.”

Accessing healthcare and mental health support is only one part of the struggle for survivors. UNFPA partners report that stigma and fear of reprisals – including survivors being killed by family members – are preventing women and girls from seeking help.

Dwindling funds, and hope

UNFPA and partners continue to deliver reproductive health and protection services, but recent funding cuts have forced UNFPA to withdraw from more than half of the 93 health facilities it was supporting. As its humanitarian appeal in 2025 is only one quarter funded, many safe spaces and programmes supporting women and girls in the most treacherous situations will have to close.

“At this point, it truly feels like this war is being fought on the bodies of women and girls,” said Huda*, a survivor of sexual violence who sought care at a UNFPA-supported facility. “What’s happening to us is beyond what most people can imagine. So many of us have lost hope in the future.”

UNFPA Executive Director Dr. Natalia Kanem said, “It is time to work together, with the urgency required, to make the elimination of sexual violence in conflict not an afterthought but the very first step towards a world of peace – a world that is safe, just and equal for women and girls – and for everyone.”

UNFPA is calling for greater resources and attention for some of the least-supported crises across the world, including in Sudan. It is crucial not to let the lights go out for millions of women and girls, by fully funding survivor-centred services to break the cycle, heal the scars for sexual and reproductive health and safe spaces for healing from and reporting on these crimes. *Names changed for privacy and protection.  OCHA