When Kefrine Nzaywa learned she was expecting twins, she never imagined the joy of motherhood would become the beginning of a long nightmare.
To Nzaywa what should have been months of tender preparation and rest turned into a painful lesson on how institutions can turn against the very people who serve them.
Her doctor had placed her on strict bed rest to prevent a high-risk pregnancy loss. But even as she fought to keep her unborn children alive, her principal began fighting her from another front accusing her of “earning a salary without working.”
“Two months after giving birth, she ensured my maternity leave was cut short,” Nzaywa recalls. “I had to report back while my preterm twins were still fragile.”
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From then, life at work became unbearable. Her principal publicly humiliated her, denied her time to breastfeed, and even sat silently at the back of her class to intimidate her in front of students.
Transfer Denied, Reputation Destroyed
Hoping for a fresh start, Nzaywa sought a transfer to a nearby school Ituru High. But before she could report, her principal had already poisoned the ground.
“She told the new principal not to accept me,” Nzaywa says. “I was branded lazy even before I arrived.”
At her new posting, the hostility persisted. Despite volunteering to teach extra lessons and achieving stellar Chemistry results, she was continually undermined. Practical sessions were blocked, exam papers replaced, and her dedication ignored.
“I stopped eating at school and spent most of my time alone in the lab,” she says quietly. “Still, I taught my students with all my heart.”
The False Accusation
In her third year, a nationwide wave of student unrest hit schools. When her deputy was transferred, students at Ituru High went on strike, causing damage worth over a million shillings.
Days later, Nzaywa received a chilling message from a student warning her that staff were pressuring learners to frame her as the instigator.
When the school reopened, questionnaires were distributed asking who had incited the strike. Students wrote different names; including the principal and boarding master but only those mentioning Nzaywa were kept.
Police were called. “They harassed me. The principal’s brother worked at the DCI office,” she says.
When investigators found inconsistencies and signs of coaching, the case was dropped. But that did not end her torment.
Standing Alone Before the Board
The principal took the fake charge sheet to the Board of Management, demanding punishment. Nzaywa was summoned and presented with three options:
- Admit guilt and be forgiven.
- Admit guilt and be warned.
- Deny and face interdiction.
She chose the third, denial because she was innocent.
The interdiction came swiftly. Her pay was stopped. Each month, she reported to the sub-county office, where even sympathetic officers admitted she was a victim of a vendetta.
At the disciplinary hearing, she stood alone against nine witnesses including the principal, boarding master, and five students. Miraculously, all five students stood by the truth.
“Their honesty saved me,” she says .
Justice Deferred, Not Denied
Despite her innocence, her suspension was extended. Appeals were ignored, and student testimonies mysteriously vanished from her file.
Nzaywa was later transferred to Juja Secondary, then Thika Girls ,where the same cycle of hostility followed.
“At Thika Girls, I was mocked for how I walked, how I dressed even for loving reggae music, …But reggae became my strength. It reminded me to keep standing firm.” Nzaywa says
Her story is not just personal it highlights deeper rot in the education system: unchecked authority, workplace victimization, and the silent suffering of teachers under toxic leadership.