In recent years, Kenya’s high school alumni associations have turned into battlegrounds of ego. The trophy? A shiny new school bus paraded on social media with the fanfare of a military conquest.
But behind the hashtags and applause lies a troubling question: Why are we investing in metal boxes that depreciate, while our youth languish in a skills desert?
As a social consciousness theorist, I argue that this obsession with buses—symbols of a bygone era—is a moral failure. It reflects a myopic understanding of progress, one that prioritises fleeting prestige over intergenerational equity.
If we truly care about Kenya’s future, we must redirect alumni pride toward building Artificial Intelligence hubs— spaces where Gen Z can cultivate skills that outlive rust and fuel hikes.
Let’s dissect the economics. A single bus costs up to Sh30 million guzzles another Sh1.1 million annually in fuel and repairs, and depreciates to scrap metal in 15 years.
Contrast this with an AI hub: for Sh4 million, a school can equip a lab with computers, internet and training programmes that serve thousands of students and community members over the same period. But this is not just about shillings. It’s about value.
A bus serves a school’s logistical needs; an AI hub transforms lives. Imagine a student in Kitui using that lab to code an app diagnosing crop diseases, or a girl in Kaimosi learning AI-driven graphic design to freelance globally.
These are not fantasies—they are possibilities within reach, stifled by our collective refusal to let go of 20th-century status symbols.
Alumni defend buses as ‘legacy projects’. But what legacy do we leave if we equip schools with transport tools while the world races toward automation? True prestige is not a vehicle ferrying students to rugby matches—it’s being the alma mater that produced Kenya’s first AI Nobel laureate.
Let’s redefine prestige. Instead of engraving alumni names on bus doors, let’s stamp them on innovation labs. Let’s celebrate the ‘Zindi AI Champions’ emerging from a school, not the horsepower of its fleet.
Alumni egos need not shrink; they simply need to align with 21st-century realities. Philanthropy is not charity—it’s a social contract.
When alumni donate, they owe recipients not just resources, but dignity: the dignity of relevance in a digital economy. Today, 75 per cent of Kenyan youth lack market-ready skills, while AI job opportunities grow by 40 per cent annually.
By funding buses, we are handing students lifejackets on a sinking ship instead of teaching them to build boats. This is not hypothetical. Rwanda’s Coding in Schools initiative and Nigeria’s Andela labs have shown that tech education lifts entire communities.
Why can’t Kenya’s alumni, famed for their ingenuity, see this? To Gen Z, I say: your voice matters. You have already disrupted industries with TikTok trends and fintech apps. Now, turn that power toward alma maters. Flood alumni WhatsApp groups with videos of peers in India or Ghana thriving in AI careers.
Tag nostalgic donors in posts asking, “Would you fund a typewriter factory in 2023?” Shame the complacent, but also empower the willing: crowdsource AI hub blueprints, partner with tech giants for grants and demand seats on school boards.
This is your fight. You inherit an economy where gig jobs demand Python, not pen-pushing. Refuse to let buses cart you toward obsolescence.
“But buses ensure student safety!” Yes—and existing buses can be maintained. Schools don’t need new ones annually. “AI hubs are elitist!” No—a single hub can serve entire communities.
During school recess, offer coding courses to mothers, mechanics and farmers at Sh200 per hour. Suddenly, the lab pays for itself while democratising skills.
“Tech is unreliable!” Buses break down too. But while a stalled bus wastes a trip, a stalled computer teaches troubleshooting—a skill itself.
To alumni clinging to buses: your hearts are in the right place, but your vision is skewed. You donated to your school because it gave you a ladder to climb. Now, extend that ladder.
The children in those classrooms are not asking for rides—they are begging for tools to build their own futures.
Kenya stands at a crossroads. We can remain the generation that spent Sh500 million on buses while our neighbours became Africa’s Silicon Savannah.
Or we can choose radical empathy: invest in AI hubs today and tomorrow’s youth will code solutions to the droughts, corruption and healthcare gaps we have normalised.
Let’s retire the tyranny of the bus. Let’s replace it with labs where legacy is not measured in mileage, but in minds empowered.
As a social consciousness theorist, I challenge alumni to ask: Do you want your name on a rusting chassis, or on the start-up that revolutionises African healthcare? The answer will define Kenya’s place in history.
Education is the passport to the future. Alumni, stop stamping it with ‘out of service’.
The writer is a Social consciousness theorist, corporate trainer, speaker and author of ‘The Trouble with Kenya: McKenzian Blueprint
