Back in high school, drama was one of the things I looked forward to the most.
At first, it was just another form of entertainment — an exciting break from the classroom routines. But as I grew older and began to understand the world of theatre, I realized it was far more than that.
Drama wasn’t just about acting or applause. It was a mirror held up to society, a vessel for truth-telling, and one of the most impactful tools for education.
Understanding how the drama festival works
Before we dive into the performances and memories, it’s important to understand how the festivals are structured.
Each year, the Ministry of Education releases a theme to guide that year’s productions. From there, trainers and adjudicators undergo intense preparation, sometimes for days, other times a week, just to unpack the theme and align on expectations.
Once the groundwork is set, the training begins in schools. Then comes the competition itself, which starts at the zonals, moves to the county level, regionals, then nationals, and finally culminates in the prestigious gala.
During each stage of the competition, every performance is carefully judged based on several elements: how well it adheres to the theme, the synchronisation of the cast, the strength of the performance, costumes, props, and overall message. Only the very best pieces move forward.
What made it magical?
Beyond the spotlight, the thrill of performing, or even the competition, what truly stood out was the community. Meeting students from other schools who shared the same passion felt electric. You knew which schools were going to show up, and which pieces had already made waves.
Word travelled fast — about that one school with a must-watch play, or a standout performance that left adjudicators speechless. The anticipation of seeing them on stage, learning from them, and maybe even beating them, was unmatched.
It was more than a school festival — it was a cultural awakening. It taught us how to express ourselves, how to critique, how to empathize, and how to celebrate creativity. It nurtured leaders, storytellers, activists, and free thinkers.
That’s why watching the recent treatment of Butere Girls’ students during the drama festival is deeply heartbreaking.
These are young girls — teenagers who poured their hearts into a performance that made it to the national stage. This means the piece went through county and regional adjudicators who believed it deserved to be heard.
So to see these girls silenced, scolded, and stripped of the very support that got them there — their trainers, their backdrops, even the audience — is not only unfair, it’s psychologically damaging.
It’s important to note that drama is not an optional school activity. It is a co-curricular requirement by the Ministry of Education.
Schools are expected to participate, explore the annual theme, and give students room to create. So, what happens when learners interrogate society through performance, as they are encouraged to do, and then face punishment for it?
What message are we sending to these children? That it’s okay to be expressive, but only when it’s comfortable? That it’s okay to be creative — but not critical?
What this does to young minds
Children are not just performers — they are learners. And when they are punished for thinking critically, for being bold, for asking questions through art, it doesn’t end with a canceled show. It plants fear. It shrinks their voices. It teaches them that silence is safer than expression.
We must be careful not to use shame and discipline where understanding is needed.
To ban trainers from guiding their students, to strip the stage of backdrops, and to deny a performance its audience — that is not discipline, that is silencing.
Have we become a country where children are punished for their creativity? Where critics are treated as enemies of the state, even when they’re just 16?
What then is the point of the themes the Ministry issues each year, if learners are not allowed to explore them with honesty?
We owe that to every child who dreams, writes, performs, and dares to speak truth to power, because that’s exactly what drama was meant to do.
By Esther Nyambura