Kenyan universities, once revered as bastions of knowledge and social mobility, are increasingly becoming monuments to misplaced priorities.
The recent trend of splurging hundreds of millions of shillings on ornamental gates—ostentatious structures that serve no functional purpose beyond symbolism—reveals a disturbing disconnect between institutional leadership and the urgent needs of students, communities and the nation.
As a social consciousness theorist, I argue that these choices are not merely financial missteps; they are moral failures that betray the very purpose of higher education.
Let us first dismantle the flawed logic behind these gates. Proponents claim they symbolise ‘prestige’ and ‘branding’, as if a towering archway of marble and steel could compensate for dilapidated lecture halls, understocked libraries or the absence of basic sports facilities.
Dedan Kimathi University’s Sh80 million gate and Karatina University’s Sh50 million project are not markers of excellence—they are relics of a colonial mindset that equates grandeur with progress.
In a country where youth unemployment exceeds 20 per cent and public universities struggle to pay staff, such spending is an affront to the collective conscience.
This obsession with aesthetics over substance perpetuates inequality. While a privileged few bask in the illusion of prestige, students from low-income backgrounds contend with overcrowded hostels and outdated curricula.
What does it say about our priorities when a university invests more in a gate than in nurturing the physical, intellectual and creative potential of its students? Imagine if these millions were redirected toward constructing Fifa, FIH or World Rugby-certified sports facilities.
The financial and social returns would be transformative. A single Fifa-standard football pitch (costing Sh150–400 million) could generate recurring revenue through ticket sales, sponsorships and broadcasting rights.
Hosting international tournaments like the Safari Sevens or Africa Cup qualifiers would position Kenyan institutions as continental hubs, attracting tourism and global partnerships.
But the benefits transcend economics. Sports fields are engines of social equity. They provide scholarships for talented athletes, many of whom come from marginalised communities.
They promote physical and mental health, countering the crisis of sedentary lifestyles among youth. They foster unity, bridging ethnic and socioeconomic divides through shared passion.
Unlike a static gate, a sports field is a living space where dreams are forged, talent is honed, and communities gather. Kenya’s obsession with superficial branding has real consequences.
The absence of certified sports facilities means: Lost talent: Thousands of potential Olympians, football stars and hockey champions remain undiscovered.
Lost revenue: Universities forfeit millions in potential sponsorships and event hosting fees. And lost dignity: Students are denied the right to facilities that developed nations take for granted.
Compare this to the ‘benefits’ of a gate: a fleeting photo op for administrators and a symbol of exclusion, literally and metaphorically. From the lens of social consciousness, every shilling spent by a public institution must answer two questions: Who benefits? Gates serve egos; sports fields serve communities.
What legacy is created? Gates gather dust; sports fields generate opportunity. The math is unambiguous. A Sh200 million gate yields zero shillings in revenue. A Sh300 million Fifa field could generate Sh5–10 million per event, sustain jobs and elevate Kenya’s global standing.
Over a decade, this infrastructure pays for itself while uplifting thousands. Notably, the World University Hockey Championship (organized by FISU) occurs biennially, but African participation is rare due to lack of certified facilities.
The FISU World University Football Championship also occur biennially but African universities rarely participate due to costs and lack of qualifying infrastructure.
Detractors will argue that gates enhance a university’s image to attract students. This is a myth. Students choose institutions for academic rigour, employability outcomes and facilities that enrich their growth—not for Instagrammable gates.
If branding is the goal, nothing markets a university better than producing world-class athletes, hosting international tournaments or offering scholarships that transform lives.
To Kenyan university councils and policymakers: You are not corporate CEOs chasing superficial metrics. You are stewards of public trust.
Redirect vanity budgets toward projects that align with Kenya’s Vision 2030 and the UN Sustainable Development Goals.
Partner with sports federations, private sponsors, and alumni to fund these fields. Phase out the obsession with concrete and steel and invest in human potential.
The gates of Kenyan universities stand as metaphors for a system prioritising exclusion over inclusion, vanity over value, and stagnation over progress.
As a social consciousness theorist, I urge these institutions to tear down the mental and physical barriers that these gates represent. Let us replace them with Olympic-standard tracks, buzzing hockey fields and rugby pitches roaring with the energy of a generation empowered to thrive.
The choice is clear: build monuments or build the future.
The writer is a social consciousness theorist, corporate trainer and speaker
