Fred Nyankuru A police training college is not an ordinary academic institution. It is not a university lecture hall where a student may miss a semester, defer examinations, and later resume studies with minimal disruption. It is, in essence, a disciplined paramilitary environment designed to transform civilians into capable law enforcement officers through intense physical, mental, and tactical conditioning. For this reason, the discontinuation of pregnant police recruits from active training is not necessarily an act of discrimination, but rather a practical, professional, and safety-oriented decision rooted in the realities of policing. At the heart of this debate lies a critical misunderstanding of what police training entails. Police colleges, particularly in Kenya, operate much like military barracks. Recruits are subjected to a highly structured regimen involving physically demanding drills, anti-riot operations, firearms proficiency, musketry, fire and movement exercises, tacti...

By Fred Allan Nyankuru  In every society, language is more than a tool for communication. It is a vehicle of power. Words shape identities, enforce norms, and, at times, quietly wound the very people they claim to guide. Among the most commonly used —and misused —phrases in modern discourse is the term “real man.” On the surface, it may appear harmless, even aspirational. But in practice, it has too often become a blunt instrument of pressure, shame, and silent erosion of male dignity. It is time we examine this phrase, not with emotion alone, but with clarity, fairness, and a commitment to the well-being of men and the boy child. Manhood is not earned; it is inherent. A man does not become a man by meeting a checklist. He is a man by virtue of his creation and existence. This is not a philosophical claim. It is a biological and existential reality. Yet, society frequently behaves as though manhood is conditional. A man must prove himself through wealth, resilience, emotional suppr...

In politics, nations are often tempted by the thrill of change, especially when frustrations simmer and public discourse grows restless. But history has a way of warning us against impulsive decisions dressed up as reform. Removing an incumbent leader is not always an act of progress; sometimes, it is a disruption of hard-earned momentum. As Kenya approaches the 2027 general election, we must carefully interrogate whether replacing William Ruto would truly serve the country’s long-term interests —or whether it would be a costly mistake. Kenya has been here before. In 2007, as Mwai Kibaki sought re-election, the country stood at a pivotal moment. His administration had overseen a remarkable economic recovery —GDP growth had surged, investor confidence had returned, and infrastructure development was gaining pace. Yet the election period, defined by intense opposition and a push to unseat him, culminated in the devastating 2007–2008 Kenyan post-election violence. The result was not merel...