By Adonis Byemelwa
Warnings come easily in Tanzania’s education sector. Implementation, sadly, does not. Every few years, a new minister steps forward, delivers a firm statement, and for a brief moment, the public feels acknowledged. There is usually applause from some quarters, criticism from others, and plenty of debate on social media.
Then, quietly, classrooms return to business as usual. Prof. Adolf Mkenda’s recent directive urging private schools to respect the academic calendar and allow students their rightful holidays fits neatly into this long tradition of well-intentioned pronouncements that rarely survive contact with reality.
For many parents, teachers, and students, this feels like déjà vu, the kind that settles deep in your bones. We have been here before, and not just once. Back in 2017, Prof. Joyce Ndalichako, then Minister for Education, issued a clear warning to school managers against dressing kindergarten, primary, and secondary pupils in academic regalia during graduations.
Gowns and mortarboards, Prof. Ndalichako once said, were for diploma and degree holders, not toddlers clutching balloons. The directive was clear, yet visit any nursery graduation today, and you will still find tiny “graduates” posing for cameras. The circular came, headlines followed, and then life moved on.
It was the same with earlier warnings about holiday learning. When Ummy Mwalimu condemned keeping students in school during official breaks, her message travelled far. Nevertheless, in classrooms, little changed. Children kept reporting to school, parents reshuffled routines, teachers adjusted timetables, and the system quietly absorbed the warning.
So, when Prof. Mkenda speaks now, many people hear something familiar. It feels like another voice added to a long list of leaders who diagnose problems well but struggle to carry solutions beyond paper. The fatigue is real. People are not rejecting the message; they are tired of messages that never turn into action.
You hear it in everyday conversations. Parents talk about children leaving home before sunrise and coming back exhausted. Teachers speak of overcrowded classes and rushing through syllabi. Students drift from one test to the next, barely catching their breath.
Still, it is not simply stubborn schools or careless leaders. In marginalised areas, educators face too few teachers, broken classrooms, and limited books. As Antony Mtaka once noted, extra lessons there are often about survival, not competition. It is a reminder that beneath every policy debate sits a struggling system, doing what it can to stay afloat.
This matters because it complicates the narrative. Extended schooling is not always driven by profit or prestige. Sometimes it is a desperate attempt to patch a broken system. A head teacher in a rural school does not think in terms of policy elegance; they think in terms of how to help forty pupils share ten textbooks. A teacher facing a class of seventy does not quote circulars; they count minutes and chalk.
However, acknowledging these struggles does not erase the psychological cost borne by children. Educational research is clear, and common sense confirms it: sustained learning requires rest. Breaks allow young minds to reset, reduce stress, and rebuild motivation. Holidays give children space to explore creativity, family life, and practical skills that classrooms often neglect. Remove those pauses, and you produce students who memorise quickly but forget easily, who pass exams yet struggle to apply knowledge beyond school walls.
Many Tanzanians recognise this instinctively. Social media reactions to Mkenda’s remarks reveal profound public exhaustion. Some commenters argue that ministers lecture ordinary families while their own children study abroad or in elite private institutions, far removed from crowded public classrooms. Whether entirely fair or not, this perception fuels cynicism.
People feel policies are made by leaders who do not personally share the consequences. Others point out something equally uncomfortable: private schools are not alone. Government schools, especially examination classes, routinely operate during holidays, sometimes under quiet directives from local authorities. This selective enforcement undermines credibility and makes reform appear theatrical.
Then there is parental pressure, a factor often overlooked in official conversations. Many parents actively demand holiday classes, hoping to give their children an edge in national exams. In a system where success is measured almost exclusively by grades, families understandably chase any advantage available. Schools respond to this demand, blurring the line between service and exploitation. Everyone is afraid of being left behind, and that collective anxiety feeds the cycle.
What we are witnessing, really, is the collision of policy, inequality, fear, and ambition. Each element reinforces the other, creating a system that runs on exhaustion. Compare this with high-performing education systems such as Finland, Canada, or Japan. There, holidays are protected. Remedial programmes exist, yes, but they are structured, targeted, and time-bound. Children are not expected to study relentlessly from January to December. Learning is balanced with play, reflection, and social development. Education aims to form capable citizens, not just examination candidates.
Even ancient thinkers understood this balance. Socrates believed education was about drawing out understanding, not forcing information in. Plato warned that knowledge acquired without joy fails to endure. Confucius taught that reflection is essential to learning. None of them imagined children confined to classrooms year-round. Their wisdom feels especially relevant today, when modern systems risk forgetting that education is a human process, not an industrial one.
Tanzania does not really suffer from a shortage of education policies; it suffers from what happens after they are announced. Circulars come out, meetings are held, and speeches sound convincing. Then life resumes. Monitoring stays weak, inspections appear only now and then, and consequences for breaking rules feel distant. Parents often do not know where to report problems, while education officers juggle tight budgets and quiet political pressure. In that space, even sensible directives slowly fade.
That is why Prof Mkenda’s warning feels familiar to many of us who have watched this system for years. Without firm follow-through, it risks joining a long line of reforms that began with promise and ended in silence. What schools really need is not another headline, but steady oversight, equal rules for public and private institutions, and serious investment in teachers, classrooms, and learning materials so extra tuition stops being a survival strategy.
Parents also sit inside this story. Out of fear and hope, many push for nonstop schooling, believing it guarantees success. Schools respond, children carry the load, and the cycle continues. However, education is a shared project. Families, teachers, and leaders must pause and ask what progress truly looks like.
Mkenda is correct: children deserve breaks. Rest strengthens learning. Nonetheless, we should also remember Educational Commissioner Dr Lyabwene Mtahabwa’s warning against boarding primary pupils under the excuse of Grade 4 and 7 remedial classes, a practice now quietly widespread.
When promises meet inspections, consequences, and real political courage, we keep reliving the same cycle: statements land, headlines fade, classrooms stay unchanged, leaving learners drained and dreams softly delayed. Many of us have watched this happen year after year. Warnings come, habits remain. What children need now is consistency, not speeches, and a system brave enough to protect childhood as much as exam results.
Socrates reminded us that education is not about filling minds but awakening them. Plato warned against learning without joy. Confucius spoke of reflection as the soul of understanding. Their wisdom still matters.
A tired child does not reflect; an overworked student does not discover. If we genuinely care about education, we must move beyond performance and paperwork. Real reform lives in classrooms, in rested minds, and in leaders willing to turn words into action. Until then, we will keep circling the same arguments, while children quietly carry the cost.