On the vast plains of Kajiado County, where acacia trees punctuate the horizon and herds of cattle stretch into the distance, education has long travelled a difficult road.

Children here often walk kilometres to school. Some leave home before sunrise. Others do not go at all. In pastoralist communities along the Kenya–Tanzania border — and across parts of Laikipia, northern Uganda and Tanzania’s Arusha region — mobility is a way of life. Families move with livestock in search of water and pasture. School, when weighed against survival, sometimes comes second.

Then came COVID-19.

When the pandemic closed schools, it did more than interrupt learning. It widened an already deep divide. Government e-learning programmes relied on digital devices and internet access — luxuries beyond the reach of many rural families. For children in underserved communities, classrooms disappeared overnight. Months passed. Learning stalled. Some never returned.

Yet amid the disruption, a quiet revolution began.

Grassroots Nest for Innovation and Change (GRiC), a community-rooted organisation working across East Africa, responded not with technology-heavy solutions but with something deceptively simple: meet children where they are.

During lockdown in 2020, GRiC and its local partners launched what they called the Manyatta-based learning programme. In Maasai homesteads — manyattas — small groups of children gathered safely to continue lessons. It was improvised, community-led, and built on trust.

When schools reopened, GRiC transitioned this emergency response into a structured intervention focused on foundational literacy and numeracy. At its heart was a methodology known as Teaching at the Right Level, or TaRL.

The principle was radical in its simplicity. Instead of teaching according to age or grade, assess children individually and group them by ability. Teach from their current learning level — not where the curriculum assumes they should be.

“When we first assessed the learners, it was heartbreaking,” recalls a programme lead. “Some children in grade five could not read simple words. Reading a sentence was a struggle.”

For teachers accustomed to moving entire classes through a standard syllabus, the shift required patience and retraining. GRiC invested heavily in capacity building — training, coaching and mentoring teachers and grassroots facilitators. Five primary schools were selected as initial partners. Learners in grades three to five were assessed and grouped into three levels: Beginner, Word and Paragraph.

Every day, children receive a focused hour of targeted instruction. Lessons are energetic and interactive — songs, games, storytelling and peer support replace rote repetition. Progress is reassessed regularly, allowing learners to move between levels as they improve.

In Kajiado, language presented both a challenge and an opportunity. The dominant tongue in many communities is Maa, yet schools often prioritise English from the outset. GRiC chose to begin instruction in the language children understood best.

“At first there was resistance,” admits one educator. “But once teachers saw the results, they embraced it.”

The results speak for themselves. GRiC reports that 86 percent of participating learners gain measurable literacy competencies. Children who once struggled to decode letters are now reading words, sentences and short stories with confidence.

At one primary school, a headteacher describes the transformation. “Before TaRL, you could find learners in class seven or eight who could not read a sentence. Now, at the lower classes, we are seeing real improvement. When they move from one level to another, it motivates them.”

Parents notice the change at home.

“My son is in grade three,” says a mother in Kajiado. “Since the programme started, he has improved in reading and speaking. He is more confident.”

For children like 12-year-old Brighton, the impact is personal. His family moves frequently with livestock. To keep him in school, his mother left him with his grandmother. “When I was in grade one, I did not pass well,” he says softly. “But now I am passing because my teacher knows how to teach us.”

Mobility remains a formidable obstacle. During dry seasons, families travel far from settled areas. Some children walk up to seven kilometres one way to reach school. Wildlife, including elephants, roam parts of the region, adding risk to already long journeys.

Recognising that foundational learning begins long before primary school, GRiC expanded its work into early childhood development. In remote areas where formal centres are scarce, communities have established local childcare spaces — sometimes in churches or shared buildings — reducing travel distances for young children.

For mothers who once carried infants while herding livestock or fetching water, the change is significant. “The training was about child development,” says one caregiver. “Now I know how my child can grow and learn.”

GRiC works through four interconnected pillars: child learning, women and girls’ empowerment, grassroots organisation strengthening and youth leadership development. By partnering with local community-based organisations, the initiative ensures programmes are embedded in local realities and sustained beyond initial funding cycles.

Community ownership is central. In several villages, residents contributed space, labour and advocacy to establish early childhood centres. “We started this school because our learners stayed home too long before joining,” says a community leader. “GRiC provided learning materials. Now education is more interesting.”

Since 2020, more than 6,000 children across Kenya, Uganda and Tanzania have benefited from GRiC’s foundational learning initiatives. Over 250 facilitators have been trained, equipping local educators with the skills to continue the work.

The ambition, however, extends further.

“With more grassroots partners and stronger collaboration with government, we can scale this work,” says a senior GRiC representative. “Within five years, we want to reach thousands more — even millions.”

Scaling requires more than funding. It demands cultural sensitivity, sustained mentorship and policy alignment. But the blueprint is proving effective: assess honestly, teach intentionally, and engage communities as co-owners.

Back in Kajiado, as afternoon light softens across the plains, a group of children sit beneath a tree reading aloud. Their voices are halting at first, then steadier. Laughter erupts when someone stumbles over a word, followed by encouragement from classmates.

It is not a dramatic revolution. There are no grand buildings or digital dashboards. Instead, there is persistence — teachers staying an extra hour, parents attending meetings, children practising syllables long after lessons end.

Education here is no longer an abstract promise. It is a daily, deliberate act.

GRiC’s journey demonstrates a powerful truth: when learning starts from the child’s reality — their language, their pace, their context — progress becomes possible. When communities, educators and families walk together, transformation follows.

The plains of East Africa remain vast. The distances remain long. But in classrooms scattered across Kajiado and beyond, something fundamental has shifted.

The revolution may be quiet.

But the children are reading.