By Joan Kamau and Rosemary Nyambura,
Switching to online learning hit university life like a quiet storm. In the beginning, it seemed like a break from the usual rush; no more squeezing into overcrowded matatus or running late for an 8 AM lecture. But with time, the real toll began showing up in ways no one expected. Students I spoke to described it as a slow drain on their energy, where the excitement of university life slowly faded into staring at a screen all day. Amina, a second-year student from a public university in Nairobi, shared her experience in regards to the shift. “Before, campus felt alive. You’d meet friends at the mess, laugh about a bad grade over chapati and beans. But now, it’s just me in my room, camera off most times because I didn’t want people to keep seeing my messy room. I feel invisible.”
The emotional side is where the real problem lies. Loneliness crept in for many. Kevin, a final-year engineering student, shared how he used to play football with his hostel mates every evening as a form of relief after tough classes. “Online, the motivation is zero,” he said over the phone. “You submit assignments with a button, no high-fives, no group study sessions that turn into all-night debates. I failed two units last semester because it was hard to focus alone. Depression crept up on me.” It’s not just a single story; counsellors note the pattern everywhere. Dr. Jane Mwangi, a psychologist at a private university in the city. She told me her office used to handle almost 10 walk-ins a week for anxiety or stress. Now, even with virtual sessions, the cases tripled. “Students report higher isolation,” she explained. “The lack of face-to-face interaction means no casual check-ins, you can’t see when someone’s down. We’re dealing with more cases of burnout and even suicidal thoughts resulting from this detachment.”
Practically, routines have fallen apart. Group projects became a nightmare. Sarah, a third-year business student, bitterly laughed when recalling a team assignment. “We’d meet on Zoom, but half the time someone lost connection, sometimes they’re multitasking with house chores. Commitment is really low. I got disappointed by the group and ended up doing 80% of the work myself. Friendships suffer too; distance grows without those random hangouts.” Motivation tanked. Without the buzz of campus events, social clubs or even library vibes, studying somehow feels pointless. A report from the Kenya Universities and Colleges Central Placement Service noted that dropout rates surged by 15% in public universities during the heavy online periods after 2020, associating it directly to social disconnection.
Counsellors including Dr. Mwangi describe how the pandemic accelerated the psychological fallout, but even now in 2025, with some hybrid options in place, the damage still lingers. “Humans live on connection. University is where lifetime networks are built. Online strips that away, leading to anxiety disorders. One student told me she cries after every class because she misses her squad” Another student, Tom, echoed this during our in-person meet-up at a coffee shop near his off-campus digs. “I came to campus for the full experience—parties, debates, crushes. Now it’s all on screen. I often get irritated, sleep less, and my grades are suffering. Feels like I’m not living anymore, just surviving.”
The challenges of staying connected are real hurdles. Platforms such as WhatsApp groups help a bit, but they can’t compare to real-life experiences. Kevin mentioned trying virtual game nights, but “it feels forced, lags sometimes, and ends early because everyone’s tired from screen fatigue.” Stress piles up from home distractions too, such as family expectations and unreliable internet connections in rural areas. A study by UNESCO highlighted how remote learning widened mental health gaps in Kenya and across Africa, with 40% of students reporting increased depression symptoms.
Overall, this shift has bruised many. Students feel unmotivated, counsellors are overwhelmed, and the joy of university has dimmed. It’s not all doom, but ignoring these impacts means losing the human side of universities, the part that makes them more than just places to earn degrees. Student leaders create Telegram and WhatsApp groups that became lifelines for communication. One leader admitted, “It’s not the same as meeting in person, but at least we still have a space to share updates and laugh together.”
When classes shifted online, students and staff had to quickly find new ways to keep their social lives alive. The campus buzz of clubs, casual hangouts, and shared study sessions disappeared, but people didn’t stop trying to connect. For many, adaptation meant turning everyday tools into social hubs. Final-year students turned Discord into a mix of study room and hangout spot, where group work often ended with games or casual chats. Others leaned on simple acts of care, sending voice notes to friends, checking in, and offering encouragement. “Sometimes we just laugh about how strange everything feels,” one student said, “and that’s enough to make the day lighter.” Administrative staff also stepped in, organizing virtual trivia nights and wellness check-ins. These small gestures gave students a sense of belonging, reminding them that community can exist even through a screen
Traditional clubs found creative ways to survive, hosting online talent shows and virtual meetings to keep their spirit alive. While none of these innovations fully replace the energy of campus life, they reveal a determination to stay connected. In the face of distance, students and staff are proving that community isn’t defined by physical walls. It is built through effort, creativity, and care. As systems evolve, the need for human connection remains a necessity. Students and lecturers need social interactions to have them fulfilled while going about campus life.