The sun had long climbed over the lecture halls, and its feeble rays slithered through the atmosphere as it sank toward the horizon; the orange tinge emphasised the brown four-cornered building that is home to many world-renowned doctors. Guess who’s next on the list?
The first whispers of the contest began spreading across campus – weakly, yet determinedly. “Art for Peace Contest. Peace, health and Well-being. By medics, for medics.” No one had any idea how it would unfold. Not even the conceiver. But the halls and the alleys already carried the electric murmur curling through corridors and stairwells. It is December 2025.
The usually predictable rhythm of classes, lab sessions, and hurried lunches has been replaced by a different kind of energy – anticipation. I can’t remember her name, but a random girl tiptoes into my view. Gracefully poised, undeniably striking – a presence that caught the light and held it for a moment. A sight to behold.
“IPPNW just got into the faculty, yeah?”
That’s when I confirmed the speed of information transfer. Faster than voices flung over fences. Faster than the stories children scatter across playgrounds. Art for Peace must have spread too.
We had no option.
January. Posters quietly drape themselves over the tattered, antique faces of our noticeboards. Group chats buzz. Ideas burst into life like sparks striking dry tinder. Everyone sees the award. Everyone wants it. Whiteboards fill and refill in restless motion. Teams debate fiercely over the pieces they will submit. Chants of excitement swell in one minute, only to fray into anxious silence in the next. No one knows what
the judge will honour!
Some souls, however, choose solitude. Silent. Focused. Their
fingers race across keyboards with a fevered urgency, fast
enough to convince you they fear losing that exact idea if
your attention wavers even slightly.
The tension is rising on our end, too, as the organising committee. We watch our co-presidents secure an interview invitation from an external radio station. Suddenly, the contest grows larger than corridors and classrooms.February the 2nd. The link goes live. Zero minutes – first submission already. What a timing! Our team now scrambles to accelerate conversations with external partners. Suddenly, it feels real.
This morning, we sat down with Dr Maturi – the virtuoso patron. He speaks of a great ending with quiet certainty. We see it too. Only a few more classes to review and assignments to revisit. That is the quiet price of student leadership.
February the 27th looms closer, threatening to slip past before we can steady our breath. Deadlines gather weight. We feel it. Our creatives do even more. They call. They plead. They send requests. But we simply cannot bend it. Forty submissions it is. Forty in a month – in Thirty days! Hand-drawn. Digitally sketched. Painted. Written. Crocheted. Colored. The collection grows brighter. It gets richer. This is not a first attempt. Kudos to my friends on the organising team.
Should I speak of the D-day? March the 14th? Yes. We felt a weight slide slowly off our shoulders. In its place, a strange emptiness crept in. A sad, happy day. Our partners arrive. New banners rise. Fresh décor breathes life into the hall. Our publicity lead, Irene, truly delivers.
Because who else could weave the shukas together to spill such a warm, celebratory African glow across the room? The artists claim the stage. They pull us into a world I personally wish I could remain in for the rest of my days. Passion. Power. Clarity. Bravery. They honor their talents with fearless honesty.
Then the judges step forward, holding an envelope that suddenly feels heavier than paper should ever be. The hall forgets to breathe. A voucher worth thousands – so it seems – rests quietly in their hands. “I wish I could participate…”
When the winning name breaks the silence, the room erupts.
Friends surge forward. Cameras burst alive. Laughter, cheers, disbelief spill into every corner of the hall. Resilience. A classmate's choice during the exhibition week. He must have carried an artist’s eye. Perhaps even the instincts of a judge for Round II, 2026 – 2027, is that you?
But tell me – how often do we, as medical students, truly enter global conversations? Do you believe peace is a health issue more than a political one? Do you believe climate change, global finance, and labor laws shape health more deeply than we admit?
Let’s talk. Only at IPPNW-MSSR University of Nairobi Chapter. Where advocacy meets purpose!
IPPNW - MSSR UNIVERSITY OF NAIROBI - PLANETARY HEALTH
KENYATTA NATIONAL HOSPITAL CAMPUS, P. O. BOX 19676 – 00202, NAIROBI
Email: ippnw.uon@gmail.com
Instagram: @ippnw_uonchapter