As I sat down to reflect on Strathmore University’s theme for 2026, #PersonalizedAttention, I found myself revisiting the moments that have defined my four years at the institution. Of all the people who have shaped my understanding of that phrase, one stands out: our Vice Chancellor, Dr. Vincent Ogutu. Ironically, my first interaction with him was not in a boardroom, at an official event, or during a student leaders’ meeting. It happened at a reception desk.

In the second semester of my first year, I worked part-time as a student assistant at the Strathmore University Chaplaincy. Every weekday evening, from 4:00 p.m. to 7:00 p.m., I would sit at the reception desk, welcoming visitors and helping with the day’s activities. Among the many people who walked through those doors was Dr. Ogutu.

The first few times he came in, he simply smiled and waved. I remember thinking, did the Vice Chancellor just wave at me?
It may seem like a small gesture, but it caught me completely off guard. You see, that wasn’t the environment I had come from.
In high school, the top leadership only seemed to know students who consistently topped the class, held the highest leadership positions, or had unfortunately landed themselves in trouble. I had been a class prefect, a school prefect, and a diligent student, yet I do not think the principal would have recognized me in a crowd. That was not unusual, it was simply how things worked. So naturally, I assumed university would be no different. I was wrong.

One evening, as he was leaving the chapel, Dr. Ogutu walked past my desk, paused, smiled, and asked,
“Hi there, what’s your name?”
“Benjamin,” I replied.
“And what are you studying?”
“I’m pursuing Bachelor Of Science In Informatics And Computer Science. I’ve just completed my first semester.”
What I expected to be a brief exchange became a conversation. Rather than simply moving on, he stayed and continued the conversation. He asked how my first semester had gone, what I was enjoying, and what I had found challenging. I mentioned something that had surprised even me. “Oddly enough,” I told him, “one of the units I’ve enjoyed the most isn’t a computing course at all. It’s Philosophical Anthropology.” He smiled.
For the next few minutes, we found ourselves discussing philosophy rather than programming. Before leaving, he recommended a few resources and introduced me to the work of Dr. Jordan Peterson. I remember thinking how unusual that conversation was. The Vice Chancellor had taken time, not because he had to, but because he genuinely wanted to know how a first-year student was doing. That conversation would not be our last.

Over the years, we met many more times, especially during what was then known as the Vice Chancellor’s Run, now the Strathmore Annual Run.
After my first run in 2024, I walked over and nervously asked, “Dr. Ogutu, would you mind if we took a photo together?” He smiled. “Of course.” After taking the picture, he thanked me for participating. I mentioned that I was studying on scholarship. His response has stayed with me ever since. “When I’m running and my body starts telling me to stop,” he said, “I think about students like you, students on scholarship and I remind myself why I’m running. Then I keep going.” It was a simple statement, but one that revealed something profound: to him, students were never statistics or numbers on a report—they were the reason behind the work. The interaction that remains closest to my heart, however, came much later.

In May 2025, during the preparations for the Strathmore Annual Run, a group of us who had been training together with Dr. Ogutu took a few photos after one of our sessions. I shared the pictures with him on WhatsApp. A few moments later, my phone buzzed. “Thank you for sharing these.” It was the first time I had messaged the Vice Chancellor directly. I had saved his number, but I honestly never imagined that he would save mine.

About a month later, in June 2025, my father passed away after a long battle with kidney disease. It was one of the most difficult seasons of my life. He had battled kidney disease for more than two decades, displaying remarkable resilience throughout his life. In the midst of those difficult days, Dr. Ogutu heard about my father’s passing and took time to send me a personal message of condolence. That message meant more than he will probably ever know.
After the burial, I returned to campus with just one week left before my end-of-semester examinations. I had been away from school for two weeks. Although my lecturers and friends had been incredibly supportive, I could not help wondering whether I would be able to catch up.

On my very first day back, after class in Phase One, I found myself standing outside the Vice Chancellor’s office. I had not booked an appointment. I had not informed anyone that I was coming. I simply wanted to thank him. When I explained my reason to his secretary, I was invited in. Dr. Ogutu welcomed me warmly. We talked for over thirty minutes. He listened as I shared what the past few weeks had been like. Then he said something that has stayed with me ever since. “Benjamin, I also lost my father while I was at university. It wasn’t easy, but don’t let this define what comes next.” At that moment, he was not speaking as the Vice Chancellor, he was speaking as someone who understood grief because he had lived through it himself.
As our conversation came to an end, I smiled and asked; “Dr. Ogutu, can we take a selfie?” He laughed. “Of course.”

I walked out of his office feeling lighter than when I had walked in. A week later, I sat my examinations. When the results were released, I was delighted to discover that I had earned an A average for the semester. Looking back, I often think that conversations cannot change circumstances. My father was still gone. The examinations were still difficult. But genuine care has a remarkable way of changing people. It restores hope, renews confidence and reminds us that we do not have to carry life’s burdens alone.
As I reflect on my years at Strathmore, I realise that my story is not really about one man. Yes, Dr. Ogutu exemplified #personalizedattention in countless ways. Through simple greetings, meaningful conversations, words of encouragement, and the gift of his time, he showed me that leadership is not measured by titles but by the ability to make another person feel seen.
But he was not the only one.  Throughout my years at Strathmore, I encountered the same spirit in lecturers who became mentors, in my assigned mentors who journeyed with me through university, and in administrators and staff who always had time to listen. They saw students not as numbers, but as individuals with dreams, challenges, and stories worth knowing.

Before joining Strathmore, I believed that only a handful of students could ever be known by the leadership of an institution. Strathmore dismantled that belief. Here, I discovered that excellence is not only built through academic rigour or world-class facilities. It is built through relationships. Through people who know your name, ask how you are doing, and genuinely wait for the answer. Through people who celebrate your successes, notice your absence, and stand beside you when life becomes difficult. That, to me, is what personalized attention truly means. It is not merely a theme for 2026. It is a culture that has quietly shaped the Strathmore experience for generations.

As I prepare to leave Strathmore, one of the greatest lessons I will carry with me is that no act of kindness is ever too small. A wave across a chapel. A conversation after class. A message of condolence. An open office door. These seemingly ordinary moments have the power to leave an extraordinary impact.

I arrived at Strathmore believing that only a select few students could ever be known by the people at the top. I leave knowing that true leadership is found in making every person feel known. For that, I am deeply grateful to Dr. Vincent Ogutu and to the many lecturers, mentors, administrators, and members of staff who have embodied this culture throughout my journey.

Thank you, Strathmore, for showing me what personalized attention truly looks like, and for reminding me that in a great university, no student should ever feel invisible.

Article written by Benjamin Tait, Bachelor Of Science In Informatics And Computer Science.