KenyaOnAShoeString: Real Advice for Real Kenyans

"The problem with stereotypes is not that they are untrue, but that they are incomplete. They make one story become the only story."  — Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie We’ve all heard it before: Thailand, the Land of Smiles — a friendly, beautiful paradise beloved by travelers. And perhaps, like me, you've also come across the darker headlines: scams targeting tourists, alcohol laced with drugs, even black market egg-harvesting. A tourist once described it as a "scam paradise." Yet the planes still land, the resorts stay booked, and travel advisories remain light or non-existent. Influencers still post dreamy sunsets in Phuket. The world moves on. Now imagine if those same headlines came out of Kenya. Or Nigeria. Or Zimbabwe. There would be travel bans. Embassy warnings. Cancellations. Panic on the streets of TripAdvisor. Cautionary articles in every major Western outlet. You might even hear the words “failed state” being tossed around.  Why the difference? The Dan...

In Kenya today, there is a deep and growing tendency to interpret every experience, setback, or societal issue through a spiritual lens. From personal misfortunes to national problems, we are often quick to declare, “It is spiritual.” But what happens when this worldview becomes the dominant, default lens through which life is understood? When does spirituality stop offering comfort and start becoming a barrier to change, reason, or healing? What Is Spiritualization? Spiritualization is the process of interpreting ordinary life events or challenges as being caused or governed by spiritual forces. In Kenya, this could mean attributing financial struggles to curses, job losses to spiritual attacks, or national corruption to demonic strongholds. While faith and spirituality can offer hope, purpose, and community, over-spiritualization denies the need for personal responsibility, rational thinking, or practical action. Over-spiritualization is not about having faith—it’s about outsourcing ...

I had just stepped into Karura Forest, the late morning sun filtering through the canopy, when the thought struck me. Why is it that so many Kenyans, when given the opportunity to own land or build a home, begin by clearing every sign of life from the soil? We clear every tree, scrape off the topsoil, and replace grass with cabro. Then we head to plant nurseries and buy potted palms to ‘bring life’ into our homes. A strange cycle: nature out, then purchased back in, at a premium. Why is nature—especially dense, forested, untamed nature—treated not with reverence, but with suspicion? This isn’t just about trees. It’s about psychology, memory, fear, and aspiration. And it might explain why, in a country with incredible biodiversity, we still pour concrete where grass could grow, chop trees only to later hang plastic vines on our balconies, and consider seclusion in nature to be more dangerous than restorative. The Fear of the Wild Dense nature is often associated with risk. Places with t...

Poverty isn’t always loud. It doesn’t always look like hunger or sleeping on the streets. In Kenya, poverty often hides behind clean shirts, job titles, rent paid just in time, and Facebook posts that say "Grateful." For many, managing poverty is a full-time emotional and logistical job. It means constantly weighing which bill can wait. It means borrowing with shame, spending with guilt, and surviving on ingenuity. This article explores how poverty management looks in Kenya today—from the city to the village—and why recognizing it matters. What Is Poverty Management? Poverty management is not poverty eradication. It’s the survival blueprint people create when income is not enough to meet even basic needs. It means stretching a salary, balancing multiple debts, dodging financial obligations, making do without, and constantly being in negotiation with life: "Can I afford to get sick? Can I delay rent? Will this 100 bob get me through the day?" It’s skill. It’s stress....

In a country where the economy is as uneven as the Nairobi skyline—shiny towers next to aging flats—finding a personal money philosophy isn’t just helpful, it’s essential. Whether you’re single, dating, or married, how you interact with money shapes everything from your peace of mind to your future options. This article explores how to find your money philosophy through real Kenyan examples, the trade-offs involved, and how this philosophy can (and should) evolve over time. What Is a Money Philosophy—and Why Does It Matter? A money philosophy is your deeply personal belief about the role of money in your life. It answers the question: what is money for, to me? For some, money means safety—never going hungry again. For others, it’s about options, power, peace, or pleasure. Some want status, others want legacy. And many people, unknowingly, live out philosophies shaped by fear, scarcity, or childhood patterns. A money philosophy is not a budget. It’s not a plan. It’s the emotional and ps...

We all carry around a few maybes —those half-formed ideas and dreams that hover in the background, whispering that maybe one day, we'll take the plunge. Maybe I'll move out. Maybe I'll go back to school. Maybe I'll buy land in that quiet town. Maybe I'll cut ties with that draining friend. These thoughts are not always harmless. Some maybes haunt us for years, quietly costing us peace, time, clarity, or money. This article explores real, grounded examples of Kenyans wrestling with maybes—choices that linger, pull energy, and clutter our decision-making. And how, by eliminating a maybe—either by turning it into a solid yes or a firm no—we make space for clarity and progress. 1. Muthoni – The Maybe of Buying Land in Naivasha The Maybe: Muthoni had her eye on a piece of land in Naivasha for months. She envisioned weekend getaways, a tiny home, maybe even hosting creatives for retreats. The Cost of the Maybe: She spent months obsessively browsing listings, calculating...

We are surrounded by wealth. Expensive cars on the road, packed cafes with KES 1,200 bills for chips, chicken and a drink, yoga and Pilates studios charging KES 30,000/month for 12 sessions, iPhones and high-end Samsung's on every table, people going on holiday every few months, apartments going for KES 22 million plastered across billboards — and somehow, everyone seems to be affording it. And yet, if you're earning over KES 100,000/month, statistically, you're in the top 2% of Kenyan earners. You're doing everything right: budgeting, saving, avoiding debt, maybe even running a side hustle. But at the end of the month, you feel broke. You feel stuck. You feel like you can't move forward. This article explores the observed reality vs the lived reality . We peel back the image of wealth that surrounds us to show what life really looks like for salaried Kenyans earning "well." Through three detailed profiles, we break down exactly where the money goes — an...

I’m writing this because I’m angry — not the kind of anger that passes, but the kind that grows. The kind that keeps you up at night. I look at Nairobi today and I don’t recognize it. Not because of development. Not because of traffic. But because this city, this country — my home — is being bought up, piece by piece, by people who don’t love it the way we do . And the rest of us? We're being priced out, pushed aside, and told to be quiet. Studio apartments in Westlands are going for 9 million shillings. Who are they for? Certainly not for the ordinary Kenyan. And yet foreigners — many of them — are buying two, three, four houses like it’s a shopping spree, while the people who grew up in these neighborhoods are priced out, forced to the outskirts, or locked into eternal renting. And when we speak up, we’re told, “Hii nchi si yetu?” I see the face of this country changing — and it’s not just cultural. It’s ownership. It’s power. It’s the future slipping out of our hands. To Those...