Whose Story Is It, Really? Questioning Narratives from Bangkok to Nairobi

"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 Danger of the Single Story — at Home and Abroad

Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie’s now-famous TED Talk, The Danger of a Single Story, warns us of the risks of hearing — and believing — only one version of a place, a people, or a culture. When one story dominates, others are erased. And when others try to speak up, they're often discredited or dismissed.

It’s no secret that Western countries apply double standards. A scam in Bangkok is shrugged off as part of the “chaotic charm” of Southeast Asia. A scam in Nairobi is proof that Africa is unsafe.

Why? Because Thailand, like many tourist-heavy economies, has invested deeply in curating its global image — a postcard-perfect version of itself. Its tourism industry is valuable enough to defend, even when things go wrong. And Western interests — diplomatic, economic, and cultural — often align with protecting that image.

Africa, on the other hand, has long been cast as a continent of danger, disease, poverty, and corruption. That’s the single story we inherited — a flat, tragic narrative that ignores the continent’s complexity, brilliance, and diversity.

Even within Kenya, we’ve absorbed this narrative. We’ve grown up measuring our worth against it. And it hasn’t just distorted how the world sees us — it’s distorted how we see ourselves.

When travel advisories apply one standard to Thailand and another to Kenya, it isn't just bureaucracy. It’s narrative politics. It’s image control. It’s about who is allowed to be complex, and who is flattened into a warning sign.

Why Does This Matter to Kenyans?

In Kenya today, the danger of the single story is no longer a foreign problem. It’s local. It's political. And it's personal.

Controlled narratives are shaping how we understand:

• Protests (Are they “hooliganism” or democratic expression?)

• Youth voices (Are they “misled” or rising leaders?)

• Corruption (Is it a rotten apple or a systemic disease?)

If we aren’t careful, we’ll find ourselves internalizing the story that someone else wants told. A story that benefits power, not people.

Whose Story Is It?

We all grew up hearing certain stories in Kenya — taught in school, shared in the media, or passed down by elders. They shaped our understanding of who we are, what we’ve come from, and where we’re going. But with time, we’ve started to see the cracks — the missing voices, the suppressed truths, the agendas behind the storytelling.

Let’s revisit a few of these stories — and look at the cautionary tales they carry.

The Mau Mau Were Dangerous Rebels

For decades, the official post-colonial narrative painted the Mau Mau as violent terrorists — uncivilized radicals who disrupted the peace. This was the story taught in colonial schools and often quietly upheld even after independence. But as more archival material, personal testimonies, and critical scholarship surfaced, the story shifted.

Today, we recognize the Mau Mau as freedom fighters — people who made enormous sacrifices for Kenya’s liberation. The danger of the original narrative? It delegitimized our own resistance, made us ashamed of our freedom fighters, and allowed colonial violence to be morally justified for far too long.

Jomo Kenyatta: The Father of the Nation

We were taught to revere Jomo Kenyatta — the founding father, the wise leader who brought independence and unity. While that’s partly true, it’s also incomplete.

Rarely were we told about the land grabbing, consolidation of elite power, and betrayal of fellow freedom fighters like Oginga Odinga and the wider peasant movement. We didn’t learn about how post-independence Kenya was shaped to serve a narrow class of beneficiaries — a legacy we are still untangling today.

The danger? We inherited a myth of benevolent leadership — and stopped questioning where power actually lives, and how it came to be.

Politics Is for the Rich and Connected

This is a narrative that many young Kenyans have grown up with: politics is dirty, corrupt, and not for “people like us.” Stay in your lane. Let “leaders” handle it.

But the reality is — that story has served the elite very well. It has kept many brilliant, ethical, grassroots leaders out of public life. It has fed voter apathy and reinforced the same dynasties that we quietly complain about every five years.

The danger? We silence ourselves before anyone else has to.

We must constantly ask:

• Who is telling this story?

• What is their interest?

• Who is missing from the narrative?

• And what truths are being silenced?

The way Thailand’s image is protected despite serious systemic issues, while African nations are quickly painted as dangerous, shows us how narrative equals power.

And that’s a cautionary tale for all of us.

Because when we don’t ask questions, we risk being reduced — whether by Western governments, biased media, or even our own leaders — into characters in someone else’s plot.

The danger of a single story — whether it’s about Thailand being a paradise or Kenya being hopeless — is not just that it misinforms.

It’s that it shapes how we act, how we vote, how we spend, how we travel, how we see ourselves — and most dangerously, how we imagine (or stop imagining) the future.

When the stories we hear are limited, so are our choices.

Why This Matters Now — More Than Ever

In 2024 and 2025, with protests rising, youth voices growing louder, and new movements challenging old power, Kenyans are once again at a turning point. But the battle isn't just on the streets. It’s also in the storylines.

• Who gets called a “criminal” and who gets called a “leader”?

• Who is a “hustler” and who is “the deep state”?

• Who is telling Kenya’s story right now — and for whose benefit?

We must learn to pause, look beyond the headline, and ask: Who is missing from this narrative?

Reclaiming Our Stories

We have the tools. We have the voices. Now we need the courage to challenge official scripts — and the wisdom to create more complete, more truthful stories.

Stories where Kenya is not just “developing,” but dynamic. Not just “resilient,” but radical. Not just “surviving,” but reimagining itself in the face of pressure.

So the next time you hear a neat narrative — about Kenya, Africa, or anywhere else — pause. Ask who benefits. Ask who speaks. Ask what’s missing.

And then, if you can, write a new story.

Your Story Matters

Whether it’s a family truth, a community history, or a personal awakening — we all have stories that were once told to us a certain way, until we saw the fuller picture.

What’s one story you believed growing up — and then realized wasn’t the whole truth?

Let’s keep reclaiming the narrative, one story at a time.