KenyaOnAShoeString: Real Advice for Real Kenyans

A woman chooses not to marry. Another decides not to have children. A third chooses to invest her energy into her career, or perhaps into travel, or art, or activism. These are simple personal choices—no different from a man choosing to remain a bachelor, or a man choosing to have children later in life, or none at all. And yet, in Kenya (and elsewhere), when women make these choices, the world often reacts as if she has staged a rebellion. Worse still, her decisions are interpreted not as choices for herself but as choices against men . Why is that? When Choice Is Misread as Rejection When a woman says she does not want to get married, it is common to hear whispers: “She hates men,” “She was hurt before,” or “She thinks she’s better than everyone else.” But when a man says the same? He is seen as independent, perhaps even smart for “avoiding drama.” When a woman chooses not to have children, she is told she will regret it, that she is rejecting family life, that she is “selfi...

The other day, I was at Quickmart doing some regular shopping. On the wall, a large poster caught my attention: “Shop & Win. Grand Prize: A Car.” The rules were simple — spend at least 3,000 shillings, and you automatically entered the draw. Almost at the same time, Cadbury was running its own promotion. Buy two of their products, and you stood a chance to win prizes. Now here’s the truth: I don’t even like chocolate, and I rarely buy drinking chocolate. But I found myself at the counter with two Cadbury items in hand. I also spent more than I had planned in Quickmart just to qualify for the draw. All of a sudden, I was no longer shopping for what I needed — I was gambling with my shopping cart. And this is where the realization struck me: nobody is immune. We like to think gambling is only about betting shops, casinos, or shady lottery schemes. But everyday promotions, loyalty cards, and “win big” campaigns are simply socially acceptable versions of the same thing. Promotio...

A boss promises you a raise once the project succeeds. A partner hints that if you stay patient a little longer, the relationship might “finally move forward.” Politicians campaign on the promise of jobs, better healthcare, or free education—but only after you elect them, again. We live in a society of endless carrots dangled before us, and we, like donkeys, keep moving forward—hoping this time, the promise will be delivered. But is this way of living sustainable, or are we caught in a cycle where we are always testing the waters and rarely diving in? At Work: The Corporate Carrot In Kenya , this practice is almost institutionalized. Employers dangle promotions, salaries, and opportunities with the familiar line: “Just give it time, prove yourself, then we’ll see.” Internships and probationary contracts are prime examples. Some companies keep interns for years, paying a pittance under the guise of “exposure” or “experience.” A graduate earning KSh 15,000 is promised a salary bum...

Curiosity is alive in Kenya — but it is restless, shallow, and often wasted. We ask questions every day, but most of them don’t take us anywhere. Listen to the radio in a matatu and you’ll hear it: someone calling in to debate whether it’s acceptable to date your friend’s ex. Scroll through social media and you’ll find endless threads about celebrity drama or political insults. Even in offices, the loudest questions are often: “Who annoyed the boss today?” or “When is the next team-building?” We are curious, yes — but about things that rarely stretch us, rarely free us, rarely move us forward. But what if the problem isn’t curiosity itself? What if the real issue is how we phrase our curiosity ? How Curiosity Gets Killed Early From childhood, Kenyans are told: “ Usihoji sana .” Don’t question too much. A child who asks “Why?” too often is labeled stubborn. A worker who questions a system is branded difficult. A citizen who questions leadership is told to “respect authority.” We...

The other day, I was in a matatu . The radio was on, as it often is, and a caller was given the chance to share their truth. What did they choose to say? That they were sleeping with a mother and her daughter at the same time. The radio hosts laughed, entertained it, asked questions. The matatu passengers chuckled. And just like that, the ride went on. It struck me—not because of the scandal itself, but because this is the kind of content that dominates our airwaves. Morning shows, drive shows, late-night segments. Sex, scandal, cheating, love triangles, secret lives. And it isn’t just radio. On TV, online, even in comedy clubs, scandalous and sexual topics gather the biggest crowds. The more outrageous, the more viral. Scroll through YouTube and you’ll see “story time” confessionals that rack up hundreds of thousands of views—someone narrating their affair, their betrayal, their secret lives. TikTok trends erupt overnight around gossip. Tabloids and blogs thrive on the downfall ...

In Kenya, few social realities are as visible — and as normalized — as single motherhood. Walk into any Kenyan town , village , or estate and you will hear it: “ single mother .” It rolls off tongues with ease, as if it were the most natural title in the world. It carries weight, stigma, sometimes pity, sometimes pride. We hear phrases like  “I was raised by a single mother”  or  “She’s doing it all on her own”  so often that they hardly spark a second thought.  But pause for a moment: why does the phrase exist in the first place? Why is there no equal and opposite phrase — “ absentee father ” — that carries the same recognition, the same punch, the same weight in society? This question matters because it reveals not just our family structures , but also our values as a people . The Normalization of “Single Mother” In Kenya, the term single mother has become so normalized that it is almost part of our cultural vocabulary . It is said casually, often with ...

People think they marry for love . But more often than not, they marry to be safe, to be seen, or to be saved. In Kenya , marriage and children are presented as the natural checkpoints of life. You grow up, finish school, get a job, marry, and have children. This sequence is rarely questioned, because to question it feels like rebellion against culture, religion, and even family. Yet if we strip away the social scripts , the reality is unsettling: very few Kenyans choose marriage or children freely. Marriage as Escape Look closely at the stories around you. Many people marry to escape poverty . For women, this often means marrying a man who can provide more stability than their families could. For men, it may mean marrying into opportunity, or at least a semblance of respectability. The marriage certificate becomes a survival tool — less about romance, more about relief. Others marry to escape abuse . A young woman grows up in a home where beatings and insults are daily bread, and...

What if I told you your salary may never rise beyond KES 60,000 , no matter how many years you work, how many certificates you collect, or how many “ networking ” events you attend? What if your dream job already has a hard glass ceiling — and you’ve already bumped your head against it without realizing? We were raised to believe in perpetual growth. That with time, experience, and effort, you will naturally move to “better things.” But in Kenya today, in 2025, that promise often collapses. Your job title might grow fancier, your responsibilities heavier, but the pay often plateaus. So here’s the uncomfortable question: what if this is it?  What if your role is capped, your company won’t ever pay more, and no external forces are coming to rescue you? The Illusion of More We have been conditioned to chase “more.” More certificates. More diplomas. More masterclasses. We are told that the right piece of paper or the right event will finally unlock the door. But how many people d...

I am not a HR professional, but sitting in on interviews recently opened my eyes to truths about the Kenyan job market that nobody prepares you for. From experienced candidates struggling to negotiate, to graduates with shiny degrees being ignored, the gap between what we think matters and what actually matters is sobering. Here are 12 rarely spoken lessons I wish every job seeker in Kenya would internalize. 1. Years of Experience Don’t Equal Bargaining Power I watched candidates with over 10 years of work experience accept salaries barely higher than entry-level. In Kenya, longevity in a role does not guarantee leverage. Employers will pay only what the market allows, not what your CV claims. If your skills aren’t directly tied to revenue, cost-saving, or a rare technical expertise, years alone won’t buy you influence. 2. Not All Abroad Experience is Equal We assume that working abroad gives you prestige back home. But I saw returnees from the Middle East who had spent years th...