The Price of a Bargain: Why “It’s Not a Bargain If You Don’t Need It” Should Be Every Kenyan’s Mantra

I have been dealing with a problem in my foot for almost two weeks. This might not sound particularly dramatic. It isn't cancer. It isn't an emergency. It isn't even the kind of pain that stops me from going about my day. Which is perhaps why I found myself hesitating. You see, I am a walker. Not the kind of person who takes a stroll every now and then. I walk for two to three hours most days. Walking is how I think, how I clear my head, and how I make sense of the world. If there is one part of my body I should be willing to invest in, it is probably my feet. Yet when I started calling podiatrists in Nairobi, I found myself doing mental gymnastics. The cheapest consultation fee I found was KES 5,000. Consultation. Not treatment. Not scans. Not medication. Just the privilege of finding out what might be wrong. By the time everything was done, the bill could easily reach KES 15,000 or KES 20,000. And suddenly I found myself wondering whether I really needed a podiatrist. May...

The Price of a Bargain: Why “It’s Not a Bargain If You Don’t Need It” Should Be Every Kenyan’s Mantra

“It’s not a bargain if you don’t need it.”

This phrase has quietly become my compass whenever a flashy deal or discount catches my eye. It’s simple, but powerful. And in a world that constantly pushes us to buy more, grab every offer, and never miss a sale, it’s the question we all need to ask ourselves.

Walk into any Kenyan supermarket like Quickmart or Naivas on discount day, and you’ll see a battlefield of bargains. Buy-one-get-one-free offers, 50% discounts, and flash sales everywhere. Chicken Inn and Pizza Inn tempt you with their famous “Wacky Wednesday” deals — two meals for the price of one or ridiculously low prices on combos that almost feel too good to be true.

But are they really bargains? Or just clever traps?

Take a moment and think: How often do you finish both pizzas from that deal, especially if you’re eating alone? How many times have you bought plastic gadgets or trinkets from shops like Miniso or China Square because they were “cheap,” only to realize later that they clutter your home or simply don’t serve a real purpose?

The psychology behind sales and discounts is no accident. Retailers, marketers, and social media influencers understand our vulnerabilities — our fear of missing out, our excitement over “saving” money, and the urge to stockpile “just in case.” Influencers like Shiko wa Hii Style show you how many socks or kitchen gadgets you can buy during a sale, making it seem like the ultimate win. But how many of those socks will actually get worn? How many pans do you really need in a kitchen that already functions well?

Here’s an interesting observation: the places where you find the most aggressive deals aren’t your local fresh food markets or nyama choma spots. Walk into an open-air market selling fresh ugali, vegetables, and meat, and you won’t see “buy one get one free” signs. You won’t find discounts on fresh Sukuma wiki or the daily eggs you buy from your neighborhood vendor. Why? Because fresh, essential foods are bought because people need them — they don’t need to be pushed with flashy offers.

Instead, it’s the fast food joints and processed foods that flood the discount scene. It’s these “conveniences” and “extras” that marketers push hard — encouraging overconsumption, clutter, and impulsive spending.

The same pattern emerges in housing and living arrangements. Shared spaces like Mosaic Living in Westlands, Parklands, advertise “all inclusive” rooms going for between KES15,000 and KES 25,000 a month. On paper, this looks like a steal. You don’t have to buy furniture, electronics, or worry about utilities — just bring your suitcase and settle in.

But what these bargains hide is the cramped reality of sharing small spaces with three or more strangers. Privacy is scarce, noise is constant, and the comfort of your own home feels compromised. That “bargain” rent might save you cash, but it can cost you peace of mind, rest, and your personal space — priceless things that no discount can buy back.

This theme plays out in so many areas of life. Meal bundles at fast food places nudge us toward overeating. Discount shops push cheap plastic clutter that quickly becomes trash. Renting “cheap” rooms often costs more in time, stress, and lost quality of life than the rent savings would suggest.

So, what’s the deeper lesson? Why does cheap often feel expensive in the long run? Because bargains aren’t just about price — they’re about value, fit, and impact on your life. A true bargain serves you. A false bargain steals from you — your time, your peace, your money, your space.

Before you rush to grab the next deal, pause and reflect:

Would I buy or accept this if it weren’t discounted or hyped?
Do I genuinely need it, or am I caught in a moment of excitement or pressure?
Will this add lasting value to my life, or will it fade into clutter or regret?
What hidden costs — in time, energy, peace, or relationships — am I ignoring?
Am I rushing because I fear missing out while others are buying?

Every Kenyan deserves to have this mantra close — because in a culture rich with hustle and heart, knowing when to say no is just as valuable as knowing when to say yes.

Sometimes, the best bargain isn’t what’s on sale — it’s the peace that comes with mindful choices.

Daniel Arap Moi — The Shadow and the Shepherd: A Deep Dive into Kenya’s Second President

If Jomo Kenyatta was the founding father, Daniel Toroitich Arap Moi was the long-reigning stepfather — sometimes protective, often punitive, and almost always enigmatic. He ruled Kenya for 24 years, the longest of any president to date. To some, he was the gentle teacher, Mwalimu , who kept the nation from tearing apart. To others, he was the architect of a surveillance state, a master of patronage and fear, the man who perfected repression through calm. This is a portrait of Daniel Arap Moi — not just as a ruler, but as a man shaped by modest beginnings, colonial violence, and the hunger for order in a chaotic time. Early Life: The Boy from Sacho Daniel Arap Moi was born on September 2, 1924, in Kurieng’wo, Baringo, in Kenya’s Rift Valley. He came from the Tugen sub-group of the Kalenjin community. His father died when he was just four. Raised by his uncle, Moi’s early life was marked by hardship, discipline, and deep Christian missionary influence. He trained as a teacher at Tambach ...

Know Thyself: The Quiet Power of Naming Your Nature

“Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate.” — Carl Jung We live in a culture that equates good intentions with goodness, and ambition with ability. But very few people in Kenya—or anywhere—truly know what they are made of. We can name our qualifications and our dreams. But ask someone their vices or virtues, and they hesitate. Worse, they lie. The Danger of Self-Unawareness In Kenya today, many of us are wandering through life making choices—big, small, and irreversible—without truly understanding who we are. We end up in jobs we despise, relationships we shouldn’t be in, or positions of influence we aren’t emotionally or ethically equipped for. And at the root of this dysfunction is a simple truth: we don’t know ourselves. This is not a spiritual or abstract dilemma. It’s a deeply practical one. To know oneself is to understand your vices, your virtues, your weaknesses, and your strengths—not in a vague sense, but in detail. Let’s ge...

The Great Kenyan Home Ownership Madness: Dreams vs. Reality

Owning a home is a big dream for many Kenyans, but somewhere along the way, practicality has been thrown out the window. Too many people, driven by childhood aspirations or societal expectations, are constructing massive houses only to end up living like misers within them. Let’s break down why this trend makes little sense and what smarter, more sustainable homeownership looks like. The Harsh Reality of Owning a Big House in Kenya Many Kenyans, especially those who grew up in humble backgrounds, grew up being told to “dream big.” Unfortunately, this has translated into building unnecessarily large houses, often with rooms that remain unused, multiple verandahs gathering dust, and massive balconies that no one actually sits on. These houses cost millions to build, yet within a few years, the owners are struggling to maintain them, regretting their choices as they pour more money into renovations. If you need proof, just look at how many old houses in Nairobi remain unsold. No one wants...

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We Are Willing to Risk Almost Everything for Money. We Are Just Unwilling to Risk Money for Almost Everything Else.