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

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...
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Ghost Channels, Silent Audiences: What Kenyan YouTube Reveals About Us

There is something strange happening in Kenya’s YouTube world. A creator grows an audience, builds a loyal following, sometimes even becomes a household name—and then they disappear. No goodbye, no explanation, just silence. The channel remains, frozen in time, while subscribers remain subscribed, faithfully waiting.

Unsubscribing from a channel takes less than a minute. Yet, somehow, it feels impossible for many Kenyans to press that button. Why?

The Illusion of Relationship

Part of it is the false sense of relationship we form with creators. In the comments you see it:

  • “Any Kenyans here?”

  • “I’m first today!”

  • “Me coming back from work, dropping everything to watch.”

These are not just casual comments. They reveal something deeper: people tying creators into the rhythms of their daily lives. The notification bell becomes a companion. The video becomes an evening ritual. The creator becomes, in some sense, a friend.

So when a creator disappears, unsubscribing feels like ending a relationship. Even if the relationship was one-sided.

“We Have Bought a Car”

Sometimes, the attachment goes further. A creator buys a car or a house and suddenly the comment section fills with “Congratulations to us—we have bought a car!”

But where is the you in that purchase? It is the creator who benefits. The audience cheers, sometimes even donates, yet receives nothing tangible in return. Why do we so easily merge our identities with people who do not know us and perhaps never will?

The Cost of Misplaced Attachment

This attachment is not harmless. It leads to passivity. Instead of demanding accountability—like asking why creators vanish without explanation—we wait, we hope, we excuse. Just as in life, we stay in systems that do not serve us, in relationships that drain us, in jobs that exploit us. We confuse loyalty with endurance, and respect with silence.

Creators, in turn, learn that they can disappear without consequence. That they can build their platforms on intimacy, even on personal stories, but owe nothing back when those stories unravel. The bond is one-directional.

What This Says About Us

This goes beyond YouTube. It speaks to a cultural tendency. We avoid confrontation. We endure quietly. We mistake emotional investment for reality. And when faced with betrayal, we do not act—we wait.

So maybe the ghost channels and the silent subscribers are not anomalies. Maybe they are mirrors. They reflect how we, as Kenyans, often approach life: hopeful, loyal, enduring—but also passive, unquestioning, and easily entangled in illusions.

Because if pressing unsubscribe feels impossible on a YouTube channel, what other buttons in life are we failing to press?

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