KenyaOnAShoeString: Real Advice for Real Kenyans

When Kenya descended into bloodshed in the wake of the 2007 general election, the world watched in disbelief. Over 1,300 people were killed, hundreds of thousands were displaced, families were shattered, homes torched, and neighbors turned against each other overnight. We called it election violence. But was it? The truth is more uncomfortable than the slogans, the press briefings, or the reconciliatory church prayers we clung to in the aftermath. What happened in 2007/08 was not simply about a stolen vote. It was the cracking open of decades-old wounds — social, economic, tribal, and political — that we, as a country, had consistently refused to face. We blamed the devil. We called for peace. We urged forgiveness — often from the very people who had been violated. But we never stopped to ask: What were we really forgiving? What had we truly understood? The Road to Rupture: Seeds Sown Over Decades To understand the violence of 2007/08, we must step back — far back. Land : At the heart ...

In the pantheon of Kenya’s political elite, Uhuru Muigai Kenyatta stands out not for the clarity of his vision or the sharpness of his ideological commitments — but for the weight of his name, the power he inherited, and the ambivalence he often wore like a tailored suit. Born into privilege, raised in comfort, and handed platforms few Kenyans could dream of, Uhuru’s rise to the presidency felt less like the culmination of political passion and more like the fulfillment of a dynastic obligation. His tenure, spanning 2013 to 2022, left Kenya at a critical crossroads — with a complex legacy of infrastructural ambition, ballooning debt, tribal realignments, and elite indulgence. Yet for all the visibility, the man himself remains elusive: deeply known yet barely understood. Son, Husband, Father — But To Whom, Really? On paper, Uhuru Kenyatta is a family man. He married Margaret Wanjiru Gakuo in 1991, and together they have three children: Jomo, Jaba, and Ngina. Margaret was often praised ...

Mwai Kibaki often slips through the cracks of memory — not because he was invisible, but because his style was quiet, measured, and academic. A sharp contrast to the paternalism of Moi or the revolutionary tone of Kenyatta, Kibaki led like a man doing his job rather than building a legacy. But his impact on Kenya’s economic and institutional life is profound — and deeply complicated. This article explores Mwai Kibaki the man, the economist, the accidental reformer, and the reluctant politician — and how his presidency became a study in paradox: technocratic success shadowed by political violence. Early Life and Education: The Makerere Economist Born on November 15, 1931, in Gatuyaini, Othaya, Kibaki was raised in a devout Kikuyu family. Unlike Kenyatta or Moi, Kibaki didn’t carry the wounds of early loss or deep poverty — though his upbringing was modest. He attended Mang’u High School and later Makerere University in Uganda, where he studied economics, political science, and history. ...

Every five years, Kenyans line up to vote. Some do so out of hope, others out of habit, and many out of resignation. We listen to speeches, wear campaign colors, chant slogans — and yet, we often know so little about the people we hand our future to. This isn’t just about ignorance. It’s about a missing culture of inquiry. Many Kenyans can name the latest scandal, meme, or insult traded between politicians. But ask what shaped our presidents — their upbringing, education, ideologies, patterns of power — and we draw blanks. We know of them, but we don’t know them . That’s not a small oversight. It’s a national vulnerability. Why This Series Matters Now We are in a crucial moment in Kenya’s story. The economy is fragile. Public trust is eroding. Youth unemployment is high. Tribal divisions linger. Corruption festers. And yet — the same types of leaders keep emerging. Why? Because we don’t truly scrutinize the roots of power. We focus on the surface: accents, slogans, tribe, party. But ...

"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...

Kenyans have mastered the art of silence. We call it ‘moving on,’ but what we’re really doing is running away—from pain, from history, from accountability. We tell ourselves that forgetting is the same as healing, that ignoring problems makes them disappear. But our silence has a cost, and that cost is becoming unbearable. "Peace isn’t just the absence of war; it’s the presence of justice." Post-Election Violence: The Wound That Never Heals After every election cycle, we hold our breath. We whisper prayers for peace. But peace isn’t just the absence of war; it’s the presence of justice. And justice requires truth. The 2007/2008 post-election violence left more than 1,100 dead and over 600,000 displaced. We never really talked about it. Instead, we got a political handshake, a commission whose report was buried, and a new government that told us to ‘accept and move on.’ The perpetrators walk free. The victims still wait for justice. The same tensions simmer beneath the surface...