KenyaOnAShoeString: Real Advice for Real Kenyans

You wake up and there’s no water. Electricity was rationed again last night. You’re juggling unpaid bills, a stagnant salary (if any), and the quiet hum of anxiety that never quite goes away. But still, you’re expected to say, “At least I’m alive. God is good.” In Kenya , we’re taught from a young age to be thankful for the bare minimum: the ability to breathe, the chance to wake up, a job that barely pays, or the fact that we’re not in a war zone. Gratitude, in its pure form, is beautiful. But over time, it can also be manipulated into something exhausting—something that keeps us compliant instead of empowered. When Gratitude Becomes a Muzzle Gratitude should lift us up. But in many Kenyan households , workplaces, churches , and schools , it's used to shut us down. We’re told not to complain because “others have it worse.” We’re shamed for being frustrated, told we’re ungrateful, or reminded that we should just be happy to be alive. This kind of gratitude becomes a way of num...

  "We are dressed in our best and are prepared to go down like gentlemen." — Benjamin Guggenheim, Titanic survivor testimony When the RMS Titanic began to sink into the frigid Atlantic Ocean on the night of April 14, 1912, it wasn’t only a ship that went down. What rose in its place, through the testimony of survivors and the haunting silence of the sea, was a mirror: one that showed the best and worst of humanity. Men and women made choices that revealed character beyond wealth, class, or age. Some were lauded for generations. Others, despite surviving, were socially exiled. This was more than maritime disaster. It was a moral reckoning. And yet, watching The Digital Resurrection of the Titanic , one thought struck deep: "That could never be a Kenyan." The Gentlemen Who Stayed Benjamin Guggenheim , a wealthy American industrialist, helped women and children into lifeboats before retreating below deck with his valet. He dressed in his finest, telling a steward: “Tel...