KenyaOnAShoeString: Real Advice for Real Kenyans

We are surrounded by wealth. Expensive cars on the road, packed cafes with KES 1,200 bills for chips, chicken and a drink, yoga and Pilates studios charging KES 30,000/month for 12 sessions, iPhones and high-end Samsung's on every table, people going on holiday every few months, apartments going for KES 22 million plastered across billboards — and somehow, everyone seems to be affording it. And yet, if you're earning over KES 100,000/month, statistically, you're in the top 2% of Kenyan earners. You're doing everything right: budgeting, saving, avoiding debt, maybe even running a side hustle. But at the end of the month, you feel broke. You feel stuck. You feel like you can't move forward. This article explores the observed reality vs the lived reality . We peel back the image of wealth that surrounds us to show what life really looks like for salaried Kenyans earning "well." Through three detailed profiles, we break down exactly where the money goes — an...

I am seated at a restaurant tucked away in one of Kikuyu's serene corners. The kind of place that feels like a well-kept secret: quiet, clean, surrounded by trees, reasonably priced, and with genuinely good food. It checks all the boxes—except one. It is empty. And not just today. Most times I visit, I find it like this. Empty tables. Attentive but idle staff. A space waiting for energy, for life, for people. Why is it so quiet? Marketing? Maybe. Location? Could be. But maybe the real issue is this: When was the last time you indulged in a so-called “luxury” in Kenya? Let’s pause. Because this question isn't just about this restaurant. It's about the guitar class you dropped out of. The cozy coffee house you haven’t returned to. The art studio that shut down last month. The new hiking company that’s struggling to get bookings. The language school with amazing reviews but dwindling enrolments. We keep asking: “Why are small businesses in Kenya suffering?” But the harder, mor...

You attend a hike. Everyone’s laughing, taking selfies, posting about how amazing the trail is. But somehow, you feel lonelier than ever. Not because you’re shy or antisocial—but because everything feels… transactional. You join a book club. You go to an event. You reply to an ad. The energy is promising, the first few conversations hopeful—but eventually, it becomes a performance. Everyone wants to seem interesting, deep, well-read. Few want to simply be known. We live in a society that talks about the loneliness epidemic—but rarely admits the role we play in it. In Nairobi and beyond, Kenyans are struggling to make real friendships. Not surface-level connections. Not social capital. Real, mutual, honest-to-God friendships. So what’s going on? We’ve Turned Friendship into a Transaction Let’s be honest: Many of us are looking for connections that “make sense.” We scan the room and instinctively filter people: Can they help me get a job? Are they well-connected? Do they look like someon...