There is a question we rarely ask ourselves with complete honesty: What do you believe—and what habits does your belief produce? Most people can answer the first part easily. They can describe their beliefs, their values, their philosophies. They know what they stand for. They can explain the principles they claim guide their lives. But the second question is much harder. Because beliefs are easy to claim. Habits are harder to hide. And it is in our habits—especially the small, ordinary ones—that our true philosophy quietly reveals itself. A belief system means very little if it does not shape the smallest habits of everyday life. Not the grand gestures. Not the moments when others are watching. But the quiet decisions that happen in ordinary settings—shared spaces, everyday responsibilities, small interactions with the people around us. How we manage inconvenience. How we treat people who cannot benefit us. How we handle situations where restraint, fairness, or consideration...
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...