If a child grows up to be kind, healthy, responsible, self-sufficient, and decent—but not wealthy—has the sacrifice failed? Most people would instinctively say no. Yet many families behave as though the answer is yes. Not openly, of course. No parent sits their child down and says, "I didn't raise you to be happy. I raised you to be rich." But expectations have a way of revealing themselves. In comparisons with more successful relatives. In questions about promotions, land, and home ownership. In the disappointment that hangs in the air when a child is doing well enough to survive but not well enough to transform the family's fortunes. And perhaps nowhere is this tension more visible than in Kenya, where sacrifice is often treated as the highest form of love. Parents sacrifice for their children. Older siblings sacrifice for younger siblings. Entire generations sacrifice in the hope that the next one will live better. But what happens when sacrifice quietly becomes an...
When a child says they want to be a teacher, a mother, a secretary, and then a singer — all in one lifetime — we smile. We find it adorable. Imaginative. But somewhere along the way, we stop smiling. We start demanding clarity, cohesion, a single label. We forget how expansive it is to be alive. In a world obsessed with consistency, we have made change look like betrayal. We question those who shift — in career, in belief, in appearance, in voice. Influencers are called sellouts. Politicians are labelled flip-floppers. Everyday people feel ashamed for outgrowing dreams that no longer fit. But what if we honored change as a natural part of being human? Why We Struggle With Change From a young age, we are taught to specialize, to narrow down, to “figure it out.” The Kenyan education system reinforces this with its early sorting into career tracks. Society praises clarity — the student who knew they wanted to be a doctor since they were six, the entrepreneur who never wavered. And yet, ve...