KenyaOnAShoeString: Real Advice for Real Kenyans

To understand Kenya’s modern state, one must begin with Jomo Kenyatta. A towering figure — both in memory and myth — Kenyatta remains one of Africa’s most enigmatic founding fathers. Celebrated as a nationalist hero and decried as an architect of elite rule, his story is both a mirror and blueprint of the nation he helped shape. But who was Jomo Kenyatta, really? Not the statue on Kenyatta Avenue. Not the name on currency or airports. But the man — Kamau wa Muigai — who lived through cultural dislocation, colonial violence, exile, and nation-making. What shaped his beliefs? What did he dream, fear, protect — and betray? This is not just his biography. It is an inquiry into the psychology, contradictions, and legacies of a man who became both a father of a nation and a guardian of a system. A Boy Without a Father, A Nation Without a Future Kenyatta was born as Kamau wa Ngengi around 1897 in Gatundu, in the heart of Kikuyu country. His father died early, and this absence would remain a ...

Alcohol has long been part of Kenyan life. But how it is made, consumed, and understood has shifted dramatically across time. From its ritualistic, sacred roots in indigenous communities to its transformation into a widespread social escape and public health crisis, Kenya's relationship with alcohol is deeply tied to its history, politics, economy, and cultural evolution. This piece traces how we got here — not in metaphor, but in fact. 1. Pre-Colonial Period: Brewing and Ritual Long before colonization, communities across Kenya practiced traditional brewing. Alcohol was not only accepted but woven into social and spiritual life. Different ethnic groups brewed various fermented drinks: Muratina among the Kikuyu, made from wild fruits and honey. Busaa , common among the Luhya and Kalenjin, made from fermented maize and millet. Mnazi (palm wine), tapped by Mijikenda and coastal communities. Uji ya Kigage , a mildly alcoholic porridge used in both everyday and ceremonial contexts. T...

"Growing up, I saw everybody else fall in love. I saw Europeans fall in love. I saw Americans continuously fall in love. But I never saw Africans fall in love. I saw Africans procreate. I saw Africans affected by HIV and AIDS, but those weren't love stories." — Wanuri Kahiu, director of Rafiki Scene from Life: A couple walks down Moi Avenue. Their clothes match—both wearing bright Ankara prints, perfectly coordinated for Instagram. But their hands do not touch. Their eyes do not meet. Their bodies move parallel but emotionally distant. A child greets their father after school with a formal handshake. A teenage boy stiffens when his mother tries to hug him in public. A man buries his wife and never cries, because "men don't cry." We see the motions of love—weddings, gifts, romantic holidays—but rarely the soul of it. Rarely the warmth, the gentleness, the pause. We see couples. We don't see connection. The Myth of Taboo Somehow, we have come to believe ...