KenyaOnAShoeString: Real Advice for Real Kenyans

We are living in an era where the loudest anthem is: "I’m doing me.” It’s on our timelines, in our music, in our conversations. We’re constantly told: “Do what makes you happy,” “Protect your peace,” “Cut them off,” “No one owes anyone anything,” and “I don’t give a damn what anyone thinks.” It sounds liberating — and in some ways, it is. For generations burdened by shame, tradition, and repression, choosing yourself can feel like rebellion, even survival. But something else is happening. A creeping culture of emotional detachment, hyper-individualism, and social numbness is taking root. And while it’s easy to chant “IDGAF” as a form of empowerment, it’s much harder to see when this same ideology begins to fracture communities, normalize selfishness, and erode our shared humanity. When Individualism Stops Being Empowering We’ve long been taught to conform — to the family name, to religion, to the community’s expectations. So when the pendulum swung and people started reclai...

In many Kenyan homes, love is rarely spoken. It is implied, assumed, or buried under layers of duty, discipline, sacrifice, or silence. Parents love their children, partners love each other, friends care deeply — but few say it, fewer show it boldly, and even fewer know how to receive it. Love, in this context, often feels like a secret: important but unspoken, present but repressed. It comes with caveats — be obedient, be strong, be quiet. For many, this upbringing makes the language of love feel foreign, even embarrassing. But what happens to a people who are never taught to name, receive, or offer love freely? And more importantly — how do we begin to change that? 1. The Emotional Landscape We Inherited Our cultural and generational inheritance around love is complicated. Colonial violence, economic hardship, patriarchal norms, and religious rigidity shaped how love was expressed — or not. Many parents focused on survival, not softness. Love was food on the table, school fees paid, ...

Somewhere along the way, friendship lost its place in our hierarchy of love. Once revered as one of life’s most sacred bonds — full of laughter, trust, grief, and growth — friendship has now become, in many people’s eyes, a placeholder. A liminal space. A waiting room for romance, or a fallback option if romantic attraction doesn’t materialize. We are overdue for a return — to honoring friendship as a complete, beautiful, and fulfilling connection in its own right. One that does not need to lead anywhere to matter. 1. What Happened to Friendship? In many cultures, including Kenya’s increasingly digital and performative spaces, emotional intimacy is now tightly bound to romance. If you're close to someone, especially of the opposite sex, it’s assumed there’s something more . We don’t trust people to love without agenda anymore. This confusion is not accidental. A few cultural and technological forces have shifted the way we view connection: Media saturation : Almost every movie, sho...

A neighbor once told me, “Si unajua tu I’m grateful?” And I remember standing there, trying to make sense of that sentence. Yes, I had done something for him. A small gesture. Ordered breakfast when he was having a rough time. But no message. No call. No proper acknowledgment. Nothing. He assumed I knew. I didn’t. And that relationship slowly died—because silence, even when coated with good intentions, can feel like neglect. The Kenyan Gratitude Gap I’ve lived here most of my life. I know how kind we can be. But I also know how emotionally lazy we’ve become when it comes to expressing thanks. We think gratitude is a formality. Or maybe a weakness. Or maybe we just never learned. We assume: Saying "thank you" is enough. People should know we appreciate them. Kindness doesn't need follow-up. But here's the truth: not all thank-yous are created equal . You can't say “thanks” for a life raft the same way you do for a bottle of water. Scenario ...