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...
Curiosity is alive in Kenya — but it is restless, shallow, and often wasted. We ask questions every day, but most of them don’t take us anywhere. Listen to the radio in a matatu and you’ll hear it: someone calling in to debate whether it’s acceptable to date your friend’s ex. Scroll through social media and you’ll find endless threads about celebrity drama or political insults. Even in offices, the loudest questions are often: “Who annoyed the boss today?” or “When is the next team-building?” We are curious, yes — but about things that rarely stretch us, rarely free us, rarely move us forward. But what if the problem isn’t curiosity itself? What if the real issue is how we phrase our curiosity ? How Curiosity Gets Killed Early From childhood, Kenyans are told: “ Usihoji sana .” Don’t question too much. A child who asks “Why?” too often is labeled stubborn. A worker who questions a system is branded difficult. A citizen who questions leadership is told to “respect authority.” We...