I have been dealing with a problem in my foot for almost two weeks. This might not sound particularly dramatic. It isn't cancer. It isn't an emergency. It isn't even the kind of pain that stops me from going about my day. Which is perhaps why I found myself hesitating. You see, I am a walker. Not the kind of person who takes a stroll every now and then. I walk for two to three hours most days. Walking is how I think, how I clear my head, and how I make sense of the world. If there is one part of my body I should be willing to invest in, it is probably my feet. Yet when I started calling podiatrists in Nairobi, I found myself doing mental gymnastics. The cheapest consultation fee I found was KES 5,000. Consultation. Not treatment. Not scans. Not medication. Just the privilege of finding out what might be wrong. By the time everything was done, the bill could easily reach KES 15,000 or KES 20,000. And suddenly I found myself wondering whether I really needed a podiatrist. May...
Kenyans are some of the most “hardworking” people you’ll ever meet—at least by our own standards. We open early. We close late. We stay on our feet for 10 hours. We invest in stalls, shop decor, uniforms. We show up. But are we really working hard , or just working long ? It’s a difficult question, but an important one. Because the real measure of hard work isn’t just effort—it’s care. It’s curiosity. It’s the willingness to understand your customer, stretch your thinking, and go beyond routine. Scenario 1: The Liquor Store That Never Asks In Nairobi’s estates, liquor stores are everywhere. Picture one in Kinoo. A man walks in, clearly about to host people—he buys multiple bottles, some mixers, maybe even ice. The shopkeeper packs his items and tells him the total. Transaction over. But what if the conversation went differently? “Mnaenda out ama kuna bash?” “Ah, kuna bash kwa nyumba.” “Uko sawa na ice ama unahitaji zingine? Na maybe ka-vape ama soft drinks kwa wasee hawatumii?”_ Inst...