KenyaOnAShoeString: Real Advice for Real Kenyans

"If the desirable is not available, the available becomes desirable." At first glance, it sounds like something you’d hear in passing — a casual truth dressed as wisdom. But sit with it long enough and it unfolds into something far more complex, a quiet philosophy of human adaptation and compromise. It speaks to how we survive the distance between what we want and what we have. Desire and the Desirable Desire and the desirable are often mistaken for twins, yet they live on opposite sides of the human experience. Desire is inward — a current that flows through us. It is the ache that drives us to move, to reach, to create, to hope. Desire is not moral or logical; it simply is. It’s the spark that makes a child reach for the stars, or a thinker question what everyone else accepts. The desirable , however, is external — something we name, shape, and assign value to. It is what society, culture, and history tell us we should want: beauty, wealth, recognition, safety, belo...

The other day, I read a Kenyan novel titled Sinners by Sarah Haluwa. It’s a bold book, layered with intimate scenes and themes that don’t shy away from the subject of sex. Once I was done, I shared it with two people, one of them my cousin. Both came back with the same verdict: filth. That word struck me. Filth. It’s not the first time I’ve heard Kenyans use such language. For a country where sex is ever-present — in our music, our comedy skits, on TikTok dances, in whispered gossip, and in the quiet confessions of “mpango wa kando” culture — how is it that we also consider it shameful, dirty, and even demonic? The contradiction we live in On one hand, our entertainment industry thrives on sexual innuendo. The most streamed songs are often laced with it. Content creators know that scandal sells; anything suggestive will rack up views. Advertisers slip it in subtly to grab attention. In private conversations, too, sexual humor dominates. Yet when sex is written into literature, wh...