I am always late for work. There. I've said it. And the frustrating thing is that my lateness isn't caused by traffic or some unpredictable morning disaster. Most of the time, it is entirely my own doing. I wake up and make my coffee. Then I get back into bed, which is right by the window, cross my feet, face the window and slowly sip my coffee. And when I say slowly, I mean slowly. I look at the trees. I watch the birds. I feel the morning sun on my skin. Sometimes I just sit there with my thoughts. I really love these mornings. I've also noticed something else. When I give myself enough time in the morning, my body usually does what it needs to do. A slow morning often leads to a bowel movement, which, as far as I'm concerned, is one of the must-haves of starting my day. And so I find myself wishing for more time. More time to sit. More time to drink my coffee. More time to maybe get outside and do some yoga or mat Pilates on the grass while the sun is stil...
“Alinitoa kwa shimo.” “Without her, I’d still be unemployed.” “He gave me a chance when no one else would.” These are the silent contracts many Kenyan employees sign — not with ink, but with emotion. Loyalty. Guilt. A debt of gratitude that never expires. It starts innocently. You join a small business or NGO. Maybe the pay is modest, but the opportunity feels heaven-sent. The founder seems visionary, kind even. They say, “We’re like family here.” And you believe them. You stay late. You sacrifice weekends. You take on roles that aren’t yours — because how can you not help? After all, they gave you a chance . You want to be part of the story. The vision. The mission. So you give your time. Your peace. Your boundaries. But slowly, something shifts. You notice raises are rare. Promotions are vague. Financial discussions are avoided or deflected. You realize that while you’ve tied your loyalty to the person who “gave you a chance,” they’ve tied their loyalty to the profit ma...