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...
The other day, I was in a matatu . The radio was on, as it often is, and a caller was given the chance to share their truth. What did they choose to say? That they were sleeping with a mother and her daughter at the same time. The radio hosts laughed, entertained it, asked questions. The matatu passengers chuckled. And just like that, the ride went on. It struck me—not because of the scandal itself, but because this is the kind of content that dominates our airwaves. Morning shows, drive shows, late-night segments. Sex, scandal, cheating, love triangles, secret lives. And it isn’t just radio. On TV, online, even in comedy clubs, scandalous and sexual topics gather the biggest crowds. The more outrageous, the more viral. Scroll through YouTube and you’ll see “story time” confessionals that rack up hundreds of thousands of views—someone narrating their affair, their betrayal, their secret lives. TikTok trends erupt overnight around gossip. Tabloids and blogs thrive on the downfall ...