KenyaOnAShoeString: Real Advice for Real Kenyans

We marvel at the wealth of dynasties abroad and wonder how empires are built. Yet right here in Kenya, we bury thriving businesses with our parents. From duka za mtaa to five-acre farms, from mitumba stalls to successful mjengo supply chains—legacies are abandoned, forgotten, or intentionally shut out. Why? “In Kenya, we hustle hard for our children—then leave them out of the very thing we built for them.” Walk through Gikomba, Toi Market, or any roadside vibanda and you’ll see stories of Kenyan resilience stitched into every tarp, stall, and sack of waru. Businesses started out of desperation became lifelines. A woman begins selling mutumba clothes under a tree, and twenty years later, she owns three stalls. A man starts farming in Eldoret on inherited land and now supplies a local supermarket. A couple opens a kiosk in Umoja and expands into a mini wholesale outlet. The narrative is inspiring—until it ends abruptly. Not because the business wasn’t viable. Not because there wasn’t po...

In Kenya, survival is not just a phase—it becomes a personality. A way of life. We know how to stretch a coin, how to skip meals, how to walk instead of board, how to delay joy in service of something bigger. We know how to sacrifice . But no one ever teaches us how to stop . You fight to build a life. You give up weekends, comfort, health, joy— even yourself —so your child can finish school, so you can buy that plot, build that house, survive that disease, leave that bad marriage, or finally be free of the debt that has followed you like a shadow. Then the fight ends. The child graduates. The house is done. The cancer is in remission. The toxic relationship is over. The money finally makes sense. You made it. But now, you find yourself staring into the quiet… and you don’t know what to do with it. What Does It Mean to Live After You’ve Been in Survival Mode? A man once said, “I sacrificed everything so my children would have a better life. I don’t even know what I like anymor...

There’s a kind of grief we rarely speak about in Kenya—the grief that comes not from loss, but from survival. Many Kenyans know what it’s like to give up entire decades of their lives for the sake of family. We raise children who aren’t ours. We care for ageing, ailing parents when healthcare fails. We build homes from scratch while still repaying loans. We battle court cases over family land, support siblings through school, and somehow still show up to work, church, harambees, and funerals with a smile. We are excellent at pushing through pain. We endure. We provide. We hold everything together. And so we often tell ourselves: “I’ll rest when I’m done.” But what if done never comes? Even after the chaos ends—the illness, the debt, the heartbreak—we don’t rest. We move the goalpost. We chase another opportunity. We dream of new lands and new starts. We keep running, because stillness feels foreign. We are a nation that knows how to hustle, how to survive—but we don’t know how t...

If you ask most Kenyans what success looks like, you’ll get a variety of answers, but somehow, they always boil down to three things: money, cars, and land. A Toyota Prado, a ka-small ka-mansion in the village, and the ability to pepper conversations with "I was in Dubai last week"—that’s success, right? But is it really? Here’s a breakdown of what many Kenyans think success is and what real success looks like in different aspects of life. 1. SUCCESS IN FAMILY & COMMUNITY What Kenyans Think: Hosting a big wedding where people eat for three days. Being called "Baba/Mama Nani" even when your kids don’t know what you do for a living. Your family showing up at every funeral, wedding, and hospital harambee just to be seen. What It Really Is: Being present for your kids—not just paying their fees but actually knowing their teachers. Raising children who don’t just wait for your burial to start fighting over land. Being that relative people can actually call when the...