KenyaOnAShoeString: Real Advice for Real Kenyans

There’s a strange ache that creeps in when you’re doing your best, struggling to make ends meet, yet everywhere you look, people are going on weekend getaways, attending international concerts, upgrading their cars, and living what appears to be their best life. You’re not jealous. You’re just tired. You’re not bitter. You’re just exhausted from constantly feeling like you’re playing catch-up. You’re not ungrateful. You’re just wondering when your turn will come—and if it ever will. We’re in a season where “everyone is struggling” is the common language, yet the matatus are still full, the roads are still jammed with cars, and even midweek concerts are packed. The malls aren’t empty, and data bundles are still being bought. So what gives? The truth is, Kenya is a country of multiple realities. Some people have always had money. Some people finally got lucky. Some people are in debt. Some people are silently drowning. Some people genuinely don’t have responsibilities right now and...

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...