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Financially Impressive: The Invisible Emotional Contracts Between Kenyan Parents and Their Children

If a child grows up to be kind, healthy, responsible, self-sufficient, and decent—but not wealthy—has the sacrifice failed? Most people would instinctively say no. Yet many families behave as though the answer is yes. Not openly, of course. No parent sits their child down and says, "I didn't raise you to be happy. I raised you to be rich." But expectations have a way of revealing themselves. In comparisons with more successful relatives. In questions about promotions, land, and home ownership. In the disappointment that hangs in the air when a child is doing well enough to survive but not well enough to transform the family's fortunes. And perhaps nowhere is this tension more visible than in Kenya, where sacrifice is often treated as the highest form of love. Parents sacrifice for their children. Older siblings sacrifice for younger siblings. Entire generations sacrifice in the hope that the next one will live better. But what happens when sacrifice quietly becomes an...

The Unseen Cost of Survival Mode

Survival is a word that carries dignity. To survive is to endure. To push through storms, scarcity, and chaos, and still stand. For many of us, it is the baseline of living: paycheck to paycheck , rent to rent , debt to debt . But survival, as noble as it sounds, has a hidden cost. And it is one we rarely calculate because we are too busy moving from one crisis to the next. Survival mode is not free—it drains imagination, steals joy, and shrinks the horizon of what we believe is possible. What Living in Survival Mode Does to the Mind When every day is about making it to the next, the brain rewires itself to focus only on the short term. Tomorrow becomes invisible. Dreams that once felt urgent are folded away in the dusty corners of the mind. Why plan for five years if you aren’t sure how you’ll pay this month’s bills? Why risk starting something new if you can barely hold on to what is in your hands? In this way, survival mode slowly erodes possibility. It convinces us that smal...

Sometimes We Accept Destruction in the Name of Progress

“They said I should be grateful I had a job. But I was working 7 days a week, 14 hours a day, for a salary that barely fed me. I was too tired to think. Too scared to leave.” There is a story here that echoes across Kenya—quietly, persistently, and in the voices of people trying to make something of themselves. But often, it’s not progress they are making. It’s pain they are collecting. Because sometimes, we accept destruction in the name of progress. The Girl Who Chose Pain Over Poverty Take a girl from Kibera or Mathare. She is 16, maybe 17. She’s missed school for weeks because she doesn’t have sanitary towels. Her mother sells vegetables; her father is rarely around. A boda guy in the area notices her discomfort and hands her a pack of pads. The next month he brings another. Then chips and soda. Then small money. Then she moves in with him. And just like that, she stops being a child. The guy turns violent. She gets pregnant. She drops out of school for good. At 18, she’s a mother ...

Life Has Changed—Have You?

There’s something sobering about how life ushers us into new seasons—quietly at first, then all at once. Recently, I got braces. What I thought would just be a cosmetic fix quickly turned into a full lifestyle shift. Suddenly, I couldn’t eat the way I used to. The crunchy samosas from that butchery on my way home? Out. Roasted maize from the street corner? Forget it. Even brushing my teeth became a 10-minute routine involving special brushes, floss, mouthwash, and caution. But the hardest part wasn’t even the food. It was the little joys I used to give myself: grabbing an iced Americano and some chips after a long day, taking myself for nyama choma on a solo date. Now I have to think twice. What if that crunchy bite breaks a wire? What if I end up spending more at the dentist? And then there’s the constant dryness. I now carry Vaseline everywhere because my lips are always cracked. Between the bruises on my cheeks, the ache in my jaw, and the sacrifices in my diet—it’s not glamorous...

What do you do when life feels like one long, endless hustle—and you look around and it seems like everyone else is thriving?

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...

What kind of country creates scammers… and then celebrates them?

This isn’t just a story about fake job offers in Qatar or Thailand. Or about that woman who just got arrested after conning people with promises of work abroad. It’s bigger. This is about us. The Kenyan public. The crowd that claps when a scammer makes it. The society that praises the hustle—no matter how dirty it is—because we all want to believe that wealth is within reach, if only we try hard enough. Or cheat cleverly enough. You’ve seen the headlines: “Suspected fraudster flaunted luxury lifestyle on TikTok” “Victims paid up to KES 500,000 each in fake visa fees” “Exposed: Scam kingpin now turned motivational speaker” And what’s wild? People still follow them. People still clap. Because we love a redemption story. Even if the “redemption” is just rebranding the scam. What It Takes to Be a Scammer in Kenya To scam in Kenya, you need three things: A deep understanding of desperation. A smooth tongue. And a society that rewards shortcuts. Scammers don’t create ho...

Just Wait Till We Are Diamond: The Kenyan Hustler’s Guide to Avoiding MLM Delusions

If you’ve ever been invited to a ‘business opportunity’ meeting at Java by an overly enthusiastic friend promising financial freedom, congratulations! You’ve had a brush with Multi-Level Marketing (MLM), the modern-day version of being sold a dream wrapped in ‘hard work’ and Bible verses. The book Just Wait Till We Are Diamond details the harrowing journey of a child being groomed into MLM life, sacrificing normalcy, relationships, and childhood in pursuit of a rank that’s just one more motivational meeting away. Sounds familiar? It should. Because as Kenyans, we’ve been fed similar illusions of success , not just by MLMs, but by society, motivational speakers, and even our own culture of blind hustle. Let’s unpack this and find real, Kenyan solutions that work. Lesson 1: “Your Success Is in Your Hands” (But Is It, Though?) One of the biggest MLM tactics is making you believe that success is 100% within your control . If you fail, it’s because you didn’t work hard enough —not because ...

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Daniel Arap Moi — The Shadow and the Shepherd: A Deep Dive into Kenya’s Second President

If Jomo Kenyatta was the founding father, Daniel Toroitich Arap Moi was the long-reigning stepfather — sometimes protective, often punitive, and almost always enigmatic. He ruled Kenya for 24 years, the longest of any president to date. To some, he was the gentle teacher, Mwalimu , who kept the nation from tearing apart. To others, he was the architect of a surveillance state, a master of patronage and fear, the man who perfected repression through calm. This is a portrait of Daniel Arap Moi — not just as a ruler, but as a man shaped by modest beginnings, colonial violence, and the hunger for order in a chaotic time. Early Life: The Boy from Sacho Daniel Arap Moi was born on September 2, 1924, in Kurieng’wo, Baringo, in Kenya’s Rift Valley. He came from the Tugen sub-group of the Kalenjin community. His father died when he was just four. Raised by his uncle, Moi’s early life was marked by hardship, discipline, and deep Christian missionary influence. He trained as a teacher at Tambach ...

Know Thyself: The Quiet Power of Naming Your Nature

“Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate.” — Carl Jung We live in a culture that equates good intentions with goodness, and ambition with ability. But very few people in Kenya—or anywhere—truly know what they are made of. We can name our qualifications and our dreams. But ask someone their vices or virtues, and they hesitate. Worse, they lie. The Danger of Self-Unawareness In Kenya today, many of us are wandering through life making choices—big, small, and irreversible—without truly understanding who we are. We end up in jobs we despise, relationships we shouldn’t be in, or positions of influence we aren’t emotionally or ethically equipped for. And at the root of this dysfunction is a simple truth: we don’t know ourselves. This is not a spiritual or abstract dilemma. It’s a deeply practical one. To know oneself is to understand your vices, your virtues, your weaknesses, and your strengths—not in a vague sense, but in detail. Let’s ge...

The Great Kenyan Home Ownership Madness: Dreams vs. Reality

Owning a home is a big dream for many Kenyans, but somewhere along the way, practicality has been thrown out the window. Too many people, driven by childhood aspirations or societal expectations, are constructing massive houses only to end up living like misers within them. Let’s break down why this trend makes little sense and what smarter, more sustainable homeownership looks like. The Harsh Reality of Owning a Big House in Kenya Many Kenyans, especially those who grew up in humble backgrounds, grew up being told to “dream big.” Unfortunately, this has translated into building unnecessarily large houses, often with rooms that remain unused, multiple verandahs gathering dust, and massive balconies that no one actually sits on. These houses cost millions to build, yet within a few years, the owners are struggling to maintain them, regretting their choices as they pour more money into renovations. If you need proof, just look at how many old houses in Nairobi remain unsold. No one wants...