KenyaOnAShoeString: Real Advice for Real Kenyans

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...

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...

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...