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...

What do you do when you’re told you’re dying—but you’re still needed? What do you say when the world tells you to ‘fight’ but your body is asking you to rest? In Kenya, death is still taboo. We bury it in jokes, euphemisms, and silence. We don’t prepare for it, even though it’s coming—for all of us. And for those who are sick—especially with terminal or chronic illnesses—it’s even harder to talk about. There’s pressure to "fight," to "be strong," to be a “cancer warrior.” But what if the bravest thing isn't fighting, but making peace? And yet, for a parent with young children, a single mother, a man providing for generations, how do you begin to make peace with death when you know the world may not be kind to those you leave behind? This is the emotional tension we must speak to. What Is Life, Really? The Kenyan Understanding vs. the Deeper Reality In Kenya, life is often defined by activity—movement, breath, work, hustle. That’s why we love the phrase “bor...