KenyaOnAShoeString: Real Advice for Real Kenyans

Africa is not a country. Love is not one thing. Africa is not a country. We’ve heard this phrase used to challenge oversimplified narratives — to remind us that the continent is vast, layered, and irreducibly complex. The same, I believe, applies to love . In many homes and relationships across Kenya, “love” is treated like a catch-all. “My mum loves me. She paid my school fees.” “My dad loves us. He built the house.” “My partner loves me. They send money.” These statements are often shared with pride, and sometimes with pain — an attempt to make sense of affection that felt either too conditional, too distant, or too one-sided. But provision is not presence . Obedience is not connection . And saying “I love you” is not the same as showing up in ways that meet a person’s emotional needs. What we often call love in our culture is vague, generic, and sometimes hollow. To truly heal, connect, and grow, we must learn to name love differently — in the language of care , ...

In many Kenyan homes, love is rarely spoken. It is implied, assumed, or buried under layers of duty, discipline, sacrifice, or silence. Parents love their children, partners love each other, friends care deeply — but few say it, fewer show it boldly, and even fewer know how to receive it. Love, in this context, often feels like a secret: important but unspoken, present but repressed. It comes with caveats — be obedient, be strong, be quiet. For many, this upbringing makes the language of love feel foreign, even embarrassing. But what happens to a people who are never taught to name, receive, or offer love freely? And more importantly — how do we begin to change that? 1. The Emotional Landscape We Inherited Our cultural and generational inheritance around love is complicated. Colonial violence, economic hardship, patriarchal norms, and religious rigidity shaped how love was expressed — or not. Many parents focused on survival, not softness. Love was food on the table, school fees paid, ...

"Growing up, I saw everybody else fall in love. I saw Europeans fall in love. I saw Americans continuously fall in love. But I never saw Africans fall in love. I saw Africans procreate. I saw Africans affected by HIV and AIDS, but those weren't love stories." — Wanuri Kahiu, director of Rafiki Scene from Life: A couple walks down Moi Avenue. Their clothes match—both wearing bright Ankara prints, perfectly coordinated for Instagram. But their hands do not touch. Their eyes do not meet. Their bodies move parallel but emotionally distant. A child greets their father after school with a formal handshake. A teenage boy stiffens when his mother tries to hug him in public. A man buries his wife and never cries, because "men don't cry." We see the motions of love—weddings, gifts, romantic holidays—but rarely the soul of it. Rarely the warmth, the gentleness, the pause. We see couples. We don't see connection. The Myth of Taboo Somehow, we have come to believe ...

“You did your part, I did mine. But did we ever really see each other?” In many Kenyan marriages, the rhythm of life is predictable: one partner provides, the other supports. Bills are paid, children are raised, meals are cooked, intercourse is expected, and the relationship trudges along—sometimes decades long—on the fuel of duty. And yet, under the weight of this routine, many couples are strangers in the same home. There is silence where there should be softness, avoidance where there should be safety, and distance in a space meant for closeness. We have mistaken duty for love , and we are paying the price for it. What is Emotional Generosity? Emotional generosity is the willingness to offer kindness without accounting. It’s not just saying “I love you” but showing up when it's not convenient. It’s the soft listening in between the chaos, the vulnerability to share your fears, and the courage to affirm your partner’s worth without being asked. It's choosing empathy over...