When I was a little girl, I had these hand-me-down shoes that I loved. I wore them everywhere. Anywhere, really. I don't think I cared whether they were appropriate for where I was going. If those were the shoes I wanted to wear, then those were the shoes I was wearing. And when they became too small, I still didn't want to let them go. I would squeeze my feet into them and somehow convince myself that they still fit. I imagine an adult looking at me and thinking, Child, these shoes are clearly too small. Please take them off. But I loved them. And I think about those shoes sometimes when I hear us talk about things like seasons, letting go, releasing, creating room, moving on. Usually, when we talk about letting go, there is something wrong with the thing we're letting go of. It has become toxic. It doesn't serve us anymore. It is holding us back. We have outgrown it. We need to make room for something better. And yes, sometimes that is exactly what letting go looks li...
We are surrounded by wealth. Expensive cars on the road, packed cafes with KES 1,200 bills for chips, chicken and a drink, yoga and Pilates studios charging KES 30,000/month for 12 sessions, iPhones and high-end Samsung's on every table, people going on holiday every few months, apartments going for KES 22 million plastered across billboards — and somehow, everyone seems to be affording it. And yet, if you're earning over KES 100,000/month, statistically, you're in the top 2% of Kenyan earners. You're doing everything right: budgeting, saving, avoiding debt, maybe even running a side hustle. But at the end of the month, you feel broke. You feel stuck. You feel like you can't move forward. This article explores the observed reality vs the lived reality . We peel back the image of wealth that surrounds us to show what life really looks like for salaried Kenyans earning "well." Through three detailed profiles, we break down exactly where the money goes — an...