KenyaOnAShoeString

This weekend, I watched a short lesson on learned helplessness , and it struck me how deeply it mirrors our daily lives as Kenyans — not just in politics or big systems, but in the small, ordinary spaces we occupy every day. The lecturer began with a simple exercise. Each student received a paper with scrambled letters and was told to form real words. She insisted everyone had the same set. What we didn’t know was that the first two “words” weren’t the same. One group got easy, solvable words like DOG and CAT , while the other got letter combinations that could never make sense — XQZ , PLT . As you’d expect, the first group solved theirs quickly. The second group struggled, then gave up. When the final round came, everyone had the same easy word. But by then, the second group didn’t even try. They’d already learned that effort was pointless. That is learned helplessness — when we’ve been stuck for so long that even when freedom appears, we don’t believe in it. What Is Learned He...

Curiosity is alive in Kenya — but it is restless, shallow, and often wasted. We ask questions every day, but most of them don’t take us anywhere. Listen to the radio in a matatu and you’ll hear it: someone calling in to debate whether it’s acceptable to date your friend’s ex. Scroll through social media and you’ll find endless threads about celebrity drama or political insults. Even in offices, the loudest questions are often: “Who annoyed the boss today?” or “When is the next team-building?” We are curious, yes — but about things that rarely stretch us, rarely free us, rarely move us forward. But what if the problem isn’t curiosity itself? What if the real issue is how we phrase our curiosity ? How Curiosity Gets Killed Early From childhood, Kenyans are told: “ Usihoji sana .” Don’t question too much. A child who asks “Why?” too often is labeled stubborn. A worker who questions a system is branded difficult. A citizen who questions leadership is told to “respect authority.” We...

Imagine you’ve been dating someone for four years. Things haven’t been good for a long time. You’re constantly stressed, arguing, and deep down, you know you’re not happy. But every time you think of leaving, a voice in your head says: “But I’ve already put so much into this relationship…” That, right there, is the sunk cost fallacy . Now imagine if, instead of hanging on, you stopped and asked yourself one simple question: “Would I choose this again today, with a clear mind and a full heart?” If your answer isn’t a resounding "Hell Yes," then maybe — just maybe — it’s time to let go. What is the Sunk Cost Fallacy? The sunk cost fallacy is when we continue to invest in something — time, money, energy, even emotion — not because it still makes sense , but because we’ve already invested so much. It shows up in our lives like this: “I can’t quit this degree now — I’m already in third year.” “We’ve already spent so much on this business; let’s keep pushing.” “I...

“Poverty is not a vice. But what you do with it might be.” — Unknown There’s a dangerous, quietly accepted narrative that’s taken root in many parts of Kenya: if you’re poor, you’re exempt from responsibility. That being poor gives you moral immunity. That the system is so broken, so rigged, that all standards of decency and dignity are no longer required of you. We see it in small things and large things. The loudness in matatus that bleeds into chaos. The trash thrown carelessly into rivers or roadsides. The apartment blocks painted once—and never again. The total absence of civic responsibility in many public spaces. But here’s the hard truth: poverty is not a license to live poorly. Where We Confuse Things There’s a difference between being wealthy , rich , and living well . Being wealthy is about generational access, systems, security. Being rich is about accumulation—money, assets, disposable income. Living well is about intentionality. Cleanliness, order, kindn...