KenyaOnAShoeString: Real Advice for Real Kenyans

Inspired by Martin Niemöller’s haunting poem “First They Came…” , this article explores how silence and apathy shape Kenyan society — and why empathy and moral courage matter more than ever. The Poem That Still Speaks There’s a haunting poem that has echoed through decades, written by a German pastor named Martin Niemöller after World War II. It’s a poem about silence — about how people stand by as others suffer, believing that what happens to someone else doesn’t concern them. "First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out—Because I was not a socialist. Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out—Because I was not a trade unionist. Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—Because I was not a Jew. Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me." Niemöller’s words were born in a dark time, but they still ring true — even here, even now. Because in many ways, we Kenyans have mastered the art of looking away . ...

Why does doing the right thing feel like a punishment nowadays? You refuse “ chai ” and lose a tender. You return extra change and get a strange look. You speak up at work and become “difficult.” In a world that seems to reward shortcuts, spin, and spectacle, integrity can feel like a tax you pay while others speed past. And yet integrity has its own currency —quiet, slow, and hard to counterfeit. The problem is that most of us don’t keep both ledgers open. We see the immediate costs of being honest and miss the compounding returns. Let’s unpack how we got here, why integrity feels penalized, what its currency actually buys, and how to live it without becoming naïve—or bitter. How We Slid Into “Everything Is a Transaction” This didn’t happen overnight. Three long arcs converged: From community to market: As life monetized—education, healthcare, even celebrations—more decisions became price-tag decisions. When money mediates everything, “what works” often beats “what’s right.” ...

In 1974, Marina Abramović performed Rhythm 0 — a haunting six-hour piece that would later be remembered as one of the most disturbing social experiments in the history of performance art. She placed herself in a gallery in Naples, Italy, standing still next to a table with 72 objects. Some were harmless (a rose, a feather, bread); others were violent (a whip, a knife, a loaded gun). She allowed the audience to use any object on her however they wished. She took full responsibility for whatever would happen. She would not resist. At first, the crowd was gentle. They posed her. Kissed her. Gave her flowers. But as time passed, they became bolder. They cut her clothes. Pricked her skin. Marked her with a knife. Someone loaded the gun and placed it in her hand, pointing it at her neck. The crowd, once made up of ordinary people, had slowly turned into something else. When the six hours ended, Marina began to walk toward the audience — no longer a passive object, but a human again. People ...

What does it truly mean to be good? Socrates asked this question, and so did the writer of Proverbs. The ancient Greeks believed the examined life was the only one worth living. The Hebrew Bible implores us to walk humbly, do justly, and love mercy. Jesus said the greatest commandment is love—of God, and of neighbor. Yet despite all these teachings, human beings often seek shortcuts to virtue.  In Kenya, where Christian devotion saturates the public and private sphere—where gospel music flows from every matatu, church gatherings abound, and Bibles decorate countless coffee tables—there remains a chasm between belief and moral action. Why does Christianity seem powerless to transform us? We are a nation flooded with religious ritual but starved of ethical reflection. You can go to a church service on Sunday, steal land on Monday, destroy a young woman’s life on Tuesday, and blame it all on the devil by Wednesday. We memorize scripture but forget to live it. We cry during worship son...