If a child grows up to be kind, healthy, responsible, self-sufficient, and decent—but not wealthy—has the sacrifice failed? Most people would instinctively say no. Yet many families behave as though the answer is yes. Not openly, of course. No parent sits their child down and says, "I didn't raise you to be happy. I raised you to be rich." But expectations have a way of revealing themselves. In comparisons with more successful relatives. In questions about promotions, land, and home ownership. In the disappointment that hangs in the air when a child is doing well enough to survive but not well enough to transform the family's fortunes. And perhaps nowhere is this tension more visible than in Kenya, where sacrifice is often treated as the highest form of love. Parents sacrifice for their children. Older siblings sacrifice for younger siblings. Entire generations sacrifice in the hope that the next one will live better. But what happens when sacrifice quietly becomes an...
The other day, I was in a matatu . The radio was on, as it often is, and a caller was given the chance to share their truth. What did they choose to say? That they were sleeping with a mother and her daughter at the same time. The radio hosts laughed, entertained it, asked questions. The matatu passengers chuckled. And just like that, the ride went on. It struck me—not because of the scandal itself, but because this is the kind of content that dominates our airwaves. Morning shows, drive shows, late-night segments. Sex, scandal, cheating, love triangles, secret lives. And it isn’t just radio. On TV, online, even in comedy clubs, scandalous and sexual topics gather the biggest crowds. The more outrageous, the more viral. Scroll through YouTube and you’ll see “story time” confessionals that rack up hundreds of thousands of views—someone narrating their affair, their betrayal, their secret lives. TikTok trends erupt overnight around gossip. Tabloids and blogs thrive on the downfall ...