KenyaOnAShoeString: Real Advice for Real Kenyans

“Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate.” — Carl Jung We live in a culture that equates good intentions with goodness, and ambition with ability. But very few people in Kenya—or anywhere—truly know what they are made of. We can name our qualifications and our dreams. But ask someone their vices or virtues, and they hesitate. Worse, they lie. The Danger of Self-Unawareness In Kenya today, many of us are wandering through life making choices—big, small, and irreversible—without truly understanding who we are. We end up in jobs we despise, relationships we shouldn’t be in, or positions of influence we aren’t emotionally or ethically equipped for. And at the root of this dysfunction is a simple truth: we don’t know ourselves. This is not a spiritual or abstract dilemma. It’s a deeply practical one. To know oneself is to understand your vices, your virtues, your weaknesses, and your strengths—not in a vague sense, but in detail. Let’s ge...

"The limits of my language mean the limits of my world." — Ludwig Wittgenstein In Kenya, we speak English and Kiswahili. Many of us have additional languages in our pockets — Sheng, mother tongues, workplace lingo, church expressions. But for all our speaking, many of us remain language-poor in the most crucial sense: we lack the words to describe our own lives. We grow up learning to speak but not always to name. And when you cannot name something, you cannot confront it. You live it, but you cannot explain it—not to yourself, not to others. This is not just a linguistic failure. It is a social, emotional, and even political danger. We do not lack opinions. We lack precision . We don’t lack feelings. We lack language to name them accurately. And when we don’t know the right word for what is happening, we misinterpret it, mislabel it, or worst of all — normalize it. Why Having the Right Word Matters Language is not just about grammar or vocabulary. It is about being seen a...

  “The longer you stay where you don’t belong, the harder it is to find where you do.”  — James Clear We often hear people say “I’m not sure this is for me anymore,” but they rarely say it out loud. It’s a quiet knowing. It creeps in during a group trip that costs too much, a conversation where you don’t feel heard, or a day where joy feels more like performance. But letting go is hard—especially when the thing you’re questioning once brought you meaning, pride, or community. This article is a meditation on the courage to let go. Not because we must — but because something within us whispers that it may be time. Through real-world examples, we reflect on how to notice when something once beautiful now weighs us down, and how to transition with both dignity and grace. Here are five deeply familiar experiences, told through the lens of real, Kenyan life. Each is a reflection on the moment you realize: something has shifted. The lifestyle may still look good—but it no longer fi...

"Every man takes the limits of his own field of vision for the limits of the world." — Arthur Schopenhauer Every few months, a new listicle goes viral: "30 things I wish I knew at 20," "What every 40-year-old should do before it’s too late," or "Advice from 80-year-olds on how to live a meaningful life." These pieces are often earnest, even well-meaning. But they carry a hidden danger: the illusion that there is one way to live well, if only we follow the right script, take the right risks, or apply the distilled wisdom of others to our own lives. The problem is, life doesn’t unfold in copy-paste format. Each of us is living a different season. And not all advice is timeless. In fact, some of it can derail you entirely. Life Comes in Seasons. Your Choices Should Too. There is no universal roadmap. Each decade of life asks different questions of us — and demands different answers. Your 20s: Exploration, Curiosity, Failure This is often the seas...

The Quiet Votes We Cast Each Day You say you hate your job, but you never apply elsewhere. You say you want a partner who respects you, but you keep going back to the one who breaks you. You say the government is corrupt, but you don’t vote—and if you do, it’s for the familiar thief who gave you a branded leso. You say you want change, but you’re still here, in this same place, in this same story, just older. There’s a popular saying that goes, “What you allow, is what will continue.” But what if we pushed it further—what you don’t change, you choose. Not passively. Not accidentally. But willfully. Repeatedly. In Kenya, we are a nation built on the art of waiting: waiting for government reforms, waiting for better leadership, waiting for our bodies to stop hurting, for relationships to fix themselves, for that magical promotion, for change to come and tap us gently on the shoulder. But the harsh truth is this: every time you choose to not change something, you have chosen what exis...

“The best time to buy land in Kenya is during the rainy season.” That saying holds weight—not just literally but metaphorically too. Because only when the heavens open and the water flows do we truly see things for what they are. What looked like a decent, promising plot can turn into a swamp. What was once a trusted path home can vanish without a trace. This afternoon it rained. And as I walked home, I realized: the path I take every day isn’t really a path. It’s a suggestion—a possibility that only holds shape when it’s dry. When the rain came, it ceased to exist. Isn’t that how much of life is? The paths we swear by, the routines we follow, the beliefs we lean on—sometimes they only work when conditions are good. When the metaphorical rain comes, when life gets hard, what we thought was stable disappears. And suddenly we’re ankle-deep in questions we’ve avoided for years. In Kenya, rain is a test. It is both blessing and burden. It reveals the truth of our planning, our priorities, ...

"I am right on time for this version of my life." There Is No Better Life Waiting Your everyday routine is your life. Not the life you fantasize about, not the one you keep pushing into some distant future where all conditions are ideal—no. The one you live now. The one with packed matatus, deadlines, Nairobi traffic, laughter in the kitchen, and evenings where nothing goes as planned. That’s the real one. The lie we are sold—on billboards, in pulpits, by motivational speakers, and even in well-meaning family advice—is that there is a better version of you that you will arrive at someday . That you must endure now so you can enjoy later. That you must hustle, sacrifice, dim yourself, and delay joy until you’ve earned it. But what if there is no shiny, perfect version waiting at the end of your journey? What if you are not here to become someone else—but to become more of yourself ? Who Is This "Better Version" of You Anyway? This version we keep postponing—who defi...