There is a question we rarely ask ourselves with complete honesty: What do you believe—and what habits does your belief produce? Most people can answer the first part easily. They can describe their beliefs, their values, their philosophies. They know what they stand for. They can explain the principles they claim guide their lives. But the second question is much harder. Because beliefs are easy to claim. Habits are harder to hide. And it is in our habits—especially the small, ordinary ones—that our true philosophy quietly reveals itself. A belief system means very little if it does not shape the smallest habits of everyday life. Not the grand gestures. Not the moments when others are watching. But the quiet decisions that happen in ordinary settings—shared spaces, everyday responsibilities, small interactions with the people around us. How we manage inconvenience. How we treat people who cannot benefit us. How we handle situations where restraint, fairness, or consideration...
I had just stepped into Karura Forest, the late morning sun filtering through the canopy, when the thought struck me. Why is it that so many Kenyans, when given the opportunity to own land or build a home, begin by clearing every sign of life from the soil? We clear every tree, scrape off the topsoil, and replace grass with cabro. Then we head to plant nurseries and buy potted palms to ‘bring life’ into our homes. A strange cycle: nature out, then purchased back in, at a premium. Why is nature—especially dense, forested, untamed nature—treated not with reverence, but with suspicion? This isn’t just about trees. It’s about psychology, memory, fear, and aspiration. And it might explain why, in a country with incredible biodiversity, we still pour concrete where grass could grow, chop trees only to later hang plastic vines on our balconies, and consider seclusion in nature to be more dangerous than restorative. The Fear of the Wild Dense nature is often associated with risk. Places with t...