KenyaOnAShoeString: Real Advice for Real Kenyans

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...

  “Beware the bareness of a busy life,” Socrates once said. But what about the loudness of a distracted one? From matatus blaring vulgar music, to church keshas echoing through residential estates, to restaurants where conversation is a fight against speakers—it seems Kenya has made noise the background of everyday life. But what is this obsession with sound? What is all this noise trying to drown out? Noise as Culture, But Also as Coping Let’s be clear: noise has always had a place in Kenyan culture. Luo benga, Kikuyu folk tunes, Luhya drumming, Swahili taarab… music and sound are part of celebration, spirituality, and storytelling. But what we’re experiencing now is different. What we’re hearing now is not cultural expression—it’s emotional avoidance. The Psychology of Noise: What Are We Running From? 1. Noise and Loneliness We live in a time of increasing isolation. Nairobi apartments are filled with single occupants. Friendships are transactional. Family members drift emo...