KenyaOnAShoeString: Real Advice for Real Kenyans

A neighbor once told me, “Si unajua tu I’m grateful?” And I remember standing there, trying to make sense of that sentence. Yes, I had done something for him. A small gesture. Ordered breakfast when he was having a rough time. But no message. No call. No proper acknowledgment. Nothing. He assumed I knew. I didn’t. And that relationship slowly died—because silence, even when coated with good intentions, can feel like neglect. The Kenyan Gratitude Gap I’ve lived here most of my life. I know how kind we can be. But I also know how emotionally lazy we’ve become when it comes to expressing thanks. We think gratitude is a formality. Or maybe a weakness. Or maybe we just never learned. We assume: Saying "thank you" is enough. People should know we appreciate them. Kindness doesn't need follow-up. But here's the truth: not all thank-yous are created equal . You can't say “thanks” for a life raft the same way you do for a bottle of water. Scenario ...

“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...

“But if they cannot exercise self-control, they should marry. For it is better to marry than to burn with passion.” — 1 Corinthians 7:9 At first glance, Paul’s advice may sound like a warning against lust. But underneath, he’s prescribing something deeper and more personal: know yourself. You’re the only one who knows what makes you stumble or thrive. You’re the only one who knows whether you're burning—or whether you have the strength to wait. Paul doesn't shame the person who chooses marriage, nor glorify the one who remains single. He simply says: make the better choice based on who you are. This idea can guide every area of life—not just romance. If you want to live with integrity, peace, justice, or faithfulness, then you must intentionally build a life that supports those values. Here’s how that might look in everyday Kenyan life. 1. Value: INTEGRITY The Choice: Doing Right vs. Making Compromises Joseph , a young procurement officer, lands a job with a decent sala...

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...

There’s something sobering about how life ushers us into new seasons—quietly at first, then all at once. Recently, I got braces. What I thought would just be a cosmetic fix quickly turned into a full lifestyle shift. Suddenly, I couldn’t eat the way I used to. The crunchy samosas from that butchery on my way home? Out. Roasted maize from the street corner? Forget it. Even brushing my teeth became a 10-minute routine involving special brushes, floss, mouthwash, and caution. But the hardest part wasn’t even the food. It was the little joys I used to give myself: grabbing an iced Americano and some chips after a long day, taking myself for nyama choma on a solo date. Now I have to think twice. What if that crunchy bite breaks a wire? What if I end up spending more at the dentist? And then there’s the constant dryness. I now carry Vaseline everywhere because my lips are always cracked. Between the bruises on my cheeks, the ache in my jaw, and the sacrifices in my diet—it’s not glamorous...