KenyaOnAShoeString: Real Advice for Real Kenyans

There is something strange happening in Kenya’s YouTube world . A creator grows an audience, builds a loyal following, sometimes even becomes a household name—and then they disappear. No goodbye, no explanation, just silence. The channel remains, frozen in time, while subscribers remain subscribed, faithfully waiting. Unsubscribing from a channel takes less than a minute. Yet, somehow, it feels impossible for many Kenyans to press that button. Why? The Illusion of Relationship Part of it is the false sense of relationship we form with creators. In the comments you see it: “Any Kenyans here?” “I’m first today!” “Me coming back from work, dropping everything to watch.” These are not just casual comments. They reveal something deeper: people tying creators into the rhythms of their daily lives. The notification bell becomes a companion. The video becomes an evening ritual. The creator becomes, in some sense, a friend. So when a creator disappears, unsubscribing feels like...

There was a time when human life unfolded in quiet rhythms — milestones marked by intimacy, community, and modesty. A wedding was about two families uniting, a birthday meant cake and laughter, a funeral meant gathering to console and honor. Today, nearly every aspect of life has become commercialized, commodified , and packaged as a product. The question is: How did we get here, and what has this gradual shift done to us as individuals and as a society? A Brief History: From Simplicity to Spectacle The commercialization of life didn’t happen overnight. In the early 20th century, advertising was simple — selling soap, cigarettes, or clothes. But as marketing grew more sophisticated, it shifted from selling products to selling dreams . You weren’t just buying a ring — you were buying love. You weren’t just buying a car — you were buying status. By the 1980s and 90s, globalization and media pushed this even further. Imported images of “ideal weddings,” “dream homes,” and “perfect li...