I am always late for work. There. I've said it. And the frustrating thing is that my lateness isn't caused by traffic or some unpredictable morning disaster. Most of the time, it is entirely my own doing. I wake up and make my coffee. Then I get back into bed, which is right by the window, cross my feet, face the window and slowly sip my coffee. And when I say slowly, I mean slowly. I look at the trees. I watch the birds. I feel the morning sun on my skin. Sometimes I just sit there with my thoughts. I really love these mornings. I've also noticed something else. When I give myself enough time in the morning, my body usually does what it needs to do. A slow morning often leads to a bowel movement, which, as far as I'm concerned, is one of the must-haves of starting my day. And so I find myself wishing for more time. More time to sit. More time to drink my coffee. More time to maybe get outside and do some yoga or mat Pilates on the grass while the sun is stil...
Kenyans are some of the most “hardworking” people you’ll ever meet—at least by our own standards. We open early. We close late. We stay on our feet for 10 hours. We invest in stalls, shop decor, uniforms. We show up. But are we really working hard , or just working long ? It’s a difficult question, but an important one. Because the real measure of hard work isn’t just effort—it’s care. It’s curiosity. It’s the willingness to understand your customer, stretch your thinking, and go beyond routine. Scenario 1: The Liquor Store That Never Asks In Nairobi’s estates, liquor stores are everywhere. Picture one in Kinoo. A man walks in, clearly about to host people—he buys multiple bottles, some mixers, maybe even ice. The shopkeeper packs his items and tells him the total. Transaction over. But what if the conversation went differently? “Mnaenda out ama kuna bash?” “Ah, kuna bash kwa nyumba.” “Uko sawa na ice ama unahitaji zingine? Na maybe ka-vape ama soft drinks kwa wasee hawatumii?”_ Inst...