Don't sell people an incomplete map and then blame them for getting lost. I've been sitting with that thought for weeks because the more I look around, the more I realize that many of the frustrations we carry as a society are not simply about unemployment, corruption, inequality or even money. They are about the stories we tell one another. From the time we are children, we are handed maps for how life is supposed to work. Study hard and life will work out. Get a degree and you'll find a good job. Work hard and success will follow. Save consistently and you'll become financially secure. Find your passion and the money will come. Marry the right person and everything else will fall into place. Believe in yourself. Think positively. Stay disciplined. None of these statements is entirely false. But none of them is entirely true either. The problem is rarely what they say. The problem is what they leave unsaid. Because what is omitted from a story is often just as powerful...
“They said I should be grateful I had a job. But I was working 7 days a week, 14 hours a day, for a salary that barely fed me. I was too tired to think. Too scared to leave.” There is a story here that echoes across Kenya—quietly, persistently, and in the voices of people trying to make something of themselves. But often, it’s not progress they are making. It’s pain they are collecting. Because sometimes, we accept destruction in the name of progress. The Girl Who Chose Pain Over Poverty Take a girl from Kibera or Mathare. She is 16, maybe 17. She’s missed school for weeks because she doesn’t have sanitary towels. Her mother sells vegetables; her father is rarely around. A boda guy in the area notices her discomfort and hands her a pack of pads. The next month he brings another. Then chips and soda. Then small money. Then she moves in with him. And just like that, she stops being a child. The guy turns violent. She gets pregnant. She drops out of school for good. At 18, she’s a mother ...