KenyaOnAShoeString: Real Advice for Real Kenyans

There’s a kind of tiredness that doesn’t show on your face. You go to work. You show up. You laugh with people. You move through the motions. But inside your head—it’s chaos. There’s the to-do list. The bills. The unspoken fears. The small, constant calculations. The weight of everyone else depending on you. The pain you never had time to process. The dreams that quietly died in the background. You sleep, but you’re not rested. You take a weekend off, but your mind is still sprinting. You sit down to rest, and your brain opens a spreadsheet of everything that could go wrong. That’s not just stress. That’s mental exhaustion. The Storm We Don’t Realize We’re In In Kenya, we’ve normalized mental fatigue so much that we barely notice it anymore. You're in your 30s or 40s, and it hits you: you’ve been running for two decades straight. Not just physically—but emotionally, financially, mentally. A single mother works two jobs but still finds herself sleepless at 3 a.m., not because o...

In Kenya, rest can feel like a distant luxury. We live in a society where every move, every decision, and every shilling spent is driven by the fear of uncertainty. Rest is not always a reward for hard work; sometimes, it feels like a risk. The underlying anxiety that if we stop, even just for a moment, we might lose everything can overshadow our ability to truly pause. For many, rest is not a given, but a gamble. In a country where nothing is guaranteed, and survival often means holding on by the thinnest thread, finding peace of mind seems like a far-off dream. Even with the strides some people make toward stability, the constant tug-of-war between short-term pleasures and long-term security keeps them from truly feeling secure enough to rest. The Emotional Toll of Constant Preparation Think about a young woman who has scrimped and saved to buy a boda to supplement her income. But instead of investing in that bike, she takes on the responsibility of paying her younger siblings’ schoo...

In Kenya, survival is not just a phase—it becomes a personality. A way of life. We know how to stretch a coin, how to skip meals, how to walk instead of board, how to delay joy in service of something bigger. We know how to sacrifice . But no one ever teaches us how to stop . You fight to build a life. You give up weekends, comfort, health, joy— even yourself —so your child can finish school, so you can buy that plot, build that house, survive that disease, leave that bad marriage, or finally be free of the debt that has followed you like a shadow. Then the fight ends. The child graduates. The house is done. The cancer is in remission. The toxic relationship is over. The money finally makes sense. You made it. But now, you find yourself staring into the quiet… and you don’t know what to do with it. What Does It Mean to Live After You’ve Been in Survival Mode? A man once said, “I sacrificed everything so my children would have a better life. I don’t even know what I like anymor...

There’s a kind of grief we rarely speak about in Kenya—the grief that comes not from loss, but from survival. Many Kenyans know what it’s like to give up entire decades of their lives for the sake of family. We raise children who aren’t ours. We care for ageing, ailing parents when healthcare fails. We build homes from scratch while still repaying loans. We battle court cases over family land, support siblings through school, and somehow still show up to work, church, harambees, and funerals with a smile. We are excellent at pushing through pain. We endure. We provide. We hold everything together. And so we often tell ourselves: “I’ll rest when I’m done.” But what if done never comes? Even after the chaos ends—the illness, the debt, the heartbreak—we don’t rest. We move the goalpost. We chase another opportunity. We dream of new lands and new starts. We keep running, because stillness feels foreign. We are a nation that knows how to hustle, how to survive—but we don’t know how t...

Financial discipline often means making tough choices—choosing public transport over car ownership, skipping luxuries to build a savings cushion, or postponing vacations to secure a home. The journey can feel isolating, frustrating, and sometimes even discouraging, especially when peers seem to be enjoying a more carefree life. In these moments, having a personal mantra—a simple, powerful phrase—can help center your mindset, reinforce your ‘why,’ and keep you focused on the bigger picture. Here are some mantras to guide you through different aspects of financial sacrifice and goal-setting. 1. For Choosing Public Transport Over a Car “Every sacrifice has a purpose. Every saved shilling builds my future. My journey may be crowded, but my destination is clear.” When matatu chaos makes you question your decision, this mantra reminds you of the bigger picture. Every shilling saved on fuel, insurance, and maintenance moves you closer to financial security. Your journey may be tough, but the ...

In Kenya, car ownership is often seen as a key milestone of success. When your peers, friends, and family members are all driving while you continue using matatus, buses, or boda bodas, it can bring about feelings of inadequacy, frustration, or even embarrassment. Public transport is undeniably cheaper, but it comes with its own stressors—unpredictable schedules, overcrowding, and safety concerns. How does one navigate this choice in their 30s, 40s, and 50s without feeling left behind? The Financial Reality vs. Social Pressure Choosing public transport over a car is often a financially wise decision, especially when considering the high costs of car ownership. However, there is an emotional and social weight that comes with it: Status and Perception: In many circles, having a car is equated with financial stability and progress. Convenience vs. Cost: Matatus can be unreliable, while a personal car offers flexibility and comfort. Peer Pressure: When friends organize trips or events, ...

In Kenya, owning a car is often seen as a major milestone—a sign that one has “made it.” But is a car truly a necessity, or is it sometimes a financial burden disguised as progress? With rising fuel costs, expensive maintenance, and the reality of Nairobi’s notorious traffic, does car ownership always make sense? Let’s break it down with real numbers and scenarios. When Owning a Car Makes Sense Your Commute is Expensive or Inconvenient If you spend more than KES 20,000 per month on transport due to long commutes or unreliable matatu routes, owning a car might actually save you money. Professionals working in industrial areas, EPZs, or locations with limited public transport options may benefit from a car. Your Work Requires It If your job involves frequent travel (sales, medical reps, site visits), a car may be necessary to maintain efficiency. Business owners transporting goods regularly may find a car (or even a small van) more cost-effective than hiring transport services. You Have ...