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There’s a way people say “she’s strong” and it sounds like praise. But if you listen closely, it’s also an expectation. Especially for mothers. You’re tired, but you keep going. You’re overwhelmed, but you manage. Things are not okay, but you hold it together. Then someone says, “you’re so strong,” and the conversation ends there. No one asks what it’s costing you. Because kusema ukweli, that strength is not free. It shows up in small ways first. You stop resting properly. Yo

You don’t realise how different it is until the child is actually here. Before that, it’s just ideas. “Better schools.” “Better opportunities.” “Watoto watakuwa sawa.” It sounds straightforward. Then reality starts showing itself in small, quiet ways. Like language. Your child comes home speaking differently. Accent imechange, words zimechange, even the way they express themselves. At first it’s cute. Then you notice they’re more comfortable in English than Kiswahili. Or wors

Long distance sounds manageable when you’re starting. You tell each other, “it’s just time.” “We’ll figure it out.” “Ni sacrifice kidogo.” And in the beginning, it even feels strong. Calls are long. Messages are constant. You miss each other, yes, but the connection feels alive. Then real life settles in. Time difference alone will test you. When you’re waking up, the other person is winding down. You’re trying to talk before work, they’re tired. They’re free, you’re busy. Yo

Dating here will confuse you if you come with Kenyan expectations. Not small confusion. Real confusion. Back home, things follow a pattern, even if people don’t admit it. You meet, you talk, there’s intention somewhere in the background. Even when it’s casual, there’s structure. You can read it. Here? Hiyo structure haiko. You can go on dates, laugh, vibe, even talk every day… and still not know what it is. No labels, no direction. You think things are moving, kumbe the other