Ukiona a married guy who is always carrying a bunch of keys around ujue huyo ni mtu ovyo sana. Unapata jamaa anapigiwa simu akuje afungue store ndio watoe mahindi mtoto akimbie kishagi. Your woman should be in charge of your household.
CORRECT ME IF I'M WRONG BUT, I turn 38 this year and I have realised , as a man, no one cares about you. Not your wife. Not your family. Not your friends. Not your workmates. Nobody. People act like they care, but deep down, they don't. You are on your own. Always on your own.
Back in August 3, 2018, King Kaka posted that legendary photo with the holy caption “She doesn’t belong to me; she belongs to God. I am simply the caretaker of her heart on God’s behalf.” Wueh. Shakespeare was unemployed that day. Fast-forward six years later, the caretaker contract expired. Chesaa!!
In 2024, King Kaka officially returned the asset to the LANDLORD and declared, “It is finished.” Problem is, our brother just discovered the hard way that caretakers don’t own property. You water the lawn, trim the hedge, chase away goats, then one day the landlord comes back, harvest the sacred fruits of mafrrrrrrmbanya, then chew them cham kisumoo.
Now the landlord has taken over, the caretaker is left holding memories, captions, and old Instagram posts. And let’s be honest, when a woman's social media is always on soft-launching thirst traps, posting angles that defeat gravity, and captions like “look what hot body can do”, that marriage is on probation.
The signs were louder than a matatu hooter, but King Kaka was busy in the studio calling us Wajinga. Now our guy is seeing with his mouth, staring at the ceiling, replaying captions, asking himself where the caretaker clause went wrong.
Love is sweet, but next time our brother should read the fine print. Kama kawa sisi walala hoii hatuna maoni, Letu Jicho tu. 👀
The Lonely End of a Good Man
Baba @Kimanzi_
Same shirt. Same trousers. 2024 to 2025.
Nobody noticed.
No comments. No concern.
Because when a man sacrifices quietly,
silence is the reward.
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year
This is my friend, James Njuguna Kamau.
He started life with discipline stitched into his bones.
Kingeero Primary.
Alliance high school.
Top of his class every single time.
He graduated with first-class honors in Engineering at the University of Nairobi in 1967, then finished a PhD long before his peers even wrapped up their Masters.
He never smoked.
Never touched alcohol.
Never chased scandal of women.
Never stained his name.
He chose one woman.
Married her.
Stayed faithful to her for life.
He raised four brilliant children and sent all of them to the Ivy Leagues on merit, doors he opened with sacrifice, late nights, quiet work and money he never spent on himself.
He gave them the life he never had.
And they took it.
And they went abroad.
And they stayed there.
Now he is in his seventies.
A well respected professor.
A man who shaped generations.
But in the house he built with his wife, he is a ghost moving from room to room.
He stood in his kitchen today, staring at raw chicken, trying to remember how chicken tikka is made.
Because he’s alone.
Utterly alone.
His wife left four years ago to “help their daughter” in Melbourne after childbirth.
Routine visit, she said.
She never came back.
She now belongs to the children.
Birthdays are FaceTime calls.
Anniversaries reduced to emojis in group chats.
Her body is abroad.
Her heart left long before her flight.
And this man who lived right, loved right, did right, has been abandoned without ever doing anything wrong.
A bachelor again.
Not by sin.
Not by choice.
But by quiet, creeping neglect from the very people he built his world around.
This is the lonely end of a good man.
A man who never cheated.
Never strayed.
Never hurt anyone.
A man who believed that doing everything by the book would protect him in old age.
Yet here he stands:
Alone.
Heartbroken.
Still loyal to a woman who forgot to come home.
And the saddest part?
His story is not rare. This is the silent fate of many “good men”, men who poured themselves out until nothing was left for them.
So the hard questions linger:
If he was a polygamist… would at least one wife have stayed?
If he built stronger friendships, social circles, a life outside the family… would the silence be softer?
If he had someone, anyone, who checked in on him the way he checked in on everyone else… would he feel this invisible?
If he had lived even 20% for himself… would this ending still look this cruel?
This is not an invitation to abandon virtue.
It’s a plea to balance it.
Because loyalty is beautiful.
But loneliness is unforgiving.
And love, when it stops being mutual in old age, becomes a slow, quiet heartbreak that medicine can’t treat and time can’t fix.
To every man reading this:
How do we avoid ending up like this?
What systems, friendships and self-preserving habits must we build now so that at 75, we are not standing over a lonely kitchen counter, whispering to ourselves, “Where did everyone go?”
Because in 2025, being a good man is no longer enough.
Not by itself.
Not anymore.
Men,If you can,get your children in your twenties. Preferably from 26 years. And One day you will look back and say I made the right long term decision. I will not explain further
It just hit me that my husband never proposed 😅
He called me one Tuesday morning and asked if my dad would be home on Saturday. I said "I don't know, but you can ask him." He did.
That Saturday his uncles came with "cows" 😂
If you want to make more money, stop trying new things.
It's impossible to become world class at anything when you start something new every three months.
The Kenyan Courts will not oblige you to pay for child custody once it has been proved by the Government Chemist that the child is not yours and that your "spouse" committed paternity fraud!