It has taken 7 years and 10 months, 42 prosecution witnesses, and 81 exhibits presented by the ODPP for justice for Sharon Otieno to finally arrive.
Today, as Sharon's family sat in court to hear the verdict, we were reminded of the immense cost of justice delayed.
While we commend the prosecution, justice must not take nearly a decade. Across Kenya, from young girls to grandmothers, women continue to be lost to a horrific wave of femicide.
Our police, ODPP, and courts must bring the same rigor, urgency, and commitment to every case. not only those that attract national attention. We must all to our part to end the killing of women.
#ActNowToEndGBV #EndFemicideKE
They see them primarily as mothers. So when some men defend these arrangements, it’s because they’ve only ever experienced the benefits of women’s sacrifices and never the burden of carrying them.
I opened a Fixed Income Fund for my daughter and deposited an initial Ksh 50,000.
The plan is to top up the account with Ksh 5,000 every month and target a conservative annual return of about 10%.
By God's grace, that account should grow to approximately Ksh 3.3 million by the time she turns 18 and I will be 48.
Before anyone argues that Ksh 3.3 million will be "nothing" 18 years from now, consider the opposite perspective: imagine someone who started investing 18 years ago and today has Ksh 3.3 million. That person is financially ahead of the vast majority of https://t.co/Umd3Q9uzO5 think of what could have happened if that person thought how 3.3M will be nothing .
One promise I have made to myself is that I will not raise broke children, nor will I depend on my children financially in old age.
As parents, one of the greatest gifts we can give our children is a solid financial foundation, financial knowledge and the freedom to pursue their dreams without starting from zero.
Happy fathers day to us!
"Men who prioritize fatherhood may lose some sleep, gain some extra weight & enjoy less free time, but they can also discover a richer life with greater meaning, purpose & connection. And when it comes to brain health and mental fitness, becoming a father is one of the best things you can do." https://t.co/ddL9y5Ncci
I have seen some people chide this man. Say what you want but...
This man woke up, counted his fare, boarded a matatu with a paper bag of chips, chapo and avocado, and still showed up. Millions of fathers cannot even name the school. Some cannot even name their own child. This one knew the visiting day date, packed what he could afford, and made the journey. The food was not fancy. The effort was everything.
HE SHOWED UP!!
I Was a Mediocre Husband for Years. Here Is Exactly What I Did About It.
Most men who lose their marriages never saw it coming.
Not because they were blind. Because they were looking at the wrong things. They watched for betrayal, for crisis, for the dramatic moment that signals trouble. Meanwhile the real damage was happening quietly, in the ordinary evenings, in the small repeated failures that don't look like failures until you add them up.
I was that man. This is what I learned.
The first mistake was silence.
I told myself I was the steady type. Low maintenance. Easy to live with. What I was actually doing was coming home every evening and offering my wife the least possible version of myself. One-word answers. Half-attention. A man physically present and completely elsewhere.
Silence feels like peace. It isn't. It's distance accumulating. And distance, left alone long enough, becomes the whole marriage.
What changed it was simple, though not easy. I started talking. Not about schedules and logistics — any two roommates can manage that. About what I was actually thinking. What I was worried about. What I needed. And more importantly, I started asking her the same questions and staying quiet long enough to hear the answers.
Connection is not built through grand gestures. It is built through hundreds of small conversations in which you are genuinely present. That is the whole formula.
The second mistake was criticism.
I had opinions about everything. The dishwasher. Her approach with the kids. The way she handled situations I would have handled differently. I delivered these opinions believing I was being helpful. I was not being helpful. I was methodically dismantling her confidence while telling myself I was raising standards.
She stopped sharing ideas. Stopped asking what I thought. The walls went up slowly, then all at once.
Here is the question I should have been asking myself every time I opened my mouth: am I building this person up or wearing her down? It is a clarifying question. Most of what I was saying failed it badly.
I stopped commenting on things that didn't matter. I started looking for things to affirm. Not flattery — she would have seen through that immediately. Genuine acknowledgment of what she was doing well. The difference in the marriage was not subtle.
The third mistake was deflection.
Every argument I can remember from those years has one thing in common: I was focused entirely on her part in it. What she had said. What she had done. What she needed to change. My own contribution to the problem was a subject I had no interest in examining.
This is how two people become adversaries. You stop being on the same side because you're too busy defending your own.
The shift was learning to ask one question before I said anything else: what is my part in this? Not as a performance. As an honest inquiry. The answer was usually more than I wanted to admit.
An apology that isn't followed by different behavior is not an apology. It is a tactic. I had been using it as a tactic for years.
The fourth mistake was passivity.
I had confused not making waves with being a good partner. They are not the same thing. One is ease. The other is work.
Real partnership means initiating the hard conversations instead of waiting for them to become crises. Planning the evening out instead of waiting to be asked. Making a decision when a decision is needed instead of deflecting with "whatever you want." Asking what is overwhelming her this week and then doing something about the answer.
I was a passenger in my own marriage. Passengers do not get to be surprised when they have no influence over where things end up.
What happened when I changed these things.
Seventeen years. Four children. People still remark that we don't seem like a couple that has been married seventeen years. I do not say this to impress you. I say it because I know exactly where we were headed before I started paying attention, and it was not this.
The marriage did not improve because circumstances improved. It improved because I stopped waiting for circumstances to improve and started changing my own behavior instead.
Here is what the evidence shows.
Your marriage will not fix itself. It has never fixed itself for anyone. Waiting for things to get better is a strategy that produces, with remarkable consistency, two people who wake up a decade later as polite strangers sharing a house.
The work is not complicated. Communicate honestly, including when it is uncomfortable. Build her up, including when you disagree. Own your mistakes without qualification. Take responsibility for the health of the relationship instead of waiting for someone else to do it.
None of this is beyond you.
But it requires you to stop being comfortable with mediocrity, look honestly at what you are actually offering, and decide to offer something better.
Your wife does not need a perfect husband. She needs one who is willing to do the work.
That is a considerably easier standard to meet.
Start today.
A Kenyan's salary lands in their account on the first of the month. By the fifth, it is gone. Rent took half. Food took a quarter. Transport took what was left.
Now it is mid-month and you are broke. Completely broke.
So you call your friend. "Bro, can you lend me 5,000?" He sends it. You promise to repay next week. You will not. He knows you will not. But he sends it anyway because he is in the same situation.
By week three, he stops answering your calls. You move to the next friend.
But the friends are running out. So you do what every Kenyan does. You download Tala.
Week one is fine. The app is friendly: "Hi! We approved your loan." Week two, Tala gets impatient: "Remember your loan is due?" Week three, Tala gets aggressive: "This is your final reminder." They do not threaten directly. But the message feels like a warning from a mob boss.
You panic. You download Branch. Branch is scarier. No emojis. Just all caps: "YOUR LOAN IS DUE. PAY NOW."
Then Branch calls your mother. Your mother thinks you are in trouble with criminals. You cry. Your mother cries. You are in trouble with criminals.
Desperate, you use Fuliza. Fuliza is different. Fuliza does not call. Fuliza does not threaten. Fuliza is worse.
Fuliza blacklists you. Any money that enters your account gets swallowed automatically. Your salary comes in and Fuliza takes it before you can even see it. Your friend sends you transport money and Fuliza takes it.
So you get a second SIM card. A secret number. Your creditors sends money to the new number. Your friends also know the new number. You are now laundering your own money just to survive.
Some people ask friends to receive their salary for them to avoid it being 'swallowed'. The entire transaction becomes underground. Cash economy. Digital age but you are using your friend's account like it is 1995.
By the end of the month, you owe Tala 5,000. You owe Branch 10,000. You owe Fuliza 15,000. You owe your friends 20,000 from loans they have given you over the years. Your original salary was 40,000.
You have negative money. You are in debt to criminals, loan apps, and friends you are avoiding.
But next month, desperate and broken, you will do it all again. Because the Kenyan economy leaves you no choice. You borrow to survive. You take loans to pay loans. You damage friendships to survive. You get second phone numbers to hide from your lenders.
This is Kenya. Where your salary is someone else's before you even receive it. Where loan apps are organized crime with customer service. Where your friends are both your saviours and people you owe money to.
Welcome to Kenya. Where surviving is a crime and the real criminals wear business casual.
Dismas wa Tabu. Dreaming in installments. Billed in full.
The race for; iridium, gallium, tantalum, beryllium, germanium, coltan, lithium, uranium, titanium, niobium, gold, manganese, tungsten, nickel, rubies, oil and gas, will be either what wakes up Kenyans, or finally breaks our fatherland.
We are a few steps away from being a superpower or being a failed state.
The current crop of leaders cannot usher in a golden age for our sacres land.
So I ask, to what end shall we be herded into poverty, enslavement to imperialism, indebted to international banking cartels and a dark future?
We have never known true sovereignty.
Our republic is still a colony of the British Crown.
Laikipia for example, even though it's endowed with trillions of dollars worth of precious metals, is owned by English lords, and registered in the United Kingdom- Laikipia Limited.
Our mineral wealth is also owned by the Crown, via World Bank.
Not a single gram of rare earths is touched without permission from The City of London.
Cue, Jacob Juma, he 'discovered' Niobium worth $300B in Mrima Hill, Kwale County, but only disclosed a third of the mineral wealth, $100B.
Why?
Because the two-thirds remainder would be owned by British/Scottish mining companies Cortec Mining Co and Stirling.
He was murdered by Kenya's excellent thugs; all of them not just PRESIDENT EBOLA.
In Turkana they discovered oil worth about $44B in Ngamia 1.
Then they did extra radar scans around Lodwar and discovered;
1. A fresh water aquiffer that had enough water to be supplied to all Kenyans, non-stop for 70 years.
It'd support irrigation and household utility and usher an agricultural boom.
Then an organization called the IDLO was involved and within 48hrs, Kenya's minister of water came out and declared the water saline and too expensive to desalinate, even though it was initially announced as fresh water.
Why?
The second discovery is.
2. Oil worth over $250B in only 4 wells.
Underline only.
Those who studied stratigraphy know we have more oil than Venezuela's $33 Trillion but that is a story for another day.
Yes, you heard that right.
Back to the 4 wells;
Tullows, a London registered oil corporation, the same one that had won the tender for Ngamia 1, claimed they couldn't extract the oil.
Because...they didn't have the technology.
Immediately after, Kenyan excellent thugs, rushed to privatise the land.
A firm allied to Moses Wetangula managed to privatise the land, endowed with two hundred and fifty billion dollars for only eight hundred and forty million Kenyan shillings.
A few years later, Tullows allowed for a subsidiary to be registered, Gulf Energy, majority owned by Kenya's political class.
And finally, they are extracting the oil.
They have the technology.
When the quest for independence grew and became uncontrollable, British government rushed to do geological surveys of Kenya.
To map mineral formations and endowment.
They discovered that our land had over 970 minerals, all economically viable.
So to hide them, they declared reserve concentration points as national parks, national reserves, animal sanctuaries, conservancies and forests.
Get it?
They don't care for the baby elephants, it's what the cute jumbo helps them conceal.
Economic freedom, absolute liberty and sovereignty won't be restored by digital anger.
I beseech you, take this fight for your livelihoods to the streets.
The streets is where they can't control you.
Non-stop mass action.
Mothers, fathers, children and the youth in the frontline.
It'd take you 30 minutes to get back your power.
Article one of the CoK clearly stipulates you can administer yourselves directly too.
Get up off your knees, let's get free.
Homeland✊🏿🇰🇪✊🏿
There is a man somewhere driving a car worth more than everything he has managed to save and invest over the last five years combined.
He earns well, better than most people around him actually, yet every end month still feels like survival.
Deep down, beneath the polished image and confident laughter, he knows something is not adding up because earning money and building wealth are not always the same thing.
That is the part many men are never taught. For generations, men have been raised to chase income, not necessarily to understand it.
Somewhere along the way, men are conditioned to associate success with appearance rather than structure. If you look successful, society assumes you are successful. So many men end up prioritising visible symbols of success over financial stability, spending heavily on luxury cars, status, and lifestyle upgrades while neglecting the quiet work of building long-term wealth.
Nobody celebrates the man who consistently invests 25% of his income every month. Nobody gathers friends to applaud emergency funds or retirement plans. Discipline is too silent for social media. Too ordinary for applause.
But that silence is exactly where wealth is built.
Some of the saddest financial stories are not about people who never earned money. They are about people who earned plenty of it, sometimes tens of millions over the course of their lives, yet built nothing that could outlive them and be passed to the next generation.
Men who spend years looking wealthy while remaining financially fragile underneath it all. Men who keep postponing financial planning because they convince themselves there will always be more time later.
Then life happens.
A business deal collapses unexpectedly. A job disappears. A medical emergency drains years of savings within months. An accident changes everything overnight. Suddenly, the same man who once looked financially untouchable is borrowing money to survive, selling assets under pressure, or starting over from scratch in the middle of his life.
That is the painful thing about money without structure.
This conversation is not an attack on men.
It is an invitation.
An invitation for men to rethink their relationship with money before life forces the lesson painfully. An invitation to stop associating financial planning with weakness or lack of money. An invitation to understand that responsibility is not proven by spending it is proven by preparation.
If this conversation resonates with you, maybe it is time to stop postponing the uncomfortable conversations around money, investing, retirement, protection, and long-term financial stability.
Start the conversation here: https://t.co/2QILYqIoQd
✈️ Join us TOMORROW for the final session in the Seven Essential Principles series — a live “pulse check” on the leadership behaviors shaping aviation safety right now.
Register here ➡️ https://t.co/uxILHgaNZq
Moderator: Priya Doobaree | @IFALPA Representative to @icao
Speakers:
Poppy Khoza | Director of Civil Aviation, @OfficialSACAA
Capt. Nivedita Bhasin | Chief of Flight Safety, Executive Director of Flight Safety, and B787 Commander (retired), @airindia
Milena Bowman | Operations Planning and Strategic Development Lead, @eurocontrol
#AviationSafety #FSFoundation #SafetyCulture #GlobalSafety #AviationLeaders #Webinar
A medical officer in Kitale performed a major surgery in a backstreet clinic. The patient's hands were strapped to windows. The only equipment available was gloves and a kitchen sink. The family stood there and watched. They even recorded it.
This is what the collapse of a public health system looks like in practice. It does not always look like an empty ward or a closed hospital. Sometimes it looks like a trained medical professional so desperate to help, or so unbothered by standards, that a kitchen sink becomes an operating theatre.
But before anyone rushes to condemn the doctor alone, the harder question is what drove a patient to a backstreet clinic for a procedure that requires a sterile environment, proper anaesthesia, surgical tools and a trained team. The answer is that for millions of Kenyans, that is simply not available. Public hospitals are understaffed, undersupplied and overwhelmed. Private hospitals are too expensive. So people end up in backstreet clinics hoping for the best.
This is the same country that is being offered as a quarantine site for other nations. The same country whose parliament was recently debating football. The same country where the health budget is routinely underfunded while the travel and entertainment budgets of public officers remain untouched.
A government that cannot ensure basic surgical safety for its own people has no business making agreements about managing other countries' health emergencies. But accountability requires a media and a parliament willing to make that connection. And as we have already established, both are busy elsewhere.
Dismas wa Tabu. Dreaming in installments. Billed in full.
6. Help must come with standards
He did not believe in abandoning his children. He believed help should be tied to growth, not excuses.
If they wanted to learn a skill, start a serious business, handle a real emergency, or show discipline, he would support them. But he refused to fund laziness, ego spending, bad choices, or comfort.
That changed the way I saw parenting. Real help does not always feel soft. Sometimes love says yes to growth and no to weakness.
3. Rescue becomes a habit
The first bailout never stays the last bailout. One emergency becomes another. One loan becomes another. One mistake becomes another story about why they need help again.
That cycle trains children to look outward instead of inward. They stop asking how to become stronger and start asking who can save them this time.
He said constant rescue does not create gratitude. It creates dependency. A dependent child can grow old without ever becoming an adult.