Yano_Tweets

Ad astra per aspera//
The 47th Law📓

[Yano_Tweets @IanQlack]

@kafangi

[Yano_Tweets @IanQlack]

@iam_bonface @polo_kimanii Depends with your combination: science combinations and technicals ( i.e TED ) hapo waingia kazi ( PnP ) mara moja after graduation/ hutangoja sana kuwa absorbed by TSC.

[Yano_Tweets @IanQlack]

@KE_MrBlack Truth is, she doesn't have genuine emotions for you ( she doesn't love you ). Ladies will readily wet for men they have feelings for.

[Yano_Tweets @IanQlack]

@peculiarchichii You should have done it like yesterday bro; being played like a fiddle.

[Řõððïę @Its_Roddie]

Ndio maana husemekana ati dads huSacrifice everything lakini ile siku moja alikosa kuMeet expectations inamDefine.. Dads wanalipa fees lakini mums wakikuongeza mia mbili on top of the 500 that the dad amekupea, unaThank your mum mbaya sana.. UkiGrow old ndio unaelewa your dad..

[Yano_Tweets @IanQlack]

@_Rymmes Simps huona dust ajab

[Yano_Tweets @IanQlack]

@gearheadscongr @polo_kimanii What kinda tucked up shit is that😂😂

[Yano_Tweets @IanQlack]

@polo_kimanii There are somethings I can't entertain even in my wildest nightmares; and this is one them.
Sipendi upuzi wallahi

[𝙋𝘼𝙐𝙇. 𝐎. 𝐍𝐄𝐊𝐎 @ouma_neko]

My Experience With I&M Bank Read This Before You Trust Them With Your Money

I’ve banked with @imbankke for years and this year alone I moved roughly 7–13 million shillings through my account. Recently, I withdrew 2 million legitimate proceeds from my business.

A week later, I walked back into the branch like I always do and suddenly I was being bounced from the teller to the manager and back again.

Without warning, my account was frozen with close to 5 million shillings locked inside. December. Festive season. School fees coming in January. Zero access to my own money.
They demanded “source of funds” explanations which I gave. They even contacted the source. Still, I was dragged in circles while my life and business were put on hold.

Out of frustration, I involved my lawyer.
Then things got worse.
On 15th December, I received a call from a stranger asking to meet. During that meeting, I was told in plain language that my account could be “helped” and I’d regain access to my money on the condition that I hand over 30% of the total balance.

Think about that. Thirty. Percent. Of my own hard-earned money.
After that, I was suddenly being moved from office to office at the bank and yes, the account was reopened.

Let me be clear: ordinary Kenyans are out here working themselves to the bone to escape poverty while some of the very institutions trusted to keep our money safe are busy squeezing us when we’re most vulnerable.

My advice as someone who has gone through this: Avoid I&M Bank. What I’ve experienced there has destroyed every bit of trust I had in them.
Young Kenyans protect yourselves. Don’t assume the people guarding the vault are on your side. Hunger is everywhere, even in the banking halls.

[George Njoroge @georgenjoroge_]

THE LONELY END OF A GOOD MAN.

The Story of Desmond Maina

There’s a man I know.
Most people in Nyamakima know him too.
His name is Desmond Kimani Maina.

If you had met him ten years ago, you’d have sworn he had life figured out.

He married a church girl quiet, gentle, raised in purity, the kind of woman everyone said was “wife material.”

They built a family of four children: two boys, two girls.
A picture-perfect home.

Desmond worked hard, harder than most.
He was among the first Kenyans to fly to China in the early 2000s to import electricals.

He started small; one suitcase, then two, then half a container, then a full one.
Soon, he became one of the biggest distributors in Nyamakima.

Money came in.
Progress followed.
He moved his family from South C to a beautiful home on Kiambu Road.
A home he was proud of.
A home he believed would never know chaos.

Then life cracked open.

One afternoon, after returning early from a trip, Desmond discovered something that almost broke him beyond repair: his wife had been seeing the neighborhood evangelist and it happened under his own roof.

Everything he believed in shattered.
He kicked her out, not out of anger alone, but out of deep betrayal.

But one year later, the wazee sat him down.
They told him forgiveness was the honorable path.
That children need their mother.
That homes must be rebuilt, not abandoned.

So he brought her back.

But something died in that house the day she crossed that line.
They functioned… but they never healed.
They lived together… but never together.
Forgiveness sat in the mouth, but never reached the heart.

Still, Desmond stayed.
He provided.
He paid the best schools.
And the miracle?
His kids excelled far beyond what he imagined; all four earned scholarships to Ivy League universities in the UK and the US.

He sacrificed everything for that.
He sold land, delayed his own comfort, said “yes” to every expense and never complained.

Then the eldest daughter had a child.

And immediately, without hesitation, his wife offered to move to the UK to help her.

“Just for a few months,” she said.

She left.
She never really came back.

Suddenly, Desmond was alone in a five-bedroom house.

A house filled with memories but empty of warmth.

Then life hit him again this time without mercy.

Regulations changed.
Importing electricals became a minefield.
Two of Desmond’s containers were seized by KRA and KEBS and labelled counterfeit.
They were burned.
80 million shillings gone in smoke.

He fought.
He protested.
He pleaded.

But when the flames rose, so did his downfall.

The business collapsed.
His savings dried up.
The bank foreclosed the Kiambu Road home.
He packed what he could and moved into a one-bedroom apartment in Thindigua.

The man who once travelled the world…
The man who once supplied half the shops in Nyamakima…
Now sat in a small room with second-hand furniture and an empty calendar.

What hurt him most wasn’t the money.
It wasn’t even the house.

It was the silence.

His wife stopped calling.
His children, those he gave the world, became distant shadows living perfect lives abroad.
They had new priorities.
New families.
New circles.

The man who sacrificed everything for them became a forgotten footnote.

One evening I visited him.
He laughed the way men laugh when they’re trying not to break.
Then he said something I will never forget:

“I built a kingdom for everyone. But when the roof fell, I was the only one standing inside.”

This…
This is the lonely end of a good man.

A man who married in purity.
A man who forgave.
A man who worked.
A man who raised children into greatness.
A man who built a home from nothing.
A man who gave until he was empty.

And in the end?

He became a casualty of his own goodness; drained, abandoned, forgotten.

Not because he failed.
But because he believed loyalty would circle back.

It didn’t.

[George Njoroge @georgenjoroge_]

THE LONELY END OF A GOOD MAN.

This is the Story of My Friend, Moses Kinuthia, my campus buddy.

Since he has allowed me to share. We were in JKUAT together. Young. Loud. Brilliant.

Full of plans about the future and how we would conquer the world.

Today, Moses is an IT Director at one of the leading commercial banks in the country.

On paper, he is the definition of success.
A man who did everything right.
A man who climbed every rung through discipline and sacrifice.

But this is the part nobody sees.

His day starts before the sun.
He leaves home quietly at 5:20 AM, careful not to wake anyone.
The children are asleep.
His wife barely turns.
Moses tiptoes around the house he pays for, moving like a visitor in the place he built.

He gets to work before everyone because that is where his life makes sense.
At the office, doors open.
People greet him with respect.
Colleagues seek his advice.
Managers rely on him.
In that building, Moses still exists.

But in the house he returns to every evening, he has become a ghost.

When he gets home, the living room is always full kids watching shows, his wife on the phone, her sister in law using the TV.
There is never a seat left for him.
Never a moment that feels like his.

So Moses has learned a ritual.
He walks to his car, closes the door gently, leans the seat back and watches the 7PM news on his phone.

Sometimes he sits there long after the news ends, just staring at the roof of the car, breathing slowly, trying to feel human again.

When there is a football match, he connects his phone to the car speakers.
He used to shout at the TV with joy once, now he celebrates in silence, alone in the driveway, like a boy hiding with stolen sugarcane.

Inside the house, nobody asks where he is.
Nobody wonders why he eats dinner late.
Nobody notices that he spends more time in the car than in his own living room.

His 13–year–old son, the one he dreamt of bonding with, is always locked away in his room gaming.

The gaming console Moses bought — hoping for father–son weekends is still in its box.
His wife said the cables “make the house look untidy.”

So the box stays on the top shelf.
And the distance between father and son grows quietly, day by day.

Weekends are no different.

On Saturdays, Moses sometimes walks into a house full of chama ladies sipping tea, laughing loudly.

He greets them, forces a smile and walks back out before he blocks the doorway.

He strolls around the estate until his feet ache.
He listens to the sounds of other families in their living rooms; laughter, loud TV, playful arguments things he does not remember the last time he experienced.

When he finally returns at dusk, his younger daughter is watching cartoons on the bedroom TV.
The only other TV is in use.
So Moses sits on the edge of his bed, watching highlights on his phone, pretending he is fine.

Bills keep coming.
The mortgage letter.
The water disconnection threat.
The residents association notice.
Security warnings.
School fees.

Everyone depends on him.
Nobody checks on him.

Yet he never complains.
Because he believes a man must carry the weight silent and steady.

But silence has a cost.

Last month, he told me something that broke me.

“Bro, I feel like I’m disappearing in slow motion. I am alive, but I don’t think anyone would notice if I stopped showing up.”

This is the lonely end of a good man.
A man who gave everything.
A man who showed up every day.
A man who traded his youth, his rest, his hobbies and his peace for his family.

And somehow, without doing anything wrong, he became invisible in the story of his own life.

He is not hated.
He is not mistreated.
He is simply used and unseen which is sometimes worse.

He sits in his car after work because it is the only place he feels the world pause long enough for him to breathe.

He eats alone.
He celebrates alone.
He stresses alone.
He survives alone.

Not because he failed as a man but because good men often fade in the very homes they built

[Yano_Tweets @IanQlack]

@OpiumX_29 Pizza

[Wambua @Itswambuaa]

"Umepata?" is a polite reminder that you lack the common sense to say "Thank you."

[Yano_Tweets @IanQlack]

@pallnandi Until you meet me.

[African Hub @AfricanHub_]

Burkina Faso was earlier paid $1 Billion a year for the gold being mined by foreign mining companies in the country. But since the emergence of Ibrahim Traore in 2022, Burkina Faso have been able to realize over $18 Billion from the sale of the same gold. He has also significantly increase their Gold Reserve which will in turn give a credible value to their currency.

Road construction is currently ongoing within different part of the country, investment in agriculture, health, technology and infrastructure are also being made. He also cleared all international debts and the country is now debt free.

[Yano_Tweets @IanQlack]

@Dr_BashirN @polo_kimanii Wueeh ,eti nini bruv 😅🤣

[MeekMill @MeekMill]

Where can I buy gold from directly in Africa????

[Gatimu🇰🇪🇳🇱 @GatimuKL]

@NelsonHavi If true, this undermines meritocracy and institutional integrity, eroding public trust and perpetuating a cycle where political expediency trumps competence. A cycle Kenya cannot afford to sustain.

https://t.co/uuF7x6xU4b