Edwin's Corner

Let me start with a confession. I smoked my first cigarette when I was fourteen. Before you quietly close this article and assume this is a story about smoking, addiction, and teenage rebellion, hold on. It is not. It is a story about how habits truly start. About identity. About belonging. About freedom. And about responsibility. And more importantly, about how one small, seemingly innocent moment can quietly influence the course of your life. I need to rewind this story slightly. At fourteen, I had just moved from Nanyuki. Nanyuki was gentle, quiet, and homely; a town that moved at its own pace. It had a more National Geographic vibe. And I loved it. It was the kind of place where you learned to enjoy your own company. Where friendships weren't intense, loud, or invasive. Where people knew part of you, not all of you, and no one hurried you to share the rest. There was no rush. Then I was suddenly transplanted into the city. Lights. Movement. Noise. Speed. Urgency. Ev...

  There was a time in my life when I stopped running. Not because I hated running. Not because I was injured. Not because I was lazy. I stopped running because, in my twenties, I was busy chasing after something else—identity. Career. Recognition. Titles. Brand association. A name on my CV that could explain who I am. I lived in what I now jokingly call a pantheon of voices—trying to find myself through who I worked for. When I quit my job at PwC, something quietly fell apart. It wasn’t my finances first, nor my career. It was my sense of self that collapsed. The long working hours I had wrapped around myself as protective armor disintegrated. For the first time, I realized how deeply my sense of worth had been outsourced to an organization. In 2013, alone and staring at the future, I was just another highly skilled technologist. Certifications. Experience. A bit of chutzpah. And nothing else to hide behind. I was entering consulting as an entrepreneur. And there is nothing...

  The Shame Chronicles — Part One There are people you admire from afar. Paula is one of them. Gifted. Driven. Reliable. The kind of woman whose name, when mentioned in a room, prompts a nod of respect. She works hard— exceedingly hard —and she excels at what she does. Not just good— exceptionally good . Promotions follow her. Praise sticks to her. Results seem to chase her down. And yet, every few months, Paula disappears. Not in a dramatic, social-media-announcement kind of way. No “taking a break” post. No explanations. She goes quiet. Emails go unanswered. Calls go straight to voicemail. Friends and colleagues can’t quite track her down. Over time, people understand the pattern. “Oh, it’s that time again. Give her space.” They don’t panic or pressure her; they wait. Paula always returns. What nobody notices—and what Paula herself struggled to name for years—is that these disappearances are not breaks. They are collapse. Achievement as Armor Paula lives with a qu...

A Field Guide for the Brave, the Curious, and the Emotionally Willing First, let me repeat the disclaimer with my hand on my chest, because Nairobi people love screenshots and context gets lost fast: I'm not a dating guru. I don’t run a secret school in Kilimani where we train people to “manifest soulmates” with candles and voice notes. I don’t have a course titled “Manifest Your Person in 21 Days.” What I do have is two decades of lived experience from my own life and from the experiences of a few friends who have dated in this city long enough to qualify for a SHA insurance cover for emotional injuries. This is not law; it's a field guide. Use what works. Laugh where it hurts. And if you feel personally attacked… that’s between you and your conscience. Now. Let’s talk. -- Dating in Nairobi isn’t just dating. It’s a full-contact sport. It’s traffic. It’s “I’m five minutes away” when someone is still in the shower. It’s people saying “I hate drama” while carrying a ...