Ian's Blog

Someone once told me that the power in all relationships lies with whoever cares less. At first, it sounded harsh, but they were right. When you care less, you hold the upper hand. You’re less vulnerable. You can walk away without much loss. The other person, the one who cares more, feels the weight of uncertainty, the sting of dependency, the fear of rejection. But here’s the catch: power is not happiness. Caring less may give you leverage, but it also keeps you at a distance. It robs you of intimacy, of connection, of the joy that only vulnerability can bring. Power protects you, but it also isolates you. Happiness, I believe, comes not from caring less but from caring more. From showing up with open hands and an open heart. From investing in people deeply, even if it costs you something. From being the kind of friend, partner, or parent who leans in rather than pulls away. Yes, caring more means you risk hurt. But it also means you open yourself to love, to loyalty, to memories ...

  The Double-Edged Sword of Truth  Truth is one of the most powerful forces in human relationships and society. Without it, trust crumbles. Without it, justice becomes a mirage. Yet truth is not neutral; how it is delivered determines whether it heals or harms. A surgeon’s scalpel and a mugger’s knife are both sharp, but only one is used to save life. Similarly, truth can liberate when paired with kindness, or it can brutalize when thrown like a weapon. We live in a culture that often glorifies “telling it as it is.” Brutal honesty is praised as authenticity. “At least I’m real,” someone says after tearing another person down with words. But what if “realness” without compassion is simply cruelty dressed in virtue? Telling the truth is not just about accuracy; it is about intention. Do we speak truth to heal, to build, to guide — or do we speak it to dominate, humiliate, or win an argument? The Bible warns that “the tongue has the power of life and death.” Truth without kin...

  Kenya the Kiosk  “Somebody said Kenya is run like a kiosk.” It was a throwaway line on social media, but like all great satire, it stuck because it was painfully true. A kiosk is not a supermarket. It is not a store with a fixed price list, barcode scanners, receipts, or warranties. A kiosk is a place where prices are fluid, where the seller may look you up and down before deciding how much to charge. Sometimes you pay one thing, tomorrow you pay another, and if you ask why, the answer is always the same: “Bei imepanda” (the price has gone up). That’s exactly how Kenya feels today, especially when it comes to taxation. The tax regime is not a carefully designed system built on stability and predictability. Instead, it feels like a small kiosk where the shopkeeper changes prices at will and you, the customer, must either pay up or go home empty-handed. Every week brings a new announcement, a fresh “clarification,” or a circular from the Kenya Revenue Authority (KRA). You...

The Stage of Global Compassion Every September, the United Nations General Assembly (UNGA) becomes more than just a gathering of world leaders—it turns into a theater. Leaders deliver speeches not just to fellow diplomats, but to the watching world. Carefully scripted, laden with buzzwords like “dignity,” “justice,” and “humanity,” these addresses are performances. For many leaders, it is their chance to polish an image that at home may be bruised and battered by discontent. When Kenya’s president stood before the UN and spoke passionately about Haitians as “humans who deserve dignity,” the words rolled off like poetry. They echoed the moral tone of a statesman eager to be remembered as a defender of the vulnerable, a voice for those who suffer. The world applauded—or at least, politely nodded—as it always does at such spectacles. For an outsider, the speech sounded inspiring. It carried the weight of empathy, responsibility, and statesmanship. Yet to those who know Kenya intimately...

How We Learn What to Want From the moment we are born, society begins whispering dreams into our ears — and often shouting them too. These aren’t our own dreams, but scripts written long before we arrived. They come through parents, teachers, media, and culture: go to school, get good grades, land a stable job, marry the right person, build a house, raise children, accumulate wealth, retire comfortably. These steps are presented not as options, but as obligations. Rarely does anyone pause to ask: Is this what you truly want? Instead, success is defined by compliance — how well you follow the map that others drew. The tragedy is that many people never realize they are living borrowed dreams until they wake up one day in midlife, accomplished but hollow, wondering why the life they built feels like a stranger’s home. The inheritance of scripts is powerful because it masquerades as love and wisdom. Parents push children into certain careers “for their own good.” Communities enforce no...

  1. The Culture of Silence: Why We Avoid the Hard Conversations Silence is not always the absence of sound — it is often the deliberate muting of truth. In families, silence surrounds abuse. In churches, silence surrounds hypocrisy. In society, silence surrounds injustice. What binds these silences together is the belief that keeping quiet is safer than exposing what hurts. Families tell victims of abuse, “Don’t bring shame to the family.” Churches warn congregants, “Do not question the man of God.” Governments silence protestors with the narrative that raising your voice threatens “peace and order.” The result? Pain festers, truth is buried, and entire generations inherit wounds that no one dared to name. At the heart of this silence lies fear. Fear of rejection. Fear of retaliation. Fear of being seen differently. But beneath the fear also lies convenience — because silence benefits those in power. If the child remains silent about the uncle who abused her, the family mainta...

I came across a story on the internet that shook me. A young man, not yet 30, was doing well by every standard we know. He had built his parents a home. He was driving his own car. He was earning a six-figure salary. He was even building his dream four-bedroom house. On the surface, it was the kind of life many of us pray for. But just as he was about to finish his house, tragedy struck. He passed away. It’s the kind of story that stops you in your tracks because it holds up a mirror to the fragility of life. Here was someone doing everything “right.” He was responsible, hardworking, loving to his parents, planning for his future. And yet, unpredictability cut his story short. Life’s Unpredictability is Painful We often comfort ourselves by thinking that if we work hard, plan well, and live responsibly, things will go smoothly. But life is rarely so predictable. We are not promised tomorrow. The people we laugh with today may be gone tomorrow. The projects we begin with so much ene...

  Part 1: The Butcher’s Trick   The story is simple. A man changes his butcher. The old butcher closes shop, and a new one takes his place. But this new butcher plays games with the weighing scale, charging more for less meat, slipping in bones instead of beef, and passing it off as clever business. The customer leaves. He switches to buying meat from the supermarket, where prices are fixed and scales are regulated. Life becomes peaceful again. This small, everyday act captures something far deeper about the Kenyan condition. In this country, we’ve glorified ujanja —a culture of cleverness, trickery, and shortcuts. It is not brilliance in the true sense. It is not innovation or genius. It is simply dishonesty, packaged as street-smartness. When Kenyans describe someone as mjuaji or mjanja , they don’t usually mean he is wise or disciplined. They mean he knows how to bend the rules, how to cut corners, how to win by outwitting others—even if that “win” leaves others poorer,...

  The Paradox of Empowerment Through Nudity We live in an age where women are told that empowerment is synonymous with exposure. Flip through glossy magazines, scroll through social media feeds, or tune into popular music videos, and a clear pattern emerges: the narrative of women’s strength is often wrapped in skin. Fashion campaigns insist that baring it all is bold. Body positivity slogans shout that undressing is the highest form of self-love. Even movements meant to break free from patriarchal structures sometimes end up circling back to the same formula—women proving liberation through visibility of their bodies. But here lies a paradox. While nudity can indeed be an expression of freedom, why is it so consistently marketed as the pathway to empowerment? And more crucially, who benefits most from this framing? The women themselves, or the industries profiting off their exposure? This question is not new. Decades ago, the rise of Playboy during the so-called “sexual revolut...

A New Form of Cancel Culture When we hear the term cancel culture , we often picture social media mobs, celebrities under fire, or politicians losing platforms. It’s about being publicly shamed, excluded, or written off because of mistakes, missteps, or unpopular views. But there’s another form of cancel culture—quieter, less talked about, yet just as destructive—that has taken root inside the church. This one doesn’t trend on Twitter or make global headlines, but it leaves scars on souls. In Christian spaces, cancel culture looks like judgment replacing grace. It looks like congregations that build walls higher than they build bridges. It looks like communities where mistakes aren’t met with compassion, but with exile. In fact, many Christians have perfected the art of being Lords —not Lord as Christ, but little lords of their own domains of purity. They patrol the borders of righteousness, eager to point out who is “in” and who is “out,” who is worthy and who is condemned. Instead...