Ian's Blog

  Kenya has become extremely unkind to its children. Once seen as a society that nurtures and protects its young, we now live in a country where children are increasingly at risk, not only from accidents and disease but from violence, neglect, and systemic failure. Every day, stories emerge that shock the conscience: children dying in schools, being shot by police during demonstrations, sexually abused by relatives, or simply going missing. These are not isolated incidents, they are symptoms of a society that has consistently failed to prioritize its youngest citizens. Tragic accidents highlight this systemic neglect. The Endarasha secondary school fire is a stark reminder of how inadequate safety measures continue to endanger students. Poor infrastructure, lack of fire drills, and insufficient oversight transform schools supposed sanctuaries of learning into sites of preventable tragedy. Similarly, traffic accidents claim the lives of children with alarming frequency. Overcrowded ...

  “Are we following Jesus, or are we following church culture built by men? Is the modern church producing true disciples of Christ, or just loyal church members?” These questions are not easy to answer, yet they cut to the heart of what it means to live a life of faith in today’s world. For centuries, religion has created structures, rules, and systems meant to guide human behavior. These rules often serve a purpose: maintaining order, protecting tradition, or establishing moral boundaries. But in the process, the essence of Jesus’ message—radical love, compassion, and inclusion—can be lost. When we look at the life of Jesus, it becomes clear that following Him was never about rules. It was about people. Jesus consistently broke every expectation, norm, and religious restriction in order to prioritize mercy, justice, and connection. Take the leper, for example. According to the religious law of the time, touching a leper made a person ceremonially “unclean.” Yet Jesus did not hesi...

  I believe that there are realms of good and evil as is evidenced by the world we live in. When thinking about this realm, I'm left with more questions that answers.  Why are the big realms of good and evil slugging it out for the souls, the hearts and souls of mankind? Why are we the meat in that sandwich? Little old us. Flawed us. Imperfect us. Why is that about us? These questions strike at the very core of human existence and the mystery of our place in the cosmos. For centuries, myths, religions, and philosophies have depicted human life as the arena where forces beyond comprehension wage their eternal struggle. Yet, here we are fragile, inconsistent, imperfect and somehow, we are in the middle of it. The idea that the universe’s ultimate battle hinges on people like you and me is bewildering. At first glance, it seems absurd. Look around: we are weak, fallible, and often incapable of living up to our own ideals. Our world is riddled with conflict, injustice, greed, and ...

  On 17th February 2026, the Kenyan National Assembly took up a debate that has been simmering in the background for years: the potential banning of TikTok. At first glance, this may seem like just another argument about social media and misinformation. But the issue is far deeper, it’s a battle for influence, a struggle over who gets to control narratives in an age where every smartphone is a broadcasting platform. TikTok, unlike traditional media outlets, is inherently difficult to control. Legacy media, the newspapers, TV stations, and radio channels that dominate the Kenyan information ecosystem have always operated within predictable frameworks. There are editors, regulatory bodies, and institutional practices that can be influenced or pressured to shape stories. A narrative can be guided, a perspective amplified, and inconvenient truths muted. In contrast, TikTok is decentralized. Anyone with a phone can create content, reach thousands, or even millions, and contradict offici...

  That question sounds dramatic, but if you strip away the emotion, it is actually very practical. Evil in governance is not some supernatural force hovering over the country. It is sustained by choices, our choices. By what we tolerate, who we reward, what we ignore, and what we normalize. Systems rot when citizens disengage. And they reform when citizens grow up. First, we must stop voting emotionally. Stop voting for murder allegations because someone calls himself a “hustler.” Stop voting for dynasties because the surname feels powerful. Stop voting for socialites, influencers, and comedians whose main qualification is viral content. Parliament is not a reality show. County assemblies are not talent competitions. We complain about poor laws, but then we send unserious people to write them. That contradiction is on us. Leadership should not be about aura, hype, or tribal arithmetic. It should be about legislative competence, integrity, and policy literacy. Before you vote, ask: ...

  Every few months, a tweet goes viral imagining a world where men disappear for a week or two and women can finally “breathe.” The fantasy is simple: no catcalling, no harassment, no fear walking alone at 3 a.m. Just calm nervous systems, sisterhood, safety, soft life. And when a man responds, “But who would protect you?” the sharp reply comes: “Protect us from who?” It’s a clever exchange. It feels empowering. It also ignores something fundamental about how civilization actually functions. The fantasy assumes that if men disappeared, everything else would remain intact the lights would stay on, the taps would run, food would restock itself, emergency services would operate smoothly just without men present. But that is not how systems work. Civilization is not self-sustaining. It is a constant maintenance project. And a very large percentage of the maintenance especially the dangerous, physically taxing, infrastructure-heavy labor is done by men. Let’s walk through the thought ex...

  If a bad president can come in and take away our rights, and we must wait five years for a “good” president to restore them, then perhaps what we have are not rights at all, but conditional privileges. That idea should unsettle us, especially in Kenya. Our Constitution of Kenya (2010) boldly declares that our rights and freedoms are inherent and inalienable. They are not gifts from State House. They are not favors from Parliament. They are not campaign promises to be redeemed after elections. Yet the lived experience of citizens often tells a different story. When freedoms expand or shrink depending on who is in office, when accountability is loud in opposition but quiet in power, we must confront an uncomfortable reality: the strength of our rights is tied to the character and competence of those we elect. In theory, institutions protect us. Parliament makes laws. The Judiciary interprets them. The Executive implements them. Devolution disperses power. But institutions do not r...

  In order for you to be born, it took two parents. That much we all understand. But pause there for a moment and follow the thread backwards. I n order to be born, you needed: 2 parents 4 grandparents 8 great-grandparents 16 second great-grandparents 32 third great-grandparents 64 fourth great-grandparents 128 fifth great-grandparents 256 sixth great-grandparents 512 seventh great-grandparents 1,024 eighth great-grandparents 2,048 ninth great-grandparents By the time you reach just twelve generations, roughly 400 years, you are looking at 4,094 human beings whose existence, choices, survival, and timing had to align with near-impossible precision for you to be alive right now. Pause for a second and really think about this. Four thousand ninety-four lives. Four thousand ninety-four separate stories. Four thousand ninety-four fragile human journeys that could have ended early, diverged, or simply never intersected. And yet, here you are. We move through life casually, often feelin...

  Do you know that many men suffer from what could be called “delayed grief” because they are never allowed to crash when the tragedy actually happens? When death strikes a family or crisis explodes without warning, something almost automatic happens in many men. A switch flips. He doesn’t always decide consciously, but he shifts into what can only be described as Superman Mode. While others are breaking down, he straightens up. While the room fills with tears, he becomes the tissue holder. While voices tremble, his becomes steady. He starts making calls, organizing logistics, speaking to doctors, handling funeral arrangements, calming children, absorbing everyone else’s panic. He postpones his own pain to manage the chaos. In those early hours and days, his strength is real. It is necessary. It is often admirable. Families need stability in crisis, and many men instinctively step into that role. They console the crying women. They shield the children. They swallow their own shock ...

  Devolution in Kenya was never going to be perfect. It was an experiment born out of the 2010 Constitution—a deliberate shift from an over-centralized system to one where power, resources, and decision-making moved closer to the people. For years, critics have asked whether it works. They point to stalled projects, endless audit queries, MCAs fighting governors, and counties that seem permanently trapped in mediocrity. But if we are honest and fair, we must also acknowledge where devolution has worked—and worked remarkably well. Kiambu, Murang’a, and Makueni offer strong evidence that visionary leadership can transform counties when the tools of devolution are used properly. Take Kiambu County under Governor Kimani Wamatangi . The most striking development has been the growth in Own Source Revenue (OSR), which reportedly doubled from KSh 2.79 billion to KSh 5.45 billion. That is not merely a financial statistic—it is a governance signal. It suggests improved revenue collection sys...

  It’s strange when you really think about it. Earth almost feels perfectly set up for human life. Water literally falls from the sky. Food grows from the ground. Trees produce fruit without invoices. Rivers flow without subscriptions. The sun rises every morning without sending a bill. If you look at nature long enough, it feels generous. Abundant. Almost effortless. And yet, here we are. Living in a world where survival seems to require passwords, credit scores, job contracts, performance reviews, and 40-hour work weeks. You need approval to build. You need money to eat. You need documentation to exist properly. Somehow, between rainfall and mango trees, we built a system that feels like a machine. It creates a strange emotional tension. On one hand, the planet itself looks like a gift. On the other hand, participation in modern society feels like a subscription plan you can’t cancel. You can’t just step outside and gather what you need. Land is owned. Water is regulated. Food is...

  We need to talk. Because apparently, people are now confessing their sins to ChatGPT. A fella recently found out her girlfriend was cheating, not through a late-night phone call, not through suspicious WhatsApp messages, not even through Instagram DMs but through her ChatGPT history. Let that sink in. In 2026, you don’t get caught by your side piece. You get caught by artificial intelligence. And the real question is: Why are people telling ChatGPT everything? ChatGPT has quietly become the modern confession booth. Except instead of whispering behind a wooden screen to a priest, you’re typing into a glowing rectangle at 2:17 a.m. “Should I tell my boyfriend I cheated?” “I think I’m in love with someone else.” “How do I hide messages from my partner?” That’s the strange world we now live in. People are not just using artificial intelligence to draft emails and polish CVs; they are using it to confess, to strategize, to process guilt, to rehearse lies, to test escape route...

  On one hand, an MP is offering KSh 10 million to quell a rumor. On the other, our biggest tennis star is forced to run a fundraiser to raise the same amount. This is Kenya in 2026: a nation of stark, uncomfortable contrasts. Take the latest example: Kasarani MP Ronald Karauri donated KSh 2 million to Oga Obinna to support the Majembe vs. Mbavu Destroyer boxing match. The president, not to be outdone in public spectacle, also offered KSh 4 million for the same event. Suddenly, a private fight between two personalities commands millions from the public purse or at least from public figures eager for visibility. And while we can celebrate support for sport, it becomes hard to ignore the skewed logic in these allocations. These same individuals are unlikely to blink when it comes to supporting boxing at the grassroots level. There, young fighters scrape for gear, pay for gym access out of pocket, and dream of opportunities that never materialize. The money is only made available when...