Ian's Blog

  I’ve learned, slowly and sometimes painfully, that the hardest prayer is not asking for success, health, or clarity in others—but asking for the humility to see yourself. Whatever you do, pray for the ability to see your own sins, your own hypocrisy, and your own shortcomings. It sounds simple, even pious, but it is anything but. To truly see yourself is to confront the parts of you that you hide, that you excuse, and that you try to ignore. It is a confrontation most people avoid, because it hurts, because it challenges pride, and because it forces honesty in a world that rewards performance over truth. Pointing fingers is easy. It is satisfying. It makes us feel superior, moral, in the right. But it is dangerous. The moment you spend more energy judging someone else than inspecting your own life, you risk building a house of illusions. You think yourself upright, virtuous, justified—but underneath, the cracks are widening. We all have abscesses that need tending. We all carry h...

  In a recent discussion, Jensen Huang, the CEO of Nvidia, offered a profound reflection on the nature of youth in the modern era. When asked whether he would rather relive his 20s or be 20 years old today, his answer was unexpected yet deeply revealing: “I thought our 20s were happier than these 20s. I think everyone deserves some time to be oblivious, and not wear all of the world's problems on their shoulders on Day 1.” These words strike at the heart of a generational tension: the collision between awareness, responsibility, and the psychological toll of early exposure to the world’s complexities. Huang’s reflection is not merely nostalgic. It points to a structural reality about the conditions under which young people today mature. Unlike previous generations, today’s youth are confronted with a continuous flood of information, much of it negative, sensationalized, or catastrophic. Climate change, political unrest, economic uncertainty, and the ubiquity of social media amplify...

  I was reading about  a man's story, for years, he and his partner lived what he later described as life on “cheat mode.” No kids. No dependents. Plenty of freedom. Decisions were reversible. Risks were mostly personal. If something went wrong, the consequences were contained. Life felt light, efficient, manageable—like playing a video game with infinite retries. Then he had children. And suddenly, the game changed. “You don’t have skin in the game until you have kids,” he explained, not as a slogan, but as a realization that comes with weight. Parenthood is like a medical procedure where your heart now lives outside your body. It walks around without your protection, sleeps in another room, gets on school buses, and depends on a world you cannot fully control. Before children, the fear of death was abstract, existential, and perhaps philosophical. After children, death becomes personal—not because of what you lose, but because of who you would leave behind. Life without ch...

  There is an uncomfortable truth many people prefer not to say out loud: a significant number of what we label as “mental health issues” become quieter, lighter, or more manageable when bills are paid, rent is secure, and the fridge is full. This is not a dismissal of mental illness, trauma, or neurochemical conditions. It is a challenge to the dishonest separation we often make between mental health and material reality. Peace, stability, and emotional safety are not abstract concepts. They are deeply economic. And pretending otherwise is not wisdom , it is privilege. In many conversations, mental health is framed as an internal battle, something that exists entirely in the mind, detached from external conditions. We are told to meditate, journal, pray harder, think positively, or seek therapy, all of which can be genuinely helpful. But what is often ignored is how difficult it is to “heal” when your life is structurally hostile. Anxiety does not exist in a vacuum when rent is du...

  Nairobi has reached a quiet but undeniable consensus: the era of lawless matatus must come to an end. For decades, public transport in the capital has operated in a grey zone—half essential service, half organized chaos. While matatus have played a critical role in moving millions of people daily, the cost of tolerating disorder, recklessness, and impunity has grown too high. Order and civility in public transport are no longer optional aspirations; they are necessary conditions for a functional city. Matatu chaos is often defended as “culture” or “hustle,” but this framing has outlived its usefulness. Speeding, overlapping, blasting music at extreme volumes, intimidation of passengers, bribery of traffic police, and open disregard for traffic rules are not cultural expressions—they are failures of regulation and enforcement. A city cannot modernize while normalizing danger as entertainment and indiscipline as identity. Nairobi’s roads are not a theatre for adrenaline; they are p...

The question Kenyans should be asking is not radical, ideological, or unrealistic. It is profoundly practical: if powerful states can seize illicitly held wealth and redirect it toward public purpose, why can’t we? When the United Kingdom moved to freeze and force the sale of assets linked to a Russian oligarch, including Chelsea Football Club, and signaled that the proceeds would be redirected toward supporting Ukraine’s defense and reconstruction, it demonstrated something Kenya has long pretended is impossible, real accountability with material consequences. Not speeches. Not task forces. Not promises. Consequences. Kenya is not short of money. It is short of political will. For decades, the country has hemorrhaged public resources through corruption, inflated procurement, opaque public-private partnerships, dubious infrastructure contracts, and outright theft. Every Kenyan knows the names of scandals—Goldenberg, Anglo Leasing, NYS, Arror and Kimwarer dams, COVID-19 procurement frau...

  This year, I am not interested in comfort, consensus, or applause. I am interested in truth, accountability, and asking the questions we are trained to avoid. This blog exists to interrogate power, expose convenient lies, and challenge the stories we tell ourselves to survive broken systems. Some ideas here will unsettle you. Others may anger you. That is intentional. Growth does not come from silence or softness—it comes from clarity. If we are serious about justice, dignity, and the future we claim to want, then we must first be honest about the present we are tolerating.