Ian's Blog

  Dear Christians: If you can’t see the face of Jesus in the children of Iran, Palestine, and Sudan, then it’s time to ask who it is you’re really worshipping. That sentence is uncomfortable. It is supposed to be. Faith, especially the faith that claims allegiance to Jesus should not sit comfortably beside the suffering of children. It should disturb us. It should shake us awake. It should force us to confront the distance between what we say we believe and what we are willing to see. At the center of the Christian story is a child. Jesus did not arrive as a king riding a warhorse. He arrived as a baby born in a poor corner of an occupied land, under a violent empire that had no patience for fragile lives. According to the Gospel narrative, the first political act connected to his birth was a massacre: King Herod ordering the killing of innocent children out of fear for his power. In other words, the Christian story begins with the suffering of children caught in the machinery of p...

  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...