The Truth About Growing Up Kenyan: Hustle and Hard Lessons

There are certain things about growing up in a Kenyan household that you never forget. They linger in your memory like the smell of Sunday chapati or the sound of slippers shuffling across the floor at night.

Childhood here was a school of its own, one that taught lessons through sarcasm, sharp glances, and rules that sometimes seemed to change depending on the day.

Take sarcasm, for instance. Our parents were fluent in it long before we even learned the word. If you came home with torn socks, you were likely to hear, “When you're done tearing your socks come and tear your father's too!”

If you asked for money for the third time that week, the reply would come, “Do I look like the Central Bank to you?” At the time, these remarks stung, but today, they are the kind of lines we laugh about when reminiscing with friends.

Discipline was the backbone of family life. Respect was drilled into us in ways that left no room for negotiation. Talking back was simply not an option, unless you were ready to meet the consequences. Yet the rules had their own ironies.

You were not supposed to respond when being scolded, but if you stayed too quiet, the follow-up question came: “Are you deaf? Can’t you hear me?” It was a fine balancing act, one that only childhood could teach you.

Even eye contact had its own set of mysteries. Parents insisted that you look at them when they spoke, but if you looked too intently, suddenly it became a challenge. “Why are you looking at me like that? Are you trying to provoke me?”

It was almost impossible to get it right, yet somehow, we all learned to read the moment and survive it.

Looking back now, it is clear that these contradictions were never meant to confuse us, but to shape us. The sarcasm sharpened our quick wit. The discipline taught us respect and resilience.

The strict rules prepared us for a world where authority would not always bend to our liking. And the cane, always dangling somewhere in the background, reminded us that consequences were real.

It was not always easy, but it was unforgettable. Those childhood experiences are now stories we laugh about at family gatherings, imitations of our parents’ phrases slipping into conversations, and memories that remind us how deeply love can hide behind strictness.

Growing up Kenyan was its own kind of adventure, and though the rules sometimes felt harsh, they gave us something priceless, a shared language of nostalgia that binds us together even now.