When Marriage Fails: The Shattering Taboo of a Family Breaking Apart
Let’s be honest about the relationships we build. When we get married, we all start with a shared vision of a lifetime together. We build a life, a home, and a family based on promises of safety, love, and mutual respect. But sometimes, over the years, the reality inside the four walls of a home begins to shift. Quietly, slowly, jagged cracks begin to form where there used to be a foundation. We talk a lot in our communities about the tragedy of a family breaking apart. But we rarely have the honesty to talk about the silent tragedy of a family staying together purely for the sake of appearances. When a marriage becomes a place of constant tension, emotional distance, or emotional unsafety rather than a sanctuary of love, the environment changes. Our children stop learning how to see real love; instead, they learn how to survive emotional coldness. To look at that reality in the mirror and decide that maintaining a broken structure is no longer worth the emotional cost requires a rare, shattering form of bravery. The Ultimate Taboo: Hiding Behind the Shame In our society, we can’t even say the word divorce. It is treated as the ultimate taboo, a conversational death sentence that people avoid at all costs. Because the word itself carries such a heavy weight of assumed failure, shame, and judgment, it forces people into absolute hiding. Couples endure years of silent agony, wearing masks in public and pretending everything is perfect, simply because the social consequence of admitting the truth feels too devastating to bear. This taboo doesn’t save marriages; it just forces the suffering underground. It took me eight long, grueling years to finally break through that silence and reach this crossroad. That is eight years of waking up in the dead of night, staring at the ceiling in the dark, and asking myself if there was something—anything—more I could do to save my relationship. It was eight years of trying, hoping, praying, forgiving, and exhausting every single ounce of human energy I possessed to fix what was fundamentally broken between two people. When we are on the outside looking in, it is so easy to judge. We look at someone else’s broken relationship and make comfortable assumptions, whispering to ourselves that it could never happen to us. But life has a humbling way of dismantling our certainties. The truth is simple, and we have to face it: never say never. It can happen to absolutely anyone. By the time someone gets to the point of making this monumental, life-altering decision, they haven’t just given up overnight. They have been thoroughly processed through the mill of relationship distress. Unless you have walked this path yourself, you cannot truly comprehend the sheer magnitude of the pain. It is a unique, exhausting kind of heartbreak. It is the heavy fog of loneliness where you feel entirely invisible, even while standing in the exact same room with the person who was supposed to be your life partner. And underneath that isolation lies the quiet, stinging trauma of betrayal—not just the betrayal of trust, but the shattering of a dream and the loss of the future you built your entire life around. You are faced with the daunting, terrifying task of untangling a shared life, navigating the anxieties of an uncertain future, and carrying the grief of what could have been. Choosing to leave under that immense weight isn’t a sign of weakness. It is a profound act of choosing peace and survival. When the Village Fails: Ubuntu Awry We love to talk about Ubuntu—that beautiful, profound philosophy that “I am because we are.” We lean heavily on the idea of the village raising the child and the community sustaining the family structure. But we need to look at each other clearly and admit where our execution of Ubuntu has fallen deeply awry when relationships begin to fail. When a family appears intact and everything is smooth on the surface, the village is loud, visible, and celebratory. Everyone is there for the milestones. But the moment a relationship enters the dark tunnel of deep distress, the moment the struggles become real, the village too often goes deafeningly silent. The harsh reality is that there is little to no real support when families are going through this catastrophic, life-changing event. Instead of wrapping its arms around suffering individuals and the children involved to offer protection, practical help, and safe spaces to heal without judgment, our community too often retreats into whispers, taking sides, or awkward avoidance. We have weaponized a philosophy of togetherness to force people to suffer in silence, implicitly telling them to endure a toxic or broken dynamic just so the community doesn’t have to feel uncomfortable. True Ubuntu was never about sacrificing human souls or emotional well-being to preserve an empty, broken contract. It is supposed to be about ensuring the village is a place of genuine health, safety, and emotional honesty for every individual within it. When you are going through this, you have to ask yourself: If these spaces don’t offer comfort when I am bleeding out emotionally, why am I letting collective expectations control my peace, my life, and my family’s future? Reclaiming Hope: The Dawn After the Dark Choosing to leave is not a failure of family; sometimes, it is the ultimate reclamation of human dignity. It takes immense courage to look past the silence of a broken village and say one simple, definitive word: Enough. It takes courage to admit you are exhausted, to step away from a dynamic that is breaking you, and to choose authenticity and peace forward. But saying “enough” is not the end of your story—it is the beginning of your healing. The pain, the loneliness, and the betrayal do not have the final say over your life. While the village may go silent, God never does. There is a profound, life-giving truth waiting for you on the other side of this heartbreak:
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Navigating Mental Wellness in the African Context
For many of us growing up in African households, our early education was focused heavily on the visible. We were taught the essentials of physical hygiene—how to brush our teeth, take a bath every day, and keep our surroundings clean. If we fell and broke a leg or suffered from a physical ailment like asthma, we were rushed to the hospital for immediate care. However, when it came to our internal world, the lessons were often very different. Many were raised in environments where crying was met with a “slap down” or being told to “be a man” and “shut up”. Culturally, the default response to psychological pain has often been to suppress it, pushing feelings down because we were taught not to show how we truly feel. The Weight of Unseen Injuries This cultural tendency to “just get on with it” doesn’t mean the pain isn’t there; in reality, we often sustain more psychological injuries than physical ones. We carry the weight of rejection, abuse, failure, and perfectionism. Crucially, many of us overlook loneliness, but it is a significant form of psychological damage that we encounter frequently. Because we aren’t taught to process these experiences, they accumulate into “baggage,” leading us to a point where we eventually “blow up”. In Kenya alone, the impact is stark: the nation ranks as the sixth most depressed in Africa, with depression affecting a staggering 40% of hospital inpatients. These numbers suggest a widespread struggle with coping skills and a lack of life skills to manage the stresses life inevitably throws at us. It’s Okay to Not Be Okay It is important to realize that it is okay to feel low or depressed. Depression is a mood disorder that causes persistent feelings of sadness, loss, and loneliness, often interfering with your ability to function and causing you to withdraw. These feelings are often the result of “piled up” psychological injuries and unexpressed anger. Feeling down isn’t a sign of weakness; it’s a sign that your mind is reacting to life’s stresses, and sometimes, those stresses become too heavy to carry without proper coping mechanisms. The Steps to Healing: Taking Individual Responsibility While we may not have control over every event that happens to us, we can develop the mental resilience needed to cope. The path to healing begins with taking individual responsibility for your mental wellness, as no one else can do it for you. Building mental resilience is an intentional journey. As Eleanor Roosevelt famously said, “No one can make you feel inferior without your consent”. By being intentional about your mental care and refusing to be a victim, you can move from merely surviving to truly contributing to your community and living a productive, balanced life
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Why We Must Save Africa’s Ancestral Building Sciences
Hold on. Stop. This is something actually worth reading. Once upon a time, I had an architect come to visit my project of building with earth, in the early days. At the end of the visit, his main comment was: Wow! Shibero, ths is a pretty big project. There was no other comment or interest. He had been trained at a university in Nairobi. We are throwing the baby out with the bathwater. In our rush toward a singular, industrialized definition of progress, we are letting a priceless inheritance slip through our fingers: the highly sophisticated, time-tested building skills of our ancestors. For centuries, African builders possessed a profound, intuitive engineering mastery. They knew how to treat timber against termites using local flora, how to blend organic binders to create weather-resistant finishes, and how to manipulate thermal mass so that a structure naturally balanced its own temperature. These skills didn’t just work—they frequently outperformed modern industrial alternatives. Yet, because we have historically failed to rigorously document, blueprint, and pass down these practices, our children are growing up with zero knowledge of their own architectural heritage. Preserving these skills is not a romantic exercise in nostalgia; it is a critical safeguarding of human intelligence. Sad to say, when I visited a certain museum overseas, I saw a lot of African history, artifacts and other African skills highlghted. This was a Western museum! Why Preserving the Skill Matters When an architectural tradition is forgotten, we lose more than just shapes and designs—we lose a distinct body of science. The table below outlines the core attributes of the building heritage we must actively protect: Ancestral Building Science The Sophisticated Engineering Behind It Why It Must Be Preserved Microclimate Engineering Precise orientation and wall-thickness calculations that work with local wind currents and sun paths. Eliminates the need for high-energy, artificial mechanical cooling systems in tropical climates. Indigenous Material Chemistry Formulating structural mixes using localized clays, fibers, and natural stabilizers. Provides zero-cost, hyper-local building solutions that are entirely circular and zero-waste. Passive Structural Breathability Designing walls and roofs that naturally filter and exchange air without losing structural integrity. Prevents the toxic indoor air stagnation and mold common in poorly ventilated concrete structures. Communal Structural Geometry Modular structural frameworks designed to be erected safely through collective community labor. Preserves social cohesion and ensures building skills remain democratized rather than corporate monopolies. A Feasible, Ground-Up Education Framework Preservation doesn’t require massive national budgets or complex digital registries to begin. The most powerful way to keep this knowledge alive is to plant it directly into the minds of the next generation—starting with the classrooms, schools, and local university programs available right now. Our ancestors were not primitive builders—they were masterful sustainable engineers. It is our absolute duty to pass their formulas and methods down to our children, ensuring that the next generation proudly carries the blueprint of our identity into the future.
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Unlearning the Colonial Classroom and Claiming Wisdom Beyond the Degree
Every morning across our cities, thousands of brilliant, highly credentialed people wake up, put on well-tailored clothes, and head to work that subtly drains their spirits. We are surrounded by the most academically qualified generation our continent has ever seen. We hold degrees, diplomas, and corporate titles that our grandparents could only dream of. Yet beneath the professional success, there is a quiet, aching question that keeps bubbling up: If I have done everything right, why am I struggling so much life situations and challenges? Let me be clear: I am not against education. I value learning deeply, and I hold degrees myself. Higher education opens doors and sharpens the intellect. But as I have journeyed through life—and through years of observing the world around me—I have learned some of my hardest, most profound lessons outside the lecture hall. Schooling never taught me how to navigate complex human relationships, how to weather unexpected life storms, or how to handle real-world situations with unflinching integrity when nobody is watching. The truth is, we were sold a promise that was never fully honest. From our earliest days in primary school, the rule was absolute: study hard, pass your exams, stack up your papers, and life will naturally unfold. Looking around today, it is clear that the system didn’t prepare us to live. It prepared us to comply. There is a vast difference between being trained and being educated. Most of what we experienced was institutional training. We were taught how to fit into structures built long before we arrived, how to meet someone else’s performance metrics, and how to chase a definition of success that originated far away from our own soil. Historically, true life skills were never taught through a blackboard or tested on a written exam. They were absorbed through deep, continuous engagement with those who had walked the path before us. We learned resilience, conflict resolution, and emotional maturity by sitting at the feet of elders, watching how they held space for communal grief and quiet reconciliation. We learned stewardship, discipline, and our place in the ecosystem through defined roles and daily responsibilities—tending cattle, cultivating crops, preparing meals, and caring for young ones. Transition rituals and rites of passage marked our growth, grounding us in the understanding that aging brought greater accountability to the collective, not just individual status. Knowledge was not an abstract concept you acquired for yourself; it was a living inheritance cultivated through relationships, story, and participation. When we traded those organic, intergenerational frameworks for a conveyor belt of standardized schooling, we lost the very spaces where character was forged. We began mistaking certificates for wisdom and institutional titles for personal identity. But what good is knowing how to manage a corporate budget if you don’t know how to navigate your own inner landscape, sit in quiet reflection, or honor the soil beneath your feet? So, how do we bridge this deep gap between the training we received and the wisdom we lost? Bridging it doesn’t mean burning our degrees or abandoning modern tools. It begins right in our homes, with how we raise the next generation and how we choose to show up: When the lifestyle you were trained to pursue leaves you exhausted and detached, you haven’t failed—the model failed you. Living intentionally starts the moment you are brave enough to step off that conveyor belt, honor the wisdom of those who came before us, show up fully for those coming after us, and decide that your soul’s clarity and cultural inheritance are worth vastly more than any certificate on the wall.
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The Reality of the Diaspora ‘Returning Back Home’
For many in the diaspora, there is a specific, heavy ache that goes beyond standard homesickness. It is the feeling of being pulled by an “invisible string” toward a land thousands of miles away—a place where you believe you won’t have to explain yourself because you are simply understood. The Romanticized Highlight Reel I was once in this very space. I remember before making the journey back ‘ home ‘, how my mind often played a “beautiful romantic highlight reel”. In this version of home, I forgot alot about the challenges of being home. I also forgot – that my life had changed and so had I. And so had my expectations of life. We remember only the warmth: the laughter in the kitchen, the specific taste of the food, and an effortless sense of belonging. We pack our bags not just with clothes, but with the heavy expectation that once we land, everything will finally be okay and we will “hit the ground running”. The Sobering Reality The initial return is often a “high” filled with overwhelming hugs and celebration. However, as the initial excitement fades and relatives return to their daily routines, a “strange quiet grief” sets in. You quickly realize that time did not freeze while you were away. Unless you have been making visits back homee frequently. The physical landscape has changed—new buildings and unfamiliar roads—but the social landscape is even more jarring. Your childhood friends have built entire lives and careers that do not include you; they have adapted to life without you. You may look like the people around you, sharing their blood and history, but you move and speak differently. You are no longer just “one of them”—you are “the one who left”. The Heartbreaking Paradox This realization leads to a painful identity crisis. You spent years abroad feeling like an outsider, comforting yourself with the thought that you would one day go home and no longer be an “ethnic minority”. Yet, upon returning, you find yourself trapped in a paradox: you are too foreign for your homeland, but also too foreign for the Western country you lived in. You become a “Child of two worlds,” belonging fully to neither, floating between two shores without an anchor. The Lesson of “Bountiful” The source reflects on the film The Trip to Bountiful, where an elderly woman named Carrie Watts returns to her childhood home only to find it in ruins. Despite the decay, Carrie finds peace because she realizes that the “Bountiful” she loved wasn’t a piece of real estate—it was a time in her life and a feeling she carried inside her. Like Carrie, returning members of the diaspora must realize they are often looking for a version of their country that only exists in memory. You cannot move backward in time, and no map can take you to the past. Embracing the “Bridge Generation” We are a new kind of people—the “ultimate bridge generation”. Shaped by different winters and global perspectives, we cannot force an evolved version of ourselves back into a past we have outgrown. If you are navigating this return today, the source offers these paths forward: Give yourself permission to rebuild: If you stay, look for the future rather than the past. Find a community of other “returnees” and dreamers who share your experience. Acknowledge that leaving is not failure: If the reality of the country does not align with the life you want to live, you are allowed to leave. Returning to your adopted country doesn’t mean you love your roots less; it means you recognize where you flourish and what has become another home. You have become an Adult of the Third Culture. Conclusion Your identity is not tied to a single coordinate on a map. Whether you stay to rebuild or choose to return to your adopted home, remember that you carry your ancestors’ resilience and the traveler’s strength within you. Your true home is the space you create for yourself—wherever you can breathe, grow, and finally feel safe
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From Earthen Homes to the Self-Sufficient Kitchen Garden
Don’t let your kitchen garden plan you… you plan your kitcen garden. I have always loved gardens. But beautiful, practical, deeply satisfying gardens don’t just happen by accident. They have to be designed. When you love the land, you become your own landscape artist—or you partner with someone who understands the rhythm of the soil to turn a vision into reality. A truly beautiful garden speaks directly to our senses. It’s the vibrant burst of color, the infinite diversity of plant combinations, the lingering fragrance after a morning rain, and the chorus of birds and bees drawn to the life you’ve cultivated. It’s about texture, warmth, and grounded beauty. When you look around, what kind of gardens catch your eye? Take a moment to be observant and tune in to what truly moves you. Wherever you find beauty that holds, I can promise you that design principles were applied with intention. Designing an outdoor space might sound complicated, but it is one of the most playful, fulfilling things you can do—especially if, like me, you don’t mind getting your hands covered in rich, dark soil. With just a little know-how, even the most neglected, untidy plot can be transformed into a paradise that is as practical as it is beautiful. The Pitfalls of the Unplanned Space For every thriving garden that came together by pure luck, there are dozens more that fail despite huge investments of time, effort, and money. Why? Because they lack a cohesive plan. An unplanned garden is a lot like a small house that gets extended bit by bit, room by room, whenever the need arises. You end up with a conglomeration of spaces that never quite feels right—neither pleasing to the eye nor practical for daily living. When designing an earthen home for self-sufficiency, the structure and the land must breathe together. Your outdoor space needs intentional zones: places for reflection, natural shade, water capture, and, crucially, a dedicated space to feed the household. The Heart of Self-Sufficiency: The Kitchen Garden Which brings me to the absolute heart of self-sufficiency: the kitchen garden. One of the greatest joys of growing your own food is that space is never a true limitation. If you live in an apartment with a tiny balcony, containers and vertical planters can yield a bounty of fresh greens. But if you have space to work with, you can truly go to town and build an enviable veggie sanctuary. I remember visiting a friend who turned what was once a neglected, littered rubbish dump into a flourishing, abundant vegetable patch. Seeing that transformation—taking dead, forgotten ground and turning it into life-giving soil—excited and inspired me deeply. That is the magic of intentional living. In a self-sufficient kitchen garden, simplicity and variety are key. You want high-yield, high-nutrition crops that thrive naturally in your local climate: Nourishing Body and Spirit Self-sufficiency isn’t about isolating yourself or growing everything all at once. It’s about creating a living system around your home that yields nourishment, beauty, and peace. When you design your garden with intention, every seed planted is an investment in your own well-being. Look at your space with fresh eyes today. Get your hands into the dirt, sketch out a simple plan, and begin building a landscape that nourishes both your body and your spirit.
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LIVE IN A MUD/EARTHEN HOUSE? NEVER!
Once upon a time, back in 2006, I built my first mud home. Yes, you read that right—bang in the middle of Karen. The structures were a reasonable size, spacious enough that a family of three comfortably occupied one of them. As the walls were going up, I became the neighborhood curiosity. I could practically see the thought bubbles popping up over my neighbors’ heads: She has finally, completely lost it. I vividly remember a friend visiting with a newly married young couple. As we chatted, I happened to mention my plans to build more mud homes to run as a Bed & Breakfast. The young bride’s face instantly twisted into an expression of sheer indignation. “I could never live in a mud house,” she declared. Hmmm… I thought to myself. We’ll see. The other two structures became classrooms for a children’s holiday school—a space dedicated to reconnecting them with their African heritage. It covered a wide, vibrant range of cultural history, but it quickly exposed a stark modern disconnect. It saddened me to realize how many of these urban children had never visited their “shags” or stepped inside a traditional mud dwelling. To many of them, a vegetable garden was a foreign concept, and a cow was something they had only seen in pictures. Milk didn’t come from an animal; it came from Nakumatt or Uchumi. It made me wonder: how many “urbanite” children today ever actually play outside with mud and grass, or learn to craft their own entertainment? The children arrived with a flurry of interesting questions, and I found myself systematically breaking down heavy misconceptions. Using pictures, storytelling, and my own life experiences, we unpacked their assumptions about mud homes, rural lifestyles, and the people who live in upcountry environs. I couldn’t help but notice a prevailing attitude of superiority—a subtle sense that “we are better” because of what we possess in the city compared to what they “lack” in the village. To challenge this, we explored the tangible benefits of mud houses—known elegantly as “cob” in the West. We talked about thermal efficiency, the remarkably low cost of building, and the stunning architectural designs possible with earth. By the end of the day, the children weren’t just informed; their entire perspective had shifted. At the conclusion of the holiday school, we rolled up our sleeves and built miniature houses out of mud and grass. The children loved every single minute of this messy, unfiltered outdoor play. When parents arrived, many of the kids flatly refused to go home. They left covered in earth, sporting massive, radiant smiles. It was pure joy to see them so utterly grounded and happy. Children are mirrors. Their attitudes toward others are incredibly telling of the casual commentary they absorb from the adult role models around them. Spending that time with them was a profound eye-opener. It leaves me wondering: how many of us consciously expose our children to the rich, raw reality of real life? Are we truly proud of our inheritance, or have we comfortably closed our eyes to where we came from? Hmmm…
Read MoreWhat Happens When an African is Made a Stranger on African Soil?
There is a devastating rupture occurring across our continent right now, and we cannot afford to look away. Imagine the sheer weight of it. You leave your country of origin, cross borders, and migrate to another African nation to build a life. You work hard, pour your energy into the local community, and strive to integrate. For years, you make a place your temporary home. Then, the political and social winds shift. Host authorities launch sweeping immigration crackdowns, and grassroots anti-immigrant movements issue ultimatums. Almost overnight, the society you have contributed to turns its back on you. It looks you in the eye and delivers a crushing verdict: “You do not belong here anymore.” This profound displacement is happening right now to our own African brothers and sisters. We are seeing it acutely with the sudden, anxious repatriation of undocumented Kenyans from South Africa, following similar mass forced returns of Ghanaians and Malawians. People who were actively building livelihoods are suddenly being uprooted, handed exit orders, and forced to return to their home countries with their lives in suitcases. The Uncomfortable Question When we witness fellow Africans being abruptly chucked out of another African country, we have to look in the mirror and ask some deeply uncomfortable questions. We know the systemic triggers. This fear of the migrant breeds when local populations are frustrated, when resources are tight, and when economies are struggling. In those desperate moments, it is always easier for systems and societies to point fingers at the vulnerable neighbor than to hold failing structures accountable. But let us be entirely clear: when we allow fear to dictate how we treat migrants, human dignity becomes negotiable. And the moment you decide someone else’s dignity is up for negotiation, you have already lost your own. A Call for Dignity at the Border For the home communities in Kenya, Ghana, and across the continent who are currently receiving their returning citizens: we must welcome them back with absolute dignity. This is not a time for judgment, suspicion, or viewing their return as a failure. They are returning from a battlefield of rejection and intense anxiety. They need love, immediate shelter, and fierce communal protection. And to those of you who are packing up your lives right now, watching your hard-work dissolve into a forced evacuation: I see your grief. Please, do not carry this crushing weight on your own. Reach out, lean on your roots, seek support, and hold onto this truth: your fundamental worth as a human being is never defined by a border, a lack of papers, or a political stamp. Restoring the African Fabric For the rest of us—the policymakers, the regional bodies, and ordinary citizens.We are dangerously close to forgetting the very essence of who we are. Ubuntu reminds us of an inescapable truth: I am because we are. Our survival on this continent has always been, and will always be, bound up in our interconnectedness. When we allow one migrant community to be targeted and pushed out, the entire African fabric is torn. We cannot build a prosperous, united continent on the broken spirits of our neighbors. The next time you hear someone spreading xenophobic rhetoric or divisive hate about fellow Africans migrating for a better life, check it. Stop it in its tracks. Let us actively build a future where our continent is defined by how we care for the traveler and the neighbor, and not just by the arbitrary lines drawn on a map.
Read MoreWhy Corporal Punishement Teaches Kids to Be Angry Adults
Every time the courts release another devastating ruling on school arson attacks in Kenya, the public conversation takes a predictable, lazy route. We see panel discussions and opinion pieces rushing to demand the return of the cane, shouting about “spoiled children” and a “lack of discipline.” But let’s expose a glaring historical reality that our society has conveniently forgotten: corporal punishment is already a direct violation of our legal framework. The Ministry of Education officially banned caning in 2001. Article 29 of the Constitution explicitly guarantees freedom from all forms of physical violence, and the Children Act of 2022 formally stripped away any remaining legal justification for physical correction. Yet, despite decades of clear legal prohibition, the hard truth is that many schools never actually stopped caning our children. The Myth of “I Turned Out Fine” We frequently hear parents defend the cane by saying: “We were beaten when we were young, and nothing happened to us. We turned out just fine.” But as a practicing clinical therapist, I see the hidden cost of that lie every single day behind closed doors. I have sat across from countless adults who are deeply, psychologically harmed by the very childhood violence they call “discipline.” They did not turn out fine. They turned out to be adults living with severe anxiety, broken self-esteem, deep-seated trauma, and a total inability to manage their emotions without lashing out or shutting down entirely. Under local and international children’s rights laws, caning is not correction—it is outright abuse. The Core Issue: Training the Wrong Thing A wise headteacher once told me: “Every time a child does something wrong, it is an opportunity to train them into doing the right thing.” But what are we actually training them to do when we use the cane? We are not teaching them emotional regulation, accountability, or discipline. We are teaching them that might makes right. We are equipping them with highly destructive life skills: how to suppress anger until it explodes, how to use violence to solve conflicts, and how to operate out of pure fear. We are actively training them how to be angry adults. When these children graduate and enter the workforce, marriages, and communities, they carry those exact negative skills into the world. The Toxic Cycle of Mutual Contempt Caning destroys the foundational bond of education. Because of the ongoing whipping, these children know they are actively “hated” by their handlers. In return, they grow to deeply hate their schools and their teachers. Respect cannot be beaten into a human being. When you replace respect with physical terror, you create a toxic, two-way street of animosity. The children withdraw, the teachers rule by fear, and the classroom becomes a powder keg. School unrest is not a random act of malice. It is the predictable, devastating language of children who have been systematically stripped of their voices, their agency, and their dignity. What We Need to Take Away This is not the first, second, or even third time we are having this debate in our society. We must break this cycle. What do we want the different people involved to take away from this? A Shared Responsibility Ultimately, a school should be a sanctuary, not a processing factory for trauma. When we resort to the cane, we admit that we have run out of words, run out of patience, and run out of better ideas. It means we have failed to do the harder, more necessary work of listening. If we want a society full of emotionally intelligent, stable, and peaceful adults, we have to start by practicing those exact values with our teenagers today. It is our job to absorb the shocks of life, not pass them down to a generation that doesn’t have the tools to process them. Let’s stop beating them into submission. Let’s start training them into the right thing. This crosses over to CHID ABUSE. This article was contributed by a practicing clinical practitioner Ms.Shiibero R. Akatsa with extensive experience evaluating adolescent mental health and community structures locally and abroad.
Read MoreWhy Are We Losing Our Men to Silence?
As a community, we are often guilty of celebrating a man’s strength while ignoring his heavy burdens—until it is too late. We expect our men to be unbreakable pillars. We pile on the pressures of financial provision, family leadership, and societal expectations, demanding they remain stoic through every crisis. We applaud them for never complaining. But when a man suddenly collapses, when he destroys his life through addiction, or when we lose him to suicide, the community reacts with shock, asking, “Why didn’t he just say something?” The truth is, we have created a world where saying something feels like social suicide for a man. Globally, over 550 million men are currently living with mental health challenges. According to the World Health Organization, men are twice as likely to die by suicide than women. In many communities, that number jumps to an alarming four times as likely. Yet, if you look at mental health clinics, support groups, or counseling spaces, men are rarely there. From busy corporate offices to the local boda boda stages and neighborhood pubs, men are suffering in absolute, structured silence because the community teaches them that vulnerability is a weakness. The Mask We Wear In many African societies, boys are socialized from childhood to lock away their emotions. Phrases like ” Men don’t cry” or “Endelea tu” (just keep going) teach men to bury their pain. Women, watch the lnguage you use on your boys when they cry. Because of this, depression in men rarely looks like textbook sadness. Instead, it wears a mask of functional survival: The Crutches That Keep Us Broken When a man is drowning inside and cannot ask for help, his instinct is to grab onto mental crutches to keep his head above water. These habits feel like survival tools, but they actually destroy your health and prolong the suffering. If these syymptoms go on for over two weeks, see a doctor, who can then redirect you. Turning to the Soil: Practical Ways to Heal Burying emotions or relying on crutches is a safety hazard. If your car’s “check engine” light came on, you wouldn’t smash the dashboard with a hammer; you would pull over and fix the engine. Your irritability, insomnia, and fatigue are your warning lights. Healing does not require a public declaration. It starts with small, practical steps—and often, the best medicine comes from the earth beneath your feet: Seeking support is not quitting the fight. It is recruiting a teammate so you can win it. Your family, your children, and your community do not just need you to be physically present—they need you to be well. Free, Confidential Mental Health Resources in Kenya: This article has been written by Ms Shibero R Akatsa a practicing clinical therapist with extensive experience supporting men’s mental health within local and international communities.
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