Sometimes I think the biggest trap in Nairobi is just… waiting. Telling yourself you’ll start when it’s perfect, while everyone else is already moving. Even with nothing. Especially with nothing.
I remember nights I couldn’t sleep. Not the city noise—Nairobi gets quiet eventually, even if the matatus drag their feet. Not fear either, though I’ve had that. This was different. It felt like my dreams were going stale from sitting too long.
Ideas came fast—too fast. A youth hub in South B. A storytelling platform for creatives. An app to map food vendors. A content series on hustlers. They’d flash like thunder, but when I tried to hold one steady, I froze.
It wasn’t ready. Or maybe I wasn’t.
You know that thing where you sit in a café with bad WiFi, scribbling brand colors and names, imagining the logo—God, the logo—and planning conversations that haven’t even happened. You polish and polish until the idea doesn’t even feel like yours anymore. Meanwhile Nairobi just… keeps breathing. People are selling on Instagram, throwing pop-ups, failing, restarting. The city doesn’t care if you’re ready.
But I waited. Told myself I needed time, a better laptop, a mentor, a “real” plan. Truth is, I was afraid. Afraid if I started and failed, people would see I wasn’t enough.
Then one night—I don’t even remember what sparked it—I just opened Canva. Slapped together a messy flyer. No tagline, no logo. Sent it to a few friends. Posted it on my story. Someone asked “so what is this exactly” and honestly I didn’t fully know. But it existed. That was the shift.
Because Nairobi doesn’t pay you for polish. It pays you for momentum. For nerve. Sometimes for sheer stubbornness. You look at people doing things and think it’s not even that good. Maybe it isn’t. But it’s there.
While you’re still stuck drafting castles in Google Docs.
I don’t want to romanticize chaos—plans do matter. But the lie that you need every detail figured out before you start, that lie kills more ideas than failure ever did.
And this city, it doesn’t give you clean starts. It gives you traffic at 7, rent due on the 5th, aunties asking if your “project” is paying yet. Noise, hustle, exhaustion. You wait for the right time, but while you wait, someone else is already moving.
I met Akinyi once—she built a haircare line in her hostel. No website. Pixelated logo. Just jars and stickers and a Safaricom line. Her DMs were full. While I was tightening pitch decks, she was outside Nakumatt buying ingredients. I had theory. She had traction. That stung.
And it clicked. Nairobi teaches you to move with what you have. Send the invoice before the template exists. Sell the service before the pricing makes sense. Post even if the lighting is bad. Confidence shows up after, not before.
It’s messy, but there’s freedom in that.
So if you’re sitting there, waiting for the perfect plan—don’t. Ten minutes is enough. A flyer, a post, a DM. Something real.
Messy is better than imaginary. Scrappy is better than silent.
This is from Mr. Abonyo
Where we tell the real stories behind the rise.
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