Gichohu

Last weekend, as I was driving back to Nairobi, I witnessed a road accident. A boda boda rider collided head-on with an oncoming vehicle. It was one of those moments that unfold so quickly you barely have time to process what has happened. Fortunately, it wasn't fatal, but the injuries were serious. His leg was badly broken, and he was in obvious pain. A few of us stopped to help. About two hundred metres from where the accident occurred was a small hospital. We rushed him there, expecting little more than basic first aid before he could be transferred elsewhere. What happened next surprised me. The staff sprang into action. Within moments, they were cleaning his wounds, stabilizing his leg, administering pain medication, and doing everything they could to make him comfortable. There was no debate about paperwork. No discussion about who would pay. No hesitation. For a brief moment, I forgot I was in the middle of an emergency. I simply watched people doing what they had been calle...

One of my favourite folk tales is about Abunuwasi. Like many good stories, it is both amusing and slightly uncomfortable. One day, Abunuwasi climbed a tree and began cutting the very branch he was sitting on. As he happily swung his axe, a traveller happened to pass by. The traveller looked up and said, "My friend, you might want to stop. If you keep cutting that branch, you'll come down with it." Abunuwasi barely looked up. What did this stranger know? He continued chopping. A few moments later, exactly as the traveller had predicted, the branch snapped. Down came the branch. Down came Abunuwasi. Thankfully, folk tales are kinder than gravity usually is, and he survived. He immediately jumped to his feet and ran after the traveller. Breathless, he caught up with him. "You are clearly a great prophet!" he declared. "You knew I would fall. Tell me now... on what day will I die?" The traveller must have wondered whether the fall had affected more than ju...

One of the things I enjoy most about construction is that no project is ever built by one person. Every building is the result of many minds and many hands working together. It all starts with a client who has an idea. The architect then turns that idea into drawings. The structural engineer ensures the building will stand safely by designing the structural elements and specifying the materials. The quantity surveyor prepares the Bill of Quantities, and contractors submit their bids. After the tender process, one contractor is awarded the project. That is when the real work begins. Whether we are building a house, a bridge, a dam, or any other civil works project, the construction site becomes a meeting point for many different professionals. Engineers, foremen, supervisors, masons, plumbers, electricians, welders, painters, tilers, and countless skilled workers all play their part. As a project manager, however, I have discovered that managing concrete is often easier than managing pe...

I spent almost seven hours on the road yesterday. One thing I enjoy about long drives is that they give me time to think. The radio fills the silence, but somewhere between one town and the next, my mind usually wanders off on its own. Yesterday, almost every radio station was talking about one thing—the Ol Kalou by-election. If you listened long enough, you would think the future of the country depended on that one election. Every political analyst had an opinion. Every politician claimed victory, even those who had clearly lost. And, of course, social media was overflowing with experts who had not left their sofas all day. The conversation wasn't just about who won. It was about what the result meant. Some argued it was proof that the current government deserved only one term. Others insisted it changed nothing. Then there were those declaring that history would judge anyone who refused to pick a side. I have learned that not every conversation requires me to wear a political jer...

Some of the most important conversations I have ever had contained very few words. That may sound like a contradiction, but the older I become, the more convinced I am that silence has a language of its own. Perhaps it always has. I have sat in boardrooms where people spoke for hours without saying very much. PowerPoint presentations came and went. Charts were discussed. Strategies were debated. By the end of the meeting, everyone had contributed, yet somehow nothing meaningful had been communicated. I have also spent long hours driving between project sites with members of my team. At first, the vehicle is filled with conversation—progress reports, construction challenges, football, politics, and the occasional debate about whose village grows the sweetest avocados. Then, somewhere along the road, the conversation simply fades. We drive in silence. No one feels the need to fill it. We simply watch the countryside roll by, each of us lost in our own thoughts. Strangely, those quiet str...

There are some places you visit because you have no other option. Then there are places you go out of your way to visit. For me, one of those places is a modest meat joint in Mitheru along the Embu–Meru Highway. Whenever my work takes me through that route, I almost always find myself pulling over. It has become part of the journey. If you saw the place for the first time, you might wonder why it attracts so many people. There is nothing particularly remarkable about it. No flashy signboards. No polished décor. No carefully crafted ambience. Just smoke rising from the kitchen area, the smell of meat in the air, and a steady stream of customers. Their way of doing business is as straightforward as it gets. You walk to the kitchen and tell the cook what you want. "One kilogram of chemsha and ugali." He tells you the price and that part is done. There is no printed menu or complicated ordering process. You then make payment through M-Pesa withdrawal, take a seat, and be...

There are few pleasures in life quite like checking into a really good hotel after a long day on the road. If you travel often, you know the feeling. You pull into the parking lot tired, slightly dusty, and already thinking about a hot shower and a proper night's sleep. At that point, your expectations are fairly modest. A clean room, a comfortable bed, hot water and perhaps decent Wi-Fi. Anything beyond that feels like a bonus. A few nights ago, work brought me to Nakuru, and I booked a hotel on the Milimani side of town. From the moment I walked through the reception, I knew the online brochure had undersold the place. The photographs had tried. Reality was better. The architect had clearly been having a very good season in life. The interior designer, I concluded, must have spent a few afternoons in heaven taking notes. Everything simply worked. The lighting was warm without trying too hard. The furniture was elegant without becoming pretentious. The room felt less like accommod...