Why surviving in Kenya takes the grit of the world's greatest
Opinion
By
Dorcas Mbugua
| Nov 02, 2025
The worst kind of loneliness might be the one that lingers even whilst surrounded by people. Once again, I was translating myself even to my own kinsmen. Living abroad had challenged the very fibre of my being, and the result was severe independence of thought, action and beliefs.
Australia was a great teacher: some lessons were very difficult, others were enlightening, others unexpected. Having to chart my own path as an adult resulted in me facing various versions of myself and questioning the origins of my way of thinking.
Why exactly was I a follower of one religion instead of another? Did I really believe in a god of severe punishment? Did I ever have a choice in the matter? What were my biases and where did they originate? Whose voice was predominant in my head?
On the one hand, Australia gave me room to explore every aspect of my identity and continue to fill the pages of my next chapter from where Kenya had bookmarked. On the other hand, when I moved back to Kenya, I should have followed the advice I now offer hopeful students: the personality that served me in Australia would not necessarily work here. Ignorance of this fact is akin to ordering something that is not on the menu.
Kenya is not for beginners. Surviving in Kenya, and Nairobi in particular, requires the kind of grit associated with earth’s strongest soldiers. One must not be moved by minor inconveniences like having to bribe government officials to do what their job descriptions outline. One must anticipate that keeping time is a very loose suggestion for most, and that African timing might be the nation’s most prevalent malady.
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If you are not prepared to engage in a daily fight for your life, whether it is as a result of consistent near-death experiences on the roads courtesy of matatus and boda bodas, and if you are not accustomed to bank queues that rival those at concerts, if you are not ready and willing to stomach tall tales told with conviction whilst simultaneously managing short tempers, you may want to seek an alternative path or professional help with these kinds of transitions.
The transition as a migrant has broken me twice: first in Australia, and now here in Kenya. Having now lived here for five years, I am dangerously close to complete acceptance and, dare I say, pockets of consistent happiness.
To thrive in Nairobi means existing with a tortoise-like shell, a bullet proof exterior armour to retreat to when life throws tear gas canisters in your general direction. It means curating a symbiotic community of like minds, hydrating frequently and being accustomed to everyone minding everyone’s business.
Let us be honest. I might never understand or accept certain things about living in Kenya and will remain a lifelong adversary of the patriarchy, but I write this with a grateful heart that I broke open and not apart.
I am grateful for the many different ways life unfolds, and even though going through it in real time and sharing with the general public makes me choke from the nauseating reality, aluta! I thank God for my lion heart.