Tuesday mornings

Mid last February, a local ad agency contacted me about a writing gig. Yeah to that. The agency was launching a campaign for one of its clients and needed a creative writer on board. Was I interested? I said I was. They said sawa, wait for a call later this week.

Wednesday, I receive a call from Yvette. (It’s not her real name.) Yvette tells me she’s heard some good stuff about me (I lie) and would like me to partner with them in the campaign. Commissioned work. I told her I’m listening.
She said the campaign would run for one year. I would be on board as the content writer. The campaign was dubbed ‘My Mother and I’. My jobo would be to send in two blog posts every week, 500 words long each, on stories about me and my Moms. Copy deadline was Wednesday 4PM. I would be on a salo. Yvette asked if I had any questions. I said I did.

“So you’d like to me write you any story, anything, about my Mum?”

“Yes,” she said.

“OK. Uhm… OK.” I paused to turn the proposal over in my head. “So do you want them written in the first person, the second person or the third?”

“Whichever you like.”

“Do I just have to write about me and my Mum, or I can also write on anything that touches on my Mum?”

“Write about anything you like.”

“OK. So do you want me to send you copy twice a week or can I send you both on Wednesday?”

“However you like.”

Creative license. I liked that.

“So what if the relationship with my Mum wasn’t all that loving? What if she was frosty? What if she didn’t hug me enough? What if she locked in a cupboard and called me names?”


“I’m kidding,” I said, cackling. “I have a great relationship with my Mum.”

Now, because I have been freelancing for two years and because I am no longer a rookie as far as these gigs go, I told her I can’t start jobo until we sign a contract. Yvette was graceful. She said she would send it early next week.

This was Wednesday. She sent me the contract the next Monday late afternoon, and said she would like to have the first two articles in by that Wednesday. I thought to myself, kuwa serious? I need at least a week to develop ideas before I can draft the copy then rewrite it for sending.

But that right there set the tone and tempo for the campaign – there was no time to let ideas marinate, or to massage copy to fruition. This was my Mum for Pete’s sake. I had known her all my life, she longer. All the ideas I needed about her I had already. And ready. The real question was, did I have the technical ability to write these stories as I had them in my head? Would my words match up to the person my Mum is?

The next day, Tuesday morning, I was at my desk staring at a blank Word document. I thought hard about my Mum. I even called her to hear her voice. I didn’t know it at the time but the first word that went to the page kicked off what was to be my most exciting writing gig this year. I swear.
I wrote a story about whatever came to mind that Tuesday morning. And when I was done with the first 500 words, I opened a new document and started on the next 500 words. I surprised myself. I let the copy sit then cleaned it up the following day at 3.30PM. By 4PM, they had left my desk. I had a drink and called it a day. Si you know that feeling of accomplishment when you’ve put in a decent day’s work?

I sent in copy every Wednesday (several times late. Expectedly) for four months before the contract was pulled from under my feet. No warning, no signs. Something about redefining the scope of work. This was June.

I became idle. Destructive. Moppy. I remember spending a Thursday afternoon at home lighting matches and watching them burn to their tips. Then I stood on the balcony until the street lights come on. Morbid, huh? I hadn’t realized just how much my week hinged on my Tuesday mornings. On sending the copy to these guys. I was in my best form on then; I woke early, I wore my favourite underwear and took some extra minutes to make sure I had filled in my eyebrows just right. Even my ballooning pregnancy and muffled pregnancy brain couldn’t stop this train.

July, Yvette emails and says the campaign resumes. Deadlines remain the same, jobo is as it were, campaign objectives are unchanged. I clicked my heels then got back to work, unusually thrilled. I returned to form.

You can only guess what cut another month later: An email checks in saying that the client has folded the campaign, again, and that everyone has been told to pack up their things in a carton box and go home. Again. Yvette thanked me for my service and said we’ll patana along the road someday in the future.

This time, I took the punch like a big girl, with a little more gusto and gumption.


It took me some courtesy and plenty of patience, but I got the copyrights to my work back. Starting tomorrow, I will post a couple of these pieces here. I will edit some elements of some pieces to align them to the narrative arc of the blog. You will hear about my Mum ad nauseam, sorry about that, so I’ll try my best to space them out with other regular (monthly?) posts. I am lazy. I know. But considering I’ll soon be a Mum myself, Inshallah, it’s the most we can do for each other.

So how about it?

Suits and monikers
Sotik, 1976

Comments (4)

  1. SK

    I look forward to reading about your mother. I love my mum, she loves me, but we don’t communicate as often as we should :(

    • fra

      Oh no, that’s a pity. Call her right now.

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Florence Bett-Kinyatti


Columnist Saturday Nation Writer Craft It Author of best-selling ‘SHOULD I?’ and ‘HOW MUCH?’ ~ Guiding word: Overdrive Subscribe to our Newsletter👇🏾 eepurl.com/igmN8P
  • Dear God, 
It’s me again.

I don’t pray as often as I need to, You know that. I don’t kneel by my bed in child-like humility, as Muna does. I don’t whisper a prayer in the morning. Or at noon. Perhaps just in the evening. 

This going-to-church habit is a constant false start. So is reading the Word. 

I’m often guilty but I also know: You and I have a language only we can understand. 

I speak to You through this gift You bestowed upon my Kale shoulders, this gift to write in colour. It’s a gift that sometimes feels like a curse, a burden I have no choice but to pursue. 

Yet other times – most times, actually – it’s the very breath of my essence. Everyday I sit to write, when the words flow from my head and heart through my fingers to the page, I feel You next to me. 

You are here, Lord. Hovering. Lingering. Swooshing about in Your regal robes, like a character from Bridgerton.

Sometimes You get so close I can feel You breathing on my neck and I’m like, ‘Err, God, do You mind, personal space?’

And You chuckle uncomfortably. ‘He-he, of course. Of course.’

I’m here to tell You, Thanks!

I hosted my first in-person event last March, Lord, thank You to all the lovely ladies who granted me their time and full attention. 

I’ve carried them in my heart since and every day, my prayer is that You bring them closer to the life of abundance they each seek. To their own version of wealth. 

I always call them by their name: Becky. Purity. Lindsay. Wangui. Naomi. Shiqow. Mercy. Liz. Winnie. Polly. Nduta. Lynet. 

And Mike. 

Dear Lord, I’m prepping for my next in-person event in June, Inshallah. 

Walk with me as I get there. 

Love always,

  • Highlights from our first-ever in person event hosted by Craft It and @financialfitbit 
Thanks to all the lovely ladies — and gent, hehe — who honoured us with the privilege of their time and attention. And colourful energy. It’s been weeks since and it’s only now that I’m coming down from the high. 

Thank YOU!

🎥 @mikemuthaka 

#craftit #author #MakeYourMoneyMatter #personalfinance #money
  • I am a woman.

I’m strong. I’m brilliant. I’m like a comet shooting across the sky, I’m so bright you have to put on shades to see me.

I’m almost 40, I’m almost fully realising myself as a woman and the power of womanhood I possess.

I’m so powerful that if KPLC connected me to the national grid, I’d power up this country and we’d never have another blackout.

Ho! Ho! Ho!


To recognize and celebrate International Women’s Day today, I’d like to recognize and celebrate eight women.

I have eight things to give away to each of these women:
a) Two tickets to my upcoming event on March 18 with @financialfitbit Theme is ‘Make your money matter’
b) Three autographed copies of my book ‘Should I?’
c) Three autographed copies of my other book ‘How Much?’

To participate:
1. Like this post
2. Tag women who deserve a win of either event ticket or book (tag as many women as you like)
3. Tell us what you’d like her to win and why she deserves the win
4. Make sure your tagged women follow @_craftit and @financialfitbit 

Here are the rules for the giveaway:
— One woman, one win
— Winners will be contacted via DM
— Giveaway closes at the end of this week, Inshallah, on Sunday 12 March
— Only open to people living in Kenya

All the best!

(Swipe right to see the women I’m celebrating.)

#craftit #internationalwomensday
  • My 2022 word of the year was Wholesome. 

Wholesome meant engaging in moderation and in pursuits that didn’t leave me feeling yucky.

An example: there’re weekend nights I’d go out then have too much to drink. On the drive home, I’d tell GB to stop the car every half mile so I could throw up on the side of the road. Then I’d take three working days recovering. 


No more of that nonsense.

Now I have only two doubles of Singleton whiskey and chase it with water. I eat less food and I eat better. I take my supplements. I treat myself to an early bedtime and arise with my body clock, no alarm.

I spend a lot more time hanging with my kids, Muna and Njeeh. 

I buy fewer things. 

I play the piano. 

I created a disciplined routine for my work and take Thursdays off. 

You catch my drift…

Wholesome has become my lifestyle. 

(By the way, I was asked, ‘Where does this word-of-the-year come from, Bett?’ I don’t know about other people but for me, the words present themselves when I’m journaling. My spirit tells me what it needs; I must be still enough to listen and brave enough to obey.)

My word for 2023 is Overdrive.

My two books have unlocked new opportunities for me as a writer and creative. As an urban brand. I’d honestly not foreseen them. 

I know that if I adjust my sails to where the wind is blowing, these opportunities will translate to wealth.

Last Friday, I listed all the work I’m already doing and all the new opportunities – potential and realised – knocking at my door.

I asked myself, ‘What am I taking up here and what am I dropping?’

The response, ‘None – we go into overdrive and smartly pursue them all.’

#craftit #urbanguide
  • Years ago, my best friend said to me, ‘Bett, we’re almost 40 – forget makeup, let’s take care of our skin instead.’

I had to laugh because this was coming from Terry. Terry my Kisii pal, this fine gyal with skin the colour of honey, the only practising SDA in my circle. 

Terry had spent her 20s and early 30s sleek with Arimis. That’s right, the milking jelly with a lactating cow on its logo. 

Arimis addressed all her skin pickles back then. It was her problem fixer. Her Olivia Pope. It’s the one thing that always said, It’s handled.

Now here she was preaching to us about a consistent skincare regimen in the AM and PM.


It wasn’t until Terry shared her selfies on our girls WhatsApp group that I stopped laughing. It wasn’t until we stood next her – and took these selfies – that I reeally stopped laughing: Terry’s skin was youthful and toned, plump. Hydrated. Moistured but not shiny. 

It looked like it had been kissed by the Greek goddess of radiance. 

So we gathered around her feet and said, ‘Forgive us, master. We are ready now. Teach us everything you know.’

She did. 

Terry and I now spend plenty of time before work and before bed squeezing out little portions of expensive skincare products from expensive tubes, we layer them on our face in a calculated measure.

This serum here is for the circles under my eyes and the fine lines around my mouth.

Turns out I’ve been giving away too much of my face: I’ve been looking too hard, laughing too easily.

I’ll have to spend the next year into my 40s with my eyes half shut and laughing little. I'll have a resting bitch face.

Don’t blame me, blame the retinol.

And age.

#craftit #urbanguide #urbangirl
  • I’m Bett. I’m the author of your favourite books about money. I’m hosting an in-person event in March, Inshallah: This is my personal invite to you.

#craftit #moneymaker #moneyinkenya
  • I am hosting my first money event this March, Inhsallah. It’s the first of quarterly events I have planned for the year. 

(Give me a moment here so I pull myself together long enough to write this. I’m smiling very hard right now, ha-ha, I look like a donkey.)


The event will be in-person. On a Saturday morning, a loose three hours which, I am certain, you’d have burned on some other pursuit you couldn’t account for later. (I’d probably be oiling the hinges of a squeaky door or decluttering my sock drawer.)

My guest host for this edition is Lynet Kyalo. 

Lynet is a personal finance coach under her brand @financialfitbit She also hosts @getyourbagrightpodcast 

Buy your tickets from our Market.

Early bird tickets are discounted until the end of this month.

Limited slots available. 

#craftit #millenialmoney #moneyevent #moneymaker
  • Sometimes I sit down and read my own book. 

Odd, huh?

Reading my own stories is like an out-of-body experience. Or getting introduced to myself again. An outward journey inward.

It’s fascinating.

I also read because I need to improve my writing for my next project.

We call them the Elements of Craft: things like sentence structure and punctuation, word placement, story length etc, they all inform your reading experience.

This is what makes the book easy to read, and has you turning the pages.

Cop your autographed copy and #betteryourmoney 

#craftit #howmuch #millenialmoney #moneymaker

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