Show me the money

It started with a question over a cup of tea. It always starts with a question over a cup of tea, doesn’t it? Or any drink in your hand for that matter. Questions we imagine are sober in the moment but whose consequences, months later, will come back to bite us in our remorseful behinds.

Like a bunch of accountants standing around the water dispenser with Styrofoam tumblers of Keringet water in their hands. The hum of worker bees sprawls out in the openness of the office space they are too familiar with; from where they stand, they can spot their coats hanging on the back of their seats. Their days are dull, and they know they will only get duller. What life will be like in the next five years spreads out like an invisible buffet before them. So one accountant will say to the other: These guys will continue sucking the sanity out of us. We need to quit our jobs. We should quit our jobs, yes?
Or it’s the New Year. You are counting down to the New Year. He stands before you and you are looking into his eyes as you mouth those digits with an unnecessarily sexy twist of your lips. Nine, eight, seven… He thinks you are a fucking goddess. Aphrodite herself. Hehhe.
And when you get to one – Happy New Year, you shriek – you will clink your glasses and he will whisper boyishly into your ear: Let’s make a baby, Baby. And because you’ve already had too much to drink and because you think he is so damn sexy for his word play, you will giggle like a little girl then down the drink to the back of your throat before you scurry off into the night. Your giggles float behind you. He will set down his glass, wipe his mouth with the back of his hand then follow you outside.
You won’t know what hit you. Literally.

Rule #15 of the Monk’s Guide to Lasting Happiness says you must never make a decision when you have any drink in your hand. Set it down first before you utter your ultimatum. Rule #16 says you can only do so if you are willing to shed off excess baggage along the way. Whatever that means.

There’s a blinding witchery that comes with making such decisions. A power you don’t believe exists. You imagine that you have the world by the balls in that moment when, in truth, it’s the other way around.

So that day, someone popped a question: “Why don’t we start a chama?” (Ladies, you’ve probably been asked that question more times than you are willing to recall. An epiphany-like moment when one of you wants to take their friendship to the next level of an investment club.)
And because there was tea, and because it was a loose weekend, and because such brilliant questions always demand for more brilliant responses, they all said “Yes”. A unanimous, over-excited “Yes”.
There may have been a ‘Hell yeah’ and ‘Why not?’ and ‘Why don’t we?’, but when it comes at a high pitch from seven kale women huddled together for a cup of tea on a loose Saturday afternoon, it sounds like a ‘Yes’. A thunderous ‘Yes’.

The term ‘chama’ was floated loosely, they would later learn. Because what the women started in the week that followed wasn’t a chama. It was a merry-go-round. A group kitty that every member had the privilege of feasting when it got to her time to sit at the table and eat (catch that pun?).

The first year would be bliss. Everybody was happy. They had chosen wisely. “This merry-go-round is swinging in the right direction,” they’d nod to each other in agreement before the cash checked in to their bank accounts, “we are all swinging in the right direction.” And hell yeah they were.

The fault lines would start to show in the second then third year. There would be squabbling and meddling. The cash would come in late, sometimes not at all. The accountant would cook the books. The secretary would write things in the minutes that had not been said by anyone. Someone would pull another’s wig at a chama meeting. Another would be cursed for being too aggressive. Bitchery. There would be a guerrilla group, and people would take sides. The Chairlady would be too wrapped up in her own personal shit to worry about the impending coup. Women being women.

One Saturday over another cup of tea the top blew off and there was major fallout. Bitter exchanges. Curses and swears. Life enemies were made. The carousel stopped turning. The poison of cash and friendship reared its ugly head. And how’s that for the drink in their hand…?

Everything flat lined.

It would be in their fourth, maybe fifth year that they would reawaken their lost passion to build something of themselves and find each other again; they separated the dilettantes from the diehards. A revamped chama would rise from the ashes. Five diehards. And that’s when they would adopt a spiffy new name. Let’s call it K’Won. Kalenjin Women’s something. (Although I don’t know what that ‘n’ stood for.) And it would be my Mum and K’Won that I would meet once a month after every six months. The merry-go-round matured to monthly meet ups at one of the mamas’ house. I use the word ‘mama’ to paint the picture of trays of chapos and ndaos, thermoses of tea and boisterous laughs amidst the gossip. The women that had remained were still friends, no doubt. The Monks were right.

They made several wise business decisions, plenty of risky moves unexpected for women their age. This wasn’t K’Won chama anymore; this was a bloody investment club. They had a bloody investment portfolio of high-value assets. They had bit off a chunk of the property market and the stock market. Terms like ‘bear run’ and ‘cash-on-cash return’ were traded as easily as ‘screw you, you are too soft’ and ‘pass me the sugar’ were during their meet ups. Who would have ever thought they’d see the day?

I met the women again last November. I hang out in my room listening to music as the meeting went on. They’ve matured now, senior citizens. Their manos tagged along to have chapos and chicken. And they brought wine with them. Ha.

I didn’t hear them discussing any business.

Mister Singer
At 33 weeks

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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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