The first time my mother-in-law started to call me every day was when I was two days past my due date. I was at home idling as I waited. It was mid November. I remember it was a Monday, around noon, when my phone rang.

“Nothing yet?” she asked. She was more anxious than I were, I could tell.

“No,” I said, “nothing yet.”

“If he’s not here by tomorrow go to the doctor and have him checked out. He needs to come out already! What is he doing in there anyway?”

I chuckled.

We were referring to the baby as ‘he’ because we didn’t know if we were getting a boy or girl. GB and I were open to whichever because it was our first baby. It was also the first grandkid on his side. If it were a girl, her name would be Mwihaki.

Mother-in-law – Mum – called again Tuesday. “Nothing yet?”

I shook my head into the phone. “Nothing.”

“Look, go to the hospital. With all my five kids, I didn’t wait a day past the due date. Due date got here and me and my bags were on the way to hospital!”

I snickered. “We’ll go see the Doctor tomorrow.”

And it we did. It was a Wednesday.

Mum called me on our way back home. “Nothing yet?” She swallowed, sighed then added, “OK, OK, if the doctor says we wait then we wait. But I suggest we get that baby out. Fine, let’s talk tomorrow.”

By the time she was calling the next day, on Thursday at noon, I was in labour.

I was in hospital for the weekend. My Princess and I returned home Monday. Tuesday, Mum’s calls began in earnest. “How is the baby? How are you? Are you still bloated? Have you let the gas out? Are you ankles still swollen? Did you sleep at night?” She sent me a basket of paw paws for the gas, and warned me against eating greens.

Mum would call every day, Monday to Saturday, at around noon, for the entire year and three months now. And still counting. She never skipped a beat. She’d ask the usual questions – “How is Mwihaki?” Pause. “How is GB?” Pause. “How is the Nanny with Mwihaki?” Pause. “And how are you?” – then ask about that month’s milestone, before giving me a heads-up to when they’d visit.

At month one, she asked if Muna is still bawling her lungs out and whether GB was of good help. “We’re coming over for lunch Sunday.”

At month two, if Muna is breastfeeding well and whether I need more bone soup and more flour for my uji. “We’re coming over for lunch next Sunday.”

At month three, if Muna is cooing and giggling when we tickled her and if the Nanny is taking her out into the morning sun. “We’ll be there for Saturday afternoon for tea.”

At month four, if Muna is sitting up and if we could send to her more photos on WhatsApp. “How’s it going back to work? Do you miss her? Why don’t you guys come over Sunday afternoon?”

Mum didn’t give me room to say no. GB didn’t either.

At month five, “Mwihaki anashiba maziwa kweli?” I said yes, she seems to be getting satisfied but not quite. I think we’re going to introduce her to solids early. “Great! We’re coming over Sunday after church, we can talk about what she’ll start with.”

At month six, “What’s on your menu? What will you introduce her to next? Don’t blend her food, mash it. My friend’s daughter tells me pumpkins are very good for them. What about uji, does she love the uji? Can I get her more flour? Let’s meet at your Mum’s Saturday afternoon, she said she’d be here for the weekend.”

At month seven, “Let me send you more minjis and warus for Mwihaki. Is she trying to walk on her own now, dancing maybe? We’re coming over Sunday afternoon.”

And so it went every day – getting on phone with Mum to share with her the experiences of Motherhood-101.

If I didn’t hear my phone ring – maybe I was in the shower or taking a nap or in a meeting – she’d ring three or four times in a row until I picked up. It didn’t matter if I was picking up to tell her I couldn’t talk then or if that I’d call her back later, so long as she heard my voice then she’d stop worrying.

At first, I found her consistency and relentlessness oddly fascinating, especially that our convos started with the same how-are-you questions. She never tired, still doesn’t. We spoke daily as if we hadn’t spoken to each in a long long time.

As the pressure of being a new mum versus returning to life-as-usual bemused me, Mum’s calls comforted and reassured me. I didn’t speak to my own Mum as often I spoke to Mum. (My Mum is retired with my Ol’Man to our shagz in Kaplong now. They’re both farming; growing crop and a healthy breed of cattle that are cared for more than us, their own kids. Those cows can even get pocket money if they could ask for it, hehhe, my little sis in Uni doesn’t have the same privileges. )

Eventually I found it necessary to update Mum – when she didn’t call me for a day or more, I’d call to tell her how we were doing.

Looking back, it’s so clear to me now: I felt cared for. I felt like a child. Mum made me feel like a child who is greatly cared for. I hadn’t felt that way in a long time, and Lord knows we all need that.

So here’s the drill: call your new-mum pals daily. Share tips they haven’t asked for. Nip in to check in on them as often as you can, always go with a bag of necessary goodies. Granted, she needs her rest and alone time to bond with her Munchkin, she doesn’t want her house crowded with guests and tire herself hosting them blah blah blah. Do it anyway.

OK, my phone just rang. Guess who’s calling?

An edited version of this story first run in the July-2017 issue of True Love Magazine

Thief in the Night

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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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