What I’ve also learned


People who tell you they’re introverts most times aren’t. Idris Elba didn’t go to ‘People’ magazine and tell them, ‘Yo, I’m the sexiest man alive in 2018. Splash that on your cover.’ It humbly went the other way around. This also applies to the brave, the humorous, the bold and the beautiful, the smart, the pious. Even Eliud Kipchoge understands this. Murkomen doesn’t.

The definitive rule on saving is this: if you don’t feel the pinch after you’ve written that cheque or wired that cash to your savings account, then you haven’t saved enough. Cock your ears for the pinch.

Seek discomfort.

Never question the love a mum has for her child.

Three occasions you’ll tell the truth – when you’re drunk, when you’re angry and when you’re asleep. I secretly believe the reason why a sleepy, angry drunk talks too much is because the truth is racing to get there before the puke does. The battle is sometimes lost. Unfortunately. Little else is as entertaining as listening to a drunk drop truth bombs. “Bett, err, [slur] why do you always look so serious in those glasses?”

To all you Kuyo businessmen with an office in tao, priss, curtains are only for living rooms.

What I love about cooking is that after a hard day, there is something comforting about the fact that if you melt butter and add flour and then hot stock, it will get thick. It’s a sure thing in a world where nothing is sure; it has a mathematical certainty in a world where those of us who long for some kind of certainty are forced to settle for crossword puzzles. (I’d have said that if I loved to cook. But I don’t. So I won’t. I stole that from Nora Epron.)

The secret to a happy family life lies in ‘Peppa Pig’. If your toddler can figure this out, why the hell can’t you?

Tell your own story. You’ll find anything you ask about in Google but you won’t find the story of your personal experiences. Us writers are an exception to this, because the stuff that should have gone into our autobiographies (hey, Michelle Obama) is being traded for nought-a-penny on this here platforms.

What’s the urban rule for have a mosquito net in your bedroom at home?

It’s only in death that you look back at life and ask, So what?

Experiencing a stillbirth, miscarriage, ectopic pregnancy, blighted ovum or any other type of pregnancy loss, doesn’t make you a mum. It makes you a chick that lost her baby. Being pregnant doesn’t make you a mum, either. Pregnancy is a transient function of biology, motherhood is a perpetual function of love.

There’s a point you can sell out. Every human has a price.

You’re allowed to give up sometimes.

There’s no such thing as bad kiss. Or a bad kisser. Just incompatible lip structures and mandible techniques, hands cupping the wrong thing at the wrong time and head tilts that are out of sync. (And of course, it’s only by using such words as ‘mandible’ that a bad kiss becomes a really bad kiss.)

Learn how to cut up a whole chicken into eight trim pieces. But by God, you don’t need to learn how to slaughter the poor bird. Leave that for the good folk from Bungoma.

The numbers say that only five out of 100 urban folk reading this right now make enough to walk into a bank, ask for a mortgage and leave with a mortgage. The other 95 of us, what’s the plan? There’s a question for you Uhunye, how do you plan on getting us our own roofs in this Nairobi?

Consider adopting a child.

PMS is not an urban myth. Ask any 34 year old woman. Forgive her if she bites your head off or sobs into your sleeve. It’s not her, it’s her hormones.

Not every birthday has to be celebrated with a social media selfie and a caption that reads along the lines of ‘loving this soulful gift of a bestie with a little extra love on her birthday’. Come to think of it, not every birthday has to be celebrated. Not even your daughter’s who turned three last Monday.

Audio books are the lazy man’s solution to reading. A good old read will engage all your five senses, an audio book will likely get you in a fender-bender because you want to listen while you navigate Nairobi traffic. There’s a natural order to things: Listen to Indie music. Play Ligi Dogo soccer. Tend a potted succulent. Clip your fingernails. Eat tiramisu cake at Osteria. Ask him to give you a wedding. Master a Bible verse. Hike the Longonot. Holiday in Diani Reef Beach Resort. Watch Salif Keita live in performance. But for fuck’s sake, don’t listen to a book.

And yes, anyone who tells you he can multitask is telling a straight-face fib.

Learn how to unhook a bra with one hand. I’ll say it one more time so the guys can hear me better, learn how to unhook a bra with one hand. Fumbling with a bra clasp is about as sexy as watching him fumble with the corkscrew and the wine bottle he’s grasped between his thighs. It’s just about as bad as fumbling with a condom in the dark. Many an able man have fallen in the clasps (ha!) of these critical seconds.

You’re allowed to give in sometimes.

Rule #1 in the WhatsApp handbook: Say what you want and say it quickly. But, if the GIF you send makes me laugh, I’ll forgive you for saying ‘Hey’ and waiting for me to say ‘Hey’ back for the convo to taxi off the runway and get airborne. I’m not the reason our convos crash land.

I’ve just about had it with emails that open with ‘I trust this email finds you well’ and close with ‘Regards’, in whichever variation. Surely you can think up something more saucy to colour your emails, no?

You know nothing.

Why does the loud-singing drunk always live upstairs?

Here’s a nifty suggestion for beating post-partum depression. Start and end your day: Get up in the morning, draw your curtains, spread your bed, take a shower, put on some clean underwear and a blouse you like (I use the term ‘blouse’ here loosely. It may as well be that red ‘Johny Walker’ promo t-shirt you won back when Tamasha was still Tamasha.) Fill in your eyebrows, put on some earrings then leave the bedroom. God, leave. Everything good that happens in the bedroom has already happened. What remains in there is the depression, it reeks like a bad odour from your bed sheets, a bad odour you crave to envelope yourself in. Return to the bedroom at night, to sleep.

This Holiday season you’ll bump into folk you haven’t seen in a while. Don’t feel the need to end your conversation with the line, ‘Otherwise, you’re good?’

What I’ve learned
What I’ve later learned

Comments (10)

  1. Muindi Kimanzi

    Back again and I love it. I bet Reina too will love this…..

    Thank God I’m not the only one who thinks little of audio books. “But for fuck’s sake, don’t listen to a book.” Haha

  2. DB

    Otherwise you are good Bett? It’s been a while.

    • Bett

      SMDH. Silly as always, aye? Hahha.

      Happy Holidays, DB! See you here again in 2019, Inshallah.

  3. Nduta Mburu

    This was funny. I loved it❤️ Wow! was a good read.

    • Bett

      Hahha. Thanks, Nduta!

      Happy Holidays. See you here again in 2019, Inshallah. xoxox

    • Bett

      Everyone should live on the edge. And be the edge.

      Happy Holidays, Lamoy! See you here in 2019, Inshallah. xoxo

  4. Antony

    Fun read. one thing though….. I’m always the loud-singing drunk who lives upstairs 😂

    • Bett

      Hahhha. Then at the very least, you better be getting the lyrics right.

      Happy Holidays. See you here in 2019, Inshallah. xoxox

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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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