Dotted lines


Folk get into romantic relationships not knowing how to read their partners. 

This wouldn’t be a pain if we all had the cajones to use our words to express how we feel.

But relationships, human relationships, are simply not measured and cut along such dotted lines. We are complex social animals, after all. Diverse. Unpredictable. Linearity is absent. There’s a part of us that’s still characteristically untamed. Pieces that don’t fit into the puzzle. 

Hell, just when you think you are finished fitting the pieces that will complete the picture of your partner, you discover there are still pieces you had no idea existed. Loose pieces. Unusual and doubtful. Never mind that you don’t know where you’ll fit them. 

So it’s only natural that as our romantic relationships mature and evolve, out goes the self-expression – our tongues get tied as loins, love and lust entangle. We would rather swallow the buttons on our shirts than tell each other how we really feel. Couple that with the fact that you are entangled with an African and the odds are immensely stacked against you.

We express ourselves better without words. Communicating without speaking. It comes as no surprise that 80 per cent of all communication is non-verbal. You pick up on the cues wherever you find them lying around: Why is he slamming the microwave door? What is having him snore harder than he usually does? Did he have to wear those baggy Kuyo jeans he knows I hate?

I communicate nonverbally through my wardrobe choices.

On the days I feel like I have the sunshine in my pocket, you’ll see me rocking a dress. Or jeans, the more distressed they are, the spankier I am feeling that day. Hell, I’ll even fill in my eyebrows and ditch my sports bra for a regular underwire bra. Granted, it’s a less comfortable but necessary choice. Perky cleavaged breasts to match my mood.

If I must leave the digs on a day as this, the obvious choice is a pair of brown boots. Because why not? There’s little else that has wormed its way into my heart as boots have (well, except my kids).

On the days I feel as though I’m walking around with a rain cloud over my head, it’s my deras that give me away. I’m sure you know what I’m talking about, those tie-and-dye ones you buy off the streets for 200 bob a pop. I have a couple of those. Washed out and faded but comfortable AF. 

It’s like cotton underwear – the older they get the better they fit, it’s as though age has moulded them around your contours, they know where to snuggle tight and where to loosen their grip.

I like to wear these deras in the evenings, after a cold shower, when the dera is as crisp and taut as my skin is. I wear them with nothing else. Not even my old cotton undies. 

But there are days – Lord in heaven, there are days – when the dera is what I throw on in the morning and have on for the rest of the day. Those are the days I might not even take a shower until sunset. I bark and I bite. I stare at houseplants until they shrivel to their death. My impatience hums like an electric current.

If you see me wearing them when the sun is neigh high, be warned that my mood has sunk down to the bottom of my feet. It has pooled around me, as it would a melting snowman. On days like these you are safer putting a sack over my head and locking me away in a place with no light or fresh air. 

Don’t let me out for three days.

GB communicates through his nose. 

Many a weighty decision have been made from the flair of those nostrils: Am I thirsty for whiskey or beer? Is Kaplong the next investment hub of the County? Should I make a decent woman out of this silly Kale girl?

We used to play Scrabble with GB. Scrabble on-a-board Scrabble, before the days of playing online on WordFeud. It’s a real pity that these boards will go die in the same place paperbacks will. It’s where video cassettes and diskettes are now languishing. 

Anyway, I always knocked GB out clean because when it came down to the wire, I would read his nose to see which part of the board he wanted to place his tiles to take the victory home. He gave his position away with his nostrils.

Ever since this working-from-home thing became the new culture, GB sneaks out of the digs for errands and stuff. Some errands are a necessity – supermarket run, have the car tyres checked, nip into the barber. 

Most are useless. They’re a limp excuse to get away from the kids and me (but who can blame the poor man? Even I want to get away from us sometimes). Surely though, I don’t think anyone would need the entire afternoon to curfew time to buy supplements from the chemist. 

GB can never get past me these days because my work desk is the dining room table, which is right next to the main door, where his shoes sometimes are. Sitting there on my laptop makes me seem like the receptionist of the digs.

“You have plans?”

“Yeah.” [One nostril flares]


“Just… here… ” [Both nostrils flare] “I’m coming.” 

“What time will you be back?”

“I won’t be long.” [Nostrils flare]

“Si you tell me so I jipanga?”

“I’ll be back by 7.30.”  [Nostrils flare] [And flare!] [And flare!] “Eight, latest.”

Anyway, GB will stumble upon this story. He will read it and he probably won’t be amused. He will ask me why I’m dragging our personal shit into this ka-blog of mine. Why I didn’t do him a solid and give him a heads up before posting. 

I will shrug my shoulders as if to say, It’s no big deal; nobody cares about these things, anyway. Chill. Have a cookie.

And this evening, after the kids are in bed, we will nestle on the couch catching some Netflix. 

I will be in my washed-out dera, his nostrils will be flaring, and I’ll think to myself, ‘This is nice.’

Post Malone
My salonist is killing me!

Leave a Reply

Subscribe to our content

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

Seraphinite AcceleratorOptimized by Seraphinite Accelerator
Turns on site high speed to be attractive for people and search engines.