By Money, for many, is a source of anxiety, a cryptic language spoken by financial gurus and whispered in hushed tones of envy or despair. We often view it through the lens of scarcity, a constant race to acquire more, to keep up, or simply to survive. But what if we shifted our perspective? What if we saw our shillings not just as numbers in an M-Pesa balance, but as powerful tools, each one carrying the potential for growth, security, and ultimately, freedom?
My own journey with money began, like many in Ruiru, with the familiar rhythm of daily expenses outstripping daily income. The idea of saving felt like a luxury reserved for others, an abstract concept I couldn’t grasp while navigating the immediate demands of rent, food, and transport. Investing? That was for the suit-clad individuals in Nairobi’s CBD, not for someone like me, navigating the dusty roads of Kiambu. This mindset, I’ve come to realize, is one of our greatest financial blind spots: believing that money management is a complex science accessible only to a select few. It’s not. It’s a skill, like riding a bicycle or cooking a decent meal, honed through practice and patience.
The first crucial lesson I learned wasn’t about sophisticated investment vehicles, but about the profound power of observation – specifically, observing my own financial behavior. Why was I always broke by the 15th of the month? It wasn’t always grand expenditures; it was the cumulative effect of small, seemingly insignificant choices: the extra soda, the unplanned *chapati* from the corner kiosk, the impulse buy at the supermarket. Each shilling spent without intention was a missed opportunity for saving, for investing, for future growth. I began a simple practice: tracking every shilling out. It wasn’t about restriction initially, but about awareness. This seemingly mundane act was revolutionary; it demystified where my money was actually going.
Then came the uncomfortable but necessary question: “Where can I save?” For many, the immediate response is “I have nothing to save.” But as the adage goes, “Don’t tell me what you value, show me your budget, and I’ll tell you what you value.” Even small amounts, consistently set aside, accumulate with surprising speed. The Ksh 50 I used to spend on a needless snack, when saved daily for a month, becomes Ksh 1,500. Over a year, that’s Ksh 18,000. This is the magic of consistency, the unsung hero of personal finance. It’s not about grand gestures, but about disciplined habits.
Investing, too, doesn’t need to be intimidating. In Kenya, accessible avenues exist beyond the stock market. Think about SACCOs, money market funds, or even micro-investing platforms that allow you to start with surprisingly small amounts. The key principle is compounding – earning returns on your returns. Imagine planting a small seed; with time and consistent watering, it grows into a mighty tree. Your shillings are those seeds. The sooner you plant them, the more time they have to grow. My initial foray into “investing” was simply putting a small, fixed amount into a separate mobile money account that I couldn’t easily access. It was rudimentary, but it was a start, and it taught me the discipline of delayed gratification.
Perhaps the most liberating lesson is understanding that money isn’t inherently good or bad; it’s a tool. It’s a reflection of our choices, our priorities, and our values. The fear surrounding money often stems from a lack of control, a feeling of being at its mercy. But by taking the time to understand its silent language – how it flows in, how it flows out, and how it can multiply – we reclaim that control. We transform it from a source of dread into a pathway to financial freedom, allowing us to build the lives we envision, not just endure the ones we have. The journey might seem daunting, but it starts with a single step: understanding your shillings, one thoughtful decision at a time.
