Somehow, loud mouths don't go hungry.

I was about to name this piece "you cannot shame the shameless" but I decided. 

You wanna know why? 

Free will guys. Free will. 

But anyway... 

The city under the sun. Such a beautiful name. Right? 

So poetic. So promising.

You hear it and you imagine golden light kissing skyscrapers, people walking with purpose, maybe a saxophone playing faintly in the background as life unfolds in soft, cinematic motion. Then you arrive in Nairobi.

And immediately, you realize the sun is not kissing anything. It is beating.

Beating the tarmac. Beating your confidence. Beating your sense of direction.

And if you are not careful, it will beat your bank account too.

By 4:00am, the city is in full performance mode. Matatus roar like they are in a Fast & Furious audition no one asked for. 

Conductors hang halfway outside the doors, yelling destinations like auctioneers who are emotionally invested in your travel plans. Kwani you guys don't sleep?

“Town! Tao! CBD! Haraka haraka!”

You don’t even know if you want to go to town, but suddenly you feel guilty for hesitating. Inside, the music is loud enough to rearrange your thoughts.

Not organize. Rearrange.

You try to resist. You really do. But eventually, like every other defeated soul, you reach for your earphones, your last line of defense. I always plug them in guys. I know you'd ask.

You plug them in. Press play.

A random song starts playing as usual. You think of how you promised to fix that playlist, but life is too busy man.

You don’t understand half the lyrics, but at this point, it doesn’t matter. Peace is peace.

Now, somewhere between the chaos of traffic and the silent agreement that no one in the matatu will make eye contact, something hits you:

This city is not just loud. It is bold. Shamelessly bold.

Let me explain. In most places, conversations have a rhythm. A structure. You meet someone. You greet. You exchange pleasantries. You slowly build toward asking for something.

Not here.

Here, the conversation is a sprint. You meet her today.

“Hi.”

 “Hi.” 

Nice. Civilized. 

Then suddenly, 

 “By the way, can I ask for a favor, hope hutajam!"

 laugh emoji. Like the emoji itself is not pissed being disrespected like that.

“Aki gas yangu imeisha… and I have an emergency kidogo… Na kama uko na 2k mahali…”

You blink. 

Stare to that phone screen.

Kwani what happened to beauty with brains. You thought umeangukia, kumbe umeangukiwa. That's Nairobi for you.

You’re still processing her name.

 She is processing your wallet. No warning. No hesitation. Just pure, unfiltered confidence.

And the shocking part?

It almost works. At first, you judge it. You sit there thinking, “People have no shame these days.” You clutch your moral compass like it’s doing something.

But give it time.

Give Nairobi a few weeks with you. 

You will change. 

Look at me. 

 I used to be a decent human being. I used to overthink everything. If I needed help, I would rehearse the request in my head like I was preparing for a national address.

“Hey… I was just wondering… if it’s not too much trouble… and only if you’re okay with it…” 

By the time I finished constructing the sentence, the need had already expired.

Now? Now I wake up and choose audacity. If I need something, I ask. If I want something, I say it. If I feel like disappearing, I disappear with the confidence of someone who has already forgiven themselves.

Wolefa, man.

Because here’s the thing nobody tells you: In this city, hesitation is expensive. But don’t get it twisted. This is not careless shamelessness. This is not chaos for the sake of chaos. This is intentional audacity.

A survival skill.

Because in a place where everyone is talking, moving, building, pushing. if you are quiet, you are not humble.

You are invisible.

There’s a guy I know. Aceda. Creative. Focused. The kind of person who believes in the purity of craft. Even the name feels like it sat down and thought about its life choices. Aceda is the kind of person who will spend nights perfecting a song.

Tweaking lyrics. Adjusting beats. Putting in the kind of work that doesn’t trend but matters. You’d think the city would reward that. You’d think.

Meanwhile, somewhere else in Nairobi, another man wakes up with a different strategy. He has no songs. No studio. No stress. Just vibes.

He opens Facebook. Creates a page. Names it exactly like Dan’s. Same name. Same identity. Same everything. At this point, I am sure even the algorithm is confused. Next thing you know?

He’s getting bookings. He’s performing. He’s introducing himself confidently like he didn’t just download a whole personality overnight. He is living.

Aceda is working. He is living. And honestly? At some point, you stop being angry.

You just sit back and admire the commitment to audacity. Because that level of confidence? It is almost… artistic.

Back in the matatu, the music has somehow gotten louder. You didn’t think it was possible, but here we are. The conductor is now shouting at someone who is not even in the vehicle. Traffic has stopped moving entirely. The driver looks like he has made peace with whatever happens next. And you?

You’re there, notebook in hand, scribbling like a man who has finally cracked the code: To survive Nairobi, lesson number one, you must evolve. You must learn to: Speak before you are ready. Ask before you are comfortable. Show up before you feel qualified. Because someone else is already doing it.

Louder. Faster. With less experience. And somehow… winning.

This city doesn’t reward the best. It rewards the bold. The ones who say, “Here I am.” Even when nobody asked. Especially when nobody asked. And maybe that’s the lesson hidden beneath all the noise.

Beneath the matatus, the dust, the chaos, the questionable financial requests from strangers, There is a strange kind of freedom here. 

The freedom to be loud about your existence. To take up space. To try. To fail publicly. To succeed loudly. 

Because in the end, closed mouths don’t just go hungry in Nairobi. They get replaced. By someone with half the skill, double the confidence, and absolutely no shame. The city under the sun. Where the heat is relentless. The hustle is constant. And shame? 

Shame is unemployed.