In the eyes of many Kenyan families, success is not just a personal goal. It’s a communal badge of honor. From the rural villages of Meru to the bustling estates of Nairobi, young people are often expected to “make it” for their families, communities, and even entire clans. It’s a silent but powerful pressure, deeply woven into our cultural fabric.
But behind celebrating success and associating failure with shame and dishonor lies a hidden danger—a toxic side of our contemporary shame-honor culture that treats failure not as a lesson, but as a disgrace.
Leaving Home with Dreams, Returning with Silence
Picture a young woman from Kisii or Nyeri who secures a scholarship to study in the UK, or a young man from Eldoret who goes to hustle in Qatar. The family holds a prayer ceremony, neighbours show up with gifts, the pastor blesses the journey, and villagers escort him to the airport to see him off to the land of plenty. Everyone has one hope: bring us honor.
But life abroad or in the city isn’t always what it appears on Instagram and Facebook. Sometimes, the job doesn’t come through. Sometimes, the degree doesn’t lead to employment. And when these sons and daughters return home, not with money or success, but with setbacks, they are often met with disappointment, gossip, quiet shame, and passive aggression.
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Returning home “unsuccessful” in the Kenyan context can feel like walking into a courtroom. There’s no visible judge, but the air is heavy with silent verdicts: You failed. You embarrassed us. You wasted your chance.
Borrowing a leaf from The Prodigal Son’s Father
In Luke 15:11–32, Jesus tells a parable about a young man who demands his inheritance early and leaves home in search of a better life.
Unlike many Kenyan children who leave home with the blessings of their families to perhaps get a better pay abroad and redeem their families from the yoke of poverty, the prodigal son left home out of rebellion against his wealthy father. In fact, the act of asking for his early inheritance while his father was still alive was considered rude in the early Jewish and Palestinian cultures. It was the equivalent of saying to a parent, ‘I wish you were dead.”
The young man travelled to a distant land, spent everything recklessly, and ended up in poverty, feeding with pigs and starving. Broken and ashamed, he decided to return home, prepared to beg for forgiveness and become a servant in his father’s household.
But what does his father do upon his return? He throws a celebration. He doesn’t ask for proof of success. He doesn’t shame his son for squandering wealth. He rejoices because his son has come home. This parable challenges our Kenyan culture. Would we do the same?
In our towns and villages, young people who left home, not like the prodigal son, return home expecting love but often find quiet judgment. They are not met with feasts or joy, but with subtle disapproval: “Why are you back so soon?” “What did you do with your opportunity?” And yet, the story of the Prodigal Son reminds us that coming home is not failure. It is grace.
Where Did This Shame Culture Come from?
The Kenyan society has long valued resilience and hard work, but somewhere along the way, we began attaching dignity only to visible success—money, titles, cars, and photos in expensive places.
We celebrate those who go abroad and “make it” or those who rise from humble beginnings to live in leafy suburbs. But we rarely talk about those who struggled, stumbled, or started again. In this culture, failure is not seen as part of the journey. Instead, it is seen as the end of it.
This unspoken expectation that your value depends on what you return with has deep emotional consequences:
- Young people faking success to save face.
- Family fractures, where the “failed” child distances themselves to avoid judgment
- A lost sense of belonging for returnees who don’t meet expectations.
- Enduring abuse abroad just to avoid coming home “empty.”
- Mental health struggles that are hidden behind smiles, where some sink into depression, believing they’ve let their families down.
Why This Is Dangerous
By tying family honor to individual success, we unknowingly crush dreams, punish risk-taking, and breed fear.
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A young Kenyan abroad might endure exploitation just to avoid returning home empty-handed. Another might avoid coming home altogether, ashamed that they haven’t “made it.” This is not resilience. It is quiet suffering masked as ambition.
A Call to Kenyan Families and Communities
Let us redefine what it means to be proud of our children. Success should be more than a title or transaction. It should include:
1. The courage to try.
2. The humility to come home.
3. The strength to begin again.
Let’s normalize conversations about struggles. Let’s honor effort and integrity as much as we honor outcomes.
Let us be the kind of country where no child is afraid to return home, no matter how their journey turned out.
Returning Home Should Never Be Shameful
In Kenya today, we must unlearn the idea that value is tied only to victory. Every journey matters. Every attempt counts. Every child, whether they succeed on the world stage or quietly rebuild back home, deserves to be seen, heard, and embraced with dignity. True honor is not built on shame. It’s built on compassion.
This article was written by Moffat Mshauri, a professional Counselor Psychologist, and Family Therapist. He is the lead Therapist at Mshauri Therapy Hub and the founding director at Pro Care Counselors & Mediators.
