I Spent 5 Years Buying Friendships in Nairobi, It Cost Me Ksh250K

If you had bumped into me at a bowling alley in Sarit Centre or a sports bar in Westlands three years ago, I would have likely been the loudest person at the table—not because I’m naturally noisy, but because I was usually the one footing the bill.

I’m 30 now, working in communications here in Nairobi. But back on campus, I was the guy you’d barely notice. I was reserved, focused on my books, and honestly, a bit lonely. So, when I landed my first job just three months after graduation at 24, I felt like I had been given a second chance at a social life. I had a paycheck, a title, and a desperate need to belong.

I made a conscious, albeit foolish, decision: I was going to be the "fun colleague." The one who organizes the weekend plan. The one who says, "I’ve got the bowling lane covered." The one who buys the first two rounds of drinks when the Premier League matches are on.

For nearly five years, this was my life. I thought I was networking and building a solid circle of brothers. But money has a funny way of masking the truth.

The "aha" moment didn't come from a financial book; it came from a quiet Saturday when I was stuck at home, down with malaria. I looked at my phone, expecting it to blow up with "Where are you?" texts. Silence. The squad was out, but since I wasn't there to trigger the mobile money prompts, I was out of mind.

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I decided to do something I’d been avoiding for years: I sat down with my mobile money statements and a calculator.

I started adding up the small treats. A Ksh3K bill here, a Ksh5K there when I felt particularly generous. When the final number hit the screen, my stomach dropped. Ksh 250,000.

 In four years, I had spent a quarter of a million shillings on people who wouldn't even check on me when I was sick. I hadn't been building friendships.

While I was busy being the "provider" of the group, I had zero savings, no investments, and was living paycheck to paycheck despite a decent salary.

That realization changed everything. I realized that the shame of being the guy who says "I’m on a budget" is much smaller than the shame of being 30 with nothing to show for years of hard work.

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I didn't stop being social, but I stopped being the bank. I started having the "uncomfortable" conversations. "Guys, let's split the bill," or "I'll sit this one out, I’m saving for a project." Surprisingly, the "friends" who were only there for the freebies drifted away.

For the last two years, I’ve redirected that "friendship tax" into an MMF. Watching my money grow by a few hundred shillings in interest every month. Today, I am halfway toward my goal of Ksh350,000. I’m not looking to buy a small hatchback to put on the road for taxi-hailing. I want a side hustle that brings money in, rather than a social life that bleeds money out.

Being a people-pleaser is just an expensive way to be lonely. Now, when I look at my MMF balance, I don't see just numbers—I see the freedom I almost traded away for a few afternoons of bowling and football.