The Day a Fundi’s Comment Changed How I See Money

When I got promoted, it felt like everything in my life needed to reflect that change.

My salary had moved from Ksh40,000 to Ksh60,000. It wasn’t millions, but to me, it felt like a breakthrough. For the first time, I could breathe a little. I could upgrade my life, at least that’s what I told myself.

The first thing I did was move out of my bedsitter.

I had been paying Ksh10,000 in Jamhuri for a small but functional space. It wasn’t pretty, but it worked. Still, it no longer felt like it matched where I was in life. So I moved into a one-bedroom apartment in Uthiru, going for Ksh15,000. Bigger space, better lighting, a proper kitchen. I told myself this was growth.

And honestly, it felt good. For a few weeks, I enjoyed the extra space. I could host a friend, cook comfortably, and even sit in silence without feeling boxed in. But slowly, something started to bother me.

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My house didn’t look the part. The old seat I had carried from the bedsitter suddenly looked out of place. The curtains didn’t match the walls. The house felt incomplete. Like I had upgraded the shell but not the inside.

So I decided to fix that. I reached out to a fundi to make me a new set of seats.

He came over one Saturday morning to take measurements. As he moved around the house, glancing at the empty corners and my mismatched furniture, he made a casual remark that stuck with me.

“Unajua ukiingia kwa nyumba mpya lazima ukuwe na vitu mpya ndio nyumba ikae smart.”

I laughed it off at the time. It sounded like a normal remark. In fact, it made sense. Why live in a better house if everything inside still looked like the old life?

I placed the order. But that was just the beginning.

Once I committed to new seats, everything else started looking wrong. The curtains had to go. Then I needed a carpet to match the new seats. The TV stand suddenly looked too small. I even started thinking about upgrading my TV.

Each decision felt small. Reasonable, even.

Before I knew it, I was deep into a spending cycle I hadn’t planned for.

By the end of the second month, my savings had taken a hit. The extra Ksh20,000 I thought I had gained from the salary increase had quietly disappeared into rent and upgrades. I was earning more, yes—but I wasn’t keeping more.

That’s when the fundi’s comment came back to me. Not as a statement, but as a question.

Did I really need everything to be new for my life to feel complete? Or was I just trying to prove something to myself, or to people who weren’t even watching?

I started paying closer attention to how I was making decisions. I realised that none of these purchases was urgent. They were reactions. One upgrade triggers another, each one justified by the last.

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I slowed down. I stopped buying things just because they didn’t “match.” I learned to sit with a space that wasn’t perfect. To prioritise what I actually needed over what looked good in the moment.

It wasn’t easy. There’s a certain pressure that comes with feeling like you’ve levelled up. You want your environment to reflect it. But I’ve come to understand that growth is not always loud or visible.

Sometimes, it’s choosing not to spend.

That one comment from a fundi didn’t just change how I furnished my house. It changed how I think about money.

Because now I know, upgrading your life is one thing. But upgrading your expenses without thinking? That’s a trap.