‍My Uncle's Financial Habits: A Lesson in What Not to Do with Your Money

I  was driving along the dusty road that leads to my hometown when I saw him. At first, I wasn’t sure it was him—just a figure slumped by the roadside, his tattered clothes barely clinging to his gaunt frame, his shoes long gone, replaced by cracked feet covered in red earth. As I slowed down, the pitiful sight of my uncle Mwenda came into full view. He was sprawled out, his face burned by the unforgiving sun, the unmistakable stench of alcohol surrounding him.

He looked beaten, not just by life, but by himself. His once broad shoulders now drooped, his unkempt hair and dirt-caked hands painting a picture of a man who had long stopped caring. Mwenda, once the pride of our family, now lay discarded by the world and himself.

I pulled over and, with the help of some kind strangers, struggled to lift him into the back seat of my car. As we drove home, I couldn’t help but reflect on his story—a tale of grace turned to grass, of opportunity wasted by a series of choices that led him here.

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Mwenda wasn’t always like this. In his prime, he served in the Kenya Defence Forces (KDF), wearing his uniform with pride. He had the respect of his peers, a steady paycheck, and the admiration of his family. Life had smiled upon him, giving him every chance to thrive. But instead of building something lasting, Mwenda chose the fleeting thrills of alcohol and parties.

Even as a soldier, with a wife and six children to care for, he drank away most of his earnings. His recklessness eventually caught up with him, costing him his position in the KDF. Fired and disgraced, Mwenda spiraled further into despair, unable to accept his fall from grace. Desperate, he sold off the only asset he had left, a family piece of land, to my father, his brother.

With that money, he built a modest house for his family, but it didn’t take long for his financial troubles to return. He briefly cleaned up his act and got a job as a security guard. But his old habits soon came calling. The allure of alcohol proved too strong. Once again, he squandered the little he earned, losing his job and spiraling deeper into a cycle of drinking and regret.

The second fall hit him harder than the first. From then on, Mwenda bounced between odd jobs, never staying in one place long enough to build stability. Every shilling went to fund his drinking. Borrowing became a way of life, not just for the occasional emergency but even for his basic needs. And with every opportunity to turn his life around, he chose to sink further into the comfort of denial.

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I couldn’t help but think about the choices we make. Mwenda had chances, many of them, to rebuild, to provide for his family, to rise again. But he squandered them all, believing there would always be another opportunity.

His story is a painful reminder that money, no matter how much, can’t fix poor financial habits. Wealth, once mishandled, rarely comes back. And while everyone stumbles at some point, it’s the ability to rise, learn, and change that separates those who survive from those who fall forever.

As I parked the car in my father’s compound and called for someone to help take Mwenda inside, I silently resolved to learn from his mistakes. Wealth isn’t just about earning; it’s about protecting, managing, and growing what you have. Life doesn’t always give second chances—and even if it does, it’s up to us to make them count.

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