- Enock Okong’o reflects on how a simple act of kindness towards a struggling university student gradually became an expectation.
- He argues that generosity can become harmful when genuine assistance gives way to dependence, entitlement and emotional pressure.
- Okong’o says helping people should empower them while allowing the giver to maintain clear and healthy boundaries.
Journalism is both a good and bad classroom. One time, two years ago, I went for my routine work in one of our local universities, little knowing that my generosity would be abused.
I am Enock. My job that day was simple. Talk to students about mental health, gather a few voices, and file by evening. Campus in Kenya is loud with possibility, but quiet with need. HELB is late. Fee balances sit on portals. Some students eat once and walk the rest.
That afternoon, I found Bochere (not her real name). She was a second-year Education student, sitting outside the counselling office with a fee statement folded in her hands. She was crying. She told me she had gone two days without food. Her mother was a widow in Kisumu selling vegetables. There was no one else to call.
I listened first. That is what the job and the heart both ask for. Then I did what I thought was small. I bought her lunch—ugali, sukuma and soda. Sh250. We talked for an hour. About pressure, about anxiety, about feeling left behind while everyone else seemed to be moving. I also walked her to the counselling unit and gave her the number for the student welfare fund.
I thought that was it. One meal. One conversation. One link to proper help.
When help became an expectation
A week later, the messages came. “Bro, can you help with lunch again? I’m stranded.” I sent Sh200. Two weeks later: “Can you buy me data to apply for HELB?” Sh100. A month later: “My rent is 3,000. Can you top up even 1,000?”
At first, I understood. I have been there. So I kept helping when I could. Fare. A textbook. Lunch.
Then the tone changed. “Why haven’t you replied?” “You said you care.” “If you loved me, you’d help.” “Send 5k today and we can meet. I’ll thank you properly.”
That is when I saw it clearly. A single thing I did as a financial favour had been mistaken for love advanced. She started waiting for me after interviews. Telling mutual friends we were “together.” When I set boundaries and said I could not keep sending money, it turned bitter. “You used me.” “All men are the same.”
That is how generosity gets abused. It rarely starts with bad people. It starts with real need. Then comes kindness. Then expectation. Then entitlement. Requests stop being requests and become demands. Sometimes guilt, sometimes affection, is used to keep it going.
The quiet cost of abused generosity
The damage is quiet. To the giver, it breeds exhaustion. You start doubting everyone who asks for help, and the ones who truly need it suffer because you are tired.
To the receiver, it breeds dependence. Instead of learning to budget, to apply for aid, or to use campus services, a person learns to chase individuals. It steals dignity. To the relationship, it kills trust. You can no longer tell if a thank you is real.
I have had both my best and worst experiences in this work. But I keep this line with me: Mabaya yaje lakini yaende yakienda lakini mazuri yake na yakae daima dawama. Let the bad go, and let the good remain.
My earnest desire: “Giving is not to have in plenty but to have a heart of love. Use it well.”
Now I give differently. I can buy lunch. I cannot pay rent every month. I can link someone to counselling. I cannot be their 2am therapist. Saying “I can’t” is also kindness. Give to empower, not to trap.
The best help I offered Bochere was not the Sh250. It was the welfare contacts. She never used them. She preferred M-Pesa.
I don’t know where Bochere is now. I hope she finished school. I hope she found support that did not depend on one person’s pocket.
Journalism has taught me to tell the truth. Life has taught me to guard my heart while I do it. Because generosity used well changes a life without breaking the one that gives. And generosity abused becomes a debt neither person can ever repay.
By Enock Okong’o
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