I was a young professional in Nairobi. I was earning. On paper, I was doing fine. In truth, I was broke every month-end. I borrowed from Benson. I borrowed from Peter. I borrowed from Michael. I would walk into work on Monday morning holding a cup of tea I could barely afford, wondering what was wrong with me. Why the salary kept coming and the money kept disappearing. Why did other men seem to know something I did not?