The blog
Thoughts on journalism, building Roylandz Media, and what it takes to turn a story into a career, written between shows.
Deadlines, doubt and the discipline of getting the story right, on air, every single day.
A financial education, administered one lamp at a time. Tuition was paid in darkness.
The most gifted kid in Kenya has never held a microphone. That fact should keep the whole country up at night.
Brands do not need louder content. They need a strategy that respects the audience.
A field manual for keeping your eyebrows neutral while your opinions riot quietly behind them.
On finishing school late, loudly, and first in the class. The timeline is not the achievement.
You cannot write honestly about where you are from a distance.
Notes on being recognised at the supermarket while buying the cheap bread, and other celebrity experiences.
I taught myself to code so the newsroom could spend more time on the story.
Every university we visit has a founder nobody outside campus has heard of yet.
A live crowd tells you the truth about your content faster than any metric does.
He was not raising a journalist on purpose. He just loved the news.
Explaining a difficult idea to a room of teenagers is its own kind of broadcast training.
Some interviews you cannot get in a studio. You have to go get them in the moment.
A youth audience can tell the difference between an endorsement and an opinion.
A nomination is a nice sentence in a bio. It is not the finish line.
The threats to African journalists moved online long before our safety training did.
Some chapters of Born Broke, Built Loud took the longest to be able to write.
English, Swahili and a stubborn but improving French all carry different truths.
Tea, bread and a quiet hour with a book, from a deputy headmistress who has no idea she is in this story.
The world had decided cow dung was worthless. My village looked at the same substance and saw a floor.