We don’t do Thanksgiving in Kenya, but it’s time we started our own

It’s Thanksgiving week again. And every November, my social media fills with the same warm scene; golden roast dinners, heartfelt gratitude posts, that soft autumn light. It’s a beautiful ritual, but it always leaves me with one clear thought: we have nothing like this.

Thanksgiving in Kenya isn’t something we even think about, because here, life doesn't pause.

There's no collective breath for gratitude. It's just another Thursday, complete with traffic, the price of tomatoes shocking everyone, and someone on X causing chaos. And I can't help but feel like we're missing out.

It's funny, we’re quick to adopt so many things from other cultures. We'll queue for Black Friday deals like we’re training for a marathon, and we’ll binge the latest shows before the Americans even finish episode two. Yet somehow, we left behind the one tradition that's actually good for our souls. We took the stress but skipped the part that helps you decompress.

Because gratitude in Kenya often gets stuck as a quick "thank you" or a rushed prayer before a meal - right before someone asks where the ugali is.

We rarely give it the space to breathe. A dedicated day forces that space. It creates a container - a few sacred hours where the only task is to reflect on the people and moments that truly held us up this year. It transforms gratitude from a fleeting thought into a deep, shared experience.

By the way, it’s not like we don't know how to celebrate, think about Christmas.

The long journey to ushago, the smell of chapati and nyama choma filling the air, the beautiful noise of family everywhere - it's pure, vibrant joy. But let's be honest, it's also a mission. You’re packing the car, dodging potholes, and trying not to forget that one cousin you promised to pick up. It's travel, planning, and a lot of work.

The joy is real, but it's a different kind of energy. We're celebrating a big event. What we're missing is the quiet cousin to Christmas: a holiday with no other purpose than to simply be together, with no pressure, and be thankful.

We can, and we should. But there's a unique power in doing it together.

When you hear your uncle, who's usually talking politics like he’s hosting a TV show, share that he's grateful for his health this year. Or your friend says she's thankful for your support during a tough time, it weaves an invisible thread of connection that strengthens everyone. It reminds us that our joys and struggles are not lived in isolation.

And personally, after experiencing how seriously Americans treat Thanksgiving, and seeing how the Chinese come together for their Mid-Autumn Festival, I’ve started to think more about what an intentional pause can do for a community.

Nothing fancy, nothing dramatic; just a moment to appreciate the people around you. And it has made me wonder what Thanksgiving in Kenya could look and feel like if we shaped it in a way that fits us.

Honestly, I think it would feel like coming home. We wouldn't need to invent anything new.

We already have all the right ingredients. The laughter around a nyama choma grill, the comfort of shared pilau and kuku choma the easy conversation with friends as Nairobi cools down in the evening. The cousin who always exaggerates their stories. The friend who insists their pilau is the best in East Africa.

We've already mastered togetherness. So we’d just be giving it a new focus.

This is perhaps the most important reason. A gratitude day isn't just for the good years; it's for the hard ones. It's the practice of finding one single light in a dark room.

It’s acknowledging, "The year was tough, but I am still here, and I am not alone."

Gratitude isn't ignoring problems; it's arming ourselves with the resilience to face them. And honestly, in Kenya, we’re experts at laughing through the pain anyway; so why not honour the soft moments too? And in a country that's always on the move, maybe that's exactly what we need.

Our hustle is amazing, but it's also exhausting. Taking an intentional pause isn't lazy, it’s smart. It's what helps us recharge and remember why we're working so hard in the first place. We can’t “hustle culture” our way out of burnout forever.

The best part? We don't need anyone's permission to start. The most meaningful traditions begin small; with just one family deciding to try something new.

One group of friends making gratitude the center of their gathering. One person simply deciding, “This year tried me, but let me list ten things that helped me survive it.” We can build this ourselves, one table at a time.

So this year, I’ve decided to join in. On Thanksgiving Day, wherever I am, I’m starting my own ritual: I’ll be listing twelve things I’m grateful for from these past twelve months. The big, the small, the messy, the beautiful, yes, even that one thing that looked like a disaster at first. All of it counts.

Today. Tell your househelp how much you appreciate their presence in your home.

Look a family member in the eye and tell them one specific reason you're grateful for them. Thank that colleague who always has your back.

Acknowledge the matatu driver who navigates these streets like a superhero to get you safely to work and back each day.

Just start with one person. Name one thing.