Why “Boring” Is the New Sexy: Kenya’s Investment Crisis and the High Cost of Hype

The Kenyan investment space today resembles a nightclub at 3 a.m.—loud, chaotic, with everyone chasing the next high, and very few sober enough to think straight. Every year, we hear of a new “elite move.” From SIBs to MMFs, Eurobonds to crypto plots in Syokimau, we watch millions being herded into the latest financial buzzword like sheep with WiFi. All this noise, all this excitement—yet Kenyans keep getting scammed. Why? Because while the hype is loud, the research is silent. Because in a country with one of the lowest financial literacy levels in Africa (only 38% according to FSD Kenya, 2021), boredom is undervalued, and excitement is overpriced.

Let’s be honest. Our collective attention span is about the same length as a TikTok reel. One week it’s KPLC, the next it’s government bonds, then suddenly it’s “earn in USD” and dump all your KES MMFs. This cycle is more predictable than Nairobi traffic on a Monday morning. But here’s the tragedy—each hype wave leaves behind a trail of broken investors, drained savings, and WhatsApp groups full of regrets.

First, it was bonds. Then MMFs. Then dollar-based funds. Then the NSE. Then SIBs and Oak and quails and plots. Each time, Twitter was flooded with newly minted experts. Charts were shared. Videos were made. And just like that, average Kenyans poured in their hard-earned money. Until, inevitably, the music stopped—and someone was left holding the bag.

This is the price of not doing research. Of not paying for professional advice. Of confusing confidence with competence.

And while it’s easy to laugh at this trend, the economic consequences are anything but funny. According to the Capital Markets Authority (CMA), Kenyans lost over KSh 30 billion to unregulated investment schemes between 2020 and 2023. In 2023 alone, over 200 pyramid schemes were under investigation. The problem? We don’t have enough regulated investment options that can absorb the financial aspirations of a young, ambitious, and digitally connected population.

Instead of expanding regulated frameworks, what we’ve done is let desperation fill the void. A Financial Sector Deepening (FSD) Kenya report showed that only 12% of Kenyan adults trust formal investment platforms. The rest are either locked out, scammed, or stuck in low-yield informal saving groups. That’s not a market failure. That’s a regulatory shame.

So why is investing boring? Because it works.

Investing isn’t about thrills. It’s about pricing risk. It’s about accepting that there’s no such thing as a perfect investment, just one that pays you appropriately for the risk you take. You want downside protection? Be ready to give up some upside. You want to sleep peacefully at night? Stop swinging for the fences.

The best strategies in finance—and in life—are mind-numbingly boring. Dollar-cost averaging. Compound interest. Balanced asset allocation. Time in the market, not timing the market. These are not sexy phrases. You won’t get 10k likes on Twitter talking about diversification. But they work. Because the chief ingredient in wealth is time. And time rewards those who wait, not those who chase.

The irony is brutal: The more exciting your investments feel, the more likely you’re gambling, not investing. You know what isn’t boring? Poverty. Poverty is a daily adventure in chaos. Poverty is waking up every morning with unpaid bills and unfulfilled dreams. Poverty is very, very exciting—and nobody wants that.

Yet we sabotage ourselves with impatience. We get bored of doing the right thing. So we switch. We chase. We rotate into hype. And we end up broke. Because consistency looks like boredom to the undisciplined mind.

Let’s face it: the Kenyan investment ecosystem is juvenile. It’s still crawling when it should be running. With only a handful of regulated instruments—like Treasury bills, bonds, listed stocks, SACCOs, and licensed unit trusts—most Kenyans are cornered. There’s simply not enough product diversity to absorb the national appetite for growth and security. As of 2023, only 1.5 million Kenyans owned a CDS account at the NSE, out of over 30 million adults. That’s a financial inclusion crisis.

Meanwhile, the informal investment sector—driven by TikTok tutorials, Telegram gurus, and pastorpreneurs promising 15% monthly returns—is thriving. Why? Because the formal sector hasn’t innovated fast enough. Because regulators haven’t built bridges. Because no one has built trust.

What we need is a national rethink.

We need the CMA, CBK, NSE, Treasury, and fintechs to collaborate in creating and approving more regulated investment vehicles. From fractional property investments to real estate investment trusts (REITs) that actually work, to diaspora-backed ETFs and fintech-driven savings schemes that aren’t glorified Ponzi traps—Kenya must diversify or die financially.

Because right now, Kenyans are throwing billions into the fire, hoping to see a rainbow.

Professional investment advisors are still considered luxury rather than necessity. Less than 2% of Kenyans use certified financial planners, according to a 2022 Old Mutual report. And yet, the same Kenyans wouldn’t hesitate to hire a wedding planner or pay KSh 10,000 for a photoshoot. Misplaced priorities are costing people their entire futures.

Let’s not forget that risk can’t be eliminated. But it can be managed. And managing risk begins with knowledge, due diligence, and humility. Professional advice is not just for the rich. It’s for the wise. It’s the safety net in a country where scams wear suits and investment “gurus” have office space in Westlands.

Until we normalize boring, regulated investing, we will keep repeating this cycle: hype, boom, bust, blame, and silence.

Because hype is temporary. But pain? Pain is a long-term investor.

So let’s be boring. Let’s build slowly. Let’s demand better products. Let’s regulate smarter. Let’s invest in education. Let’s make financial advice as common as mobile money.

Because in Kenya, we’ve hyped ourselves into poverty.

It’s time to research our way into wealth.

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