International Men's Day: A simple “thank you,” “I see you,” or “you’re doing your best” can rebuild a man in ways that speeches never could.
But on November 19, International Men’s Day arrived, stretched, yawned, and left quietly — like a humble tenant who pays rent on time. No noise, no celebration, not even a badly cropped poster on Facebook. Honestly, if forgetting were an Olympic sport, we would win gold for how we treated Men’s Day.
Yet these are the same men who hold our lives together in ways we rarely acknowledge. Some dads walk around pretending to have everything under control, even though school fees, fuel prices, and random M-Pesa deductions are attacking them both physically and spiritually. Brothers who complain loudly when you disturb them, but if someone hurts you, they appear like Avengers with a panga and a lecture — ready to defend your honour dramatically. Partners who say “I’m okay” even when their whole world is hanging by a thread… and that thread was bought on offer.
Then there are the everyday heroes. The boda rider who becomes a Formula One driver every morning so you can reach work on time. The fundi who gets electrocuted three times, shakes it off like a mosquito bite, and still says, “Madam, imekuwa tu fuse.” The men in uniform who maintain law and order during ungodly hours, making sure strangers reach home safely — even though nobody knows their names. Men who drive you home, check if your door is locked, fix the bulb they didn’t break, buy you chips, and still insist they don’t want anything in return — except maybe tea.
Men love loudly, but in the quietest ways. Maybe we don’t celebrate them because they don’t ask for celebration. Maybe it’s because society trained them to swallow their worries in silence. Or maybe because they act so strong that we forget they also need soft places to land. But the truth is this: even the strongest man has moments when his heart is heavy and his spirit is tired. Appreciation doesn’t weaken them — it heals them.
A man can be drowning inside and still say, “I’m fine, don’t worry.” He will protect you, support you, provide for you, laugh with you, pray for you — and still go to bed wondering if he’s doing enough. Deep inside, appreciation is not a bonus. It is oxygen. A simple “thank you,” “I see you,” or “you’re doing your best” can rebuild a man in ways that speeches never could.
Men matter. Their quiet presence matters. Their sacrifices — especially the ones they never mention — matter deeply. So to every man reading this: fathers, brothers, partners, sons, officers, riders, hustlers, dreamers — we see you. We value you. We appreciate you, even on the days we forget to say it.
And next November 19, we promise not to let it slide past us like a shy guest. We owe our men better than silence. You are our heroes.
