It was a hump day during summer, a beautiful morning promising not to be overly sunny. I was leaving home for school, still a university student at the time. As I opened the gate, the gate in front of our house also opened. Despite having lived there for a year, I did not know anyone from that house, a common story for many in Kigali City. We leave our homes in the morning and return in the evening, making it difficult to know our neighbours unless we grew up there, lived there for a long time, or connected through national programmes like community work (Umuganda). A nice car emerged from the gate, driven by a beautiful lady who seemed happy that morning. She looked elegant with her nice makeup, driving slowly while checking her reflection in the side mirror. As she drove out, she stopped to speak with the young lady closing the gate, likely her house manager. I overheard the young lady mention that they were out of food. Within seconds, the lady’s mood changed drastically. She loudly replied, “Ahhh, cook kawunga,” implying it was not her preferred choice. She then started the car and drove off, probably heading to work. Thinking about appearances This scene made me think about how we live. That big, nice house seemed to hide some real struggles. It showed me that we often care more about how we look to others than how we actually feel. Society pushes us to seek approval, making us focus on outward appearances rather than true happiness. Many people look rich on the outside but know they’re not on the inside. It's better to choose a lifestyle we can afford than to pretend to be happy and rich today, only to feel ashamed tomorrow. This pressure to look good often leads to borrowing money to keep up appearances. Over time, it strains relationships when we can’t repay debts or when friends see our true financial state. A personal story I remember a university colleague who once told me that I don’t dress well. Instead of being offended, I smiled and asked if she had ever seen me in dirty clothes. She said no but pointed out that I didn’t wear expensive, trendy clothes. We laughed and then discussed a training session I was organising, which she wanted to attend. Later, she invited me to a family celebration at her home. Known for being punctual, I arrived 10 minutes early. Other guests were over an hour late, delaying the event. As the first guest, I helped with preparations, which gave me a chance to see their home and talk to her family. Her room wasn’t on the ground floor, and they had many sitting rooms, indicating a higher social class than mine or most of our colleagues. She later told me her family paid for her school fees, clothes, and transport. Meanwhile, I was studying on a government loan, paying my own bills, and supporting family members. This made me realise that just because we study, work, or go to church together doesn’t mean we should try to live the same way. The trap of pretending Trying to live like others without understanding our own limits leads to living a fake life. This unsustainable lifestyle often results in depression when we can no longer keep it up. We build big houses, buy fancy cars, and use the latest phones, not for our happiness but to impress others. We take loans to afford luxuries while neglecting necessities like healthy food. True happiness comes from within. We often get it wrong by seeking it outside. It’s hard but better to live within our means than to spend money we don’t have on things we don’t need just to impress people who don’t care. Friendships based on a fake rich life don’t last. When the money runs out, so do the friends. True relationships built on shared values and mutual support are much more valuable. Intentional living It’s better to look modest on the outside and live happily within your means than to struggle inside while pretending to be happy and rich. Embrace your true self and make choices that reflect who you really are. This honest approach to life brings lasting happiness and fulfilling relationships. Bertin K. Ganza is a poet, life coach, and ghostwriter.
