Everyone says “don’t put all your eggs in one basket.” Which is fine advice, except baskets are expensive, eggs are fragile, and sometimes you just really believe in one chicken.

So I bought one stock. Just one. Because I was convinced I had cracked the code, beaten the analysts, and discovered the secret sauce of investing.

Spoiler: I hadn’t. Spoiler number two: there were no other stocks in my portfolio to cushion the blow, because I thought diversification was for cowards. People who simply can’t handle risk! I was wrong.

The stock? Standard Chartered. A global bank, a multinational institution, the kind of name that makes you feel safe. It’s not only in Kenya but also in London, Hong Kong, Dubai. A bank with history, pedigree, and dividends. The perfect stock. The one you tell yourself is too boring to fail.

What followed was not a rational portfolio strategy but a full‑blown emotional rollercoaster. Psychologists call it the five stages of grief. Investors call it “Tuesday.”

Stage 1: Denial

“This is StanChart. It’s global. It doesn’t go down, it just… recalibrates.”
I refreshed my screens, convinced the exchange servers were on tea break. Still red. Still bleeding.
And it’s not just here! Banks everywhere have a habit of pretending they’re immune to gravity until one lawsuit, one scandal, or one regulatory fine reminds you that boring banks can be just as dramatic as meme stocks.

Stage 2: Anger

The shares had dropped 10% after the court ruling. Suddenly, I was furious.
Where were the regulators? Why didn’t the exchange halt trading? Who even sues a bank for retirement benefits in 2025?

And then, because irony is alive and well, my broker emailed me. The subject line, “Exciting Market Opportunities Await!”

Exciting? My portfolio was bleeding out like a patient in the ER, and this guy was pitching me “new opportunities” as if I was Gordon Gekko in Wall Street, whispering: “Money’s a bitch that never sleeps. And she’s jealous. And if you don’t pay close attention, you wake up in the morning and she might be gone forever.”

Except I wasn’t whispering. I was shouting at my laptop, realizing that money had already left me, jealous and gone, while I was still clinging to my “perfect stock.”

Stage 3: Bargaining

“Okay, maybe if I hold until the dividend announcement, they’ll soften the blow. Or maybe I’ll average down; buy more shares at a lower price. That way, when it rebounds, I’ll look like a genius.”

This is the investor equivalent of texting your ex at 2 a.m: “Just one more chance, I promise I’ve changed.” We all know it doesn’t work, unless you are lucky, then it does, but rarely!

Stage 4: Depression

I muted all business alerts. I avoided the bank branch like it was an ex’s wedding. I even considered deactivating my CDSC account altogether and nothing feels more final than telling your custodian to shut it down.

Spoiler: there were no other stocks to check anyway. I thought I had beaten the analysts, the system, so I never bothered to diversify.

Stage 5: Acceptance

Finally, I sighed: “It’s okay. I’ll just buy Treasury Bills. At least the government won’t ghost me.”
But acceptance was the heavy realization that diversification is the seatbelt you forget to wear until the crash reminds you why it exists.

Acceptance meant admitting that I wasn’t smarter than the analysts. That my “perfect stock” was never perfect, and that the market doesn’t care about my confidence, my spreadsheets, or my clever metaphors. It cares about risk. And risk doesn’t negotiate.

The Moral of the Story

Diversification is not glamorous. It doesn’t make you feel like a genius when one stock doubles. It makes you feel ordinary, like someone who eats veggies instead of chasing nyama choma. But ordinary is good. Ordinary keeps you alive.

Because the truth is: if you put all your faith in one stock, even one with global pedigree, a century of history, and branches on every continent, you don’t just risk losing money. You risk losing trust in yourself. You risk becoming the investor who mistakes conviction for arrogance, who confuses confidence with immunity.

Diversification is boring, yes. But boredom is better than grief. Boredom is better than pounding the desk while your broker emails you about “opportunities.” Boredom is better than therapy bills. And in the end, boring is what saves you.

Diversify your portfolio!