I tried to analyze stocks the way it’s highlighted in textbooks: calmly, rationally, with ratios lined up like obedient soldiers. But the market doesn’t play by textbooks.

The P/E ratio winked at me like a conman in River Road, promising cheap thrills. Dividend yield strutted in like a dependable lover, only to shrink under the weight of a weak shilling. Debt-to-equity scolded me like a stern parent, wagging its finger at reckless management.

Someone online says, “Buy this stock, it’s undervalued.” I look at the price and smile. For once, I can afford more than a handful of shares. It feels democratic, accessible, like the market finally opened its gates to the small investor.

So I bought. I waited. And nothing happened. The stock sat there like a stubborn goat, chewing grass, refusing to move. My “bargain” turned into ballast, weighing down my portfolio. The thrill of owning thousands of shares evaporated into the dull ache of stagnation.

Cheap is a trickster. Cheap is the conman in River Road, selling me a shiny phone that stops working the moment I leave the stall. The stock sits there, flat, lifeless, mocking me.

Discouraged and looking for consolation, I called an investment banker, a friend of mine. I expected sympathy, maybe even a secret tip. Instead, he hit me with the kind of question that makes you feel like a rookie: “How did you put your money there?”

I mumbled something about affordability, about democracy in the market, about owning more shares making me feel like a real investor.

He didn’t bother to hide his smirk. He rattled off his own portfolio like a courtroom indictment: “I’m in Safaricom, BAT, Equity. Actually waiting for dividends.”

That was the moment the illusion cracked. My cheap stock wasn’t “undervalued,” it was just… cheap. There’s a difference. Value is when the market misprices something solid. Cheap is when the market knows exactly what it’s doing, and you’re the one who doesn’t.

My few thousands felt wasted. I could have bought fewer shares of Safaricom, fewer of BAT, fewer of Equity, but at least I’d be waiting for dividends instead of waiting for a miracle.

So I sat there, portfolio open, realizing the cruel joke. Cheap stocks seduce you with volume, the illusion of wealth.

This is the eternal comedy of retail investing: you think you’re buying a bargain, but really you’re buying the market’s leftovers.

The ratios P/E, dividend yield, debt-to-equity, they all wink at you like tricksters. They promise clarity, but they’re just numbers in search of a story. And the story of my cheap stock was boredom.

Practical Tips for Kenyan Investors

• Cheap is not always value: Owning thousands of shares means nothing if they don’t move.
• Blue chips are expensive for a reason: Safaricom, BAT, Equity, they reward patience, even if they mock your wallet.
• Ratios whisper lies: P/E, dividend yield, debt-to-equity are useful, but they’re tricksters. Don’t worship them.
• Listen to the prophets, but doubt them: Internet gurus, brokers, AGMs are part of the circus, not gospel.
• Invest with paranoia, not faith: The market is a cruel lover. Laugh at the drama, survive the chaos, and never forget that bruises are part of the game.

In the end, analyzing stocks is about choosing your poison. Cheap stocks betray you with stagnation. Blue chips betray you with arrogance. And yet, we keep coming back, wallets open, and hearts hopeful, ready for another round of punishment.

Because the market is a comedy of ratios, a seductive liar, a cruel lover we can’t quit. The only way to survive is to laugh at the absurdity, tell the story, and keep investing anyway.