Avocado or as most Kenyans hilariously baptized it Ovacado — the once-shy green sidekick now walks into our plates like a VIP at a village wedding, daring you to look away, smell it, taste it, fight about it and somehow still come back for more.
Cheap, quiet, loyal. Now it’s a celebrity with a bad attitude, barging into every dish like it owns the kitchen. From pilau to burgers, chapati to biryani, even fries and crisps are now victims of “just add avo” syndrome.
But here’s the question: are we actually enjoying this or are we trapped in an avocado cult we never joined?
“I can’t eat anything without avocado,” says Brian, a die-hard fan from Rongai. “It’s healthy, creamy and elevates every bite.”
Not everyone agrees. “Ova kwa pilau? Kwani tuko jela?!” laughs Salma from Komarock. “It ruins the spice balance. Some of you are just showing off, not eating.”
Our pockets also feel the pinch. What used to be a ten-bob treat now trades like foreign currency — prices shoot up without warning and sometimes vanish with the weather.
During such times, we whisper at the kiosk like we are buying contrabands. But when in season, vendors slap away curious fingers that want to press and check ripeness, while buyers beg, “tafadhali, kata kwanza,” before paying, just to confirm it’s good.
If the seed is tiny ” Mungu bariki wengine sasa!” If it’s huge, bigger than the flesh, eyes roll, hands fly, and for a moment you’d think a wrestling match is about to start at mama mboga’s stand.
And let’s talk about how it feels in the mouth. Some Kenyans say avocado is smooth and rich, like a spoon of fresh butter. Others complain it’s mushy, slippery, almost like biting into soft soap. Each group is completely sure they are right, and they argue about it every time the fruit lands on the table.
Kenyan nutritionist Dr. Wanjiku Maina explains that avocado is rich in healthy fats, vitamins and fibre and when eaten in reasonable amounts, supports heart health, improves sleep and keeps you full longer.
Kenyans enjoy it in many ways: mashed on bread with a pinch of salt, sliced over ugali and sukuma, diced into kachumbari, whipped into smoothies or turned into a dip for chips.
A popular local spot even wrote it on their menu as “wakamore” instead of guacamole — a mistake that made customers laugh and snap photos. Influencers worship avocado with Instagram reels and cinematic drizzle shots. But regular Kenyans are split down the middle. Some can’t stand a meal without it, others are quietly scraping it off plates-serving it to the local stray dog.
Maybe avocado’s real power isn’t in the nutrients or the taste. It’s in how it exposes our willingness to follow trends without ever asking if we truly like it.
So, here’s the dare: next time you reach for that avo slice, pause. Ask yourself: is this love, or is it peer pressure?
Because maybe, just maybe, avocado isn’t the problem. Maybe it’s us eating to belong, not to enjoy!
