Best of both worlds: When friends form a professional alliance

We didn't mean to, but somehow we've built a culture where everybody brings “transferable skills” to the party. Require a birthday party logo? Need a dinner-splitting spreadsheet? It's handy, I suppose, but also absurd. We did not make friends. We built a startup. Somewhere along the way, friendship had become synergy.

Welcome to the new normal where friendship and professionalism blur, and your group chat is basically an HR-approved hustle hub, as lifestyle found out when we spoke to these individuals.

Justice and the circle

By the time he was 27 years old, Joku Justice had already secured his seat at the table. A Mwendwa A'K Associates LLP partner, a firm renowned for having intelligent minds and louder voices, he was a High Court advocate.

Life in law had shaped him, no doubt. But far more interesting, almost poetic, was the way it reshaped the people he spent his life with.

From the long days in the University of Nairobi to the difficult months in the Kenya School of Law, and later into pupillage and practice, eight years were spent amongst like-minded individuals. Most of them remained not only colleagues, but friends.

“It's not that we chose each other,” he mused after one such cup of coffee at what his team liked to call The Power Breakfast, a casual but almost deliberate get-together of lawyers of all disciplines. “It's life that brought us into each other's hands.”.

He wasn't wrong. Weekends, birthdays, weddings, all parties seemed to echo back to him what his profession was. “You go where you know someone will get your jokes, your irritations, even your silence,” he said. One day, at a friend's ruracio (dowry ceremony) in Embu, he looked around and found that every single person there was a lawyer or married to one.

It wasn't intentional. It simply was the way life was.

But Joku also recognised the weight of this closeness. “At some point, the group of friends started to feel like a web,” he admitted. “We began to complement each other in our practice, one in litigation, another corporate, another as an independent contractor. Suddenly, your friend is your go-to guy for a legal referral.”

That didn’t bother him. In fact, he encouraged it. To him, it was just like marriage, transactional, but not in a bad way. “We all have something to bring to the table, and there’s no shame in optimising that.”

But along with it came its price. Like everyone else in the legal profession, Joku found that his personality developed through training to be persuasive, vocal, even argumentative and too often clashed with those outside the field. “I once dated an economist. Let's just say legal analysis didn't go over the way I hoped it would,” he laughed. “It's like we were speaking different languages.”

Even in the circle, cracks can appear. One such close friendship he recalled slowly fell apart not because of ill-will, but competition. “When one of us moved ahead and the other did not, it tensed. Every success felt like a reminder of another person's stagnation.”

The legal world had given him confidence, charisma, and an undeniable sense of self. But it had also shaped how he was seen and how he saw others. “We’re loud, expressive, always analysing everything,” he admitted. “Sometimes it comes off as pride. Sometimes it is pride.”

In spite of that, he thought intensely about reaching out beyond his clique. For Joku, the best way to live was by talking. “You don't have to go somewhere or see a film in order to have a different experience,” he explained. “You just have to talk to somebody different.”

“Whether it's law or love or life,” he explained, “what you care most about is finding people who understand you, not what you do.”

Finding his tribe

Maxwell Kamau always had the gift of words. As a young boy, he was attracted to tales not only to tell them but to comprehend them.

Growing up in an environment where tales were largely part of the fabric of their culture, it was only natural that he would end up among those who shared the same attraction: writers, journalists, poets, and word lovers.

“It was not intentional,” Maxwell explains. “I didn't wake up one morning and say I am going to only be friends with authors and writers. It just happened.”

Through books, festivals, and writing workshops dotted all over Kenya, Maxwell continually met individuals with the same thirst for truth, imagination, and genuine dialogue.

Before he realised it, those working relations had silently become friendships. “It was like I had stumbled upon my tribe without even searching.”

One moment stood out to him, a book launch in Kitale. Over cups of tea and playful debates about the publishing world, someone joked about overly harsh editor notes, and the group burst out laughing.

That’s when Maxwell looked around and realised everyone there was either a writer or an author. “I thought, ‘Wow, my social life is basically a writers’ room.’ Not in a bad way, just, that’s my world now.”

Maxwell’s friends don’t just share his craft, they share his challenges. That kind of understanding creates a shorthand between them. “You don’t have to explain why a ghosted source is stressful or why you’re stuck on a poem’s rhythm. They just get it.”

Take his book “Under the Milky Way”, which is very personal in nature. When he was assembling it as a tribute to a dead friend, it was other authors who were present with him, not just to encourage him in the process, but to serve blunt, uncompromising criticism that affected what finally ended up being printed.

And while shop talk is everywhere, debating over headlines or types of poetry, Maxwell finds fun, not exhausting. “It's like a jam session for artists,” he says. “But we also talk about family, politics, or even chess, which I'm nuts about. It's a healthy mix.”

For Maxwell, having a number of individuals in the same field of work is like having both a school and a network of friends. They exchange manuscripts, criticise work, share contacts, and open doors of opportunities for each other. “In Kenya's competitive media space, having that circle is gold. It's not just friendship, it's mentorship, too.”

He admits there are moments when networking and friendship lose their distinction. Some gatherings are more like a LinkedIn meeting than a catch-up. But he grounds his contacts by making time for casual, agenda-free hangs, like a game of chess or a nyama choma lunch. “That's when real friendship emerges,” he says.

Maxwell also maintains boundaries. He doesn't over depend on his friends for work favors and makes sure to keep the line between collaboration and companionship intact. “Respecting that line keeps the friendship real.”

Being among a community of artists and writers has also affected Maxwell's sense of self. “It's given me the confidence to completely own who I am as a lover of language, a thinker, and a storyteller.” Surrounded by others with the same passion, he's become confident enough to try new things like spoken word poetry. “They challenge me to grow, even when I'm afraid.”

He's even had the occasional friendship blow-up as a result of competition. “There was this person I was really tight with, and we both shopped the same story. They sold it, and it altered our relationship.” That made him learn to protect the friendship over the hustle.

Maxwell has also formed friendships outside of his writing, like a chess coach who cares nothing about bylines or book sales. “It's nice. We talk about strategy and life. No writing talk.” While he enjoys these friendships outside of writing, he admits they take more effort. “Writers simply get me in a way that no one else can. But the outside opinions? They cut sharper.”

His advice to anyone who ever feels “trapped” in one's own professional bubble is straightforward, experiment, but do not push. “Try a hobby. Attend a community event. Just get to know people with no agenda. It's like having new colors on your palette. You don't lose the old ones, but the picture gets richer.”

Inside Joyce Ngari's “Psycle”

Joyce Ngari didn’t sit down one day and decide, “I’ll only be friends with people in PR.” But somehow, by the time she was finishing university, her closest connections were almost all from the communications world.

“It Just happened,” she would respond with a smile. She had started attending PR networking events, tuning into webinars, and gradually, without even noticing, her social circle started forming around interests.

The conversation came easily. The goals were aligned. And the next thing she knew, most of her closest friendships had something in common, they existed within the same workplace setting.

“It wasn't something I pursued,” Joyce says. “It was just that we understood one another. We clicked.”

There was one moment that made everything make sense. It was the weekend, and Joyce was planning her weekends. While scrolling through her contacts, she came to an awareness that each individual whose company she desired to spend was in the communications field. That's when it struck her, her professional and social lives had converged. But instead of worrying, she accepted it.

“These friendships feel both personal and professional. One minute we’re bouncing off PR ideas, and the next we’re laughing over coffee,” she says. “It’s the best of both worlds.”

What makes their bonds even tighter is the shared experience. They're all on the same career trajectory, trying to make their mark in a competitive field and coping with adult life at the same time. “There's a level of understanding and support that's hard to find elsewhere,” Joyce adds.

When Joyce and her friends meet, the chat is often a blend of work talk and real-life updates. They’ll discuss a trending campaign, then switch to someone’s dating drama or family milestones. “It’s never just work,” she laughs. “But even when it is, it’s fun. We’re all growing together.”

One of the greatest benefits? Everybody is always bringing something fresh to the table. Whether it's a new PR resource, a webcast coming up, or job opportunities, somebody is always sharing. “It's like having a built-in support system that keeps you sharp,” she says.

These friendships have also caused her to grow in ways she never imagined. They've made her bolder, challenged her to stay current, and kept her in check. “They remind me not to settle,” she says. “There's always someone doing something inspiring, and it pushes the rest of us forward.”

Of course, there are times when the boundaries are thin. Sometimes the friend circle is more like a working partnership. “There are days when it feels like everyone's just discussing work, moves, or connections,” she concedes. “But the respect and concern are genuine. We show up for each other in the good times and the bad times.”

Joyce is also mindful about establishing boundaries. She understands when to turn the conversation from projects to personal space. “You have to protect the friendship part, or else it just becomes networking with smiles,” she states.

She's also sensitive to the potential for these friendships to become transactional but she doesn't allow that to dominate the thought. “We bonded over work, of course, but we remained because of something richer trust, ambition, and common values.”

While her close-knit circle indeed includes primarily other PR practitioners, Joyce does make it a point to meet and engage with others beyond the business. “It's a breath of fresh air. The mindset is different, and it reminds me the world is wider than comms and campaigns,” she explains.

If there's one thing she hopes changes in professional friendships, it's the way people handle failure. “I wish it was normal to be able to say, 'Hey, I didn't reach my goals,' without feeling like you've fallen behind. We need to normalise that. Growth isn't always perfect.”

For now, Joyce is happy in her “psycle,” her own name for her group of like-minded, mission-oriented colleagues. They're not merely classmates or coworkers. They're co-dreamers, challengers, and cheerleaders.

And that's exactly where she wants to be.

Built friends through work

Richard Kigo Njoroge, aged 26, is employed as a public relations officer in a public NGO in Murang'a County. His days are mostly spent writing, attending meetings, and coordinating with the media but it's not only his work that has defined him. It's also the friends he has made along the way.

His own account begins, appropriately, on the internet. “It started with a tweet,” Richard recalls with a smile. “I was just going through my normal social media circuit when I saw a tweet from someone that I didn't even follow. He was discussing how our generation does not really have an avenue to discuss our line of work as journalists.”

That one tweet turned into a conversation thread. Soon after, a WhatsApp group was formed for journalists and media professionals.

“At first, it was just about work. We’d talk about newsroom trends, media ethics, press releases, and stuff like that,” he says. “But with time, the conversations got deeper. People started opening up. It moved from being just professional to also being personal.”

One moment stood out to Richard. The group planned a casual hangout to meet in person. Though he couldn’t attend due to work obligations, what he saw in the group afterward made something clear.

“They were still complaining about work annoyances, deadlines, late nights and also exchanging jokes, memes, and support,” he remembers. “That's when I knew this was not just a work discussion anymore. It was a community. But still largely based on our vocation.”

The strength of their bond, according to Richard, lies in shared experience. They have the same language literally and profession-wise.

If I tell them I have a racing press deadline, or on the phone with an edit, they get it. I don't need to explain everything,” he says. “And when someone wins, gets a fellowship, completes a big story, or gets a new job, we all sympathise. That kind of shared understanding builds trust.”

Those working friendships eventually became emotional anchors. But Richard admits what they occasionally seem like.

“Sometimes it's more of a network than a social circle,” he confesses. “One introduces you to someone else, and next thing you know, you've got a web of contacts. Not a bad thing, it just snowballs into something greater than friendship.”

Despite the close connections, Richard takes care to maintain boundaries.

“Yes, we do have structured times, such as when we're debating news or media matters,” he says. “But someone will make a joke or say a meme and the atmosphere changes. But unless you're very close to somebody, you tend to keep it respectful and not too intimate.” Being with such a focused collective can put pressure on you but Richard regards it as a healthy thing.

“Some of the friends are ahead, perhaps winning awards or traveling on fellowships,” he says. “I will not deny, sometimes I get the pressure. But it is not a bad sensation. It forces me to do better.”

He derives satisfaction in their success. “I'm always proud of them,” he says. “Their victories remind me that I too can evolve. We motivate each other, and that keeps me going.”

Even with the professional orientation of his network, Richard indicates that he hasn't lost a friend to competition. “No, not yet. And I hope it never comes to that,” he asserts. “I think if you're real, there's no reason you should lose a friendship over career decisions.”

Richard does have non-industry friends, and the experience is a welcome departure. “They know I am in the media, but most don't actually know the specifics,” he chuckles. “With them, we discuss life, spend time together, perhaps read about general news. Less discussion on deadlines and more about just existing.”

But he enjoys both aspects of his social life but does concede that the chat resonates differently among different circles. “With my professional network, I can joke like, 'I need to draft a release,' and they immediately catch on. With others, I'd need to explain everything. But it's still worthwhile having both types of friendships.”

So, does Richard believe it's significant to have friends beyond your professional route? “Absolutely,” he responds without hesitation. “Work isn't everything. What if I decided to leave the media space one day? If I only had work friends, I'd be starting from zero.”

He feels that varied friendships expose him to something new, open his eyes to other ways of thinking, and provide a respite from the rigor of work. “Different people bring different energies. And sometimes, you just need to switch off and laugh with people who don't care about newsroom politics,” he chuckles.

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