The very first sound I made upon arriving in this world was not a cry of distress but an
announcement—a bold declaration that I was alive and here to shake things up. It was a sound that sent my mother into relief, affirming that her months of endurance had paid off. If I could remember that moment, I’d say I probably thought, “Finally! I made it! Someone get me a microphone!”
Fast forward a few months, and I was already on my path to linguistic mastery. My first words, “Mama” and “Baba,” were not just syllables—I had trained for them like an athlete preparing forthe Olympics. The reward? Being thrown into the air in celebration. And, oh, how I laughed! Notbecause I understood what was happening, but because I trusted that I wouldn’t crash to the ground. That was my first lesson in faith—if they throw you up, they’ll catch you (hopefully).
Then came the betrayal—nursery school. One moment, I was a pampered royalty at home, the next, I was being sent to a strange land where orders were given, not requests. I never got a chance to sue the person who coined “East or West, home is best.” But looking back, had I stayed home, how would I ever communicate in this language I’m using right now?
The first item handed to me at school was a pencil. I must have stared at it as if it were a piece of alien technology. “A stick that draws? Impossible!” But with resilience, I learned to use it. I wish I knew the slogan “Anything is possible” back then—it would have saved me from doubting my abilities.
When I reached Class 3, I encountered my first real challenge: a literature book called Apriri Man. The vocabulary was intimidating, especially since it was written in my vernacular. “How am I supposed to decode this?” I briefly considered proposing to my parents that I repeat Class 2, but then I realized—life moves forward, not backward. Plus, would I really want to be the only “senior” among younger classmates?
Reaching Class 8, I finally sat for my KCPE and scored 305 out of 500 marks—not bad for a student from a school no one had ever heard of. In my compositions, I would write fictional success stories: how I had topped my exams, received car keys as a gift, and was addressing the nation in a press conference. In reality, I came from a background where even having food was a blessing. But as the saying goes, never judge a book by its cover.
Biblically speaking, people never expected David to defeat Goliath. Joseph’s brothers thought selling him would be the end of his dreams, yet he ruled Egypt. My story, too, was unfolding in a way no one expected.
In 2018, I received an invitation to join Oriwo Boys’ High School. Upon arrival, I asked myself the silliest question: “Why are all these people gathered here just to study?” A second later, I regretted it—knowledge is power, and I was there to harness it.
I was fortunate to be supported by RRBF, who covered my fees and ensured I was never sent home. Their workshops became my pillars of success. They provided not just education but wisdom, pens, notebooks, and a space to exchange thoughts. I even participated in childhood games during the workshops, reminding me that old is gold and that I had come a long way.
When my final high school exams came, I gave it my all and scored a B. But—ah!—it wasn’t the grade I had promised RRBF. A promise is a debt, and I didn’t keep mine. That thought has kept me pushing forward, determined to prove that anything is possible.
Now, dear reader, allow me to cut this long story short (before I start narrating my dreams too). Today, I am at Mount Kenya University, pursuing a Bachelor of Science in Community Health Nursing.
To RRBF, my family, my friends, and everyone who has supported me—thank you. Your belief in me has kept me going, and I won’t stop until I fulfil the promise I once made.