But relax; before you start beating yourself up, can we talk about something else?

The wins. The small, unimpressive, unphotogenic wins. The fact that you are still here, you are doing well breathing in and out. You got out of bed when some mornings felt heavier than usual. You made it through difficult conversations. The fact you started therapy or went back to it or even just considered it. There are so many wins, like you paid a bill, went for a walk, drank water, set a boundary, and apologized, and you did not die; you started over. 

These things may not have made it to LinkedIn, but they still count. LinkedIn is one place that can make you feel like you have done nothing with every post popping up. You get to read this every time: "It has been a while, but I want to update that I started a new position." All you can do is post, 'I want to update that I have become a father and my new responsibilities will be speaking in tongues, buying diapers, and being an environmental officer in charge of disposing of diapers." 

You know why they count, it is because life is not lived in major milestones alone. It is lived on ordinary Mondays when you need an extra day to recover from the weekend and nobody is clapping for you. 

And while we are looking at key performance indicators, can we stop speaking to ourselves like disappointed managers conducting a performance review? You are a human being. Not a machine. Not a quarterly report. Not a productivity app.

Some of us are carrying losses nobody can see. Others are navigating transitions they never planned for. Some are rebuilding entire parts of their lives while still showing up every day pretending everything is fine. Give yourself some grace, not excuses. Extending grace to oneself is what will normalize us crying and bouncing back. Not because crying is weakness, but because pretending not to feel anything is exhausting.

Cry if you need to, spend a day questioning everything, eat the ice cream, and write the angry journal entry.

Take the long walk, have the conversation with God. Then get up.

Not because the pain magically disappeared, but because life keeps moving and so can you.

One of the most underrated skills in life is learning how to recover and bounce back. It is not about avoiding failure and disappointment. It is recovering and learning to say, "Well, that was unfortunate," and trying again anyway.

The people who thrive are not necessarily the people who never fall apart.

Often they are the people who learn how to put themselves back together a little faster each time.

So as we step into the second half of the year, I hope you release the pressure to have everything figured out.

Celebrate what went right.

Acknowledge what did not.

Mourn what needs mourning.

Learn what needs learning.

And remember that a delayed timeline is not the same thing as a failed life.

The year is not over.

I must have stepped on a thorn a few days ago while walking home. At first, I thought I had dealt with it, but as days went by, every step reminded me that something was still lodged inside. For a moment, I wanted to blame it on age because it is my birthday month but wait a minute I am just a child and I am just graduating to being a ‘mwana youthi.’ The pain kept increasing and I knew it was time to deal with it and as we can all imagine, it was just a small part that was making my life unbearable.  As someone who enjoys sharing lessons, this was a good opportunity to share some wisdom with my descendants. This moment reminded me of a preaching I heard when I was young I believe from Pastor Mickey,  ‘The Little Foxes.’ My nephew was quick to remind me of sharing this in my blog. Here I am, doing just that. 

Scripture in Song of Solomon 2: 15 talks about the little foxes that spoil the vineyard. Most of us imagine that it is the grand things that wreck our lives but it is the little things with a compound effect that break us, wreck us and finish us. It is the little tiny things we put off, it is the red flag that we turn pink. Imagine the ships, as big as they are they are controlled by a small rudder. Our lives can be derailed by what seems so minor but when left unchecked it can be destructive.

That affair that you are in did not start as a full blown affair, it started with a small and what we call ‘innocent’ flirting. You were warned but you said it was the in thing. That relationship failed when you refused to take feedback and blamed it on, ‘This is who I am. This is how I was raised.’ The silent treatment that you cave to has now made you lose a family.

It is harmless when you miss a day in prayers but it is now ten years down the line and you feel dry and empty. You cannot connect with your God because well, you do not know how to turn back.

Can we talk about our own dreams, calling and purpose in life. We have procrastinated, we are bitter with life experiences and we have refused to confront them. Some of you are walking in bitterness that it has made you grow old and wrinkled for your age. It has made you jealous of others’ progress but you see, it was a just a small bitterness from the first breakup, the first job loss but you have carried it for decades.

You have postponed hard conversations and let fear dictate your daily choices. Do you think that the mega corruption we are seeing started with billions? No, it started with fifty bob but we normalized it. It is the turning a blind eye to corruption since it is not your case until you need to access the services. It is the harmless scroll that leaves you empty chasing to keep up with everyone on social media and you now hold a PhD in consumerism. It is the continuous skipping family dinners that make the dinner table empty and widen the family gap. It is that small puff that promises calm but births addiction.

Well, they feel so small until they start to weaken the vineyard.

I’ve seen a trend on TikTok: “locking it in for the ember months.” People are locking in fitness, finances, soft life goals, relationships, and more. But I hope part of locking it in also means allowing yourself to deal with the little foxes.

Because what’s the point of securing the bag if corruption still leaks through the seams?

Or curating the perfect lifestyle online while quietly holding a PhD in consumerism?

Locking it in should mean locking out the small habits and compromises that erode us silently. This is the beginning.

I will not sit and lie to you that I am a perfect human and live in heaven only to drop in the morning for work, I am just but a chief sinner. But, just as I had to sit and deal with that thorn, we all need to pause and examine our lives. What are those little foxes that are hiding because, oh boy, those little foxes can hide. What are we tolerating but is slowly eating our peace, joy and growth?

We all have our little foxes, but good thing the vineyard can blossom again. It begins with honest and tough conversations, intentionality and prayers and those foxes can be caught early enough without causing damage.

For how long would I have survived stepping on the thorn? What if it led to something big and hazardous? And as a recovering over thinker, of course my mind went there- what if it began rotting inside? What if my beautiful legs got swollen and I had to be put on bed-rest.  I hope you catch the little foxes before they turn into wolves. May today be the day you find the courage to start. 

Happy New Month 

“Ladies and gentlemen, Karibu duniani — welcome to Earth.
We have just landed. For your safety and sanity, we invite you to take life one day at a time.
Please remain calm until your heart settles and your purpose aligns.
As you disembark into this beautifully complex world, kindly use the road signs provided.
They may not speak in words, but they’ll whisper wisdom.
They’ll nudge you when to pause, when to press on, when to turn around, and when to simply rest.
Be careful not to carry more than you need — baggage may have shifted during the flight called childhood.
On behalf of the crew of life — your soul, your story, and the divine — we thank you for choosing this human experience.
Asante sana, and please, enjoy the journey.”

Life mirrors the roads we travel every day. Just as drivers rely on road signs to navigate traffic, we encounter emotional, spiritual, and personal signs that guide us through the turns, stops, and crosswalks of life.

Some people imagine they’ll operate at 200 KM/HR all the time. Dude — you will die. Life can feel like a rollercoaster. You’ll be overwhelmed by stress and burnout. It’s in these moments that life will hold up a red sign and whisper: “Stop. Enough.” Stillness is not weakness — it is wisdom.

There are characters who don’t think the red flags are red enough — maybe slightly pink, or not flags at all, just light sheets. Even when the warning signs appear, they stay blind to them.
That gut feeling, a repeated pattern, or a quiet nudge might be life’s version of: “Proceed with caution.” Tune in. The earlier you heed the signs, the safer the journey.

Life is not just about choosing the right road — it’s about having the courage to turn around when you realize you’re on the wrong one. The U-turn becomes sacred when you see the turnaround as freedom, not failure. You can turn around — from a career shift, a relationship that failed, or even healing from regret.

Growth often looks like a mess before it becomes a masterpiece. So, when you see the roadworks ahead, know that you are becoming. This is the detour you didn’t plan for — grief, healing, and inner work. It slows us down, makes us uncomfortable, but ultimately, it rebuilds us. Do not be afraid of the messiness. Trust the process.

Not all roads are winding. Sometimes, the sign is clear: Go forward. That’s when faith becomes fuel — when you trust the process even without all the answers. Just because it’s hard doesn’t mean it’s wrong. Keep moving. Don’t be distracted by the wind.

As we walk life’s path, we come with preconceived ideas of where we want to go.
But have you heard this? “We plan, but God laughs.” Some paths won’t lead to purpose.
Whether it’s a project, a mindset, or a relationship — when you hit a dead end, it’s time to reroute. Some endings are just beginnings in disguise. May you have the discernment to know the difference.

While I may not speak of all the signs in one article, I hope you carry these with you: May the roundabouts remind you that sometimes, you’ll circle back to the same lessons — but each time, with more awareness, not punishment.

 At the intersection, where you face a crossroads, choose with clarity. Your direction, not your speed, will determine your destination.

 May the traffic lights remind you to trust divine timing. Life speaks in rhythms; traffic lights nudge us to honor the seasons we are in.

 And finally, the parking zone — it exists for rest. Don’t mistake it for quitting. Whether you’ve parked for self-care, reflection, or reset — you are not stuck. You are gathering strength and honoring a sacred act of preservation.

Life is a journey, and the signs are always there — on billboards, in conversations, within your body, and in your spirit. You just need to slow down enough to read them. Don’t get so caught up in the busyness of life that you become blind and deaf to what it’s trying to say. Next time you're on the road, look around.
The signs might just be speaking to you — reminding you that every detour, pause, and turn has purpose.

I always joke that my future husband will probably call me Dr. Babe when I get my PhD—because weuh, I’ve really worked for it. But that’s on a light note. On a serious one, we live in a world where titles shape how we’re treated. You see people being called mheshimiwa, kiongozi, Madam CEO, and suddenly, they’re being ushered to the front, people bow slightly when they pass, and someone’s sonand husband is running in the rain to fetch their trench coat because, well... the title demands it.

At the mere mention of your name, there’s a hush. People adjust how they walk, how they talk—just to appease you. Not necessarily because of who you are, but because of what you’re called. Titles have become altars of worship in our society.

We often tie our identity to the titles we carry—the roles we play, the positions we occupy, the accomplishments we stack. But what happens when you’re no longer called CEO, Director, Pastor, Doctor, Mama, or Missus? When the name tag is gone, the spotlight dims, and you're left with just... you?

I realized just how obsessed we are with titles in my line of work. One of our exercises during trainings involves asking participants to write down all the titles they carry. And oh boy, don’t they write! The twist, however, is when we ask them to put those titles aside—to show up without them. That’s when it feels like they’re being asked to stand naked. Vulnerable. Exposed.

The reality is, titles are fleeting. One day you're the Executive Director. The next, the economy shakes your position loose, and you're back job hunting. Today, you’re known as bibi ya daktari, and tomorrow, the same man is in courtrooms—not boardrooms—fighting for a divorce.

The danger of fusing identity with titles is that society rewards roles, not authenticity. So when the title goes, so does the recognition—and that can feel like betrayal.

As the movie Fight Club once put it: “You are not your job. You’re not the clothes you wear. You’re not the contents of your wallet.”

We all have a stripping moment—either by choice or by circumstance. It’s a strange stillness—the moment your title is taken away. Like a garment you've worn for so long that your skin forgot how to breathe without it. Suddenly, you’re standing bare. No applause. No introductions. No prefixes before your name. Just you.

It feels like shedding skin—raw, tender, unfamiliar. Confusing, because you thought you were the role. Painful, because you gave it everything. Liberating, because now, there’s space to rediscover who you are beyond performance.

I remember stepping down from a leadership role I had poured my entire heart into. The silence that followed was deafening. No calls. No emails. No decisions to make. For a while, I didn’t know who I was without it.

But slowly, I realized I wasn’t losing myself—I was meeting myself again. Not the version curated for public spaces, but the one who had quietly existed beneath the accolades.

That’s why I no longer attach myself too deeply to titles. They can get to your head. Haven’t we heard of fathers who insist their children call them Sir or Doctor? Or women who refuse to make meals because they’re CEOs?

In the quiet aftermath of loss—of role, of recognition, of rhythm—comes the deeper work. This is where the excavation begins. What remains when there’s no one to impress, no deadlines to meet, no title to carry? What speaks in the silence?

This is where I began to meet my core self—not the version trained to lead rooms or manage crises, but the one who prays when no one is watching. The one whose laughter is loud in her children’s company. The one who writes for healing, not approval. The one God sees before the world names her.

It is in this space that I learned the difference between doing and becoming.

So—who are you really, when no one is clapping? When the curtains close and the nameplate is gone?

Living authentically means showing up not as the role, but as the soul. It’s not easy in a culture that measures worth by productivity. But there’s a deep peace that comes with knowing your value is not negotiable.

You are more than titles. You are legacy, love, light. You are presence in a world that often only sees performance. If every role you ever played was taken from you, would you still know your worth?

That’s the heart of this journey—building a life so deeply rooted in truth, character, and faith that no stripping can unravel you.

Let your becoming be louder than your doing.
Let your identity be built on rock, not sand.
Let your life speak, even when your title doesn’t.

I know some people just like me had officially unsubscribed to being God's strongest soldier for the year. After all, we always cancel contracts, right? But then I remembered seasons of life. FYI, I have written an article on the same—you can check it out. I am fully aware that we all go through different seasons in life, much like the natural seasons. We all go through different seasons in life, and each one has its place in our journey.  Season of waiting when things feel slow, and patience is tested. Season of growth where we learn evolve and step into new opportunities. Season of pruning to let go of what no longer serves us. Season of harvesting blessings and enjoy the fruit of hard work and finally Season of transition, a period of uncertainty and preparation for new things. 

I know most of us would want to rush to the season of harvest when you enjoy the harvest, become God's favorite child, go to a restaurant and order food without checking the prices and enjoy your meal without calculating the amount of oil and seasoning used in the beef to warrant the exorbitant price. I know we want to get to the season of harvest where we can confidently tell village witches they got nothing on us. And when you dance in the rain, it is  not because you do not have the transport to get you home but the inner child in you is being fulfilled. 

But, before we get there, there is the season of waiting where you feel stagnant and start gaslighting God about unanswered prayers. Oh the patience is tested. Can we talk about the pruning that involves loss,  loss of older version of self and that it cannot be 'Oh I grew up like this' anymore, and the painful fact that we have to let go of people who we thought we would enjoy the ride with. I wish I could tell you how long these seasons last, but I can’t. What I do know is that there are lessons to be learned in every season, and until we learn them, we risk being stuck. It’s like sitting with pain until it tells you its name—sometimes, there is still work to do. Some seasons are tied to divine timing, opportunities, or even the alignment of other people’s journeys with ours. Other times, we just have to adapt quickly so we don’t get stuck in cycles.

As I sit here and I imagine myself in Maldives being sun kissed and carefree, I reflect about the seasons and while we may focus on the joy or the pain, I want to focus on the people with us in these different seasons. It is easy to be engrossed in the seasons that we wallow in pain and not see who is there. Every person in your life comes to serve a purpose even when it does not make sense. Some will be temporary and some will stay long-term but they will all serve a purpose. 

The comforters will offer emotional support and encouragement during the hardship and waiting season. They teach you how to be vulnerable. Sometimes it shows up unannounced, a call from a friend who thought of checking in on you. 

The teachers in our growth and transition come to challenge us, expand our perspectives and move you from the comfort zone-growth and comfort rarely coexist. Growth requires discomfort. These ones can be seen as mean at times. I remember one of my mentor who would push me from my comfort zone and would ask me, 'is that all you could think of, with all the knowledge you have. I am disappointed' I punched him in my mind several times but honestly, I needed to grow a backbone and stand tall. 

The pruners in your season of letting go will come to show you of things you need to release. They might show you 'pepe'. Maybe that breakup is a blessing in disguise. Curse her all you want, call her a gold-digger when you didn’t even have any gold to dig, but that breakup was a wake-up call for you to work on yourself. There are others that will remind you of the meme, 'I saw you the first time, and I knew why I did not want you in my life.' People will exit and give you redirection. In my opinion, this is the hardest period because most people get attached to things and people. Learning to let go sometimes call for a different kind of grace. 

The collaborators will be in your season of reaping and harvest. They will be multipliers of joy and not subtraction of it. They could be life partners, genuine friends.

Like I had earlier said, people come in your life for a season, some for eternity. May you learn your lessons, discern your people, and step boldly into every season—without repeating the same class twice. Learning patience in your waiting period will help you handle blessings with wisdom, gratitude, and sustainability in your reaping season. I hope you embrace the right attitude in every season. 

Love and light your way. 

                                                Pic from freepik

I think a larger percentage of women should be allowed to sit at the right hand of Jesus when we go to heaven. Their records should not even be looked at; they should enter the streets of gold, and probably, some gold should fall on them while on earth—just like manna. Because women have seen "shege." I beg, we already suffer enough. And before you come blazing guns at me, yes, there are some women who live with the devil—or probably are the devil themselves—and fit into the category of Jezebel because they are the perpetrators of chaos, not peace, love, and sanity. But today, we will not talk about the serpent’s conversation.

Songs have been sung about women, poetry curated for women, and opportunities created for women, but can we also talk about how double standard we are as a community at large?

It’s fun catcalling other women until it’s your sister or wife going through the same. It’s fun being a clande to an ancestor until another woman steps into your territory and becomes your husband’s other woman. A woman is called "ashawo" when she vies for a political seat, but when it’s your woman, she’s suddenly a gift to society.

When a woman demands better pay, she is seen as aggressive. Have we talked about how our fellow women sometimes demean and silence us when they are in positions of power? It gives "unbothered vibes" when you beat your wife to a pauper—until it is your sister who is slapped by her husband, and suddenly, you know the Inspector General.

When a woman goes through sexual violence, sometimes the first response is, "What were you wearing? Did you look at him with side-eye?" It can be draining. If you are not fighting a man, you are fighting a fellow woman. 

That is the society we live in. But I want to remind you that your power lies in your duality. You are soft yet strong—a balance of gentleness and resilience. You are compassionate yet courageous—your kindness does not make you weak. You are fragile yet fierce—you feel deeply, yet you can stand on your own. You are wise yet playful—finding joy in the simple things. You are feminine yet assertive—radiating grace and beauty while standing up for yourself.

I want you to sit in your stillness and realize that while you cannot control society, you can break down those walls. You can rewrite history. You can enter those spaces, break barriers, and claim your place.

There would be no Green Belt Movement without Wangari Maathai. Miriam Makeba wouldn’t have become the first African woman to win a Grammy if she hadn’t used her voice to fight apartheid. We went from “baddies” to freedom fighters, standing for our rights as Kenyans. Our captions changed from "chasing sunsets" to "Punda amechoka" and "Reject!"

You have gone through hell while on earth, but I hope you understand that your experiences are schools you learn from, not homes you live in. For some, you are not beautiful enough, not curvaceous enough, not educated enough, not something enough. There will always be something not enough. 

But who do you believe you are?
Who do you say you are?

Rise, woman. They walked out on you—it hurt, but rise. The business failed—crawl if you must, until you can walk again. Do it afraid. Rewrite your story.

I want you to stand before the mirror—with your fallen soldiers because you breastfed a generation, with your stretch marks and failures. Stand before that mirror, with your tears, and tell the girl inside you:

“We are doing this again.”

I celebrate you, woman.

You are worth more than gold, far beyond rubies. I hope you celebrate yourself—not just today, not just this month, but every single day you are on this side of the earth.

We are slowly becoming our parents—the ones we once heard tiptoeing in the early hours of the morning to pray over their children. We are slowly becoming the village elders in committees, whether for weddings or burials. We are slowly becoming the event organizers at our friends’ weddings, baby showers, and, sadly, their funerals.

Sometimes, we are so busy chasing paper that we don’t take a moment to breathe and realize—we are aging. Whether we do so gracefully or not is entirely up to us.

I sit down and realize: I am the parent now. When everyone is told to go to their mums, two little humans will follow me. I am responsible for them. I am responsible for myself. Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about life, seasons, and moments. Looking at our parents and grandparents, I know I will be there someday. And it got me thinking—what kind of life do I want to live? What present moments do I want to fully embrace?

One of my desires was to have my master’s degree by the time I turned 30. But joke’s on me—I was nursing babies, dealing with weight struggles, battling imposter syndrome, trying to figure out my life. My skin aged, so I am not getting older again (pun intended). It wasn’t until I turned 30 that I found the light again. I will get my master's degree slightly before 40, a decade later. Did I sometimes wish I could turn back time? Yes. But here I am, slaying my goals and ticking them off one by one. Because when you allow yourself to live in the present and let go of the things you cannot change, you begin to become the best version of yourself. When you allow yourself to heal from the pain intentionally, something changes from the inside.

I know I cannot turn back time to 18. If I could, I’d make different choices. I’d probably be in a different space. But here I am, and instead of dwelling on the past, I think about the person I want to be in my 70s. I know my experiences have shaped the person I am. 

I see myself as a slaying granny—maybe not in heels, but definitely thriving. I wonder if my tattoos will shrink into a different image, (From a butterfly to something like a stinging nettle-thafai. Lol) but I am manifesting traveling, enjoying life with my man, celebrating my children's wins, welcoming my grandchildren over, living in a ranch, money working for me, drinking supplements. I hope I will still have my teeth, lol. I want to be in good physical, mental, financial, and spiritual health. And because I have a vision for my future, I must be intentional about my present.

I cannot go back to my early 20s, let alone my childhood. That realization is both a relief and a little terrifying. But it also gives me clarity. I am not yet in my future, but I have hope for it. I have my present. I have now. I will only visit my past to learn patterns and pick up lessons. I will show up in my present to do things right.

With age comes wisdom (well, for most people), and with wisdom comes the realization that we must do things differently. Our stories shape us, break us, before building us if they ever do. But no matter our successes or failures, we cannot go back—we can only focus on the present and build the future.

Let go of the burden of how they treated you. Let go of the desire to go back and fix what cannot be changed. Embrace where you are, learn from it, and move forward. Heal, because your innate desire is to belong. Do not carry burdens into your old age—they will be too heavy, and people will grow tired of carrying them for you. And damn, that’s a sad way to live.

Make tiny tiny goals to accumulate to a bigger success. Go get that degree. Learn that skill. Stop making excuses. Hit the gym and eat right—yes, you! Stop saying you’ll faint when you start working out. Work on yourself. Build relationships with intention. No one is coming to save you. You’ve got you. You have now. 

Make better choices. Stop dwelling in the past. Become a better parent, a present one. Become a better partner. Live. Love. Travel. Step out of your hometown. Learn. You have the present—use it wisely as you manifest the future.

We need to desire a future where our children don’t have to worry about us when we grow old. If the bible is anything to live by, it speaks of leaving an inheritance for our children and our children’s children—let’s work toward that. Break patterns. Go for therapy. Heal. Build your community.

I do not want to imagine you retiring only to keep three goats for company because there’s nothing else to look forward to. I do not want to imagine you growing old alone or ending up in a nursing home because your children abandoned you—your bitterness over a divorce from 30 years ago pushing them away or you were a father who went out drinking, philandering and only came back home after retirement. I do not want to imagine you sitting in your 80s, drowning in regret over lost opportunities from your 40s. That instead of enjoying rest, you are still hawking just to survive.

I am not saying everything will be perfect—none of us know the future. But we know who holds the future. So what can you do with your present? What choices do you need to make differently?

We are growing older. Soon—if not already—you’ll be the parent at prayer day, then one of your daughter introduces you to her boyfriend. One day, your children will leave home, and you’ll face the quiet of an empty nest.

Start preparing now. Reconnect with yourself. Revisit your hobbies. Live fully. Make those choices 

Because life is happening—whether you’re ready or not.