Part 2: Moment of Stillness

On our second day in Narok, we visited Narok Women Prison. We were there with Afrikala Arts and the Association of Sex Workers — three very different groups, but all connected by one goal: to spend time with the women, to hold space, and to just be present.

We met 32 women and one child in the facility. There was no big agenda. No packed program. Just a few hours to pause and breathe together.

Afrikala led a mental wellness session that was simple but deeply grounding. We did breathing exercises, shared affirmations, and allowed ourselves — all of us — to take a step back from everything else and focus inward. There was a softness in the room that came over time. At first, you could feel the guardedness. But as the moments passed, as the breathing slowed, as the affirmations grew louder, something shifted. 

One woman whispered after the session, “I didn’t realise how tense I’ve been until I let myself breathe.” That sentence sat with me for hours.

Later, we had a conversation around menstrual hygiene. Afrikala demonstrated the use of menstrual cups — it was practical, open, no shame, just facts and freedom. What touched me deeply was how curious the women were. They had questions, stories, thoughts. It was a reminder of how rarely they get the chance to just talk, ask, and be heard without judgment.

And then we handed out the care packages. Each woman received a sanitary pad and a panty — not just any panty, but something soft, beautiful, and good quality. Lingerie, really. You could tell by the way some of them looked at it… this wasn’t about giving out items. This was about giving back a feeling. Of worth. Of being seen. Of dignity.

I kept thinking about how easily we strip people of their softness once they go through the system — and how powerful it is when we choose to give it back.

We also met Madam Sophie, the Officer-in-Charge. She's doing important work in the background — helping the women learn new skills like mat-making. We had a good conversation about the need to go beyond just surviving prison. It’s about rebuilding from the inside out.

As we left, I didn’t feel heavy — I felt still. Quietly full. It wasn’t a loud or emotional day. But it was deeply human. And in a place where everything is controlled, every move monitored, every detail recorded… we created a small, sacred pause. A moment of stillness that reminded all of us — we’re still here, and we still matter.