Beyond Limits

The shadow cast by maternal incarceration is long, felt most acutely not by the state, but by children left on the outside or women who serve their sentences accompanied by their children. Having served a six-month sentence, I carry the harrowing memory of leaving a child behind. While my family ensured my daughter’s physical needs were met, no material provision fills the psychological void created by a mother’s absence. Reintegration is rarely a simple "coming home"; it is an arduous journey of rebuilding trust severed by a prison gate. This trauma sits deep, often eroding a child’s confidence for a lifetime. Against this backdrop, I view the progressive strides within the Kenyan Criminal Justice System with profound hope. There is a growing recognition that probationary and non-custodial sentences for women are superior to short-term imprisonment. By prioritising Community Service Orders, the system acknowledges that the "best interests of the child" must be a pr...

Earlier this year, I shared a glimpse into a journey that felt like a relentless uphill struggle. I was walking alongside a courageous woman who had recently transitioned from prison back into society. Together, we had submitted countless job applications, and for months, all we received in return was the cold silence of rejection or the blunt finality of a "no." As a mentor and a friend, I will be honest: it was an emotionally exhausting season. There is a specific kind of fatigue that sets in when you watch the heavy layers of stigma and the emotional baggage of imprisonment stifle someone’s future. It felt as though every door was not just closed, but bolted shut, regardless of her talent or her will to change. But the beauty of resilience is that it often finds its voice in the most ordinary moments. About three weeks ago, I was in a car on the way to visit a member of our church. During the ride, I turned to a friend and asked a simple, hopeful question: "What would...

This year has stretched me in ways I never imagined. It began with my daughter falling sick around June— a journey that led to countless hospital visits and even four days of admission for a frightening blood clot in her hand. Those moments were heavy. As a mother, there is nothing more painful than seeing your child in distress and feeling powerless to take it away. At times, I felt like life had pushed me to the sidelines. Plans slowed down. Opportunities seemed just out of reach. I often wondered,  “Why now? Why this season?” And yet, even in those hard spaces, I began to notice something: God was still at work behind the scenes. Hidden Good in Difficult Times What I thought was delay turned out to be protection. What looked like loss turned out to be redirection. And even when I felt too overwhelmed to chase after opportunities, some of them quietly came to me. It was a reminder that God’s hand does not stop moving, even when mine feels too weak to hold on. Sometimes being “on ...

I’ve been journeying with a young woman named Rhodah, my mentee, who has submitted over 50 job applications this year alone. So far 4 rejections?  Not a single yes. Even when we have tried alternative routes — training programs, volunteer placements, anything to create a pathway — the doors remained shut. About seven regrets came in for even sponsored learning opportunities. Nothing seemed to give. And it got me thinking: What goes on in the mind of a person who keeps pushing but meets one closed door after another ? What does it do to one’s spirit when, despite doing everything right — praying, applying, networking, trusting — nothing seems to shift? I thought about those in leadership positions — the pressure is even worse. You’re expected to be strong, to be the light, yet sometimes your own phone stays silent. No opportunity. No breakthrough. Just a quiet room and unpaid bills. And for those walking through it alone, single mothers, widows, the silence can be deafening. But Wha...

Today I sat quietly, just reflecting. This year has been a whirlwind — a roller coaster of highs that barely held, and lows that came quietly, forcefully, and often, unnoticed. I’ve been fighting silent battles. The kind that drain you. The kind you don’t post about. The kind that leave you staring at the wall, wondering if hope is still real. There are days I’ve woken up, not to live — but just to sit. To breathe. To survive. Sometimes after walking through hard seasons, the hardest thing isn’t the pain itself… it’s finding the strength to move forward. You feel stuck. Numb. Like you’re in a cycle that spins but never progresses. And in those moments, everything in you whispers, “ Maybe it’s all lost .” And yet — you're the leader. You’re the one people look to for strength, direction, wisdom. You’re the mother, the provider, the protector. The one who gives — over and over — even when your soul is scraping on empty. But what happens when the giver is the one in need? What happens...

There are moments in life when everything stands still — and you wonder whether   anything good can ever rise from the ashes . I know that space intimately. I’ve lived it. Years ago, I walked out of the gates of a maximum  prison facility in Kenya — not just physically free, but determined to heal, to rebuild, and to become. What followed was a long journey of facing shame , confronting pain, and slowly rediscovering the woman God created me to be. It hasn’t been easy. But every step has been drenched in grace. This month, I received news that stopped me in my tracks — I have been selected to pursue a Professional MBA with Roxbourgh Institute, Switzerland .  This opportunity is humbling .   The Professional MBA is typically reserved for founders of established ventures — and yet, I was selected. Not because I had the most resources or visibility, but purely by   God’s grace .  Me. A formerly incarcerated woman. A daughter. A mother. A mentor. A leader. And ...

How many times do we rebuild? We rebuild when life knocks us flat and we lose everything we thought we had. When the dust settles and we’re left standing in the ruins of what used to be— a dream, a plan, a version of ourselves—broken and scattered. Still, somehow, we gather what’s left and begin again. We rebuild when we don’t have the tools or the resources. When all we have are trembling hands and a whisper of hope. We find small ways—quiet, often unseen ways—to make it work. We make do. We stretch. We improvise. Because something deep within us refuses to quit. We rebuild when no one believes in us. When support disappears and even our reflection looks uncertain. But faith shows up, even in the silence. And we take one more step, with nothing but a spark inside and the sacred conviction: "There must be more." We rebuild when the ground is dry and hard, when lifting the jembe feels like lifting the weight of the world. And when we can’t dig another hole, we pause— not in su...

A Day in a Kenyan Public Hospital We don’t expect to have sick people at home. That’s not how we imagine our days starting. We make plans — responsible adult plans — with illusions of control. “I’ll drop by the market, pick up a few things, maybe check on them after lunch…” That was me, right before life reminded me that control is a myth and the real planner is the one above. We had been seeking medical support for a close family member who had been unwell. After visiting a couple of private facilities, the verdict was clear: “ You need to see a cardiologist .” Which is how we ended up at the public hospital at 7 a.m., trying to beat the crowd. Plot twist: the crowd had already beaten us. There was already a thick line of patients outside, some holding plastic files, others clutching their chests, their children, or their faith. Then came the first unexpected twist of the day — a stern-looking doctor, who appeared like a drill sergeant from a medical bootcamp. Without much conversatio...

There are moments in life when the very ground beneath you feels like it’s moving. Not in loud, dramatic ways — but in quiet, unsettling shifts. The things you thought were stable begin to shake. The rhythms you relied on no longer feel secure. The roles, the work, the expectations… they all blur. And you find yourself wondering: Where do I stand now? I’ve been there — and if I’m honest, I’m still there in many ways. Trying to hold the pieces. Trying to stay faithful. Trying not to break while quietly whispering to God, “ Please just show me where to place my feet .” And yet, in the middle of the shifting, something strange happens. Peace comes. Not because everything makes sense. Not because the answers arrive. But because God meets us right there — in the in-between, in the tension, in the unsure. Philippians 4:7 talks about a peace that “ passes understanding. ” It’s not logical. It doesn’t follow the rules of reason. It just settles in — soft, sure, uninvited but so welcome. This k...

Photo credit: Al-jazeera  We ended our Narok trip with a visit to a place that holds both heartbreak and hope — a rescue centre for girls who have escaped early marriage and Female Genital Mutilation (FGM). The girls welcomed us with soft smiles and curious eyes. Some were barely teenagers. Others were already carrying the weight of decisions they didn’t choose. What stood out immediately was how incredibly beautiful they all were. Not just outwardly — though they truly are — but in the quiet strength they carried, in how they sat together, in how they listened, and in the way they were trying, even in silence, to reclaim something of themselves. The centre doesn’t just offer shelter — it offers pause. A break in the cycle. A breath between what was and what could be. Photo Credit: Al-jazeera  We spent time talking, listening, and gently walking through a session on menstrual  hygiene. We laughed over small things. We handed out sanitary pads and new panties — simple item...

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 aroun...

Today, as I sat among the formerly imprisoned women at Narok, I found myself not just observing — but remembering. I sat. I observed. I asked questions. I facilitated. I inspired. But deep within, something was stirring — a quiet awakening. I felt the weight of my own journey pressing gently on my chest. I saw myself in 2015, fresh out of prison, full of anger and unanswered questions. I remembered what it felt like to sit across from someone who had walked a similar path and made it — how that moment had sparked something in me. And today, I became that someone for them. This self-awareness workshop was never just about a session plan or activities. It was about mirrors — about helping women look inward and see beyond the scars, beyond the silence, beyond the shame. It was about asking, “Who am I beneath the weight of my past? Who do I get to become now?” We shared reflections that were raw and deeply personal. We wrote words that hadn’t yet been spoken aloud. We laughed in between th...

There’s a kind of healing that doesn’t make headlines — but it transforms you deeply.   In this post, I share what healing has looked like in my own life when God is the one doing the mending.   It’s quiet. It’s holy. And it’s enough. What Healing Looks Like When God Is In It There’s a kind of healing that doesn’t come with fireworks.   No dramatic turning point.   No moment where everything suddenly makes sense. It comes quietly.   Softly.   In moments that seem ordinary… but are filled with Heaven’s fingerprints. It looks like waking up and realizing that your heart doesn’t ache in the same way it used to.   It looks like not crying over that name anymore.   It looks like peace… where chaos once lived rent-free. God’s healing doesn’t always announce itself.   Sometimes, it tiptoes in while you’re pouring a cup of tea or watching the sun rise behind Tigoni’s misty hills.   Sometimes it shows up in laughter that catches you off guard — o...

If you’re a woman caught up in Kenya’s criminal justice system, I’ve walked that road. I know the fear, the confusion, the silence that follows release. This guide isn’t theory. It’s my truth—from arrest, to prison, to freedom. Here’s what I learned, and what every woman should know about surviving the system and rebuilding life afterward. 1. When You’re Arrested in Kenya Don’t panic. Ask questions. If police arrest you, don’t resist. Ask what you’re being charged with. It’s your right to know. Know your basic rights: You must be taken to court within 24 hours (excluding weekends/holidays). You have the right to remain silent. You can ask for a lawyer. If you can’t afford one, request legal aid. Tip: If possible, inform someone you trust where you’re being taken. Keep track of names, badge numbers, and location. 2. Inside Police Custody Don’t sign anything under pressure.   Police may push you to sign a statement. Don’t do it unless you fully understand what’s written and you...

I sat on my bed—it was day three, and I hadn’t slept at all. The exhaustion was overwhelming, but my mind refused to rest. Desperate, I confided in my pastor’s wife about my sleepless nights. Concerned, she took me to find some sleeping medication.   Despite all I had accomplished, I was battling intense panic attacks. I had completed a three-month African Leadership Training in South Africa, received an opportunity to attend a Coaching Bootcamp in London, and had just been accepted into the Women in Leadership Program at St. Xavier University COADY Institute in Canada. Though COVID-19 shifted it to online learning, it was still a significant milestone.   Yet, in the midst of these achievements, I was unraveling. The anxiety, the panic, the sleepless nights—I didn’t understand what was happening to me. Only later did I realise that I was dealing with PTSD, a silent weight carried by many who have experienced imprisonment.  The Hidden Impact of Imprisonment. The effects of...

I remember vividly that Friday morning in May 2015. My aunt and cousin came to pick me up from Kiambu Law Courts—I had just been released. The moment was surreal. The weight of  the last six months behind bars and about two years navigating the court system lifted as I stepped outside, breathing in the fresh air. It felt like the world had shifted, and I whispered to my cousin, " This is like a dream ." She turned to me and said, " It’s not a dream, it’s real. You are free."   I went home, and the rest, as they say, is history. But what no one tells you is that freedom is not just about walking out of those prison gates—it’s about what happens next. Reintegration is one of the hardest things anyone can face after imprisonment. The world moves on, people change, and if you don’t have the right support, it’s easy to feel lost. But reintegration is possible. It’s a journey, not a destination, and with the right steps, you can rebuild your life.   Here are six  things ...