Beyond Limits

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...