Thought tide

A matatu ride. A letter from my daughter. A realization about unspoken storms. This is how Hope Club was born—in the quiet spaces where pre-teen girls hide their hearts. But for real—what happened to Kenyan matatu users never opening windows? My goodness. I found myself in a 14-seater with 18 of us packed in. Wah, I don’t know what we’re incubating to hatch into😏? The heat, the discomfort, the sneers when someone dared pick a call... it was comedy and chaos in motion. Anyway, a couple of days earlier, I had received a letter. Not just any letter—but one from my 10-year-old daughter. It was a full complexity of emotion that even adults struggle to unpack. Fear. Insecurity. Protectiveness. Love. It was triggered by what I considered a harmless shift in our normal routine. Nothing dramatic. But to her, it meant everything. She didn’t like it. She even wrote that she felt unloved. That word gripped me like a hand to the throat. I couldn’t wait to get home, to hug her and talk. To as...

A personal tribute to my uncle, mentor, and family pillar — 25 years gone, never forgotten. Let’s go back… mid-90s. Uncle Gakuo. His white pick-up truck. All of us. Our mums. Our huge bags — bigger than some of us. Nduta Gakuo, Cira Gakuo, Shiku Gakuo, Shiku Kariru, Waithera Marua (big), Waithera Marua (small), Wambui Njung’e, Shiku Mworia, Minneh Njoroge… And of course me — the ‘last’ born of the pack. Those registration numbers on the truck — to this day, I hear “709” and I feel nine years old all over again. Boarding school in an Assumption Sisters hostel was no joke. Oh my… Sr. Mbatha. Madaraka Primary School, Thika — top-performing. For My Future I Toil. That was the motto. And indeed, my mother’s brother wanted only the best for us. 25 years on. His candle still burns brightly in my heart. His love for extended family, those lively get-togethers — all gone with him. I often imagine him and Mum, taking tea outside under our avocado tree. Whenever I think of my education, U...

Mental Health Awareness Month Reflection. Dear friend, I’m sorry I snapped at you that Saturday afternoon. You were just checking in. But I was struggling — with finances, with feeling stuck in my career, with carrying this quiet weight. And you? You were going through a divorce. You’d just survived a near-death illness that had you in ICU. I promised to be there for you. To check in more. To be a better friend. But I’ve barely picked up your calls. I want to call when I’m upbeat. When I sound like “me.” So I text. I choose WhatsApp, because you can’t hear the heaviness in my voice there. Dear friend, Remember when you borrowed me 5k? I told you, “Once you get it from someone, please share.” Truth is... I needed it too. But I didn’t want to say. My boss once asked what happened to that dream of becoming a counsellor. I told him, “I paused on that interest.” He asked why. I laughed and said, “I think I realized I need the counselling more than I could give.” We chuckled. But i...

A strong feeling of the world shrinking into silence. One moment I am sitting in a simple meeting — not even the scariest one I’ve ever had — and the next, my mind emptied. Completely. Not a thought, not a word. Just blank. Abit of nervousness but something deeper. Something old. Like a bully that has lived in my mind for years. The one that whispers, You’re not good enough. You should do better. You are slow. You are stuck I’ve worked in the financial field for years. And yet, I couldn’t find words to explain the simplest of things. I stumbled, I overtalked, I shrank and tried to cover up the mess with a flurry of nothings. It’s not the first time. The truth is, I feel stuck. Stuck in a cycle of hardwork, barely smart. Watching peers sail past me. Seeing others rise while I stay seated. And worse — carrying the shame of that stagnation, like a stain I can't scrub off. Countless opportunities search in the past. Rejections now a rhythm. On the few occasions I get the chance to spea...

So apparently, I am turning 40. Four-Zero. Forty. The age I used to imagine meant high heels and high bank balances. Reality? I own crocs in two colors, countless pair of sneakers and I check price tags like they’re crime scenes😏 I thought by now I’d have it all figured out — career, family, finances, skincare. But let me tell you, I still Google things like “can you get grey hairs on your eyebrows?” and “how to say no without guilt.” So here is to 40. Not just a number. A milestone. A monument. To every version of me that walked the path-I see you. I honour you. I’m standing here with a cocktail of emotions: awe, relief, laughter, and a slightly panicked "Wait… how did we get here?!" So, in honour of this milestone, I give you: 4 truths per decade — the lessons, the bruises, the beauty, and the bafflement — as gathered from each floor I’ve climbed. Floors 0–10: The Obvious and Not-So-Obvious Climb I was 8, going on 9. Quite short, barely able to carry my oversized b...

PART 2:  Into the Theatre, Out with a Daughter. Don't scream. Don't shout. Just breathe. Walk a lot during pregnancy. Hemorrhoids? Don't dare constipate! Those nipples, first baby latch—you will call your mother! You know SIM 2 could give way? Jesus! Your hooha could tear—and girl, the sewing back. 😳 My headspace as I approached labor... Reality... Contractions, ever so intense, so close. Let me tell you, Maina—wueh! When they say teach your child the right path, and they will not deviate from it when they grow up ...they were right. The number of times I called God, Jesus, and all His angels. I recall one prenatal check-up—I was a bit body-conscious. My doctor, sensing this, casually told me, " Shyness will disappear at childbirth. " Look, the way I was pacing in the labor room, my  bottom on display🤭 (BTW, what is it with those open gowns at the back?) Mum whispering to Njeri at some point. No one warned me this pain goes to the brain. I had the...

Part 1:  A Journey Through the Unexpected. A huge swimming pool, a wide-flowing river, and at some point, an ocean. I was in all three — no floater, no attempt to stay on the surface, no panic, no sinking... yet I can’t swim. Those were the images from my recurring dreams, slightly over a decade ago.

  So… the Children Who Wanted to Be Managers—How’s That Going? In my first serious job at a local bank, all I remember is my first manager . Sharp—both in dressing and thinking. Only three staff drove to the office: him, his assistant, and one other person. The rest of us? On foot or by matatu. We were the makers; he and his assistant, the checkers. Ooh, must be nice! That title— manager —was prestigious. At my entry interview, Faith from HR asked me, "Where do you see yourself five years from now?" Imagine me, fresh and blunt, saying: “I want to be a mum.” 🙆🏽‍♀️ Who says that in a bank job interview?! 😏 Well, five years later—I was a mum. Kusema na kutenda! 😂 If they had asked me the same question after I landed the graduate clerk position, I’d probably have said: “I want to be a manager.” Because after a few years observing how powerful these fellas were, that became the dream. Some used their power well. Some, of course, abused it. Like the one w...

A couple of years ago, on an evening walk home, this guy walking from the opposite direction stops and asks with genuine concern, "Are you seriously talking and laughing by yourself?" My mind had a buffet of responses: – Isn’t this a free country with freedom of speech? – Can’t I enjoy my own conversations? – Also, sir, how is this your business? But I simply nodded. He stared at me from head to toe, trying to detect what exactly was off . Fast forward to today. Afternoon. I pass by my bank, hoping to get a short-term loan. I walk up to a lady behind an unnamed desk, not even sure that’s where I needed to be. She was sharply dressed—minimal makeup, perfectly done sisterlocks, glasses completing the corporate slay. Meanwhile, me? In brown boots and a pink fleece jacket. Sun shining. I looked... questionably weather-aware. 😏 In my defence, I left the house early and it was kind of drizzly. Still. She glances at my account briefly and breaks it to me: I don’t quali...