If a person had the chance to choose where to be born, perhaps I would have chosen differently. I was born into a family where survival was the daily struggle, not comfort. Being the firstborn came with burdens too heavy for a child. We were not raised in wealth or ease. My parents brewed and sold alcohol just to put food on the table. Many nights they came home drunk, and instead of bringing peace, they brought chaos.
I remember putting water in a sufuria, hoping there would be flour to make ugali. My younger siblings slept hungry in the kitchen as we waited. Sometimes my parents returned at 2:00 a.m., only to fight. Their battles became my wounds. Even at school, other children mocked me and asked who had won the fight the previous night. I carried shame no child should ever carry.
Then tragedy struck harder. My father died when I was in Class Two. His death opened another wound that bled for years. My mother had a small baby to care for, and I had to stop going to school so I could look after my siblings while she searched for food. Childhood was taken from me too soon.
Childhood was taken from me too soon.
After one year, I went to live with my aunt, hoping for a better place to study and grow. Instead, I found suffering. She became harsh and cruel. Even when I was sick, she refused to give me money for medicine. She cut off communication with my relatives. At only ten years old, I carried the weight of house chores and endured beatings. I had no voice. The only thing I could do was persevere.
I stayed strong until Class Seven, when I finally decided to return home. Life was still difficult, but I refused to surrender. I washed clothes for people, did manual jobs, and hustled for every coin so I could pay school fees. Pain became my teacher, and perseverance became my strength.
Today, that same boy who once slept hungry, who was mocked, rejected, and wounded, has risen. I have written a book titled Healing from Emotional Wounds. I am currently at Pwani University pursuing a Bachelor of Counselling Psychology.
My story is proof that pain does not have the final word. Your beginning does not determine your ending. Wounds can heal. Struggles can build strength. Rejection can produce purpose. And tears can water the seeds of greatness.
I am not a victim of my past. I am a victor of my future. This is just introduction..am a testament of resilience and perseverance.
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