The Blooming Maasai

I grew up in a small Maasai village in Kenya, where life was marked by dusty roads, outdoor play, and the quiet strength of women. My earliest memories are of playing alone in the open fields, or when luck was on my side, with my cousins or neighbors’ children. I didn’t think much of it then, but those early days shaped a spirit of independence that I carry with me to this day.

I was fortunate. I attended a private primary school and later joined a decent high school a path that many girls from my village never got to walk. Still, around me, I saw a different reality unfold for the women in my community. Many were housewives with no independent sources of income. Their lives were tethered to the decisions of men, men who were present in body but often absent in emotional support. In our community, the burden of raising children, managing homes, and enduring emotional, physical, and financial abuse fell on the shoulders of women. If a child made mistakes, the blame always traced back to the mother.

But something in me resisted that path.

My mother, open and brave, often shared with my siblings and me the trials she had faced. Those quiet conversations lit a fire in me a conviction that I wanted more. I wanted a life beyond the parameters of my village and, eventually, beyond the borders of my continent.

One of the earliest seeds of my ambition was planted as I watched the women in our village gather for merry-go-rounds which are small community savings groups that gave them financial breathing space. These gatherings were more than economic; they were safe spaces where women opened up about their hardships and supported one another. Those moments taught me that women, even in the toughest circumstances, carry the fire of resilience.

And so, I began to pray not just childlike wishes, but earnest prayers. I asked God to make me a star from my village. I wanted to be big not in fame, but in impact. I wanted to rise high enough to pull others up with me. The Bible says, “Commit your plans to the Lord, and He will establish them,” and I did just that. I still do.

I always believed I was a village girl with a global perspective. That belief was my compass. It guided me to pursue education relentlessly, and in time, it led me to a surreal moment boarding a plane to the Netherlands. My very first flight. I sat there with tears in my eyes, overcome by emotion. I felt like Tom Hanks in Apollo 13, aware of the magnitude of the journey I was beginning. I was leaving everything I knew behind yet taking all of it with me.

The Netherlands challenged me in ways I hadn’t anticipated. Living abroad stripped me bare, exposed every part of me, and stretched me in ways that Kenya never could. I lived through isolation and discomfort. But now, looking back, I realize those years weren’t just about academic or cultural learning they were about growth. I bloomed in solitude. In the stillness, God was pruning and preparing me.

Now, after three years in Europe, I feel I’ve grown more than I had in my entire life before. And in that space of quiet transformation, I discovered my purpose: to bridge the gap between Europe and Africa through lived experience, dialogue, and storytelling.

I called this space The Blooming Maasai because I am still blooming not in spite of being far from home, but because I carry home with me. I carry the voices of the women who shaped me, whose stories are woven into mine. These women, many of whom were silenced by tradition and circumstance, remain my north star. Their strength, their endurance, and their dreams are what fuel me.

This blog is my way of giving back by writing, by sharing, by remembering. It’s a dedication to every woman who ever dared to want more. A tribute to breaking cycles. A reminder that you can come from the most humble of places and still rise, gently and steadily, like a flower growing in foreign soil.

Because blooming isn’t about being loud. It’s about being rooted even when those roots stretch across continents.