I was born in a small village called Muyayi in Bungoma. That is where my childhood began—simple, quiet, but full of challenges that would later shape who I am today.
My journey in education started at Bible School and nursery before I joined Chemche Primary School, where I studied from Class One to Four. Life was not easy even at that young age. The journey to school was tiring, and at home, things were already getting difficult. Later, I was transferred to Khaoya Primary School, where I continued from Class Four to Class Eight. It was there that I sat for my KCPE. By God’s grace, I passed well, and my results opened doors to many big schools.
However, despite the good performance, my family was not financially stable, and I could not join those schools. Instead, I joined Namachanja High School. Even there, the journey was not smooth. I faced many challenges, including sickness, but I did not give up. I pushed through and managed to complete my KCSE.
After high school, I joined Kisiwa Technical Training Institute. College life was also tough, with many struggles along the way, but I remained focused. I worked hard, sat for my exams, and eventually went for my industrial attachment—an important step that has contributed to where I am today.
Growing up, we were a middle-class family, but life became very hard when I was in Class Four. There was little money, and we had to find ways to survive. We woke up as early as 5 a.m. and worked until evening, doing manual jobs on other people’s farms just to meet our basic needs. Despite all this, we never missed school. We balanced work and education, determined to build a better future.
We started hustling at a very young age, not because our parents had failed us, but because we understood our situation. That experience taught me responsibility, resilience, and the value of hard work.
Through it all, I learned one important lesson: giving up is never a solution. No matter how difficult life becomes, there is always hope for a better tomorrow.
I keep going. I keep believing. My story is not over—it is just beginning.
With love, pride and gratitude, Your future self, Job Naomi
“You sailed through what should have drowned you. And because of that, I know I will survive whatever comes next.”
A Letter to My Younger Self
Dear Younger Me,
I remember you clearly. A young man full of hope, walking through the halls of the University of Nairobi with dreams bigger than fear. You believed in hard work, in honesty, and in the power of knowledge to change lives.
You chose medicine because you wanted to heal people. You did it not for fame or money. Deep inside, you believed that saving even one life was worth a lifetime of effort.
You studied day and night, determined to master the complex science of the human body. Years later, you stood proudly in the operating theaters of Kenyatta National Hospital as a neurosurgeon. Your hands carried the responsibility of touching the most delicate organ in the human body—the brain.
Every surgery was a battle between life and death, and many times, you helped life win.
You built a career based on trust, skill, and dedication. Patients believed in you. Colleagues respected you. Your family looked up to you.
Life felt meaningful.
But if I can reach back through time and whisper something into your ear, I would tell you this:
Life does not always change because of the big decisions we make. Sometimes it changes because of the smallest ones.
One ordinary day, you will buy a second-hand mobile phone. It will cost only two thousand Kenyan shillings. You will buy it from someone you know at the hospital—a mortuary attendant. You will not question it. To you, it will be just a cheap phone. Your daughter can use it while studying at Moi University.
It will feel like a simple act of love from a father to his child.
But that phone will carry a history you cannot see.
It once belonged to Moses Gituma, a senior official at the Central Bank of Kenya and brother to the then Commissioner of Police, Mathew Iteere. He had been robbed and murdered, and his belongings—including the phone—were taken by criminals.
The phone will pass through unknown hands until it reaches you.
Years later, investigators will trace the device. The trail will first lead to your daughter’s boyfriend. Then, it will lead to your daughter. Finally, it will lead to you.
You will tell the truth. Calmly. Clearly.
You will explain that you bought the phone second-hand and had no idea where it came from.
You will believe that the truth will protect you.
But the truth will not save you.
In 2009, a court will convict you and sentence you to thirty years in prison. When you appeal, hoping justice will correct the mistake, your sentence will instead be increased to death.
Later, it will be commuted to life imprisonment.
And just like that, the life you built for decades will collapse.
Your career will disappear.
Your freedom will vanish.
You will watch the world move on without you.
Today, I write this letter from inside Kamiti Maximum Security Prison, where I have spent more than two decades.
But here is something important I want you to know.
Even when life takes everything from you, it can’t take who you are.
Inside these prison walls, I refused to stop being a doctor. I help sick prisoners when they need medical advice. I treat wounds when I can. I care for people who have been forgotten by the world.
I also trained as a paralegal to help inmates prepare legal documents and fight for their rights.
In a strange way, I am still doing what you dreamed of doing when you were young:
Helping people.
So if I could give you a few lessons before life takes its unexpected turn, I would tell you this:
Be careful with the small choices in life, because sometimes they carry invisible consequences.
Never assume that justice will always be fair, because even systems created to protect people can make mistakes.
Do not let your identity depend on your title or your freedom. A doctor is not defined by a hospital building but by a heart that cares for others.
And most importantly, never lose hope.
Because hope is the one thing no prison wall can truly hold captive.
Younger me, life will not go the way you expect.
But even in the darkest places, you will still find ways to heal others.
And that, in the end, will remind you that your purpose was never truly taken away.
With wisdom earned through pain,
With love and gratitude, Your future self, Dr. Clement Munyao Katiku
Never giving up is a cornerstone of success and resilience
I joined Kibabii University on 19th September 2023. I was excited and hopeful. I was convinced that I had finally found the path to change my life. Like many young people, I believed education was the answer to everything I had left behind at home.
But as time went on, I began to understand more.
I realized that getting to university is not the hardest part—surviving it and making something meaningful out of it is. I saw friends struggle with fees, families organizing harambees, and dreams delayed not by lack of effort, but by circumstances.
I also learned that life is not just about books. The people you meet, the relationships you build, and the networks you create matter just as much. Truly, your network is your net worth.
To my younger self, I would say this: Hold onto hope, but be ready for reality. Be intentional with people, stay resilient, and never stop believing in your journey.
Because even in uncertainty, there is purpose. And even in struggle, there is growth.
With love and gratitude, Your future self, Victor Kibet
