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My Story – Part 1 I am Minage Kabaka, born on 25th May 1989 in Nairobi. I am the last-born child and only daughter of Solomon Kabaka. I have a loving brother, Ken Karani Kabaka, the firstborn in our family, who has been my companion through many seasons of life. Due to unavoidable circumstances, my parents separated when we were still young. I was only a little girl, and my brother was about four years old. As a result, my brother and I relocated to Lanet, Nakuru County, where our grandparents opened their home and hearts to us. From what I remember, my father loved me very much. He used to visit us in Nakuru regularly. Then, at some point, he stopped coming. To this day, I do not know exactly what happened, though I sometimes believe my grandparents may have discouraged him from visiting. Despite the separation, my father's love for us never faded. Whenever we visited Nairobi during school holidays, he would secretly take us to spend time with him at his home. My mother did not approve of this, and eventually she stopped bringing us to Nairobi during school breaks. Together with our cousins, Dan and Wairimu, we grew up as one family, sharing both life's joys and its challenges. Lanet became our home. It was there that we began our education and remained until we completed Form Four. Our grandparents were not only our guardians but also our role models. They taught us discipline, respect, and the importance of faith. They faithfully took us to ACK Church, where we were later baptized and confirmed. One of the greatest losses of my childhood came in October 2001 when my grandfather passed away. He had been a father figure, teacher, and mentor to us all. His wisdom, guidance, and love shaped the people we became. I still remember him with love and gratitude. Rest in Peace, Mwalimu Muiruri. After completing Form Four, I relocated to Nairobi to pursue further studies while living with my Aunt Martha. My mother was also living in Nairobi at the time, and being closer to her gave me strength as I worked toward my dreams. In 2008, I was fortunate to secure employment. With my first steps into adulthood came two important missions that I carried deep within my heart: To find my father. To build a home for my mother. For years, the question of my father remained unanswered. Despite his absence, I always believed that one day I would meet him. I imagined the conversations we would have and the opportunity to finally know the man whose name I carried. In 2011, my brother began the journey of searching for our father. He approached our mother and asked about him. Mum directed him to Aunt Phyllis, my father's sister. One Sunday in 2011, my brother met Aunt Phyllis. What was supposed to be a search for answers turned into a moment that would change our lives forever. That afternoon, I was in a matatu heading to Ngara when my phone rang. "Mambo?" my brother asked. "Poa," I replied. There was a brief silence. Then he said words that shattered a dream I had carried for many years: "Unajua dad alikufa mwaka wa 2006..." I froze. My heart broke into pieces. For my entire life, I had held onto the hope that one day I would meet my father alive. In a single moment, that hope disappeared. The dream I had nurtured since childhood suddenly felt impossible. As the matatu continued moving through the busy streets of Nairobi, my mind stood still. Questions flooded my heart: When did he die? How did he die? Why had we never known? What kind of man was he? The search for my father had finally brought us an answer—but not the one I had prayed for. That day marked the beginning of a different journey: a journey to discover who my father was, the life he lived, and the family connections that had been lost for so many years. My Story – Part 2 The news of my father's death left a deep wound in my heart. After finishing what had taken me to Ngara that day, I returned to the place where I was living with my friend, Penina. She had become the sister I never had. Our friendship had begun back in 2004 when we were in Form One, and it has remained strong to this day. When I told Penina what I had discovered about my father, I broke down and cried. The pain was overwhelming. She listened patiently, comforted me, and stood by my side during one of the most difficult moments of my life. One Sunday afternoon, my Aunt Martha asked me to accompany her to Ongata Rongai to visit a friend. On our way, I shared the painful news with her. "Do you know that my dad died a long time ago?" I asked. She was shocked. Aunt Martha knew my father very well because during school holidays she often visited us whenever we came to Nairobi. She could hardly believe that we had only just learned about his death. Aunt Martha informed my Aunt Charity, who is my mother's sister. Because Aunt Charity and I were very close, she invited me to her home the following weekend. We talked at length about my father, and she comforted me greatly. She w

Chapter 3

Roots in Vihiga

Minage and her family travel to their ancestral home in Vihiga County. She meets her grandmother, Epiness Minage, and other relatives, experiencing an emotional reunion and finally visiting her father's grave.

3 min read

The bus pulled away from the bustling chaos of Machakos Country Bus Station, leaving behind the shouts of touts and the lingering smell of diesel. It was a grey morning in Nairobi, but as the city faded into the distance, a different kind of light began to dawn within me. July 10th, 2011. The date itself felt weighty, a marker of a journey I had dreamed of for years, yet one tinged with the deep ache of loss. Beside me, my mother sat quietly, her gaze fixed on the passing landscape, a familiar stillness about her. My brother, Ken, was a reassuring presence across the aisle, his usual easy smile replaced by a thoughtful expression. Aunt Phyllis, my father's sister, occupied the seat next to him, her presence a bridge to a past I was only just beginning to understand. The journey to Vihiga County, to Madzuu Kedeta Village, felt less like a trip and more like a pilgrimage.

The hours stretched on, the landscape gradually shifting from the urban sprawl to rolling hills and fertile farmlands. The bus, a lumbering beast compared to the nimble matatus I was accustomed to, seemed to take an eternity to consume the miles. I found myself lost in thought, the rhythm of the engine a hypnotic backdrop to the swirl of questions in my mind. What would Western Kenya truly be like? Not the brief, fleeting glimpses of school holidays in Nairobi, but the heart of my father's heritage. How would his family receive us, these unexpected visitors from a world that had existed apart from theirs for so long? Would I finally feel that elusive sense of belonging, the deep, resonant connection to the roots I had been searching for, it seemed, my entire life? I had travelled before, seen new places, but this was different. This was a journey into the very fabric of my identity, a quest to touch the ground my father had walked, to breathe the air he had breathed.

The air grew warmer, thick with the scent of damp earth and something else, something floral and unfamiliar, as we finally approached our destination. The bus shuddered to a halt, and the world outside seemed to hum with a different energy, a slower, more deliberate pulse. It was around 5:00 p.m. when we disembarked, the late afternoon sun casting long shadows. Our first stop was the home of Andrew Ligale, a name I vaguely recognized from hushed family conversations. It was here that Aunt Rachael lived, my father's sister. As she emerged from the house, her eyes fell upon my mother, and a broad smile, warm and genuine, bloomed on her face.

"Kwani bado unanikumbuka?" she asked, her voice a musical lilt. Do you still remember me?

My mother’s smile mirrored hers as she replied, "Ndiyo." Yes. The greeting was simple, yet it carried the weight of shared history, a silent acknowledgment of a bond that time and distance had not managed to sever. We exchanged warm greetings, the initial awkwardness melting away with each shared word.

From there, it was a short journey to my grandmother's home. The anticipation in my chest tightened with every step. This was it. The woman who had given

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