Dear Kenya, With Love and Defiance

 Dear Kenya, With Love and Defiance

You raised me with hope in my chest and warmth in my breath.
You were the reason I memorized dreams and traced possibility into my every plan.

But lately, it feels like we’re all crying through clenched teeth.

Your children—young, loud, tired—are marching.
Some with fire in their eyes. Some with fear. Some with fists raised. Some with names on their lips.

Not because they hate you.
But because they love you too much to stay silent.

And if love is honest, then this is it:
I am scared.
I am angry.
I am tired.
But I am also proud.
Because I’ve never seen a generation carry each other the way we do now.
We speak. We organize. We remember.
And somehow, we still believe.

🕊️ To the ones who have fallen—
We remember you.
Your names are etched in our chants, in the posters, in the silence between heartbeats.
You did not die in vain.
Your light did not go out—it multiplied.

To us who are still fighting—
in the streets, online,
in the quiet battles with doubt and fear—
You are not alone.
To those of us who feel like we’re not doing enough—

We are.

We carry each other.
We are not done.
We are still here.

With love and defiance.

This is not just a letter.
It is a mirror.
It is a memory.
It is a promise.

We rise again.
For Kenya.
Because we must.