My Journey of Resilience: How I Fought for Education and Found My Voice. Kennedy Nyongesa Sande shares a powerful, deeply detailed story of dropping out due to school fees, returning against all odds, and the people whose kindness changed everything.
Foreword: Why Tell This Story Now
I didn’t write this to be applauded. I wrote it so that the next young person staring at a dead end can see where a path might be hiding. I also wrote it to honor the people who carried me when I could not carry myself—my late mother, Lidya Asami Opwotsi; my late brother, Davies Mukhanya Nyongesa; my grandfather, Melkzadeck Opwotsi; my uncle, the late Michael Ongong’a; my stepmother, Judith Rehema; and the educators who opened doors when every other door was shut—Head Teacher David Kwendo and Principal Pickforn Enane.
This is not just a memory. It’s a map.
Chapter 1: When School Stopped
In 2005, I dropped out of St. Mary’s Kibabii Boys High School. Not because I couldn’t keep up—but because we couldn’t keep paying. My late mother, Lidya Asami Opwotsi, was earning KSh 6,000 a month in Nairobi. That money had to do the impossible—feed, house, clothe, and somehow still educate me. It wasn’t enough.
I went back to Sabata farm, where I stayed with my stepmother Judith Rehema and my siblings. It was supposed to be temporary. It became a year.
Dropping out isn’t just an academic interruption. It is a psychological earthquake. You start bargaining with your dreams, telling yourself they can wait, that the detour is still the road. But silence has a way of becoming permanent.
Chapter 2: The Knock That Changed Everything
Then came a lifeline—proof that sometimes help is a person, not a policy. My uncle, the late Michael Ongong’a, heard I was out of school. He came looking for me at Sabata. He missed me. But he left transport money with my stepmother. That small brown envelope was more than fare; it was permission to try again.
When I returned, Judith Rehema handed me the money and told me, “Go to Bunyore. Return to your mother’s people. Finish.” It was a sentence that sounded like a blessing.
Chapter 3: Bunyore—Where Doors Opened
In Bunyore, my life stopped being a solo fight. My grandfather, Melkzadeck Opwotsi, was then the BOG Chairman at Essong’olo Secondary School. That mattered—not because of privilege, but because someone in the room knew my name and believed the story I carried.
Head Teacher David Kwendo listened. I had been out of class for a year. He didn’t offer pity. He offered structure. I skipped Form Two and jumped straight into Form Three in 2006. That wasn’t a shortcut; it was a contract: if I was asking for time to be rewritten, I had to be the pen.
In 2007, I completed Form Four with a C plain. To many, that’s a grade. To me, it was a passport back into possibility.
Chapter 4: Asking for a Second Chance—Again
The following year, 2008, I went to Ebwali Secondary School to ask for what felt impossible—a chance to repeat Form Four. I met Principal Pickforn Enane. He didn’t just allow me back. He admitted me without charging any school fees.
Read that again. A man with authority decided that merit could be uncoupled from money—that a determined student is an asset worth investing in. His name deserves to be etched wherever stories of educational mercy are told: Pickforn Enane.
I never went to college. That’s the truth. But don’t misunderstand what that means. Education gave me literacy, but struggle gave me fluency—in people, in systems, in persistence.
Chapter 5: What Grief Taught Me About Love
There is a part of this story I can’t tell without my throat tightening: my late brother, Davies Mukhanya Nyongesa. He was my sibling and my friend. The grief of his absence is the engine of my compassion. You learn that love doesn’t end when a person does. You carry them forward by how you treat the living. Every good thing I do is, in some way, a letter I keep writing to him.
This chapter is also for my late mother, Lidya Asami Opwotsi—the woman who taught me to thank God for small meals and big mercies. And for my grandfather, Melkzadeck Opwotsi, whose wisdom leaned quietly behind every decision I made. For my uncle Michael Ongong’a, whose single act of provision changed the entire arc of my life. And for Judith Rehema, my stepmother, who chose bridge-building over bitterness.
Families are complicated. But families can also be coalitions of survival.
Chapter 6: The Skills You Don’t Learn in a Classroom (But Need for Life)
1) Resourcefulness
Dropping out taught me how to scan for options others don’t see. Scholarships, bursaries, sympathetic administrators, church committees—help hides in plain sight.
2) Asking early
Shame delays the ask until it’s too late. I learned to knock while the office is still open—literally and metaphorically.
3) Proof of effort
When people see you doing your part, they do theirs. I showed up with assignments, with a timetable, with a plan. I wasn’t asking to be rescued; I was asking for a rope.
4) Gratitude as strategy
“Thank you” is not just polite; it is infrastructure. Gratitude keeps bridges open. It keeps your name in rooms you haven’t entered yet.
5) Faith
I don’t just mean religion—though I have that too. I mean faith as posture: the belief that today is not all there is.
A Practical Guide for Students Facing What I Faced (Kenya)
- Talk to the principal early. Be honest. Show your last report, explain your situation, and ask for fee plans or temporary waivers.
- Knock on multiple doors: constituency bursaries (CDF), county bursaries, church-led funds, alumni associations, and NGOs (e.g., Wings to Fly, Elimu Scholarship for current cycles).
- Document everything. Keep copies of letters, receipts, and endorsements from chiefs/teachers—paper convinces systems.
- Study like time is a debt you’re repaying. Compressing a missed year isn’t about being a genius; it’s about discipline.
- Guard your circle. Sit near seriousness. Borrow notes, exchange summaries, join a group where effort is normal.
The People Who Built This Bridge (Roll of Honor)
- My late mum: Lidya Asami Opwotsi
- My late brother: Davies Mukhanya Nyongesa
- My grandfather (BOG Chairman): Melkzadeck Opwotsi
- My uncle: Michael Ongong’a (late)
- My stepmother: Judith Rehema
- Head Teacher: David Kwendo (Essong’olo Secondary School)
- Principal: Pickforn Enane (Ebwali Secondary School)
If you see their names here, it’s because I am standing on them.
Milestones (At a Glance)
- 2005: Dropped out of St. Mary’s Kibabii Boys (fees).
- 2006: Admitted to Essong’olo Secondary School (skipped Form Two).
- 2007: Completed Form Four, C plain.
- 2008: Admitted to Ebwali Secondary School to repeat Form Four—no fees charged.
- After: Did not attend college, but moved forward—wiser, tougher, kinder.
What I Believe Now
- Second chances aren’t charity; they’re policy—personal policies that leaders and teachers choose to live by.
- Poverty is not a character flaw.
- Grief can be a furnace where your gentleness is forged, not your anger.
- Education is not just a certificate; it is confidence, vocabulary, navigation.
- Community is capital. Treat people like investments—because they are.
Dedication
To Davies Mukhanya Nyongesa, my brother.
I carry you into every good thing I do.
Frequently Asked Questions
Q: How did you cope with the gap after dropping out?
I treated time like a loan and repaid it with focus. I embraced structure and leaned fully on the adults who believed in me.
Q: Why repeat Form Four after finishing?
Because context matters. I wanted a stronger platform. Principal Pickforn Enane gave me the space to build it.
Q: What if I can’t find a sponsor?
Start with honesty and evidence. Ask early. Cast a wide net—schools, churches, bursaries, alumni, local leaders. Don’t go alone; bring a teacher’s letter.
Final Word: Your Story Is Still Being Written
If you’re reading this at a moment when everything feels late and lost, hear me: not yet. Your No today can still become a Yes if you keep moving toward people who move toward you.
I didn’t win because I’m special. I made it because someone knocked, someone listened, someone signed, someone paid, someone prayed. And when it was my turn, I showed up.
Never give up. Your story is still being written.
