I can See It

The tunnel feels never-ending
A vast expanse of darkness
Thick and suffocating
But I keep pushing forward
Searching for that distant light
That flicker of hope in the distance

My feet are weary
My heart heavy with doubt
But I press on
For I know that the light
Is my salvation
My guiding star in the abyss

I stumble over rocks
And trip on my own fears
But I pick myself up
Dust off my doubts
And keep moving forward
Towards that glimmer of hope

The wind howls around me
Whipping through my hair
Stinging my cheeks with cold
But I am undeterred
For I know that the light
Is worth every hardship

I close my eyes
And imagine the warmth
Of the sun on my face
The gentle caress of a breeze
And I am filled with renewed determination
To reach the end of this tunnel

I remember the words
Of those who have gone before me
Those who have faced their own darkness
And emerged into the light
Their stories give me strength
And remind me that I am not alone

I cling to their words
Like a lifeline in the storm
And I push through the pain
The doubt, the fear
With every step, I feel closer
To the light at the end of the tunnel

I feel it calling to me
Beckoning me forward
Promising me peace
And I know that I must keep going
No matter how hard it gets
No matter how long it takes

For I will not be defeated
By the darkness that surrounds me
I will emerge victorious
Into the glorious light
At the end of this tunnel
And I will be forever changed

So I press on
With newfound resolve
With a fire in my soul
And a song in my heart
For I know that the light
Is waiting for me
At the end of the tunnel.

@okelododdychitchats

Journey of The Heart

The morning sun casts its light over River Kuja, the water glinting like shards of glass as it flows steadily past. I stand at its edge, the familiar sound of the stream filling the silence around me. My feet sink slightly into the warm soil as I cross the narrow road leading to it, pausing to watch the ripples dance. Somewhere in this vast world, I believe, lies the love I seek, though it feels as elusive as the current beneath the surface.

Jodongo always said love is like the treasures hidden deep within Lake Victoria, hard to find, harder to keep.”hera tek tweta.” So, I search. From the shores of Usenge to the busy aswekra market in Kendu Bay, I walk, I watch, I hope. Faces pass by, some kind, some indifferent, but none answer the silent question that sits in my heart. The days stretch long, and the nights longer still.

At night, I sit under the strange sky, tracing the patterns of stars scattered above. Their soft, silvery light reminds me of the cowrie shells my grandmother, Min Ombewa used to wear, clinking softly as she told us stories of long-lost love. The stars seem to mock me now, offering no guidance, only their cold brilliance. My body grows weary, but my heart refuses to give up.

I look to the clouds that drift lazily over Got Asego. Their rough shapes hold no answers, only shifting shadows that point to nowhere. There’s a pull within me, though, urging me toward the quiet Homa Hills in the distance. When I finally arrive, I find nothing but empty spaces, my footsteps speaking in the silence. Even the wind feels indifferent.

I wander farther, beyond the lands I know. I cross into places where the language stumbles on my tongue and the songs of the people feel strange. Still, I go on, driven by the stubborn hope that the next turn, the next road, will lead me to what I seek. But each step feels heavier, each path more uncertain, until I find myself completely lost.

At the market, the women shake their heads as I pass. “hera tek,” they say with laughter, their voices laced with pity. Love is hard, they remind me, and harder still for those who chase it blindly. Their words sting, but they don’t stop me. Despite everything, a quiet ember of hope burns within me, refusing to die.

One evening, as the sun dips low over Lake Simbi Nyaima, I sit on its shore. The stillness of the place feels different, comforting even. The water is calm, reflecting the fiery colors of the sunset like a mirror. For the first time in what feels like forever, I let myself pause. The sound of the lake, the warmth of the fading sun, and the stillness around me all seem to urge me to look inward.

It’s there, in that moment of quiet, that I begin to understand. Perhaps love isn’t a treasure to be found but a truth to be uncovered. Maybe it doesn’t live in the stars, the hills, or even in another person. It begins here, within me. My heart, though tired and bruised, isn’t done searching, it just needs to start looking in a new way.

As I rise to leave, a strange calm settles over me. The journey isn’t over, but it feels less like a race and more like a path I’m meant to walk. I think of my grandmother’s words, her voice steady and wise, “hera en kama rach, kendo en kama ber.” Love is both a good and a bad thing at the same time.

The scent of “kuon bel”and fresh tilapia greets me as I walk back home, the familiar sound of children playing ajuala filling the air. I smile to myself. Maybe love isn’t just in the finding, it’s in the moments along the way, in the laughter of family, the warmth of community, and the quiet lessons life teaches.

As the stars come out once more, I glance up at them, no longer searching. For now, I am content to walk this journey, guided by hope and the gentle rhythm of a heart that still believes.

@okelododdychitchats

Fading Notes of The Heart

For the first time in my once-bright life,
I feel love slip away,
draining quietly from a heart
that once brimmed with warmth and fire.

Because of her,
passion now feels like a distant memory,
her eyes, once alive like sapphire stars,
now hold no light for me.
The smile that once lifted my world
has faded into something I barely remember.

I knew love once,
I felt it in her touch,
in the way she made life seem full of wonder.
But now, that wonder feels hollow,
a shadow of something I can no longer reach.

The beauty I once saw everywhere
seems to have vanished.
Dreams feel brittle;
hope feels like a foolish story I once believed.

Her absence is a quiet void,
and love, once a tender, living thing,
is now just a ghost
I can’t hold on to.

And so I go on,
not with the joy I once knew,
but with a quiet acceptance
that the song of my heart
will now play softly,
alone.

@okelododdychitchats

Judge Me If You Must !

As I walk through the valley and the shadows of poverty,
I feel the weight of judgment and expectation,
From those who cannot understand the struggle,
Of trying to survive in a world that seems to offer no salvation.

I fear not death, but the harsh words and stares,
Of those who see only weakness in my plight,
Who do not know the battles fought within,
To simply make it through each day and night.

Their understanding is as shallow as a thief’s eulogy,
Their empathy as scarce as a drop in the sea,
For they cannot comprehend the depth of despair,
That grips my soul and refuses to set me free.

They speak of my weaknesses, my failures,
As if they were born from choice,
But they do not see the tears I shed,
Or hear the silent cries of my voice.

They do not know the sleepless nights,
The hunger that gnaws at my gut,
The loneliness that haunts my days,
The pain that refuses to be cut.

They judge me for my lack of success,
For my inability to rise above,
But they do not see the barriers in my way,
The obstacles that push me down and shove.

They say “mara he is weak, mara he went to school passed but now he is failing in life, mara what”,
But they do not see the struggles I face,
The constant battle just to survive,
In a world that offers me no grace.

I try to explain, to make them see,
The darkness that surrounds me,
But their eyes are blind, their ears deaf,
To the cries of a soul longing to be free.

So I walk alone, through the valley of despair,
Through shadows that cling to my every step,
Knowing that in this world of judgment and expectation,
I can find no refuge, no solace, no reprieve.

But still I walk, with head held high,
Knowing that I am stronger than they can see,
For I have faced the worst that life can offer,
And I am still here, still standing, still me.

So judge me if you must, with your eyes of scorn,
But know that I am resilient, I am strong,
And though the valley may be dark and long,
I will walk through it, fearless, proud, and headstrong.

@okelododdychitchats

In Silent Burdens

Shadows of unspoken weight,
Silence strains and worries skate,
A storm stirs deep within the heart,
Too much to bear, it pulls everything apart.

I curse the chains of heavy thought,
Tied to a world that takes but gives not,
Every quiet worry, a cold, biting stone.
Every spark of hope, dimmed and gone.

O, faces bright with pride, so blind,
Turned from waves that drown the mind,
But beneath it all lie pools of despair,
Where empathy drifts, thin as air.

Broken spirits, voices low,
They linger where few dare to go,
With judgment’s chill, like winter’s breath,
Misunderstood, they dance near death.

Let each boy walk his own way through,
Not every step should lead to sorrow
Give him space to breathe, to hope, to dream,
To face his shadows, to stitch his seams.

Lift the burden, hear the plea,
The heart’s so fragile, longing to be free.
In kindness, strength, in softness, still,
Love alone warms the chill.

Together we rise, together we stumble,
From silence to strength, we refuse to crumble,
In the bonds we share, we heal and grow,
With open hearts, let empathy flow.

@okelododdychitchats

We are no longer Babies

It’s 1:58 AM, and Azel is crying. Blood is oozing from my nose, it’s a lot. We’re in the middle of wheat bushes and dry, soft sand along the Bomet-Narok road. Azel has never seen this much blood come from someone’s nose before. A neighbour from the seat beside us heads up to the driver and asks him to help somehow, and he honors the call. A group of ladies and gentlemen from the bus volunteer to offer first aid. I don’t know any of them, except for my five-year-old nephew. But for what you’ve all done, thank you, I truly appreciate each of you and I love you all.

Azel has stopped crying now, though he still looks worried. We’re on our way to Nairobi, and I’m anxious about the second half of this journey. We’re traveling at night ! Kumbavu zangu, mbwa mimi, what was I thinking? I made a mistake.

I had been in the village for Azel. I love this kid, people think he is a rock of my sling. He was graduating from PP2 to Grade One on October 22^nd, two months after his birthday. The number 22 seems to be a blessing for him, so I’ll get him a Gor Mahia jersey with that number on the back. I would’ve initiated him into Manchester United fandom, but I don’t want him stressing over his blood pressure every game!

We’re moving down the hill toward the isolated polytechnic outside Narok Town, near Ntulele, where there’s little but a footbridge, well-made tarmac, and an animal crossing. The place is rich with all kinds of trees, baboons, monkeys, and possibly other wild animals hidden in the bushes. At this hour, it even smells of charcoal. Are they teaching students to make charcoal at night? There are no homes here, just bushes. Multimedia University has got nothing on this polytechnic for natural surroundings!

Wait, I was telling you about Azel’s graduation… He got to school early for practice, and we followed a bit later. I can see him in the crowd, my young, handsome guy with his friend, he is scanning around to find us. He looks tired and weak, probably still worn out from that malaria he’s been fighting. All I want in that moment is to knock that malaria out myself. When he loses hope and starts heading back to the training area, I quickly send a friend to bring him over to where we’re sitting, me, Mum, and my “sisters,” Millie and Mercy.

When he gets to us, I can tell he’s hungry just by the look on his face, so I hand him his favourite combo, tomato crisps and vanilla yogurt. But he gives me a polite, “No, thank you,” which hits me right in the heart. I ask him what he actually wants as he tugs on my arm, pulling me up. Turns out he needs money for his graduation badge, so I cover it and get him some ice cream too, he’d asked for it.

Parents watch the “Holistic Space Academy” pupils perform. “Holistic Space” is Azel’s school, and these kids are talented! The music club is fantastic, truly entertaining… Soon, Azel’s class, PP2, is welcomed by the music band, led by their teacher, Teacher Rose, who organizes them into two neat lines, girls in front, boys at the back, all by height. Brave little souls, each of them, dressed in black and yellow gowns with badges neatly fastened on the left. They perform songs and poems, with one that stands out, “We Are No Longer Babies.” They say goodbye to kindergarten. The school really lives up to its name, they’ve created such a well-rounded environment here. The event is beautiful. Azel is back to his happy, playful self, he gets his certificate, they cut the cake, and then we head home.

Everything’s good at home, Azel’s happy, schools are closed, and he’s officially no longer a baby. Next year, he’ll be in Grade One, and he’ll be traveling to Nairobi soon!

Finally, it’s the big day. Azel’s up just after 5 AM, barely slept, ready to go, even though we’re technically not leaving until 8:45. You’ll understand why I say technically.I get up around 7, and I can already hear him by the front door, singing, “Ninaenda Nairobi.” It’s the little things that make kids happy. We finish preparing, and before we leave, Mum gathers us for a prayer, she prays for the things made with the hand of man to allow us arrive safe. After that moment, we say our goodbyes and leave for the booking office.

But when we arrive, I realize I’ve booked us on the night bus instead of the morning one. Frustration bubbles up, especially with Azel along for the ride, so I call my mum and my sister Stella, Azel’s mum. They both seem okay with us traveling at night, which eases my mind. I call my Okada man, Babgy, and we head back home to wait for the night.

At this point, Azel can’t afford to lose sight of me, he thinks I might pull a fast one and leave him in the village. What keeps his hopes high is the fact that we left his bag at the booking office. My little guy, who’s no longer a baby, is happy, and when he’s in a good mood, he praises everyone around him. He calls me “Ado,” calls Millie “Amillo,” and the best moment comes when he sees our neighbor Ada. He moves closer to her, saying, “Eiii Ada, Jaberrrr,” in his best Luo accent. Hearing this from a kid is just wonderfully fantastic.

The time comes to say goodbye and Azel’s dream of travelling to Nairobi is finally a reality!

@okelododdychitchats

Through Guarded Eyes

I never really know how you feel
Your emotions are a mystery to me
I try to understand, but it’s like trying to read
A book written in a language I don’t know

I look into your eyes, searching for a clue
But they remain guarded, giving nothing away
Do you feel the same way I do?
Or am I just a passing fancy to you?

I can’t read your mind, no matter how I try
I wish I could see into your heart
To know if I truly have a place there
Or if I’m just a temporary distraction

I just keep waiting, hoping for a sign
That you feel something for me too
But the silence is deafening, the uncertainty overwhelming
I’m left wondering if I’m alone in this love

Take me to your heart, show me where to start
Lead me on the path to your true feelings
Let me be the one you turn to in joy and sorrow
Let me play the part of your first love

I try to be patient, to give you time
To let you come to your own conclusions
But the waiting is agonizing, the doubts growing
I long to hear the words that will set me free

Oh, I know deep down you love me
I can see it in the way you look at me
In the gentle touch of your hand, the warmth of your smile
But are you ever gonna love me
The way I love you?

I pour my heart out to you, laying it bare
Hoping you’ll see the depth of my feelings
But you remain closed off, keeping your secrets
I wonder if I’ll ever break through to you

I dream of a future where we are together
Where our love shines bright for all to see
But reality keeps intruding, casting doubt
Am I just a dreamer, hoping for the impossible?

I long to hear you say the words I crave
To know that you feel the same way I do
But until that day comes, I’ll keep waiting
Hoping that our love will find its way

I never really know how you feel
But I’ll keep trying to understand
I’ll keep waiting for the moment
When you open up your heart to me

And until then, I’ll hold onto the hope
That one day you’ll see me as I see you
And our love will finally be free
To bloom and grow for eternity.

@okelododdychitchats

Holy Hypocrisy

Why did I stop going to church? One of the funniest reasons I’ve heard is, “My pastor was crippled and healing cripples. Like, why not heal yourself?” It’s a dark statement, but I get where they’re coming from. Let’s be honest, are these people God’s messengers or money makers in Poverty Pulpits ?

I believe in God, but I have a million questions. My friend and colleague, Evans Asudi challenges me every time we have a discussion about religion and the existence of God, he argues that the design of the universe, nature, and everything in it must have an origin. My question is, is that origin the God of the Christian Bible, Allah of the Muslim Quran, or the supernatural forces in Buddhist texts like the Tripitaka? I’m not saying these religions worship entirely different gods. They argue as if they do, but interestingly, they all seem to agree on the same devil. Crazy, right? Anyway, I believe in God and identify as Christian, but I rarely go to church. I have my reasons !

As a kid, I always questioned my existence, and while that hasn’t changed, I now find myself questioning the origins of religion. Who created it, and what was it really meant to achieve? History shows how religion has been used to create divisions, often for political gain, and it still happens today. Different religions hold varying beliefs, and even within Christianity, denominations clash. Paul even addressed this in Corinthians, questioning why Christians were divided when they were all baptized in Christ’s name. These divisions are often exploited for political purposes, given the strong influence religion has on society and politics.

I was raised in a strict Christian background where questioning the church or its leaders was off-limits. It was considered disrespectful and even thought to bring curses. Looking back, I laugh at how much I used to fear that. But, even as a kid, I could see pastors giving in to “earthly” temptations, sins they were never held accountable for. They seemed untouchable, immune to any form of criticism. Over time, this made me start questioning things more deeply, and now it’s part of why I find it difficult to step inside just any church today.

To make sense of where we are, let’s start with the history of Christianity. It began in the 1st century after Jesus’ death as a Judaic sect with some Hellenistic influences. The Catholic Church claims to be the original, with the first church said to be in Jerusalem. Over time, Christianity branched into several groups like the Church of the East, Oriental Orthodoxy, Eastern Orthodoxy, Roman Catholicism, Protestantism, and Restorationism.

In its early days, the traditional churches built schools, hospitals, and provided services that genuinely benefited the community. They did this without exploiting their congregants. But as time went on, evangelical churches started popping up what one of my great of all time writer, Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie calls “mushroom churches” in her book “Purple Hibiscus”. I’m not generalizing all evangelical churches, but many sprouted after the colonial period, often without any regulation, and some have become quite problematic.

These churches often target vulnerable people, especially our mothers. With this, sometimes, I tend to believe that the colonialists had a plan, schools for the children, prisons for the fathers, and churches for the mothers. Anyway, that’s just a detour, let’s get back on track…A lot of these churches manipulate their followers, brainwashing them into accepting whatever the pastor says without question while reasoning that questioning will lead to the unthinkable,absurd! When pastors claim that questioning them will lead to whatever, it’s really just a way to manipulate their followers. You don’t fail or fall by speaking up or seeking answers for God’s sake !

Times without number, I’ve also heard pastors glorify poverty, insisting that wealth distances you from God, they say that having money makes you less inclined to pray. These same pastors live in luxury, strikingly paradoxical ! Some even discourage their followers from seeking medical help, claiming that doing so demonstrates a lack of faith in God, despite the Bible stating, “faith without action is dead.” Are they referring to something who’s content they do not understand or did it change overnight ?

It’s ironic how these extreme churches often have the largest followings. And what really frustrates me is the constant fundraising, with no transparency on where the money goes. I’m tired of seeing congregants grow poorer while pastors grow wealthier. Churches should be shaping and speaking up for the community, but many stay silent when it doesn’t affect them…I am just sick and tired of this top tier deception, emotional control, psychological tactics, coercion, gas lighting, name it all! let me take a break! One day, we’ll go deeper into this, especially on how pastors are now called “Daddy” and their wives “Mummy.”

@okelododdychitchats

Bad Man Bache

“Larry Madowo fascinates me! Someday, I’ll be like him-maybe even better! I adore him, I love watching him, let’s go watch The Trend.” These were Steve’s words. Back then, Larry was still just a journalist working for Nation Television (NTV) and hadn’t yet risen to the heights of his career. Steve admired him deeply and loved how he did his journalism. The first time I watched “The Trend” by Larry Madowo was because of Steve. I loved it, except for the time slot-10:00 PM on a Friday! Despite that, it became a weekly routine. Steve influenced a lot in my life, he rekindled my love for football, got me into PlayStation, and would even walk me through the ladies’ hostel just to do nothing! (This is unnecessary information for sure) Steve is a good man, he’s going to heaven for sure.”

Steve, drop that! Let’s call him Bache. Bache is now a three-time award-winning journalist. He began his journey right after campus in 2021, starting with the BetKing Premier League (The Kenyan Premier League (KPL) was rebranded as the BetKing Premier League due to a sponsorship deal with BetKing, a sports betting company), then moving to Mozzart, and now he’s at Sportpesa making history. He loves sports. He has become my favorite journalist, so natural and creative! He writes and hosts the “Match-Xperience” segments. What I’ve learned from his journey is that it’s all about passion, sticking to the plan, and being focused. It’s less about being a jack of all trades and a master of none! Bache is amazing. I love his minimalist nature, how he goes about things, how carefree he is, and his sense of humour. Honestly, I love how he manages to do it all, from work to managing his finances-he’s quick at thinking and solving problems. The only thing he might struggle with, though not badly, is style and fashion. He’s a bit basic in that department. And oh, I almost forgot, he doesn’t have a girlfriend. Or Bache, do you have one now? If you do, I’ll gladly accept her, just make sure she doesn’t drop the name Bache! And to any ladies reading this, Steve is a good man!

Bache was the first one to attend class, it wasn’t his problem! He was just doing the right thing by showing up, kwani nini ilitupeleka shule ? But for the Logic and Critical Thinking lecturer, Ochieng Jaffas (I hope I’m spelling that right), having only one student for the first class was a big deal, infact a sacrilege. His comments afterward really set the tone and filled us with dread. We were first-years, after all, we had to fear! Jaffas was a Cold-hearted atheist who didn’t believe in God or Thomas Aquinas’ theories on God’s existence, despite having once wanted to become a priest. His way of teaching tickled the funny bone. But I’m getting off-topic. Jaffas instilled fear in us, making us believe we would all fail-except Bache, who attended class. That fear changed a lot of people’s views on higher education. Eventually, Bache joined us in our antics, and despite being jokers, we all passed our exams. We mastered the content in class and watched UEFA Champions League matches during the exam period. You could say we were geniuses!

Oh, and there’s something else, Bache is actually my cousin. I didn’t even know until a coincidental, and somewhat unfortunate moment. It’s one of those stories I’ll tell someday, but for now, let’s just say it’s a part of what makes our bond special. Life has a funny way of connecting the dots, doesn’t it?

I could say a lot more about Bache, but I’ll stop here for now. We’ll continue this conversation once I master the art of speaking confidently in front of a crowd!

@okelododdychitchats

To Dream, We Must Leave

We stand in the land of our birth,
Where the soil is rich,
Yet dreams suffocate beneath heavy skies,
And hopes lie buried where they mourn.

Here, we are born with hands wide open,
Grasping air, reaching for a future yet to be revealed.
But the streets tell us stories of hunger,
Of shackled lives and promises unfulfilled.

We grow, we study, we strive in vain,
Taught to believe that success is near,
Yet the doorways close, and the silence whispers,
“You have no room to dream here.”

So we turn our eyes toward the seas,
To lands where the stars seem to shine.
We leave in desperation, hearts heavy with hope,
Chasing a life that might finally be mine.

But in the hands of strangers, we are trapped,
Told lies of riches, and work that promised success,
Only to find chains where freedom was denied,
And shadows where truth reveals.

Our sisters sold into prostitution, our brothers enslaved,
In distant lands where our names are lost,
The price of our dreams is paid in pain,
And no one speaks of the cost.

Oh, Africa, land of forgotten wealth,
Your soil rich, your people poor,
Why do you allow your children to lose their way?
Why must we leave to dream once more?

If only self-interest could fade,
If justice could rise from the dirt,
Perhaps then we’d stand unshackled,
And know what it is to dream without hurt.

But until then, we flee, we fight,
Crossing borders, losing sight,
Of who we are, of where we’re from,
For in our lands, we cannot dream as one.

Why We Must Reclaim Our Right to Dream at Home

Dreaming is a universal right, it is for everyone, not just a select few. Dreaming allows us to look ahead to better futures, pursue opportunities, and shape our lives. Yet, for many Africans, dreaming feels like a distant privilege. Whether educated or not, skilled or unskilled, the struggle for a better life remains an unstoppable force. For most, the only option to escape this harsh reality is leaving home in search of greener pastures abroad, whether legally or illegally.

But these journeys are often treacherous. Promises of good jobs and better lives abroad lead many into the traps of human trafficking and exploitation, Sad! The stories are painfully familiar, young men and women, driven by desperation, leave their homes only to find themselves trapped in modern-day slavery. Some are forced into labour without pay, others into prostitution. They lose not only their freedom but also their identities, their dignity! Having been deceived into believing that life outside Africa holds the answers they seek.

The tragedy is that these journeys take their origin from a single painful truth, many African countries don’t allow their citizens the freedom to dream at home. In a continent so rich in natural resources, oil, diamonds, gold, copper, and more. This reality is hard to reconcile. But the wealth of Africa is often mismanaged or hoarded by a select few, leaving the majority to struggle. Corruption, poor governance, and self-interest have prevented this wealth from translating into opportunities for ordinary people. Instead of developing industries that can employ millions, or investing in systems that allow citizens to thrive, resources are drained to feed the desires of a few. And so, we are forced to seek out dreams elsewhere, in lands that promise more but often deliver less.

Why must we leave to dream? Why can’t we fulfil our ambitions at home? The answer lies in the conditions that force so many to flee. Opportunities are scarce, infrastructure is weak, and education systems, while improving, often fall short in equipping young people with the skills they need to compete in a global economy, take a look at what the 8.4.4 education system in Kenya achieved and compare it to what the Competency-Based Curriculum (CBC) is doing now. Both systems have well-designed structures, but due to poor implementation, they will for certain fail to equip students with the skills needed for real-life success. Those who do succeed in gaining education or skills often find there are no jobs to match their qualifications. And while entrepreneurship is an option for some, it is often hampered by a lack of access to capital, poor infrastructure, and overly complicated regulations.

These challenges create a vicious cycle where leaving becomes the only viable option. But leaving doesn’t always lead to the freedom or success that many envision. Human trafficking has become one of the most dangerous industries preying on vulnerable Africans. Unscrupulous agents lure people with promises of high-paying jobs abroad, only to subject them to brutal conditions once they arrive. Men, women, and children are often forced into hard labour or sold into sexual exploitation, trapped far from home and without the means to escape. They either do it, or they pay for it with their lives! These stories project an image of a wider problem, a continent whose potential is stifled, whose children are forced to seek safety, success, and dignity far away.

But it doesn’t have to be this way. Africa can become a place where dreams are born and fulfilled. It begins with us demanding better governance and believing in our potential. For too long, corruption and manipulation has drained the lifeblood of African countries, siphoning off billions that could be used to create jobs, build schools, improve healthcare, and support industries that generate wealth for the people. Good governance where leaders are accountable and resources are managed responsibly can create environments where opportunities flourish. With transparent systems in place, we can begin to build the infrastructure that allows businesses to grow and employ people, reducing the need for migration in search of work.

Education is another crucial piece of the puzzle. For Africa to truly grow and develop, we must invest in quality, accessible education. Young people need not only academic skills but also practical, vocational training that allows them to build sustainable livelihoods. Entrepreneurship, too, should be nurtured. Africa is brimming with untapped talent and creativity. With better access to finance, mentorship, and infrastructure, local businesses can thrive, creating jobs and lifting communities out of poverty.

We also need to protect those who seek opportunities abroad. Migration should be a choice, not a necessity. African governments must work with international organizations to create safer, legal pathways for those who wish to work in other countries. Stronger labour protections and better enforcement of anti-trafficking laws can prevent many from falling into the traps of exploitation. But most importantly, we need to build systems that make staying home a viable option so that Africans no longer feel the need to leave in order to live their dreams.

Africa’s wealth should be used for the benefit of its people. For too long, multinational corporations have extracted resources from the continent without giving back to local communities. If African governments prioritize local ownership and control of resources, they can reinvest profits into vital sectors like infrastructure, education, and healthcare. This, in turn, creates a foundation for long-term development. When managed responsibly, Africa’s natural wealth can lift millions out of poverty, turning our vast resources into a force for good.

We also need to empower communities through civic education. People need to understand their rights and hold leaders accountable. An informed and active citizenry can demand better services, transparency, and the creation of real opportunities for all. Civic engagement helps ensure that governments prioritize the needs of their people over their own self-interests.

The story of Africa is not one of despair. It is one of potential of a continent that has everything it needs to make significant progress, but hasn’t yet realized its full potential. By tackling the root causes of migration, human trafficking, and exploitation, we can create a future where Africans can dream and build fulfilling lives at home. This is not just a possibility, it is a matter of urgency.

We must reclaim our right to dream, and we must do so on African soil. Only then will we see a future where migration is no longer a necessity but a choice. Only then will we stop the tragic stories of exploitation that have plagued our communities for far too long. Africa is rich, not just in minerals, but in the brilliance of its people. It is time for that brilliance to shine here, where it belongs. To do that, we must invest in our people, build our institutions, and ensure that every African has the chance to dream, right at home.

@okelododdychitchats