Conversations With My 10-Year-Old Self

I honestly can’t believe it’s been a year and two months since this blog journey. I know I haven’t kept in touch for so long—or rather, I’ve been writing very, very slowly. Now, I have so much to say, but putting it into pen and paper—or keyboard and Word document—has become a sport. I start, and before I know it, I’ve run off into another topic like a kid distracted by sweets. But first things first: thank you. To everyone who has been reading, sharing, and commenting. To everyone who has pushed me to write and to be better. To everyone who has dreamed with me. I promised this journey wouldn’t be ephemeral, so here I am—hoping that my words leave a mark on at least one of you, if not all of you.

So, I saw a question that intrigued me. I decided I’d write about it here, maybe even start a series of some sort. I’ll explain as we go—or maybe you’ll figure it out on your own. The question was:

You walk into your childhood bedroom and see your 10-year-old self sitting there. What does she tell you, and what do you tell her?

I was not 10 here, but I needed a picture

When I first saw this question, I couldn’t help but count back to when exactly I turned 10. Then I had to remind myself where I was—it was just before we moved to where I live now. Gosh, that feels like an eternity ago. I try to remember what I was going through at 10, but honestly, I can barely recall.“Sometimes, we need to look back at the child we once were to remember the joy, courage, and wonder we’ve misplaced along the way.” — Unknown

If my 10-year-old self could ask me questions, I’m sure she’d ask if we finally left the school we didn’t like (the one that tortured us with endless homework and endless mum visits to school 🙃). She’d ask if her cat is still alive. She’d ask how her parents and grandparents are. I have glimpses of that year, but not the full movie reel.

But just because I don’t remember exactly what I was going through, I can definitely tell you what I was up to. I was a very playful girl. Studies at this age? Not a priority. But playing? Playing was LIFE. I’d stay up late just playing. I was into catching frogs and tadpoles (I know, I’m scared of them now, but 10-year-old me was basically Steve Irwin). Maybe it’s because I hadn’t yet seen enough scary things in this world.I loved kalongolongo (cha mama na cha baba). I don’t think a single day passed without it. Hide-and-seek was another obsession, and the places I hid still freak me out—why on earth was I hiding behind our plot where sewage literally poured? But did I care? Nope. Winning was the goal, and I was willing to risk cholera for it. And then there was cha mwalimu. Ahhh, the joy of caning people (in the name of education, of course). Now I smile about it, because wow, did I love “discipline.”

Now, about what I would tell her. I first tried thinking it through, but I realized I had mucene mob. So instead, let me just write from the heart.

About school—yes, we finally got out. The not-doing-your-homework and mum-being-called-everyday routine worked. Actually, it worked a little too well, because you ended up in boarding school. Surprise! Your cat? Sadly, no, she’s not alive. But she lived for 19 years with you (a whole legend), and all the cats you have now are from her lineage. You thought having one cat was awesome? Try seven. Yes—seven little fur bosses running the house.

My grandma and I

Your grandmother is still your favorite person on earth. Your grandpa, however, is now enjoying the life of milk and honey. You miss him dearly. Your parents? They’re no longer just parents—they’re also your friends. You love the conversations you now have with them. Give them grace, though. They’re figuring out this life and parenting thing for the first time too.

This was our Sunday and visiting uniform, the rest of the days our uniform was green and hideous also, do not let the smile fool you, we were in a boot camp.

I would also tell you that boarding school sucks. Sure, it had its good days, but it also taught you resilience, how to survive without missing people too much, and how to work hard. Backstory: When, I first joined, I was excited. A new school! No awkwardness because everyone was new! A fresh start! Little did I know this meant duties, fetching water, sieving beans, peeling potatoes, washing clothes, harvesting maize…basically farm-girl boot camp. Things I’d never done in my life, I did there. I would tell you: breathe. Enjoy the good moments. You have nothing to prove.

The dolls in question

Keep your playfulness. Ten-year-old me knew how to have fun—whether it was kalongolongo, hide-and-seek, cha mwalimu, or officiating weddings (if you know, you know; if you don’t, check my previous blogs 😅). That silliness? It makes life so much lighter.

My parents even played kalongolongo with me. My grandma taught me how to carry dolls kwa mgongo. I’d visit my “parents” (their bedroom was my house, the living room was the “neighborhood”), carrying my dad’s briefcase or my giant fairytale book. My mum would play grandma, my dad grandpa, and they’d fully participate in my shenanigans until news hour—when my dad would sigh and say, nikona story mob. Oh, and let’s not forget the legendary game dad invented: he was the lion, and my sisters and I were the antelopes. He’d chase us in our tiny house, catch us, and tickle us until we screamed for mercy. I loved that game. I can’t wait to play it with my kids—or watch him play it with them.

I’d tell her: embrace the unknown. Don’t be too serious about scheduling your life. (Who am I kidding? Even now I still struggle with spontaneity). But try—it may surprise you. Some experiences don’t need an itinerary. Just live. Romanticize the little things. Dance. Sing your heart out. At 10, I didn’t even know I could sing. I just thought everyone sounded like me (spoiler: they didn’t). Stop hiding your voice—sing like you own the stage.

After Sunday School

Continue going to Sunday School. Your foundation in Christ depends on it. You’ll get your First Holy Communion at 14, and it’ll change your life. You’ll still wrestle with salvation for a while, but eventually God will become your everything. And that’s all that matters.

Oh, and those storybooks mum forced you to read and narrate back? They turned you into a bookworm. Who knew forced labor would work out so well? 😂

It’s funny—my shadow work this week was about what I would tell my 18-year-old self. That girl was going through the MOST. If you want to know what I’d tell her, comment below 👀.

“If ten-year-old me could see me now, she’d probably just ask for frogs, cats, and a new hiding spot. And honestly? That’s the kind of simplicity I still need.” But I wouldn’t give her heavy advice. She barely understood life as it was. Instead, I’d hug her so tight. The journey is just beginning. It’ll be bumpy, but she’s tough. I’d hug her so tight. The journey is just beginning. It’ll be bumpy, but she’s tough. She’ll make it. I know she will— SHE ’S ME