Life. Seasoned with perspective.
“Growth, learning, and the value of guidance across different stages of life, showing how simple moments and shared experiences quietly shape character and direction over time.”
Many years ago, I sat with my mum in the kitchen, watching embers glow beneath a jiko as we prepared a simple meal of ugali, sukuma wiki and beef stew. This was our rhythm. She would set the sufuria, wait for the water to bubble, then take on the almost sacred task of stirring the ugali while I watched in admiration. That day, however, something changed. Just as the water began to boil, she pushed the maize flour towards me and placed the cooking stick in my hand.
I froze.
“Mum, what if it does not cook well and has ‘tsimbunda’?” I asked, already imagining the embarrassment of lumps.
She smiled calmly and said, “We will eat anyway.”
I was six years old. And just like that, I learned my first lesson in courage.
No one starts perfect. No one is born ready. Growth is messy, uncomfortable, and often filled with lumps. Learning demands patience and commitment. But here is the quiet truth no one tells you early enough. Effort alone is not enough. At some point, guidance matters.
This past week, after the kids went back to school, the house fell into a rare silence. No homework reminders. No gadget negotiations. No running commentary from the living room. I finally had a weekend to myself. I chose to spend it with one of my mentors.
Before I get to that Saturday, let me rewind a little.
Over the years, I have been fortunate to know several movers and shakers in the media industry, not just professionally but personally. One of them, let us call him Mr J, has shaped me in ways he probably does not even realize. Anyone who has worked in media knows that regime changes are nerve wracking. New bosses arrive with new teams, new loyalties, and new rules. Jobs suddenly feel temporary. Influence becomes fragile.
In media, this fear is amplified. New leadership often comes with a full reset. But there is one constant that never fails. When your work speaks clearly, you worry less.
When Mr J arrived, a wave of big names followed. Titles. Reputations. Strong opinions. Yet somehow, we clicked almost immediately. We found a rhythm. An understanding. I made a personal decision to learn from him, quietly and intentionally.
We worked on a major project that some senior managers dismissed outright. They did not believe in it. They questioned its relevance. They doubted its future. We pushed on anyway. Soon, the project picked up an unofficial name. People started calling it “Mr J and Kibisu’s product.” Funny thing is, when it became the talk of the town, the country, and even the region, everyone wanted a piece of the credit. Even the loudest doubters.
That is how it goes.
So Saturday came. I woke up around nine, sent Mr J a message, and asked about the plan. Simple. Visit his farm deep in Isinya, then swing by mine and call it a day. We had not seen each other since the year began, and this was long overdue.
Mentorship is not always about sitting across a table and listing life lessons. Most times, the real learning happens in the in between moments. In the laughter. In the silence. In watching how someone moves.
After passing through Kitengela, Kisaju, and Isinya town, the scenery softened. Cowbells chimed. Goats hopped across the road with zero regard for traffic rules. Sheep stared blankly at passing vehicles. I laughed to myself, wondering why humans are often compared to sheep. I digress.
At the farm, as expected, the tour came first. Every visit reveals something new. More pigs. More rabbits. Doves everywhere. Capsicums. Spinach. Kales. But what always stands out is not the volume of activity. It is the passion. The way he explains every detail. The way his eyes light up when he talks about soil, cycles, and patience. That kind of investment cannot be faked.
We sat down for a generous meal, shared stories, and laughed. Before I left, he handed me two tree seedlings and packets of seeds. A quiet gesture. A loud message.
It was past six in the evening, but he insisted we stick to the plan. We drove to my farm. He wanted to see a new project I had started. That, right there, is another lesson. Find a mentor who cares enough to show up.
As darkness settled, we walked around, greeted neighbors, caught up with mutual friends, and talked about life. By the time he left, it was past eight thirty. I stood there feeling enriched, grounded, and deeply grateful.
Driving home later, I thought about that day in the kitchen with my mum. How she trusted a six-year-old to stir the pot, knowing it might fail. Knowing it would still be eaten. Growth works the same way. You try. You fail. You learn. And when you are lucky, someone older places the stick in your hand and says, go ahead. We will eat anyway.
That is how you grow. One imperfect stir at a time.
About the author:
Kibisu Mulanda is a media executive and strategic communicator with over 20 years of experience in television, NGO storytelling, and youth-focused content. He is the Acting Head of Switch Media Ltd and teaches media at the Kenya Institute of Mass Communication (KIMC). A Certified SIYB Trainer, he blends storytelling with strategy to drive social impact.
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