Life. Seasoned with perspective.
“From humble beginnings, this is a reflection on family and the resilience that shapes life’s most meaningful moments. It shows how celebration carries deeper meaning when it follows seasons of struggle and perseverance.”
Door opens. Door closes. Door opens. Door closes.
For a moment I thought I was dreaming.
I looked at the clock. 3.58 a.m. East African Time. I had just gone to bed moments earlier.
“Mum???” someone shouted. That was my nephew Jathan.
“Aah! Stop!” came another voice. That was Nia, my little girl, the star of the day.
No, I was definitely not dreaming.
It was Friday morning. The 6th of March. A big day for the Mulanda family.
Let us pause there for a moment.
Allow me to take you back to our village and the beginnings of the Mulanda household.
We came from humble roots. Both our parents were teachers. Our father was a high school principal while our mother taught in a primary school. Life was simple, but it was full of joy and adventure.
Those were the days when Christmas truly felt like Christmas. New clothes and a meal of chapatiwere reserved for special occasions like that. When the village photographer arrived to take a family photo, that moment alone felt like the crown of the entire day.
I remember my siblings and I sitting under the guava trees that dotted our compound. We would spread out a mat and our mother would record us singing on a cassette player. Those recordings were pure magic. Our sister Christine was always the star. She was easily the most talented among the four of us. She could beat a rhythm on a drum and sing beautifully at the same time. After every recording session we would gather around the cassette player to listen to ourselves. It was our version of a concert.
Christine also had the best handwriting in the family. Ironically she is left handed. That fact caused her quite a bit of trouble growing up. Our father insisted she use her right hand and for a long time she received a fair share of discipline over it until everyone eventually accepted that it simply was not going to change. Interestingly enough, she also had the best relationship with our father. If there was something you wanted and you knew the answer would be no, you sent Christine as the messenger. She had a way of convincing him. We used that advantage quite often.
By now you may have guessed that today’s story is about my sister Christine. The girl whose beauty constantly reminds us of our late mother. Last Friday was her wedding day.
The excitement in the family was something you could almost touch. Truth be told, our family has walked through many storms. Between childhood and adulthood, we have experienced moments that are painful to remember. There are chapters in our story that only faith could carry us through. If resilience had a family portrait, we would probably appear somewhere in that gallery.
Our parents were not there to witness this moment. Our mother passed away in 2001, even before I joined college. Our father left us in 2022. Their absence was deeply felt, but life still moves forward.
Our eldest brother Tim now carries the role of father in the family.
Back to that early morning.
When I finally stepped out of my bedroom after the noise, I realized my house had transformed into a beehive of activity. Children ran around in their pajamas. Laughter filled every corner. In the middle of it all sat the bride, glowing with quiet happiness as we reminisced about childhood memories. Before long, the film crew arrived and suddenly the house felt like a movie set. Time has a strange way of moving faster on days like these. One moment we were sharing stories in the living room. The next moment we were seated in church.
Nia, my little girl, walked down the aisle not throwing flower petals like tradition dictates, but handing out sweets to the small gathering of family and friends. It was a simple ceremony. Intimate. Beautiful.
I found myself fighting back tears as my daughter walked confidently in front of the congregation.
In exactly one hour and fifteen minutes, my sister walked into a new chapter of life and took on a new surname.
But this story is not just about a wedding. It is about resilience. From humble beginnings in Ekedoli village to this moment of celebration, our journey has been filled with lessons, loss, perseverance, and hope. Every step has carried both struggle and grace.
When you grow up through hardship, celebrations carry a deeper meaning. They remind you that joy can survive even the toughest storms.
As we drove home that evening, I thought about how far we had come as a family. The guava trees, the cassette recordings, the childhood laughter, the loss of our parents, and now this beautiful new beginning.
Life does not always move in straight lines.
Sometimes it bends. Sometimes it breaks. But every once in a while it pauses to remind you that joy still exists.
And on that Friday morning, at 3.58 a.m., with doors opening and closing and children laughing through the house, joy had finally come knocking for the Mulandas.
And this time, we were ready to open the door.
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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