Life, Seasoned with perspective.
“A reflective look at growing up, parenting, and the quiet pressures young people carry. It explores how love, presence, and understanding shape identity far more than fear or perfection ever could.”
Half Term, Whole Lessons
It is half term according to the Ministry of Education calendar.
This past weekend I drove to pick up my firstborn from school. I was intentional about it. She is a candidate this year, and with that comes pressure. I remember my own final year tension. It was not just about books. Boarding school has a way of testing you beyond academics.
I went to boarding school in class three. Much younger than my daughter is now. Circumstances forced my mother’s hand. Looking back as a parent, I doubt that decision was easy for her. But it was necessary. That chapter of my childhood carries both pain and strength.
Boarding school for me was adventure wrapped in confusion. There were beautiful moments and there were chaotic ones. If I narrated all the mischief I got into, it would fill a small book. Let me tell you about one.
I was in class seven. That age when identity becomes a loud question in your head. You are no longer a child but not yet anything else. Hormones are playing games and you are mostly reacting, not thinking.
One Sunday afternoon I walked quietly to a lonely pit latrine tucked behind the football pitch. At that hour no one went there. In my pocket was what I considered a tool of transformation. A needle. I had bought it during one of the rare outings allowed after mass. It was a strict Catholic school. Mass was our only ticket outside the compound.
What was I planning?
To pierce my ear.
I had been watching movies. The men in those films wore studs. They looked confident. Cool. Unbothered. I wanted that version of myself.
Inside that dusty latrine I tried. And tried again. The pain was sharp and humiliating. I could not finish the job. All I managed was to injure myself badly enough to leave evidence.
The Swahili say, msiba wa kujidunga hauna kilio. A wound you inflict on yourself attracts no sympathy.
By evening my ear was swelling aggressively. I had not used antiseptic. I had not used sense either. Then fate stepped in. As I turned toward the dining hall, I came face to face with the Sister in charge of the boarding section. One look at me and my rebellion was exposed.
My mother was called.
When she arrived the following day, she did not waste time on speeches. She inspected the ear, then the other one, lifted me by both and for a second I saw the world from a strange angle. Her signature double slap followed and stars danced before my eyes. I was fortunate not to be suspended. Instead I was granted a day out for proper treatment to avoid infection.
At the time it felt like the end of the world.
Now I see it differently.
Stress and confusion are not adult problems. Children carry heavy things too. Psychologists such as Dr. Gabor Maté remind us that while small doses of stress can build resilience, chronic pressure damages development. Today’s children live in an environment flooded with information, comparison, and silent expectations. Social media alone can magnify insecurity.
We grew up fearing authority. Today, fear is no longer an acceptable tool for extracting truth. Children’s behavior is deeply connected to their emotional state. When something shifts, there is usually a reason beneath it.
A week ago, out of the blue, we wrote a card to my daughter at school. It was simple. The closing line read, “We love you.”
Her reply came quickly. Inside it was a subtle tone that worried me. Nothing dramatic. Just enough to make a parent’s radar activate.
That is why I went to pick her myself.
The drive home became our safe space. No teachers. No classmates. No pressure. Just road, conversation, and time. I did not interrogate. I listened. Sometimes children do not need solutions. They need presence.
As she spoke, I realized something powerful.
Every generation has its version of the lonely pit latrine moment. The place where identity feels urgent. Where you try something risky just to belong. Where you hurt yourself because you are figuring out who you are.
The difference now is that our children navigate this while being watched by the world.
Half term is more than a school break. It is a checkpoint. A chance to recalibrate. To remind them they are loved beyond grades and beyond performance. To show them that home is not a courtroom but a refuge.
Looking back at my ear piercing disaster, I smile. It was foolish, yes. But it was also part of growing up. I learned boundaries. I learned consequences. I learned that identity cannot be forced through a needle.
As I dropped my daughter home, I felt something settle in my heart. Parenting is not about controlling every mistake. It is about walking beside them as they make sense of the world.
And sometimes, the most important lesson of half term is simply this.
You are not alone.
And that makes all the difference.
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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