There was once upon a time a teacher of mine at high school, Mr. Mundia. He is dead He Used to tell us that “An African’s stomach is a museum of horror.”For some time I toyed with the idea of ending up as a Medical Doctor just to have a look at an African’s Stomach. And some years later after joining the University I still don’t or can’t imagine if I ended up in the medical field. My Grandmother always wanted me to be teachers bring up human beings who respect knowledge justice, fairness equality and morality. My Mother had a different plan altogether. And to my guilt of wanting a good paying job in the corporate world, believing that’s the answer to the answer to all the hustle of looking for a job and always believing knowing that Business is my first Love. After Realizing I wont be able to see an “Africans stomach “and six years down the line My Grandmother still tells me I could still be a Teacher. In a nutshell I have grown up not knowing what I want to be and still force something to be enjoyable everyday. That kid who comes to you and tells you Mum or DAD When I grow up I would like to be a pilot Does He or She know what they are going to put themselves through? That brings the Question that happiness comes into ones life if only one is doing something which one loves to do with ones whole being so that there is no inner contradiction, no war between what you are doing and what you think you should be doing. That’s my story of how I ended up in Corporate Kenya. And I’m not trading it for nothing else[1]
