I remember how proud my mother looked, how my younger sisters cried and hugged me.
Everyone said, “You’ll come back rich, Auntie. You’re going to lift this family.”
But life humbled me in ways I never expected.
I worked in a household of eight people. I would sleep at 3 a.m. and wake up at 4:30 a.m. I barely ate.
My boss withheld my salary for months, telling me stories like “Kuna system problems” or “We will pay you tomorrow.”
I was abused, insulted, and treated like a possession.
By the time I finally escaped and managed to return home in 2022, I had nothing. Not even 10,000 Ksh in my pocket.
Worse, people in the village whispered behind my back:
“Alirudi bila kitu.”
“She wasted her chance.”
“Gulf hakumfai.”
I cried myself to sleep many nights. I had dreams of owning a beauty shop, buying land, and giving my family a better life.
But I felt cursed. No matter what small job I tried salon, selling thrift clothes, even hawking money slipped through my fingers like water.
Something was wrong.
One Sunday evening, as we were talking, my auntie, who had never liked my mother slipped and said, “We warned you never to let that girl go to Gulf. Some things were already said about her path.”
That night, my cousin secretly called me and told me the truth:
Someone from our extended family performed a ritual so that even if I worked abroad, I would return poorer than I left.
That information broke me.
I realized I wasn’t just unlucky.
I was fighting something spiritual.TO READ FULL STORY, TAP HERE.