Three years ago, I took a leap into the unknown. I walked away from a promising career in engineering and into the dynamic and uncertain world of advocacy.

At the time, I didn’t have formal training in social work or community development. The language of policy, the structures of inclusion, however, I had something stronger than fear, a belief that change begins with someone brave enough to start. I decided that someone could be me.

My decision was not just about personal transformation; it was grounded in a realisation that systems rarely changed unless those who are most affected took the lead. As a woman with disability, I lived through exclusion – from public spaces, from opportunities, from conversations that affected my future. I knew my story was not unique. And I knew that if the people closest to the problem were not centered in the solution, true change could not happen.

I didn’t want to wait for someone else to speak up. I wanted to be a voice that helped unlock doors for others, especially for girls and young women with disabilities, who were too often left behind in national dialogues about empowerment, education, and leadership.

My journey began in informal settlements, spaces often overlooked by policy. I volunteered with young women, many of whom lived with disability, poor, stigmatized, and forgotten. Together, we explored their rights around SRHR.

The work felt urgent. “When women and girls with disabilities are equipped with knowledge about their bodies, rights, and economic power, they are no longer passive recipients of charity.”

Those early conversations, raw, honest, and full of hope – lit a fire in me. I realized that I didn’t need to have all the answers. What mattered was a willingness to listen, to learn, and to lead with humility. I began attending advocacy trainings and workshops. This became my classrooms, which taught me about rights-based approaches, intersectionality, and how to navigate the spaces where policy is made.

As I grew, so did my role. I moved from being a volunteer to a community organiser – facilitating forums, dialogues, and safe spaces where people could talk openly about disability, gender, poverty, and inclusion. We began challenging not only how others viewed disability – but how we, ourselves, envisioned leadership and participation. Girls who were once silent began asking bold questions. Women who had never spoken in public were now leading discussions.

One of the most defining moments of my journey was successfully lobbyied for the implementation of the PWDs Act, a landmark law in Kenya that affirms the rights of persons with disabilities. It mandates employment quotas in public and private sectors, calls for accessible infrastructure in hospitals and public buildings, and requires inclusive transport systems. It was about more than passing a law, it was about making the law live in people’s day-to-day realities.

Along the way, I facilitated over 20 community dialogues with girls and women with disabilities, creating spaces for reflection, sharing, and empowerment. I also helped train over 50 young women in SRHR and basic entrepreneurship, equipping them with tools for self-reliance. And through those very trainings, I stepped into entrepreneurship myself starting a shoe business that reflects my resilience and growth.

Today, I stand proudly as an advocate, a businesswoman, and a woman rewriting her own narrative.