Jambo kutoka Kenya! (Hello from Kenya!)

There is something surreal about preparing for a journey that has lived in your imagination for months. For me, that preparation looked like endless checklists, doctor appointments, grant paperwork, packing cubes scattered across my bedroom floor, and repeatedly asking myself, Am I ready for this? I had spent so much time thinking about what Kenya would look like, what it would feel like, and how I would react once I finally arrived. Yet, despite all of that preparation, nothing could have prepared me for the moment I stepped off the plane in Nairobi.

After what felt like approximately seventeen business days of traveling, or more accurately, about twenty hours, I finally touched down in Kenya. I expected excitement, maybe a little nervousness, and definitely exhaustion. What I did not expect was the overwhelming sense of peace that found me. Almost instantly, I felt a quiet reassurance settle over me that simply said, you’re home.

I was greeted at the airport by my aunt and uncle, who welcomed me with warm hugs before bringing me to their home. There, I was reunited with even more extended family members. It had been nearly five years since I had last seen many of them, so being able to reconnect felt incredibly special. Time has a funny way of making people feel both familiar and brand new all at once.

The next few days were dedicated to recovering from the journey. My body was operating on what I can only describe as “international confusion.” Breakfast felt like bedtime, naps became my favorite hobby, and my internal clock had officially resigned from its position. Thankfully, after a few days, the jet lag finally surrendered.

During that first week, I had the opportunity to reconnect with my cousins and settle back into everyday life here. Naturally, some of our best moments happened around food.

Now, I feel obligated to make a very important public service announcement: Kenyan nyama choma (meat) deserves every bit of the hype!!!

I have had barbecue before, but the quality of the meat here is genuinely on another level. I do not know what they are doing differently, but whatever it is, they need to protect that secret with their lives.

After spending nearly a week in Nairobi adjusting to the time difference and reconnecting with family, it was finally time to begin the purpose of my journey. I traveled to Narok to begin my work with the Community Shakenisho Development Association, and within my first few days, one thing became abundantly clear: public health is so much more complicated, beautiful, and human than any textbook could ever capture.

Before coming to Kenya, I often imagined public health work as something driven primarily by data, interventions, and scientific evidence. While those things are certainly important, what I quickly learned is that meaningful community work begins long before any program is implemented. It begins with conversations, trust, and relationships that have been built over years.

Sitting in meetings with community leaders, elders, teachers, parents, and members of the Shakenisho team gave me a new appreciation for what it actually takes to run a community organization. Behind every initiative are countless hours of planning, problem-solving, fundraising, communication, and relationship-building. I found myself thinking not only about health outcomes, but also about sustainability, female empowerment, leadership, and the responsibility that comes with serving a community.

As someone who studied public health in college, I have spent years learning about concepts like the social determinants of health, the built environment, health communication, and health equity. I could explain these ideas on an exam, write about them in research papers, and discuss them in classroom conversations, but nothing compares to witnessing those concepts come alive in front of you.

One of the most meaningful parts of my experience so far has been getting to know young women who are around my age. On paper, our lives could not look more different. Many of the women I have met were married young and are already raising children, while I just graduated from college a few months ago and am still trying to figure out what adulthood is supposed to look like. Yet, the more time I spend with them, the more I realize how similar we actually are.

We laugh at the same jokes, tease each other, talk about relationships, and dream about the future. Recently, we spent an afternoon talking about mental health and what healthy relationships look like. The conversation was honest and vulnerable. Afterward, they invited me into their homes for tea, chapati, and roasted maize, and somewhere between all the laughter and stories, I found myself thinking about how strange and beautiful life can be.

These women carry responsibilities that I cannot fully understand. Many of them became wives and mothers long before I was even worrying about what I wanted to do after graduation. At the same time, they are still young women navigating friendship, identity, and the pressure of figuring out who they are in the world. It reminded me that everyone, regardless of their circumstances, deserves a third space: a place outside of work, family obligations, and expectations where they can simply exist, be heard, and be themselves.

As someone interested in public health, moments like these remind me that health is about so much more than hospitals and medicine. It is also about community, belonging, and creating spaces where people feel safe enough to laugh, reflect, and dream. Even though our lives have taken very different paths, I do not see these women as fundamentally different from me. More than anything, I see potential friendships, shared humanity, and a group of young women who, just like me, are trying to make sense of adulthood one day at a time.

When I applied for the Lumos grant months ago, I hoped that I would leave a meaningful impact on the communities I would have the privilege of working alongside. What I did not fully anticipate was how quickly those same communities would begin shaping me.

In just a few short weeks, Kenya has already challenged the way I think, deepened my understanding of public health, and reminded me that some of life’s greatest lessons can never be learned in a classroom.

If these first few weeks are any indication of what the next six months will hold, I know I will leave Kenya with far more than memories. I will leave with a richer understanding of what it truly means to serve others, a deeper appreciation for the resilience of the communities I have encountered, and a renewed sense of purpose for the work I hope to dedicate my life to.

And somehow, this is only the beginning.