From Doubt to Defiance

Are you also guilty? Because I think I need to report myself to you. Maybe you can help my situation.

When I took a trip to South Africa in 2019, I was confronted with a truth I could no longer ignore. I met young people who were transforming their communities, solving problems I had assumed were too big for someone our age. They didn't have four heads. They weren't waiting for permission. And I? I was guilty—guilty of not starting early, of disregarding my responsibility to make my own decisions, of letting injustice slide. I was guilty of allowing people who have never walked a step in our shoes to call the shots, to define the course of our lives. I had surrendered my chance—and that of my community—at happiness, peace, and justice.

I was guilty as charged.

But not anymore.

When COVID struck, I was home, watching teenage mothers struggle to survive. Some had been abandoned, others were begging for food, and their hope had been stolen before their lives had even begun. I couldn't just watch. I called my friends, and we asked ourselves one simple question: What can we do for just one girl?

Ideas started flowing. "We can teach them how to bake," someone said. We had no funding, no big organization behind us—just the skills in our hands and the will to act. In two days, we taught over 100 young women how to make money. And then something happened that I will never forget. One girl looked at me and said, "You gave us hope. I was ready to take my life, but now I see a future."

That was the moment I realized: I am the solution in my community. And if I can be, so can others.

Now, every two months, we train hundreds of young women, equipping them with skills, knowledge, and confidence. But change isn't just about empowerment—it's also about policy. Too often, the people making decisions about young women's lives have no idea what we actually need. So, I stepped up. I spoke at international forums in Rwanda and Mali about peace, security, and the policies that shape our future. It gave me power—the power to remind other young women that our voices matter.

It's not easy. Some days, I cry from exhaustion. Carrying a vision means carrying its weight. People warn me, "Why are you speaking up? What if they come for you?" But I remind myself why I started. When doubt creeps in, I hold onto my mantra: "God can shift things and make room for you."

Beyond my activism, I'm a social entrepreneur. I run a shop, I work in construction—because sustainability matters. Change requires resources, and I refuse to let financial struggles limit my impact.

In five years, I won't just be influencing change—I'll be among those making the decisions. Because leadership isn't about waiting. It's about stepping forward, knowing your community, and being the solution.

So, are you still guilty? Or will you rewrite your verdict?