SHE DIDN’T JUST GIVE ME A KIDNEY
Before she became my wife, she was the only person who stayed closest to me when my body was slowly giving up.
We had met years earlier at St. Peter’s Cyahafi Parish, singing in the choir. I don’t think either of us imagined where life would take us.
By 2020, everything had changed.
My kidneys were failing. My body was swollen. I was weak. There were tubes and catheters everywhere. Sometimes I couldn’t even sleep lying down because I couldn’t breathe properly. We would move to the sitting room, and I would try to sleep sitting up, surrounded by pillows.
She was there.
When my health became worse, she would take me to the emergency room without hesitation.
Then the doctors told me I needed a kidney.
We needed three things: a donor, a hospital, and money.
Hospitals were difficult to find because of COVID. Countries were closing their borders. Medical facilities were overwhelmed. Everything felt uncertain.
And then she said she would donate her kidney.
I still struggle to explain what that meant to me.
She wasn’t simply giving me an organ.
She was accepting the fear, the uncertainty, the surgery, and everything that could come with it.
We travelled together to Egypt.
We were in a foreign country, trying to navigate medical appointments, accommodation, food, and an enormous amount of uncertainty. At times, it felt like it was just the two of us trying to figure everything out.
But she stayed.
On November 30, 2020, I received her kidney.
I survived.
Today, when people ask me about my transplant, I can tell them the medical story.
But the truth is, my transplant story is also a love story.
Marie-Reine gave me a kidney.
But before that, she gave me something I needed just as much: the courage to believe that tomorrow was still possible.
And perhaps that is what love looks like sometimes.
Not flowers.
Not perfect moments.
Sometimes love looks like sitting beside someone who cannot breathe.
Sometimes it looks like holding their hand in an emergency room.
Sometimes it looks like travelling across the world together because you refuse to let them face fear alone.
And sometimes—LOVE gives you a part of itself so you can keep living.
SafariLink is charging just $100 from Entebbe to Nairobi, but our local airlines want $215 from Entebbe to Arua. At this point, we need SafariLink on this side because these buses? Nedda
I want to be rich. But not Lamborghini
or Rolex rich, I want to be rich enough to go to the gym at 3pm and nobody can tell me no. To tap the family in front of me at the supermarket and say, "It's on me," Rich enough that my future wife never has to worry about getting a job. Rich enough to show my children the world, not pictures of it. Rich enough to take my friends to dinner and say, "| got this", Rich enough that God uses me to help the people who are in need. That's my version of rich.
The fastest legal way to leave the block in Kenya isn’t forex.
It’s not betting.
It’s not crypto.
It’s TENDERING.
If you understand how construction tenders actually work, you can change your life.
A thread on how the big boys actually win. 🧵