I am Dominic Aondo, born on August 8, 2002, in Morako, Nyamira County. I'm the third-born in a family of five children. In 2017, my parents divorced. What used to be a warm, stable home broke into painful fragments. I didn't understand everything then, but the silence, distance, and change in tone from those I called family tore something deep within me.
That same year, I was in Class 8 at St. Peter Community Center in Kayole, where I served as a school senator. But it was during this time that I lost focus and fell into bad company. I began using alcohol and cigarettes. I even started misusing my school fees. My performance declined sharply. I had once been a top performer, but in 2018, I sat for KCPE and only managed 293 marks. The consequence of my choices was evident.
Eventually, my father found out. He gave me what I call "the beating of my life." But it wasn't just about punishment—it was a wake-up call. He promised me I wouldn't study in Nairobi again for high school. He began rebuilding me, helping me get back on track.
In 2019, I joined Nyaikuro High School in Nyamira County, living with my grandparents for the next four years. The environment changed me. I started maturing. I became part of the Environmental Club, and earlier in 2014, I had earned a certificate in "Health Choices for a Better Future."
Then came 2020, and with it the COVID-19 pandemic. Everything stopped. The world paused. And just when things seemed to settle, tragedy knocked again.
In 2022, I was diagnosed with lumbar and thoracic hypolordosis due to muscle spasms. I couldn't walk. I missed two full terms of school. While others studied, I was stuck in pain, in bed, alone. Worse still, my grandmother, who had mentored me and taught me about God and life, passed away the same year. She was everything to me. Losing her was like losing the last piece of hope I had.
What followed was betrayal from family. My aunts accused me of theft. My mother turned away. No one stood by me. I suffered in silence.
Yet somehow, I sat for KCSE—and scored a B plain. That grade was more than academic—it was a symbol of victory, resilience, and survival.
In December 2022, I moved to Nairobi to stay with my father. On September 4, 2023, I joined Chuka University, C, to pursue a Bachelor of Education (Arts) in Geography and Business. I was elected class representative for Business Studies, and I took on leadership in church as the Sabbath School Superintendent and Personal Ministries leader.
Then came 2024, and with it—joy.
Second semester (2.1) of 2024 was the best semester of my life. I finally got to live out dreams I'd silently held for years. After countless rejections and heartaches, I got my first girlfriend. I experienced my first kiss. I moved into my own apartment. These moments—simple to others—meant everything to me. They were signs that God heard my cries. For once, I felt whole. I called it my fantasy coming true.
But little did I know—the happiness wouldn't last long.
2025 began with yet another storm. My illness came back with a vengeance. I could barely walk. I was constantly in and out of the hospital. I missed most of my classes. My strength failed. My faith began to crack. I cried myself to sleep, every night asking God: "Why me?" But silence answered.
My mother stopped calling. The financial help she once gave disappeared. My father—already overwhelmed with paying fees for me, my brother, and my sister—couldn't keep up. Attending physiotherapy became nearly impossible.
Worse, the people I called friends—those in the cabinet—abandoned me.
I was almost depressed. But in the middle of the darkness, God sent His angels in human form:
Clifford gave me hope and a way forward when I almost deferred my studies.
Meshack stood by me, offering food, time, comfort—proving that a friend in need is truly a friend indeed.
Otieno welcomed me into his home, fed me when I had nothing left. Gakii gave me financial support when it seemed no one else cared.
Despite it all, I still served God faithfully. I still led in church. I still prayed. I still hoped. But I would be lying if I said I didn't doubt God. I did. I went to prayer services, trusted in healing, but nothing changed. I asked: "Why would God let me serve Him so diligently, then allow me to suffer like this?"
Over time, I realized something powerful: God works behind the scenes. His silence wasn't rejection. His delay wasn't denial. He had better plans—I just couldn't see them yet.
I developed a passion for journalism—to tell real, raw stories like mine. I became a wise advisor to others, drawn not from theory, but from the pain I lived through.
And I learned a hard but vital truth:
Before you be there for someone, ask yourself—who will be there for you?
I survived betrayal, sickness, abandonment, false accusations, loneliness, and silence. And still—I rise.
So if you're reading this, and your life feels like a storm that won't pass—hold on. Healing takes time. Hope is real. And God is working, even in the dark.
Better days are coming.
I'm living proof.