I am twenty-seven years old today.
The number feels strange in my mouth. It doesn’t feel heavy, it just feels distinct. I woke up this morning and the house was completely quiet. The sun wasn’t fully up yet, and the air had that sharp, thin chill that settles over Nairobi in the early hours. I just lay there in bed for a few minutes staring at the ceiling, trying to figure out what i actually wanted to do with the day.
Yesterday I was sitting on the mat running through options. What do I actually want to do for myself tomorrow? I ran through a mental list of things I could buy, but the funny thing was, I couldn’t think of a single material thing I wanted.
Most of the things I had spent the last year wishing for, I had already quietly gone out and bought for myself. I had already acquired the little luxuries I used to think I needed someone else to hand to me.
So, I narrowed my birthday wishes down to a very simple shortlist of four practical options: a new pair of walking shoes, a solo trip somewhere quiet, a fresh journal to write down the thoughts of this new year, or a new plant to add to my growing collection.
As I sat there looking at the list, I realized that what I wanted more than anything physical was space. I wanted to disappear from the concrete, the noise, and the endless, exhausting speed of the city, even if it was just for a few hours. I wanted to go somewhere where the air smelled like damp soil, where the only sound was the movement of water, and where I could just exist without a deadline.
I remembered seeing some videos on TikTok about Oloolua Nature Trail in Karen. Everyone on the app was hyping it up, talking about the waterfall, the quiet paths, and the ancient caves, and right then and there, I decided to give it a try.
It wasn’t a deeply calculated plan. In fact, it wasn’t really a plan at all; it was just a spontaneous decision, which is a massive deal for me because I don’t really know how to be spontaneous. If there is one thing I am exceptionally good at, it is overthinking. I am a professional planner. I plan my business, my finances, my clients’ orders, my website updates, my product launches, and my daily schedule down to the exact minute.
But lately, I have been trying to teach myself to just let go of the reins a little bit. I wanted to see what would happen if I just woke up and went for it, without a spreadsheet or a safety net. Economically, the trip was perfectly within my budget. It would only cost me about a thousand shillings to get there, pay the entry fee, and enjoy the trail, and as an added bonus, I realized I could finally buy the plant I had been eyeing along the Karen route on my way home.
It felt like a perfect, simple, win-win situation. I did a quick search on my phone to document which bus I would need to take to get to Karen, and for a moment, I considered taking my son with me. But then, a quiet voice inside me said, No, Vinaywa. This one is for you. This is your day.
I love my son more than life itself, but being a mother means your brain is always half-occupied by another human being’s safety, comfort, and hunger. I wanted to see what it felt like to occupy one hundred percent of my own mind, even if it was just for one afternoon.
The biggest challenge, of course, was going to be my own brain. My mind is a hyperactive machine that never really shuts down. Even when I am resting, I am mentally editing website layouts, calculating sales projections, worrying about client queries, or brainstorming new products for my gift shop.
I knew that if I just walked into the forest with nothing to do, my brain would immediately fill the quiet space with work. So, to protect my peace, I designed a quiet, offline game for myself. I planned a sensory scavenger hunt.
The rules were simple: instead of looking for business opportunities, I had to actively search for beauty. I told myself to see if I could name different types of trees(I am a landscape architect by profession), three distinct butterflies, a leaf with an interesting shape, the specific smell of the air right after passing a patch of damp earth, the distant sound of water, and the way the sunlight filtered through the canopy of the trees.
I knew that if I forced my mind to actively observe the physical world, it would have absolutely no room left to spiral into work or worry. I promised myself I would take a few photos if I wanted to, but then I would put my phone away entirely. No scrolling, no checking emails, no answering client messages. I just wanted to sit, listen, breathe, and look around.
Because I spend so much of my life creating beautiful, thoughtful cards for other people, putting their feelings into words and helping them celebrate their milestones, I realized it was deeply unfair that I had never made one for myself. So, I sat down at my desk, pulled up my design software, and created an Oloolua-themed birthday card just for me.
For this next season of my life, I wanted to do what nature does best: I wanted to learn how to just flow. I printed the card out, ran my fingers over the smooth cardstock, and read the words I had written to myself. The front read: Happy Birthday, Cynthia. Welcome to 27. And inside, I had written a letter to the woman I am still becoming.
Dear Cynthia,
Look at you.
You made it.
Not the version of you who thought life would eventually become easy. Not the version who kept hoping someone would come along and rescue her. Not the version who measured her worth by who stayed, who left, or what she had achieved.
You.
The woman who kept going when things were uncertain. The woman who built while afraid. The woman who learned that sometimes the person you have been waiting for is the person looking back at you in the mirror.
Thank you for not giving up on yourself.
Thank you for carrying yourself through the hard days. Thank you for choosing growth even when it was uncomfortable. Thank you for learning to set boundaries, protect your peace, and trust your own voice.
At 27, may you stop rushing your becoming.
May you build without burning yourself out. May money flow to you with ease. May your business grow beyond what you imagined. May your home become the peaceful sanctuary you dream of. May your body become a place you love and care for. May Adriel always see a mother who chose herself too.
May you laugh more. Rest more. Explore more. Create more. Love yourself louder.
Remember:
You are not behind.
You are not starting from zero.
You are standing on the foundation built by every version of yourself that refused to quit.
This year, don’t just chase the life you want.
Live it.
Happy birthday, Cynthia.
I am proud of you.
With love,
The woman who made it here.
Reading those words, I felt a deep, warm wave of peace wash over me. It felt like a promise. Once the card was printed, I turned my attention to the birthday food. During my recent baking sessions, I had been experimenting with different recipes, and I had completely, deeply fallen head over heels for chiffon passion cake.
The light, airy texture of the sponge paired with the sharp, sweet, tropical tang of the passion fruit was exactly the flavor profile I had been searching for. I decided that this was going to be my official birthday cake. And for the birthday meal, I kept it classic, warm, and comforting: a beautiful pot of beef pilau.
My plan was to keep everything beautifully simple: one gorgeous meal, one yummy cake, and one beautiful memory. I spent the night before my birthday baking the cake, letting the sweet passion-fruit aroma fill every corner of my kitchen, and preparing the rich, spiced pilau. By the time I went to sleep, the house smelled like spices and sugar, and I went to bed feeling incredibly cared for by my own hands.
When the morning of my birthday arrived, I woke up with a very clear, stubborn boundary in my mind: today, I was not a business owner. I placed every single work-related task, email, and client query on hold. I put my phone on a strict filter, determined that nothing work-related would touch my peace today.
I spent the early morning decorating my chiffon passion cake, carefully frosting it and arranging a few balloons around the living room just to make the space feel celebratory. I packed a small bag, grabbed a bottle of simple, sweetened mala to keep me hydrated and energized on the trail, and walked out the door to start my journey at 12.
Because it was a Sunday, the city was beautifully quiet. The traffic into town was smooth, flowing, and completely free of the usual weekday chaos that drains your energy before you even reach your destination.
I slid through the city center effortlessly, boarded the bus to Karen, and watched the landscape slowly transition from towering concrete structures into wide, tree-lined roads and lush, manicured hedges.
When the bus finally dropped me off, however, I realized I had a bit of a trek ahead of me. The road leading to the main entrance of Oloolua was completely closed for renovations, meaning I had to walk the remaining distance on foot.
As I walked down that dusty, half-broken road under the warm morning sun, I couldn’t help but chuckle at the state of Kenyan infrastructure. It is honestly so funny how our politicians will do absolutely nothing for four solid years, letting the roads crumble and the public services rot, but the very second an election starts appearing on the horizon, they suddenly discover a passionate love for road construction, public school renovations, and youth employment initiatives.
They scramble to fix the things they should have fixed years ago, hoping we have the memory of goldfish and will re-elect them out of gratitude. But if you think about it, it is a highly calculated strategy. If they actually built all the roads, renovated all the hospitals, and created stable industries for the youth, what would they lie to us with during the next campaign cycle?
They need the problems to persist so they can sell us the solutions every five years. But thank God, Kenyans are finally waking up to the game. We are no longer buying the last-minute tarmac.
I kept walking, letting the dust settle on my shoes, until I finally reached the main gate of Oloolua Nature Trail. When I tried to walk through the gates, the security guard stopped me and pointed to my bottle of sweetened mala. He politely informed me that plastic bottles were strictly banned inside the forest to protect the wildlife and preserve the clean environment. I completely respected the rule, so I handed over my mala and left it at the gate for safekeeping. I paid my entry fee seamlessly through the eCitizen portal and stepped into the forest. My birthday adventure had officially begun.
The moment I crossed the threshold into the trail, the canopy of the forest seemed to swallow the heat of the sun. The air was cool, damp, and smelled incredibly green. Remembering my commitment to being spontaneous, I decided to randomly follow the very first path I saw.
I didn’t pull out a map, I didn’t check my phone, and I didn’t ask the guards which way to go. I just started walking, letting my feet choose the direction, with nothing in my mind but the simple hope of finding the waterfall and releasing the heavy build-up of worry I had been carrying.
I walked down the winding dirt path, listening to the soft crunch of dry leaves under my crocs. I started my scavenger hunt. I noticed the beautiful butterflies flying and tried to take a snap. I continued with my journey, occasionally stealing glances at the boards showing distance and direction. My mind was completely quiet.
However, after walking for quite a while, I realized I was walking right up to the edge of a residential zone, far away from any sound of rushing water. There were monkeys jumping from the trees, and at first, hearing something moving in the trees, I was scared, assuming it was maybe a snake since I read somewhere there are snakes there.
It looked incredibly peaceful. I took a moment to admire the sheer tranquility of the neighborhood, thinking to myself how beautiful it must be to wake up to the sound of the forest every single day. But I realized I had walked in the complete opposite direction of the waterfall.
Just then, a couple walked past me on the path, and I decided to ask them for directions. They smiled warmly, pointed back the way I had just come, and told me that the waterfall was actually located right near the main entrance. I had passed it almost immediately after coming through the gates.
I thanked them, turned around, and began backtracking down the dirt trail. And that is when my day took a completely unexpected, magical turn. I met Winnie.
She was standing on the path, holding a bike, and as I walked up, she looked at me and asked if I could help her take a few photos. I smiled and agreed, taking her phone and capturing a few shots of her posing against the leafy backdrop of the forest.
As I handed the phone back, I noticed the bike. I assumed she had hired it from the rental section, but as we started chatting, she revealed that the bike was actually hers. She looked at me, smiled, and spontaneously suggested that I try riding it for a bit.
I froze for a second. I hadn’t ridden a bicycle in years. The last time I had been on two wheels was during the height of the COVID-19 pandemic, probably about six years ago, and I knew I was going to be incredibly rusty.
But Winnie was so warm and encouraging that I decided to just go for it. I climbed onto the leather seat, gripped the handlebars, and pushed off. My balance was actually fine, it turns out that once your body learns how to balance on a bike, it never really forgets, but my coordination was completely off. My legs felt stiff, and my steering was shaky and erratic.
Winnie laughed dynamically, and we jokingly decided to blame my terrible riding on the tire pressure. The wheels did look a bit low on air, so we decided to go to the bike section to find a pump.
When we reached the bike depot, we discovered that they had an archery setup right next to the rental racks. I had never tried archery in my life, and looking at the targets, I felt a sudden, childlike spark of curiosity.
The cost was incredibly cheap, only one hundred shillings for five arrows, and the instructor was so sweet that he gave us a couple of extra arrows just to teach us how to hold the bow and release the string properly. I stepped up to the line, fitted the first arrow into the bow, pulled the heavy string back against my cheek, and let it fly.
My very first shot landed on a solid 6. I couldn’t believe it. The physical sensation of the bow releasing, the sharp thwack of the arrow hitting the target, was incredibly thrilling. I couldn’t stop smiling. There is something incredibly thrilling about the physical release of an arrow. The snap of the string, the sudden silence, the impact. I shot the rest of my arrows, getting completely absorbed in the mechanics of it. My highest score was a nine, right near the center.
I was absolutely buzzing with excitement. It was such a small, cheap, unexpected activity, but it brought so much playfulness into my afternoon. Winnie took a turn too, laughing at our misses and celebrating our hits, and by the time we handed the bows back, we felt like old friends. We decided to set off together to find the waterfall, taking turns riding her bike along the dirt paths.
As we walked and rode, we started talking. She told me the deeply personal, vulnerable story of what had brought her to the forest that day, and my heart absolutely ached for her. I listened, extended my empathy, and decided to share a bit of my own journey, too. As we compared notes on our lives, we discovered a beautiful coincidence: we both share the exact same birthday month. It felt like a little confirmation from the universe that we were meant to cross paths on this specific trail.
Eventually, the trail began to descend, becoming steep, rocky, and heavily broken by exposed tree roots. Winnie realized that pushing the bike down this treacherous terrain was going to be impossible, so she decided to park it at the top of the steep slope, leaving it tucked away near some bushes, and we climbed down the rest of the way on foot.
The waterfall was breathtaking. Up close, the sound of the water crashing over the rocks was so loud it drowned out every other sound in the world. The air was cool and misted with water droplets, and the sheer force of the current felt incredibly powerful. We stood at the base of the falls, the cool spray hitting our faces, and took a few photos to capture the moment. Once we had taken in the beauty of the water, we decided to climb a little further to find the ancient cave, explore it, and then call it a day.
We turned back to climb the steep, rocky path back to where Winnie had left her bike.
But when we reached the top of the slope, the bike was gone.
I looked at the empty patch of grass, then looked at Winnie, hoping she had just parked it somewhere else. But her face had gone completely pale. The bike was absolutely, undeniably gone.
And that is where the tension of the afternoon began.
Winnie’s entire demeanor shifted from relaxed to frantic in a fraction of a second. She started moving incredibly fast, marching down the trails, her eyes scanning the bushes, stopping every single hiker and visitor she met. “Have you seen a bike? A white and blue one? Did anyone ride past you?” The responses were a chaotic mess of confusion. Some people said they hadn’t seen a thing, others claimed they saw someone riding a bike toward the caves, and some pointed in the complete opposite direction.
We started moving down routes we hadn’t even explored yet, trying to cover ground and catch up with whoever took it.
I quickly realized how long it had been since I actually did any intense cardiovascular exercise. I was entirely out of breath. We were practically speed-walking through the forest, my lungs burning, the gravel crunching under my shoes. We must have covered a big distance just weaving through the different trails, fueled purely by adrenaline and the sheer panic of a stolen bike.
But I couldn’t stop. I couldn’t leave my new friend in a crisis. We kept moving, our feet pounding against the dirt, our eyes scanning the greenery, our minds racing with the panic of a stolen bike. I easily logged over five kilometers just running around in circles, sweating through my clothes, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Just as we were about to completely despair, Winnie’s phone buzzed. It was the gate security.
They told her that someone had just brought her bike to the main entrance.
Winnie let out a massive gasp of relief, her face finally returning to its normal color. We both just stopped walking and let our shoulders drop. We found some grounds workers who pointed us toward a shortcut back to the gate, since we had gotten completely turned around on the longer trails trying to play detective.
When we finally reached the main gate, we discovered the truth behind the mystery. It wasn’t a thief at all. It was one of the forest cleaners. He had been working near the waterfall slope and noticed a group of visitors standing around Winnie’s parked bike, touching the handlebars, and looking at it very weirdly.
Fearing that someone was about to steal it, the cleaner decided to take matters into his own hands. He picked up the heavy bike and carried it all the way back to the main gate for safekeeping, which is their standard protocol for unattended items.
Looking at the steep, rough, rocky terrain we had just climbed, I realized there was a massive silver lining to the cleaner’s intervention. If he hadn’t moved it, Winnie and I would have had to push that heavy bike up that brutal, vertical slope ourselves, which would have been an absolutely exhausting, tedious task. The cleaner had literally done the heavy lifting for us.
While we were standing at the gate, catching our breath and laughing at the absurdity of the chase, we ran into two other girls, Ella and her friend. As we started talking, we realized something hilarious: we had actually been on the exact same bus together when I was coming to Karen in the afternoon.
They were also preparing to leave the forest, and since Winnie had her car parked outside, I politely asked if I could hop in with her and get a ride to the Karen shopping center, or anywhere near a bus stage where I could easily catch a matatu back to town.
We walked out to the parking lot. Ella and her friend were walking toward the main road to find a stage, and Winnie just pulled the car over, rolled down the window, and told them to get in too.
Suddenly, I was sitting in a car with three strangers, heading back toward the city, and just like that, our birthday night officially began.
Winnie, out of the sheer, beautiful kindness of her heart, decided that she wasn’t just dropping us at the stage. She decided she was going to drive us all the way back to the city center. But along the way, she asked if we minded making a quick stop at her apartment because she needed to feed her two puppies. We all agreed enthusiastically.
We pulled up to her place, and she invited us all upstairs to her beautiful home for a glass of wine. I mean, who is going to say no to wine? She fed her puppies, and then she walked into the kitchen and came back holding a bottle of champagne. She looked at me, smiled, and said we couldn’t let my birthday end without a proper toast.
I sat on a couch in a stranger’s house, listening to the loud pop of a champagne cork, watching the bubbles fizz in the glass. The sheer randomness of the moment hit me. I took a sip, the liquid cold and sharp against my throat. It was such an incredibly sweet gesture. We were just four women who happened to cross paths in a forest, sitting in a living room laughing like we had known each other for years. It felt so incredibly sweet, so soft, and so unexpectedly magical.
After we finished the champagne, Winnie looked at us and suggested we go to Java House to get some birthday cake. We all piled back into her car, drove to the nearest Java, and sat around a table. The service was a bit slow; they took their sweet time bringing the cake, but none of us minded. We used the time to talk, to laugh, to share more of our stories, and to take a beautiful collection of photos together.
I sat at that table, looking at the glowing girlies and the cake written Happy Birthday, and I realized I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt this happy and celebrated on my birthday.
We had hoped the Java we were in had pizza, because we were all starting to get incredibly hungry after the forest chase, but they didn’t have it on their menu. So, we paid the bill, drove down Ngong Road, and headed to Domino’s Pizza.
We ordered a massive, large pizza, split the cost right down the middle, and sat there eating hot, cheesy slices, talking like old friends until the night finally began to wind down. Winnie drove us into the city center, dropped us off safely, and we all hugged, said our goodbyes, and headed our separate ways.
When I finally unlocked the door to my house, the sweet, spiced aroma of the pilau and the chiffon passion cake was still hanging in the air. I sat on my bed, took off my shoes, and opened my phone to look through the photos the girls had shared on WhatsApp.
I scrolled through the images, and I stopped at a photo of myself standing near the waterfall, laughing.
I looked so incredibly happy.
I looked at my own face, and I didn’t see the tight, anxious, guarded expression of a woman who is constantly in survival mode. I saw a girl who was completely at ease. A girl who was light. A girl who was deeply, genuinely present in her own life.
I realized that my twenty-seventh birthday had gone in a direction I could have never, in my wildest dreams, predicted. I had walked into Oloolua forest expecting a quiet, lonely walk to clear my head, and I walked out with a wild, hilarious story, a new friend, a champagne toast, a shared pizza, and the profound realization that the world still holds so much unexpected goodness.
I didn’t have a single second to think about work today. I didn’t spend a single minute overthinking my business, worrying about clients, or calculating sales. For the first time in a very long time, I was simply, beautifully, entirely in the moment.
I am so incredibly grateful to Winnie, Ella, and her friend. They didn’t have to show up for me. They didn’t have to celebrate me. They had absolutely no obligation to make my day feel special. But they chose to do it anyway, and in doing so, they gave me the greatest birthday gift I could have ever asked for: the reminder that when you finally stop trying to plan and control every single corner of your life, and you just decide to go with the flow, the universe will surprise you with a softness you didn’t even know you were allowed to receive.
I went looking for a quiet place to walk, and I ended up finding a completely unexpected adventure with strangers who made me feel special. They inspired me with their stories, shared their time, and reminded me how easy it can be to just exist in the world when you let go of the control.
Welcome to twenty-seven, Cynthia. I think we are going to be more than okay.
