In Turkana, I am reminded that leadership often begins where certainty ends. My friend invited me to mentor the leaders of his football club, and I had mixed thoughts. What wisdom could I possibly offer? What authority did I have to guide them? Yet when I arrived, their eyes carried no doubt. They looked not for perfection, but for presence.

So, I gave what I had — fragments of experience, lessons from failures, glimpses of hope. And in return, I found that mentorship is less about instruction and more about communion: a meeting of lives in which the weight of one journey steadies another.

On my last night, I couldn’t sleep. A single mosquito kept me awake, and when the power cut out at 4 a.m., the sky unveiled itself in its full brilliance. The stars shone with a clarity that left me awed. I remembered the ancient verse: God knows each star by name. And I thought — if the infinite is not beyond His attention, then neither are we.

It struck me how often the most minor irritations — a mosquito’s buzz, a restless night — are what keep us awake long enough to see what we would otherwise overlook. Perhaps this is how life works: the minor disturbances of today become the windows to eternal truths. And so, I am leaving Turkana with a quiet conviction. Leadership, like the night sky, is not about the brilliance of a single star but about the constellation we form together. To lead is not to shine the brightest, but to help others see their place in a greater design.