Kagwiria Murungi | Dust. Grit. Destiny. | Media.com

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Kagwiria Murungi | Dust. Grit. Destiny.

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The Woman the Road Is Rebuilding
''Before I return to the world, the road must lead me back to myself''

(Originally published on Substack at <a href="https://substack.com/@kagwiriamurungi" class="editor_link__TEldu" dir="ltr">https://substack.com/@kagwiriamurungi</a> )

There are some rebuildings that don’t make a sound. No ribbon-cuttings. No applause.Just a woman… and a road… and a silence that stretches longer than the pain.

That’s where I am now.

I used to ride like the road was my stage. My motorcycle roared across counties, through cheering towns and dusty winds. People waved. I told stories that made people sit up and listen.

And then it all fell apart.

Not in one grand explosion but in the slow undoing of everything I held together with my bare hands.

I dipped mentally.
Courage thinned out.
My house no longer felt like home.
And the loudest applause I heard… was silence.

There’s a kind of breaking that doesn’t come with blood. Just quiet. And dust. And that ache behind your ribs that whispers, “Not again.”

So, I left.

Not to escape but to breathe. To remember who I was before I became everything for everyone else.
I boarded a bus to where I had been previously accepted, with nothing but fear, fatigue, and a stubborn ember of purpose.

In Turkana, the wind didn’t cheer for me. The heat didn’t hug me. But I found stillness. I found people who looked at me and didn’t ask what broke me.
They asked what I wanted to rebuild.
And I began, with shaking hands and a quiet heart.

I wake up now and listen to goats bleating in the distance.
I sit on rocks and watch the land breathe.
I think about my children.
I write in a book with dust on its pages.
And quietly…Without clapping…Without noise…
The road is rebuilding me.

It is not giving me back what I lost. It is giving me something I never had ;
Peace.
Depth.
And a self not tied to noise.

I no longer crave being seen. I crave being whole.
So, if you’re wondering where I went… I didn’t disappear. I just returned to the soil. And in the silence, I’m finding the woman who doesn’t need the spotlight, only the fire inside.
The woman who doesn’t beg to be heard only rides until the story tells itself.

The woman the road is rebuilding.

One sunrise.One dust path.One breath at a time.
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The Woman Who Rode the Map: A Journey in Dust, Fire, and Faith

Let me tell you a story.

It begins with a woman and a motorcycle, not a flashy bike, not a big machine.
Just two wheels, a dusty heart, and a dream louder than the road.
I am that woman.

My name is Kagwiria Murungi, and I have ridden through 42 counties of Kenya not as a tourist, not as a racer, but as a storyteller on two wheels.
I rode with wind in my face and questions in my soul. I listened to children laugh under thorn trees. I drank tea with grandmothers who had seen generations rise and fall.
I sat on stones where stories were carved long before I was born. I didn’t just ride roads.
I rode through people’s lives. And they changed mine.
There were days I felt like I was flying.
There were days I didn’t know if I would make it to the next town.
But I kept going because somewhere inside, I knew I was riding for something more than myself.
Until I couldn’t anymore.
There came a time - and every African story has that moment - when everything falls.
The journey paused. The winds stopped. Life cracked open.
I lost my footing. I lost almost everything. I disappeared into the silence.
But silence is not the end , in fact, in the silence, the ancestors speak the loudest.
I found myself again in Turkana, among red earth, bare hills, and youth with fire in their eyes.
There, with hands not yet hardened by bitterness, we built something:
DIHATAINO (Diligent Hands Talent Initiative Organisation ) A place where the youth learn to build, fix, weld, and create.Where women and Children find a voice.
A place where hope is not a donation, but a skill passed from hand to hand.

And now, I ride again.
In December 2025, I will take on the Final Five counties:
Mandera, Wajir, Garissa, Tana River, and Lamu.
Not to finish a checklist.
To close a circle.
To finish the map.
To take the voices of the forgotten and place them into history.
To show my children - and yours - that a woman can fall, rise, and keep riding.
So I invite you, not just to read, but to walk with me.
This Medium space is where I will leave my footprints in the dust.
Stories from the road.
Whispers from the wild.
Love letters to the land and the people who raised me.
Because in Africa, stories are not just for entertainment.
They are how we remember.
They are how we heal.
They are how we leave a legacy.
I am Kagwiria Murungi,
The Woman Who Rode the Map.
And this ... this is how the next chapter begins.

Mombasa

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Kenya

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