Jake’s story begins in the familiar warmth of a modest Kenyan household. A young boy from a humble home, Jake lived under the guidance and watchful eye of his father, a police officer who served the state with quiet pride, and his mother, a strong-willed woman whose love and resilience formed the foundation of the family. Though they didn’t live lavishly, there was peace in their home—rhythms of morning birds, school routines, and evenings of laughter or reflection, depending on how long his father’s shift ran. Jake admired his father, not just because he wore a uniform, but because of the silent strength he embodied—his calm voice, his disciplined way of life, and the security he brought into the house each evening.But the foundation cracked just when Jake needed it most. A few months into high school, just as Jake was stepping into adolescence—his voice deepening, his questions multiplying—he lost his father in a tragic road accident. The news hit like a thunderclap. Everything stopped. The vibrant world Jake knew suddenly blurred into a monotone of grief, confusion, and silence. His father’s coffin, draped in a flag, sat before the mourners, but Jake couldn't understand how a man so strong could be so gone.The funeral was filled with promises. Aunts, uncles, neighbors, colleagues of his father—everyone who stood at the podium gave long-winded speeches, praising his father and pledging support for the now-fatherless family. But Jake, even in his daze, noticed how their eyes didn’t quite meet his. And in the weeks that followed, the promises began to evaporate. One by one, those mourners disappeared like smoke, swallowed by the same wind that had taken his father.Suddenly, Jake was no longer just a boy. The world began to refer to him as “the man of the house,” a phrase that seemed noble on paper but carried weights he wasn’t built to bear. His mother, left to raise three children alone, held the line fiercely. Despite whispers from relatives predicting her downfall, she refused to give in to pity. She woke before dawn, did odd jobs, sold vegetables, and ensured that Jake and his siblings had food, schoolbooks, and as close to a normal life as she could muster. But Jake could feel the difference—the absence of male mentorship, the emotional void, and the rising societal expectations.High school, which should have been a place of exploration and learning, became a battleground for Jake. Teachers and peers saw his intelligence and assumed he needed no help. Extended family demanded results, lecturing him at every holiday visit about how he had to make something of himself "for his late father." Yet no one showed up to help him study, guide him morally, or simply ask how he was feeling. In truth, Jake didn’t just need food or school fees—he needed a man to talk to. A voice that could help him navigate the storm of puberty, trauma, and identity. But all he found was silence.Then came the final day of high school—KCSE exams done, results pending. Parents flocked to the school to collect their sons and daughters, some in shiny cars, others on motorbikes. Jake sat at the administration block alone, clutching his modest bag, watching one classmate after another disappear into warm embraces and excited farewells. His mother couldn’t afford the trip that day. She had told him as gently as she could, and he understood—but that didn’t stop the sting, especially as he watched father after father come and collect their sons. The emptiness Jake felt that day wasn't just physical—it was spiritual. A chasm opened inside him that day, and it would take years to bridge.Despite all odds, Jake’s results earned him a place at a public university—hundreds of kilometers from home. It should have been a moment of celebration, but Jake felt anxiety more than joy. He knew what was coming. No one would walk this journey for him. If high school was lonely, university would be war.As Jake arrived on campus accompanied , two suits, and a battered suitcase of dreams. The university environment was nothing like he imagined. It was a microcosm of the real world—ruthless, chaotic, and intoxicating. Students from wealthy backgrounds drove to campus in flashy cars, while others, like Jake, blended into the background, unnoticed. Some came from abroad, speaking polished English and wearing cologne that smelled like money. Jake came from a village, and it showed. The pressure to fit in was immense.At night, the hostel corridors buzzed with parties, laughter, and traps. Alcohol flowed freely. Drugs were easy to access. There were students who had already lost themselves and didn’t mind dragging others into the same pit. Jake had to decide—daily, sometimes hourly—what kind of man he was going to be. And yet, with no roadmap, every decision felt like a gamble . There were moments he was tempted. Moments he almost fell into the habits. But each time, something pulled him back—his mother’s sacrifices, but as they say experience is the best teacher.