MY WRITING JOURNEY
My name is Abraham Kimathi.
It is John C. Maxwell who noted something about leadership and concluded that everything rises and falls with leadership. CLC serves as a pulpit to champion and uplift writers in Africa. Our director, Dr. Muthoni—whom I would call in my mother tongue “Munyanya”—has really done tremendous work and given herself fully to the group and the mission. I see what CLC is doing in other parts of the world, like Germany, and how it is expanding in Europe. When I see the enthusiasm for preaching the Gospel through literature, I am so encouraged. God bless everyone here.
I am a journalist by profession. I practiced journalism for around five years and left the industry. I started my journey at Royal Media as a news anchor and presenter, then moved to a local vernacular radio station as Head of Programmes. I later left the industry and went back to school. I graduated with a Bachelor’s Degree in Theology and Leadership. In 2019, I was employed by the Methodist Church of Kenya (MCK) as a Reverend and served there for nearly three years before resigning to run a mission ministry, which I felt God was calling me into.
Life was not easy running a ministry. Relying solely on support-raising as income, running a mission institution, and sending missionaries to cross-cultural places felt like a heavy burden. From a human point of view, I lamented like Jeremiah: “Oh Lord, you misled me, and I allowed myself to be misled…” (Jeremiah 20:7). I considered going back to work while continuing to run the ministry. Today, I work in the energy department as a Regional Manager with an EV mobility company in Nairobi.
LIFE IN THE VILLAGE
I grew up in Kathuura village. Life there was a mixture of laughter and tears; hope and despair; courage and fear. In my blessed ignorance, it was difficult to predict what I would become. I didn’t want to amount to nothing—I wanted to be anything or everything. When I saw a police officer immaculately dressed, I longed to be one. Then I met a teacher and changed my dream. Then I met a preacher, and again, my dream shifted. It was a stage of blessed ignorance.
Most of you who read my stories know I grew up in the village as an orphan. You know about this young man who was briefly made, short like a dwarf—but taller than a pygmy from Congo. You know more about this lover of books. Dark but not too dark. In South Sudan, they would call me “mzungu.” But again, is there anything wrong with darkness? Without darkness we cannot appreciate light. And the darker the berry, the sweeter the juice. Black is beauty. Black is the badge of greatness and glory.
In the village, life was simple. We ate wild fruits like guavas and drank porridge using calabashes. I grew up with two brothers—Mwiti and Nyaga—and a sister called Gacheri. Also an aunt called Kathuure and an uncle called Murimi. All of us were dark like a thousand midnights, except Mwiti, whose complexion resembled a polished African gourd.
During August, there was always a bumper harvest in the lands from the slopes of Mt. Kenya to the coastal land of the Tharaka community, where Prof. Kithure Kindiki, Deputy President of Kenya, comes from. Tharaka people practiced subsistence farming—millet, sorghum, and maize. After harvesting, children from humble backgrounds went back to re-harvest. Just like in the culture of Israel after the Exodus, God told them not to harvest everything so that foreigners could go back and gather what was left. Those who grew up in the village like me remember this with the precision of a Jewish prophet.
I was very good at re-harvesting. I used to gather a sack—forty tins to be exact. The only problem was the distance, the scorching sun, and the risk of encountering bewitched farms. Some said owners used witches to curse trespassers. But God was gracious. I never suffered.
After gathering one sack, I sold twenty tins to buy basic necessities. The other twenty served a different purpose. My granny and I brewed local liquor called busa. It was brownish, like weak porridge. People came to our home just to get a sip of that tangy drink. We made money from this illicit business.
The remaining busa fermented and was distilled into chang’aa. We were advanced in chemistry without knowing it. I learned how to prepare this liquor at a very early age—around 10 to 12 years. At this young age, I was already a drunkard. This is how it happened: when we prepared the so-called chang’aa, we tested the first grade. My granny was used to it. I was just learning.
When I was in Class 4 in Kathuura Primary School, negative peer pressure landed me in big trouble. A friend of mine had carried alcohol. I think he was beyond trying—he was already a hardened user. He smoked like a chimney and drank alcohol like tea. He once told me if I took a puff of bhang, I would fly to Jamaica. I feared bhang, which was praised as the big cigarette. But this friend made me goof a lot. We drank alcohol. We staggered and wobbled like jelly.
One day, we were caught stealing maize in the school shamba. Mr. Mpungu the Bull was our agriculture teacher. He was short and stout, with a meeting under a rock, always wearing shorts. They said he once killed someone—so forgiving us that day was a surprise.
MY WRITING JOURNEY
My life changed when a group of preachers visited our school. They were serious preachers of the Gospel. They preached with vim, verve, vehemence, and vigor. I remember them quoting profusely from Paul’s epistles: “If anyone is in Christ, he is a new creation. The old has gone, behold the new has come” (2 Corinthians 5:17). I longed to be born again. To stop stealing, drinking, insubordination. From that time onward, I began a relationship with Jesus Christ.
Back in my early professional days, while working in media houses, I began writing articles that were published in different magazines. This motivated me a lot. As a public speaker who often addressed campuses, high schools, churches, and conferences, I was inspired to write a motivational book. I did one. But at the point of publishing, my spirit felt it wasn’t the right time. So, I held back.
About two years later, the Lord gave me a strong burden for mission work in Africa and ministry. A desire to write about contemporary issues in the Church and biblical doctrine was born. That’s how my first book on mission and evangelism, Go and Tell—which was selected in this platform’s 2022 Book Awards—came to be.
In 2023, when Israel was attacked by Hamas from Gaza, my heart was troubled. I committed myself to pray for Israel and the peace of Jerusalem. One day during prayer, I was led to study what the Bible says about Israel, Jerusalem, and the chronological order of end-time events. That’s how my second book End of the Age and Biblical Prophecies was born.
Every day I live is a day of revelation. I trust God that I’ll write more books on the Church and Bible doctrine. But I’m also committed to writing on other topics—especially academic and political history of Africa. Right now, I’m working with two professor friends on a Kiswahili short stories book (Hadithi Fupi) for the high school market in Kenya.
