What the Road Taught Me

By Hon. Soipan Tuya

“You cannot create anything of value without both self-doubt and self-belief. Without self-doubt, you become complacent. Without self-belief, you cannot succeed.”

That quote by Chimamanda has made me reflect on some of my life experiences. See, it’s not always been easy. And honestly, I would challenge you to show me anyone who’s had it easy all their life. We all have grounding moments, those seasons that humble you, shape you, and push you to ask, “Is there more I can become?”

For me, that grounding came early. I started school at around five or six years old, and every weekday morning meant a six-kilometre walk from home to class. No cars. No shortcuts. Just me, my cousins, a leso, and a small Maasai guard filled with milk that I’d tuck safely in the bushes near the school compound. That milk was my snack, and trust me, I wasn’t taking any chances with it.

But the road wasn’t just long, it was eventful. There was a dense, eerie forest along the way. We called it Olgos, and we believed ogres lived there. The kind that didn’t knock. The kind that ate small children who walked too slowly. So, naturally, I became a fast walker, out of both survival and ambition.

Looking back now, those early walks weren’t just about getting to school. They were about building something in me; a kind of quiet resilience, a belief that if I just kept going, I’d arrive somewhere bigger than I could imagine.

My father used to say that education rewrites the story of a family. He was the only one out of fifteen siblings to be taken to school, and that single decision shifted everything. Because he had access, we had hope. Because he read, we dreamed. And that’s the thing, education doesn’t just open doors. It shifts ceilings. It challenges what feels “normal” and invites you to imagine more.

Later in life, I would sit in lecture halls in Nairobi, and eventually in Seattle, USA. In America, I often found myself as the only African woman in the room, carrying a different story, a different rhythm, a different lens. It was unfamiliar territory, but here’s what education does: it builds an inner compass. It helps you walk into spaces where few expect you and still stand tall in who you are.

Over the years, I’ve learnt that when a woman is educated, her voice changes. She asks different questions. She challenges inherited limitations. And most of all, she brings others along. That’s what I’ve tried to do in every space I’ve served in. But titles and positions aside, I remain a woman who was given a chance and who now wants to give it back tenfold.

The Soipan Tuya Foundation is my way of extending that six-kilometre journey of holding space for other children, women, and communities who are still walking. We don’t promise easy. But we promise possibility.

Often, people ask me, “If you could go back, what would you do differently?”

And now, writing this, I know my answer: absolutely nothing.

Not the long walk. Not the cold mornings. Not even the ogres.

Every lesson, every laugh, every stretch of doubt and burst of belief, it all led me here.

And so, I invite you to walk with us. To be part of this mission. To create the kind of value that lasts, the kind rooted in real stories, real chances and real hope.