For ages, Caroline Njeri from Nakuru wore the sting of rejection like an old, faded scarf. She’d hustled her way into every bank imaginable-Equity, KCB, Family Bank, even those cosy little SACCOs-only to face the same icy shutdown: “Sorry, your loan just doesn’t cut it.” Picture this: Her cosy mitumba stall at Wakulima Market kicked off with a humble Ksh 10,000 stash of women’s jeans and snazzy handbags. But oh, her fire burnt brighter! She dreamed of a chic boutique, sourcing fresh bales straight from Turkey.
One pesky hurdle? The cash to make it real.”Banks kept shooting me down-‘Your statements look shaky; your income’s too tiny.’ But seriously, how do you level up without a leg up?” she laughs now, shaking her head. Things hit rock bottom. Bills snowballed, her landlord loomed with lockout threats, and the pull back to her folks’ place in Nyandarua whispered loud.
She was this close to waving the white flag. Then, on a weary trek home one twilight, fate tossed her a curveball. An elder peddling herbal elixirs and beaded charms caught her eye roadside. She paused—unusual for her—and they locked eyes. “Child, your hands hold magic, but a shadow dims your shine,” he murmured with a knowing grin. Chills ran deep. He slipped her a crinkled note bearing a number. Continue Reading https://drbokko.com/?p=34291