Edwin's Corner

  Teresa Njoroge & Renee Ngamau at Founders Battlefield Arena Live Event  Reflections from a Rainy Night at The Arena Live  Founders' Battlefield Letting go is one of the most difficult things a human being can do. Not because we lack courage. But because the very things we must release are often the things that give us identity. They become the stories we tell about who we are, the achievements that give us status, the relationships that give us belonging, and the ambitions that keep our days moving and our evenings worth collapsing into. We build our lives around them. We prop them up carefully, fiercely, sometimes desperately. The more successful we appear in the eyes of the world, the stronger the urge becomes to maintain that structure. Yet there is a quiet moment that many people try desperately to avoid. It happens when the noise fades, the distractions disappear, and we are left alone with ourselves. In that moment, a difficult question appears. Am I t...

  George Ikua on Stage at  The first Arena Live Founders Battlefield event held on 24th Feb 2026 Reflections from a Rainy Night at The Arena Live  Founders' Battlefield There is an old story I once heard that has never quite left me. It starts with a god named Muri. Muri had power beyond understanding. The kind of power that could create worlds, shape galaxies, and breathe life into empty space. Yet despite all that power, something was missing. Joy. For billions of years, he crafted worlds and creatures, searching for something to fulfill the longing inside him. But each creation, no matter how impressive, felt empty. Until one day, he had a strange thought. What if the only way to experience the fullness of his power wasn't through creation... but through becoming the creation itself? So Muri did something remarkable. On a beautiful planet called Sipu , he created a being in his own image. He called the being Miraka . But this was not just another creature. M...

Peter Ndiang’ui on Stage at  The first Arena Live Founders Battlefield event held on 24th Feb 2026 Reflections from a Rainy Night at The Arena Live Founders' Battlefield Ben had been sitting quietly near the stage, watching people flow into the room. He wasn't there for networking. He wasn't there for business cards. He was there because something inside him had gone quiet. Life had become strangely dull. On paper, everything seemed right. His job paid well, in fact, very well. He held a director position at one of the blue-chip financial firms that many professionals aspire to work for. It’s the kind of role parents boast about during family gatherings. But inside, the excitement had drained out. Ben had tried starting side businesses a few times. None of them had turned out as he expected. He blamed the people he hired — their incompetence, their lack of ownership, their poor judgment. Each venture fell apart because of frustration. Still, he had convinced himse...

Let me start from the end. It was raining. Not a fierce storm, just the steady Nairobi rain that makes you slow down and reflect. Tuesday evening, February 24th. The kind of night that feels symbolic even before you understand why. The first Arena Live Founders Battlefield event had just concluded. An initiative by Founders Battlefield targeting African entrepreneurs — bold enough to host meaningful conversations and significant enough to attract coverage from TV47. But this night wasn’t about cameras. It was about conviction. On the podium were seven remarkable individuals: Bobby Gadhia , Renee Ngamau, Teresa Njoroge, Peter Ndiang’ui, and George Ikua as panelists, with Michael Macharia moderating the discussion and Roy Gitahi skillfully curating the session. The stage featured vintage steamer trunks as tables, not your typical LED-lit, overly decorated business forum setup. The trunks symbolized journeys across oceans, creating a timeless feeling. It was like we were ready to...

His name was Meshack Kibaka. Throughout his life, his name felt like a prison sentence. He was born into poverty so obvious it nearly had a smell—a mud hut in the middle of a slum, a mother who had already borne two children she could barely feed. A woman carrying survival on her back like firewood—necessary, heavy, and endless. Her face showed lines long before her age required them. Smiles were rare, and laughter even more scarce. When it appeared, it looked almost painful, as if her muscles had forgotten how to hold joy. His father appeared like a rumor. Sometimes at night. Sometimes unannounced. Sometimes not at all. When he did appear, he spoke big words. On one such night, he named his son with conviction: “You will be like Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego. You will accomplish the impossible.” His father prophesied—a rare statement. But names don’t automatically determine destiny. Sometimes, names also carry history. Kibaka was a name passed down from a great-grandfather kno...