I want to tell you about a woman called Phoebe.
The woman who drives me around Monday to Friday, who always arrives early, who prays at 3am, who steals our dirty shoes so she can secretly clean them, who will come in and start mopping the floors just to be helpful and who thanks God for things most of us wouldn’t even notice.
She is one of the strongest people I have ever met.
And yet almost no one knows her story.
But I do now. And I want you to know it too.
If you met her on an ordinary day, you’d notice her smile first. It arrives before she does, warm and bright and impossibly steady, like she has made a private pact with life to keep showing up with grace. You would never guess the storms she’s weathered. You would never guess the girl she once was, or how hard she had to fight to become the woman she is now.
Phoebe was born in Homa Bay, in a village called Kangak in Kenya. It’s a place stitched together by red earth, small wooden homes, and the quiet rhythm of daily life. At the centre is a little market called Oyugis.. the kind of place where everyone knows everyone, where greetings are long and stories spill into the afternoon, and where the church bells at Atande Catholic Church gather people like family. That is where Phoebe first learned community, belonging, and the gentle cadence of hope.
In Phoebe’s community, family is built differently than many Western readers might know. Here, marriage exists within a cultural framework where love, lineage, and legacy all intertwine, and where a man may take a second wife if his first wife has not conceived a child within five years. It is not done out of rejection or lack of love. It is not scandalous or secretive. It is a cultural practice rooted in continuity.. ensuring that a family’s lineage lives on, that a home is filled with children, and that the community’s heritage remains strong.
Phoebe’s father followed this tradition with gentleness and dignity. His first wife.. the woman who would one day become Phoebe’s stepmother.. had loved him for seven years without conceiving. There was no anger, no blame, no shame. But tradition allowed, even encouraged, him to marry again so that he could have children.
So he married Phoebe’s mother.
And Phoebe became the child that changed everything.
She was the first heartbeat in a home that had been waiting almost a decade for a cry, a giggle, a tiny hand to wrap around a finger. She was the child who broke the silence that had hung in the air for seven long years.
Her stepmother adored her instantly.. not as “the new wife’s baby,” not as a threat, not as a reminder of what she couldn’t do, but as a blessing. As an answer. As a gift.
Phoebe was the child who made both women mothers.
And her stepmother believed, wholeheartedly, that something spiritual happened the day Phoebe was born ( which happened to be new years day).. that whatever invisible block had once stopped her from conceiving had been lifted by the presence of this child. Because shortly after Phoebe’s birth, the stepmother fell pregnant and eventually went on to have four children of her own. And then Phoebe’s own mother had three more alongside.
Eight children from two women.
One intertwined family.
No separation of “yours” and “mine.”
No rivalry.
No bitterness.
The two wives raised all eight children together.. cooking together, praying together, sharing responsibilities, dividing food equally, and shaping a childhood full of unity. If their father brought home groceries, the shopping was divided exactly in half. If one child fell ill, both mothers tended to them. If one child succeeded, both mothers celebrated.
This was not a broken family.
This was a beautifully unconventional one.
Phoebe grew up in a home where love was not limited by biology and where motherhood came in pairs.. double the nurturing, double the guidance, double the strength. Her stepmother was not just “another woman,” but a mother in every sense of the word.
This unity, this softness, this shared devotion… it became the foundation of Phoebe’s worldview.
It is why she loves so fiercely.
Why she protects people so instinctively.
Why she sees family in the broadest possible way.
Why she holds gratitude as closely as air.
It is why she survived what came next.
When Phoebe was just twelve, life changed in a way no child should ever have to endure.
Her father and his first wife.. the stepmother Phoebe had grown up loving.. were killed together in a tragic car accident while returning home from work. One moment they were the centre of the family, and the next the entire structure of home collapsed into grief. Two parents gone in a single day. Two households suddenly motherless, fatherless, and adrift.
When Phoebe’s father and stepmother died, the loss didn’t just take her parents. It fractured the family in a way no child could ever prepare for.
Traditionally, when a woman dies, her own mother steps in to protect and raise her grandchildren. So Phoebe’s step-siblings were taken in by their maternal grandmother.. not out of rejection, but because Phoebe’s mother could never have managed the sudden weight of caring for so many children alone. Phoebe understood this. Even as a child, she knew it was for the best, that it was necessary for everyone to survive, to have food on the table and a chance to grow.
The grief was still immense. On the day of the funeral.. the very same day they laid their parents to rest.. a decision was made that the two sets of children would be split. Half of the siblings would move to another village to live with their grandmother. And just like that, Phoebe lost her parents and half her siblings all at once.
But Phoebe’s love for her family never wavered. She remembers the sacrifices they all had to make: nights when there were not enough blankets for everyone, when she would sleep with her trousers on so that the younger children could be warm. She carried responsibility even as a child, quietly knowing that her own comfort was less important than keeping her family safe.
Distance rearranged their daily life, but it could not break their bond. They were still siblings. Still family. Still bound by the shared love of their parents, the memories of home, and the resilience that had been woven into them from the very beginning.
Phoebe often reflects on this moment as the first of many times she had to grow up faster than she should have, to make choices no child should have to make.. and yet, it is also where her enduring compassion and sense of duty were born.
A few years later, tragedy came again..
This time, it took her birth mother.
Phoebe believes her mother’s death came from a kind of sorrow the body cannot hold. The stress. The pressure. The weight of losing her husband, the weight of caring for children alone, the weight of knowing that medical help was too expensive to reach for. There were no doctors they could afford, no treatment, no intervention. They were beyond poor and her grief consumed her. Her mother grew weaker and weaker until she simply could not stay alive. One thing that struck me as Phoebe shared this story was the quiet, lingering pain in her voice.. the knowledge that if she had even 300 shillings (£3) for medicine at the time, her mother might still be here today.
Instead there were four children left standing in the wreckage.
As expected, her grandmother stepped in, already carrying a life that had not been easy. She brewed her own strong traditional drink, smoked cigarettes and weed, and had outlived more pain than she ever spoke aloud. Losing her adult daughter almost broke her. She used to ask God why He kept taking the young and leaving the old. Why the parents of these children were gone while she remained. Why she remained when the children needed their parents more than she needed her years.
Phoebe was only just a teenager, but suddenly she was the adult.
She finished her K.C.P.E ( her primary school exams ) and then her education ended. Not because she lacked intelligence or ambition, but because her family needed her. Her grandmother needed support. The younger children needed guidance. And there was no one else who could step in.
So she began to work.
Selling firewood.
Tending gardens.
Finding any small job that could keep her siblings fed.
Carrying responsibilities far too heavy for a child, yet carrying them anyway.
She walked 40 kilometres a day to the river to get fish to sell..
She doesn’t describe these years as tragic, though they were. She talks about them with a calmness that breaks my heart. “It was not easy,” she told me, “but I thank God for protection.” She survived them with gratitude instead of bitterness, with hope instead of resentment. That part shakes me every time.
At sixteen, Phoebe was offered her first real opportunity with her Uncle.. A chance to move to Nairobi. It was a door she had dreamed of, though never dared to imagine, and she walked through it with hope and determination.
In the city, she learned tailoring and quickly became skilled, mastering her craft with a focus and dedication that reflected the resilience she had built from years of hardship. It was also here that she met her first husband, another eldest child of eight, carrying the heavy weight of responsibility just as she did.
Despite the distance, Phoebe’s heart remained tied to her younger brothers back in the village. She returned regularly, checking on them, guiding them, and offering the love she knew they needed. On one visit, her second-born brother.. the one she felt closest to.. broke down completely. He confessed that he couldn’t cope anymore and warned her that if she left him behind again, he might end his life.
Phoebe didn’t hesitate. She packed his bag and brought him back to Nairobi. She became his guardian, his teacher, his protector.. the steadfast presence he needed.
But her husband resented the arrangement. He punished her brother, rationing him to one meal a day, hoping to assert control. Phoebe challenged him, defending her brother fiercely, but it only made the household more tense, more unlivable.
Eventually, she faced an impossible choice: her husband or her brother.
Without a second thought, she chose her brother.
She walked away from the marriage, leaving behind the life she had built, knowing that protecting her family.. the one she had vowed to never abandon.. was worth any sacrifice.
After leaving her first husband, Phoebe had nowhere to go but forward. She found a place she could afford.. a slum settlement in Nairobi. To imagine it is to shrink the comforts of a home to almost nothing: a space no bigger than a shed, with corrugated metal walls that rattled in the wind, a roof that leaked whenever it rained, and dirt floors that turned to mud after even a light shower. There were shared toilets, no running water, and the sharp, ever-present smell of sewage that clung to every corner. The constant hum of overcrowding.. voices, footsteps, arguments, laughter.. never let her feel alone, and yet it never felt like home either.
This was where she lived for two long years. Two years in which she rose every day, no matter how heavy her body felt, no matter how exhausted she was from the work or from worry. She worked long hours tailoring, took any job she could, and stretched every shilling to keep herself and her brother alive.
Through it all, Phoebe never gave up. She refused to let the cramped walls or the harshness of her surroundings define her spirit. Each day was a test, a lesson in perseverance, a quiet reminder that moving forward.. even one small step at a time.. could carry her beyond hardship.
Even in the aftermath of heartbreak, Phoebe never lost her focus. She continued to support her younger brother, teaching him the craft of tailoring that she had learned in Nairobi. Slowly, with her guidance, he began to flourish.. building a business, a home, a family of his own. By the time Phoebe felt she could step back, he had become successful enough to stand on his own and move forward without her. She never left him behind; she gave him the tools, the knowledge, and the love he needed to thrive, and then stepped aside so he could create his own life.
She also helped other young people from her village, guiding them as they arrived in the city, teaching them skills, helping them find work, connecting them to opportunities. She became a pillar of support for many, despite the struggles she continued to face herself.
After two years in the slum, Phoebe’s life took another turn. She met her second husband, and with him came both hope and new challenges. To survive, she shifted her work from tailoring to shining shoes.. a modest job, but one that provided a small, reliable income. It wasn’t glamorous, it wasn’t easy, but it was steady, and it allowed her to keep moving forward.
Soon, she became pregnant, and for a brief moment, it felt like a new beginning. But devastatingly at six months, she lost her baby. Heartbreak struck again. She tried to hope, tried to dream, only to face two more miscarriages one after another. Each loss chipped at her spirit, and she felt the weight of expectations and blame from her husband, who struggled to understand her grief. He questioned her, scolded her, and at times made her feel as if the tragedies were her fault because his brother had children without complications.
Her brothers, seeing the strain on her heart and her faltering mental health and caring so deeply for her, reminded her of her worth. “We did not go through what we went through for you to settle,” they told her. They reminded her of the strength she carried, of the sacrifices she had already made, and of the life she deserved to build for herself with someone who respected her.
With their encouragement, Phoebe made another painful choice: she left her second husband. She chose herself and the life she knew she had the right to live.
After four years of relentless saving and sacrifice, she finally achieved a personal milestone.. learning to drive and buying her first car. It was more than a vehicle; it was independence, freedom, and a lifeline. Every shilling she earned, every hardship she endured, had brought her to this moment. The car allowed her to work as a driver, to support herself fully, and to begin building the life she had always dreamed of ( with a little support from her brothers along the way).
Though her car is twelve years old, and every improvement or upgrade requires careful planning and saving, Phoebe faces each challenge with the same resilience she had shown her entire life. She dreams of a bigger car, one that is more reliable, one that would allow her to take on more lucrative work, expand her opportunities, and continue providing for herself and her loved ones.
Through it all, Phoebe’s faith remained unwavering. She rises before dawn to pray, trusting that God had a plan for her and that every trial she had endured is shaping her for something greater. Her faith matters deeply to her. Despite unimaginable loss and hardship, she radiates kindness, loyalty, and humility. She faced life’s challenges with grace, never bitter, always grateful, and always ready to give her heart to those in need.
Phoebe has endured more than most of us can imagine, yet she continues to rise each day with hope, determination, and kindness. She is proud of what she has built with her own hands: a life of independence, brothers who thrive because of her guidance, and countless young people she has helped along the way.
Her car is more than just a vehicle.. it is her livelihood, her independence, and her pride. For the past few years, she has worked tirelessly to pay off the loan, sacrificing luxuries and comforts, saving every shilling she could. In just one year, the loan will be finished. But imagine what it would mean to her to reach that milestone sooner: the freedom to upgrade her car, take on higher-paying work, and continue building a life she dreams of living.
Phoebe does not seek pity. She seeks opportunity. She is a woman of resilience, faith, and generosity.. someone who, given the chance, will transform not only her own life but the lives of those around her. Supporting her, even in a small way, is not just helping pay off a car loan.. it is giving hope, opening doors, and honouring a lifetime of hard work, sacrifice, and unwavering love.
Every contribution brings her closer to that dream. Every gesture shows her that her sacrifices, her kindness, and her perseverance are seen, valued, and celebrated. Phoebe’s story reminds us that investing in a single person can ripple outwards, changing lives in ways we may never fully realise.
If you would help me change her life I’d be forever grateful.. As a child, now a woman who has never ever received a single Christmas gift, I’d love to give her a Christmas miracle and show her the true spirit of Christmas..
The link to her Go-fund-me page is below where I’m hoping to raise £2000.
The Bakers Adventures 
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