Raw

By Angela Murenga

RAW is a candid autobiography that delves into the remarkable life of Angie Murenga, a woman whose journey is a testament to the resilience of the human spirit. From her earliest childhood memory, Angie takes us on an emotional rollercoaster as she navigates the trials and triumphs that shape her existence.

Through vivid storytelling and introspection, she shares the invaluable lessons she learns along the way. From overcoming adversity to embracing vulnerability, Angie imparts wisdom that resonates deeply with her readers. Her experiences with love and loss paint a complex portrait of the human heart, as she grapples with profound joy and heartbreaking sorrow.

Ultimately, her quest for purpose becomes the driving force behind this inspiring narrative. As Angie confronts societal expectations and personal obstacles, she discovers her true calling and finds solace in making a difference in the lives of others, by God's grace and for His glory.

 

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Angela Murenga
• Release date: Oct 27, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223809258

Book preview

R A W

Angie Murenga

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"They will rebuild the ancient ruins and restore the places long devastated; they

will renew the ruined cities that have been devastated for generations." - Isaiah 61:4 (NIV)

Copyright © Angie Murenga, 2023

All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means – electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, scanning, or otherwise – except for brief quotations in critical reviews or articles, without the prior written permission of the publisher. All scripture quotations are taken from the Holy Bible, New King James Version Copyright

©1973, 1980, 1982 by Thomas Nelson, Inc. Holy Bible, New International Version®, NIV® Copyright© 1973, 1978, 1984, 2011 by Biblica, Inc.® Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.

First published in Kenya in 2023 ISBN 978-9914-49-552-2

To my daughter, Althea, and my future generations.

Contents

Acknowledgments............vii

Foreword........................ix

Chapter One:

The Beginning..................1

Chapter Two:

Early Childhood Memories....9

Chapter Three:

The Accident..................13

Chapter Four:

Baptism by Fire...............21

Chapter 5:

Young, Wild and Finally Saved29

Chapter 6:

The Turnaround..............35

Chapter 7:

The Call to Ministry..........43

Chapter 8:

Heeding to the Call...........49

Chapter 9:

Supernatural Provision.......55

Chapter 10:

Walking in Purpose............61

Chapter 11:

The Mystery of the Anointing 67

Chapter 12:

Holy Spirit Moments..........85

Chapter 13:

Miracles in the Marketplace.99

Chapter 14:

Love, Dating and Marriage..117

Chapter 15:

Divine Connections..........129

Chapter 16:

The End of an Era............153

Chapter 17:

Lessons From Co-Parenting.161

Chapter 18:

Evolving and Losing My Religion 169

Testimonials...................177

Acknowledgments

I would like to express my deepest gratitude to God the Father, Jesus Christ, and the Holy Spirit for the unending guidance and inspiration throughout this journey. I am immensely thankful for the unwavering support of my parents, siblings, and every individual whom God has chosen to mentor, coach, and disciple me along the way. Additionally, I extend my heartfelt appreciation to all the intercessors who have diligently prayed for me, offering their spiritual strength and blessings. This book is a reflection of the collective love, wisdom, and encouragement I have received from each of you.

Foreword

A heartfelt message from your daughter, the person who probably knows you better than anyone else on this planet. First and foremost, thank you for according to me the honour of writing the foreword for this transformational, insightful, and truth-bearing book. I am extremely proud of you for taking this bold step to share your life experience and lay it all bare; a courageous thing only few can do.

For nearly three decades now, I have accompanied you on this incredible voyage called life. As I embark on reading each chapter of this book, I get to unearth different truths about your life’s journey, and I am in awe of you all the more! As life may have it, you have encountered significant challenges that would have likely overwhelmed others if placed in your position. But as God would have it, you have always prevailed and emerged on the other side stronger, bolder, and even more fearless. This is a unique quality I truly admire in you, and I am glad it is one you have passed on to me. We hail from a lineage of strong women, and I can confidently declare my profound pride in that heritage.

To the readers, prepare to embark on a remarkable journey, to say the least. If you know my mum, you know she tells it like it is: boldly and unafraid. That’s the essence of this book. As you turn each page, you will get a glimpse into the story behind an exceptional, powerful, and extraordinary woman. You get to witness a firsthand account of all her ups, downs, and life lessons that have culminated in creating this powerhouse of a woman I am privileged to call my mother.

Without further ado, let’s set out on this incredible journey...

~ Althea Wamiru Matu.

R A W

Chapter One:

The Beginning

The real difficulty is to overcome how you think about yourself.

- Maya Angelou

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My life has been colourful and full of the most amazing experiences. Some I would have wished to change, yet they have shaped who I am. I may have desired other outcomes, but then again, God the Creator knows best. I have understood by looking back that I have been impacted by circumstances that I had no control over, and in others, I made decisions without fully realising the consequences of my actions and the impact they would have. I hail from lineages plagued with great trauma yet blessed at the same time, in an oxymoron kind of way. We have overcome mighty obstacles and I can see God’s hand in our lives.

My grandfather on my father’s side died early and left a young second family who didn’t know the first family, to thisday. The death of a father, and living life without one, is a huge blow to anyone’s life. My dad had a brother who also died young, which must have been confusing for Dad; one day he is playing with his brother, the next he is no more and then his own father also disappears similarly. I never got to have this discussion with my dad while he was alive, but I wish I had.

My mother’s father was working with the colonialist and was very harsh and aggressive yet full of love; which was confusing at best. He married three wives and was extremely violent to them. On reflection, his mother was part of the spoils of war from a raid between the Maasai and the Kikuyu tribes. She was named Ngima and Wanja; the latter meaning from outside. I believe the aggressive behaviour came from her. She had a life amongst her people and most likely didn’t want to be here, away from her people. She was the mother to my maternal grandfather. I   realise there’s lots of trauma in my lineage now that I look back and reflect.

Ever since I can remember, I have felt shame, fear and aggression all rolled into one. Being poor and not having a father and what others have produced shame, and at the same time, motivated my father to achieve the unachievable by pushing himself. This is where I sense some of his disappointment in   me, and us, came from. We had everything he didn’t have, so he was expecting more from us. Shame comes when there is   violence and high levels of intoxication in your home. Anxiety and trauma from not knowing what to expect and being an only child for a long time; many times without your mother at home and with a war going on as well. That was my mother’s story. I wanted to paint a picture as we start on the journey of my first autobiography, as I believe there will be two.

My parents came together and started a family. They succeeded financially and accorded us all that they did not have while they were growing up. As I reflect and write my story, I perceive they had a lot to deal with. This is my beginning; let us embark on a journey together as I connect the dots and experiences of my life.

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If I could use one word to describe my childhood, it would be interesting. I don’t have too many memories of growing up, but when I look back, the earliest ones were triggered by pictures that I stumbled upon in my early teen years. My parents had this rectangular container where they would store picture negatives and rolls of film. There was one picture where I was sitting on the pavement wearing a little shift dress and what appeared to look like school shoes, with no socks. My hair was cut short, and I was clinging to my mother’s skirt. The short hair was due to how thick and unmanageable mine was. My mother says that I used to scream and cause a scene every time she had to style my thick natural black hair, so she shaved it all off to make it easier to manage. Oh, how I miss that thick hair now that I am in my 50s!

In the picture, I could see that my parents were seeing off some guests who they had been hosting that day. The guests were walking towards their Mini Morris vehicle as I sat, clinging onto my mum’s skirt; ever so tight. I could tell that I was fearful and insecure. As I looked at that picture, I began to ask my mum questions such as, Why am I sitting on the pavement holding on to your skirt? She said that I was very insecure; for reasons unknown to her. It had become the norm for me to always be clinging to her.

Point to note: I have in recent days done an attachment style test that I would highly recommend to everyone. It showed that I have an insecure attachment style. This test is readily available online and comes with a comprehensive report to further unpack your attachment style.

I continued to look through the negatives in the rectangular container and saw one of a little coffin. What is this? I asked my mum. She replied, This is your brother. I was utterly shocked! Brother?! I had no prior knowledge of this. Yes, you had a brother called Joseph who came home but died of cot death when he was only two weeks old. Now, that was scary, but it also explained my behaviour around my mum. I can only imagine what they were probably thinking when they came home with me: Will this child survive?

Naturally, I like to psychoanalyse. When I reflect on this situation, I can imagine what it must have been like. Picture this: here is a happy newly wedded couple who have just had their first child. Everything is fresh and exciting; a little over- whelming, but very promising all at the same time. They name the child. The new mother nurses him as they form an unexplainable bond. Two weeks into their new reality, she goes to pick him up from his crib one morning, only to find him lying there lifeless. How devastating!

I presume that when I came home, they were probably anxiously monitoring me every time I was asleep, and their insecurities must have been transferred to me. I looked at my mum as she narrated this incident, and I could tell there was something else she was holding back. I prodded further, and she told me that she had also miscarried twins before her pregnancy with Joseph!

That is a lot of tragedy and trauma for newlyweds, and more so, for the bride. Interestingly, my brother also had a set of the most beautiful twins who passed away, and one was named after me. My grandmothers were identical twins, and the gene shows up in different generations from time to time.

As I look at this picture today, I can see that my spirit was filled with fear and sadness as I would follow my mum around everywhere she went.

~

My grandmothers were amazing people and I got to engage with them a lot. My dad’s mum was petite and very spiritual and one part of identical twins. She and her sister were found wandering with their older brother Macharia. At the time, he was an estimated age of 12 years, while the twin girls, Wangui and Mwihaki, were about 8 years old. More trauma and blessings followed as they were found by the missionaries in Mathari. The trio was raised at the mission base, which included a hospital, and this is where Wangui, my grandmother, would meet her husband, Muchiri, and give birth to five children: Wacuka, Mathenge, Nyambura, Chege (who passed on early) and Murenga (my dad).

My grandma was extremely prayerful and went to church three times a day. She was widowed early and spent her life in intercession. My mum’s mum was Wanjugu, a fairly quiet woman who worked hard to compensate for all the trauma and drama she had experienced. Her husband beat her daily, which was so tragic and traumatic. My parents looked after her and my memories of her are of how hard she worked. They moved her into her own properties and for this I am grateful. We got to visit both grandmothers over the holidays which shaped a lot of who I am today, and I shall share stories about this as you read on.

~🙛

The next memory that I have of my childhood was in standard five. What I remember is that everyone in my class stopped talking to me, out of what seemed like left field. I believe some- thing involving a teacher and other students was the cause. You see, I have always been very outspoken, and in this scenario, it landed me in trouble. I must have spoken up about something when everyone else was too afraid to do so, and as a result, I became the proverbial black sheep. No one wanted to play with me, and when it was a game that involved everyone, I was always picked last to be on other people’s teams. It was a very traumatising experience.

However, when I look back at my life, it has always been like that. I’m always standing on my own; always on the opposite side of what everyone else wants or experiences. My behaviour is usually non-conforming, and I believe this was part of my training for life, purpose and ministry, unbeknown to me.

They say that men and women are socialised differently. When boys come out to play, they immediately fall into leader- ship ranks, without anyone necessarily speaking a word; some- how, they just know what to do and who the leader is, and they fall into place. This pattern flows into their everyday lives; giving birth to the healthy and vibrant global Boys’ Club concept of socialisation.

Girls, on the other hand, just want everyone to behave the same, and if any girl steps out of that line, she is ostracised by the rest. This has been the story of my life: I’m always on the outside of the circle looking in. Hindsight is 20/20, and as I introspect, I realise that this was preparation for my life’s pur- pose. Unbeknownst to me, I was never going to fit in, and for me to do what I was called to, I had to learn that truth early on in life. It was a very painful lesson, and it is only now that I am in my 50s that I understand why this has been so ... but we’ll get into that a little later in the book.

I hated being me. When I was younger, I remember always wanting to be someone else, living in a different reality. The day I made peace with who I was and realised that I could not run away from myself was a day of such peace and a release of a lot of pent-up anxiety.

I am one who always expects the worst but hopes for the best. This is my default setting, and it has taken a lot to reset this, but as I get older, I realise I am more hopeful and optimistic. This critical approach to life made me an extremely suspicious human being, possibly because of my past experiences where I felt like the world had let me down and I needed to get ahead of any drama. My daughter would refer to me as the FBI and CIA rolled in one.

Chapter Two:

Early Childhood Memories

I find places like this so packed with memories. Visiting them can be like opening a memory jar. You take off the lid and the smells and sounds of a place hit you, unlocking things folded away deep in your brain.

- Sophie Cousens

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I hail from a family of four children, where I am the first- born. Between myself and our second born, Muchiri, there is a one-year gap. My sister, Susan, was born after another year, and finally, six years later, came Ngatia; the light of the family who holds us all together, in my opinion. I really can’t imagine life without my brother, Ngatia. He is the one that gets along with everyone and holds us all together.

I wouldn’t say that we are, or were, very close with my siblings, but if you attack one of us, we shall come after you viciously and then go back to our not-so-functional state. In our early years, Muchiri and I were very close, but then we both started spending time with other friends and that caused a bit of a disconnection. As for my sister, Susan, we are very different, and not very close. Where I am loud, aggressive, and a handful; rubbing everyone the wrong way, Susan is graceful, quiet, organised, charming, and all-round beautiful. Susan and I are so different that when she joined the high school that I was attending, no one believed that we were sisters. She is a lot like my dad whilst the rest of us are like my mum.

We grew up like a typical family in the 1970s and 80s. Our parents were coming out of colonial rule. Their parents had little resources and lived off the land; simple yet beautiful lives. We were shipped off to the countryside every school holiday, or at least one holiday a year, to spend time with our grandparents, and we loved it. Our trips upcountry consisted of simple living, fresh air, beautiful landscapes, early nights, fireside stories, and fresh food. I still remember my grandmother placing freshly harvested potatoes on top of hot coals and roasting fresh cobs of maize over a traditional three-stone fire. These were delicious, straight from the farm to the fire and into our bellies.

Parenting at that time was unconventional. My mum would drop us off in the village, and because of how far the home was from the nearest hospital or shopping centre with no public or private transportation, she would say in a loud voice that if any of us should pass on while we were there, my grandmother should bury us, and then she would come and pick up whoever remained alive. That statement brought life to me, and I was determined to survive. Thankfully, we all did!

It was a very different life in the countryside, but it allowed us to experience our parents’ humble beginnings. There was no electricity, and water came from a tank outside the home. The house was made of a concrete floor, wooden pallets that served as walls, and a simple tin roof that made the most comforting sound when it rained. We would leave a pot of maize and beans slowly cooking over a fire as we went out to work on the farm during the day. Through these experiences, I gained a sense of organisation and planning. Some of my fondest memories were of getting blisters from harvesting potatoes using a machete, having jiggers removed from my feet with a safety pin sterilised in a hot fire, washing my grandmother’s clothes, and listening to stories and fables narrated by my grandmother by the fire.

I fondly remember watching the starry sky in the dark of the night; no street or house lights, just the natural light coming from the moon and the stars. It was absolute bliss! It’s unfortunate how we sometimes complicate life in the city. There is such beauty in the simplicity of the countryside.

As I mentioned earlier, African parents are special and in a class of their own. The Aberdare Ranges fence and trench had not yet been built back then, so man and the wild animals had to co-exist. When the elephants came to eat (read destroy) the crops in the field, we had to wake up and chase them away by beating on empty drums. This was scary, but we had to do it to save the crops that we were fully dependent on for food. Looking back now it is with dismay; children chasing elephants?! They could have killed us, but they didn’t.

My mother owned a tour company which was one of the first ones in Kenya, and if I recall correctly, only two were female- owned at the time. This was a big deal, because it has never been easy for women to engage in anything, and this is such a commendable first! Mum had stopped working and paused her career path to raise us and now