Turning Survivors into Leaders: Lydia's Story

TW: Childhood sexual abuse, sexual violence

A few months ago, I sat down with Lydia, whose work at Freely in Hope centres on something deceptively simple to say and profoundly hard to do: helping survivors of sexual violence heal, lead, and build a world where fewer people ever need that healing at all.

When I asked her what gives her life meaning, she didn't hesitate. Her six-year-old daughter, first. And then the work — creating a platform for survivors to become leaders, built on the very things she once struggled with herself.

"I envision a world free of any sort of violence," she told me. It's the kind of sentence that could sound naive coming from someone else. From Lydia, it doesn't. It sounds earned.

Kibera, and the things people get used to

Lydia was born and raised in Kibera, one of the largest informal settlements in Africa. She talks about growing up there with a clear-eyed honesty— not just the poverty and systemic inequality, but the domestic violence that ran through her own family and community. Women's screams at night had become so normalised that people simply learned to sleep through them.

And yet, alongside that, she remembers a fierce sense of community. Women who, despite everything they were carrying, found joy in the smallest things — a shared cup of chai, borrowed salt, a handful of maize passed over a fence. Joy, practised on purpose, right alongside hardship.

Lydia was sexually abused at five years old. She didn't have language for what had happened — she just knew, somewhere deep down, that it was wrong. There was no one to tell. Conversations about bodies, boundaries, and abuse simply didn't happen in her community. So she carried it, quietly, the way so many children do.

An opportunity born out of frustration

Lydia is one of eight children. Her father, like many fathers in Kibera, initially invested his hope and his fees in educating his sons — the belief being that girls would marry and leave, so why spend money on their schooling? But when her brothers struggled and resisted school, it opened an unexpected door for Lydia and her sister. They excelled. They came out top of their class. And slowly, her father's scepticism gave way to pride.

It's a familiar, quietly infuriating story — that girls so often have to prove themselves through the failures of others to be seen as worth investing in. Lydia didn’t dwell on the injustice of it. She just kept going—through primary school, into local high schools in Kibera without labs or equipment, still hungry to learn.

It was in high school that everything shifted. One of her closest friends was gang-raped. And in helping her friend navigate the aftermath — the shame, the infections, the confusion about what to do next — Lydia's own buried memories began to surface. She still didn't tell her friend what had happened to her. She was, in her words, "battling with figuring out whether this was true or not." What she did do was start a girls' club. It began with six members and grew to sixteen, then spread across the school — a space to talk about everything from alcoholism to abuse to poverty. It didn't fix things, but having each other made it more bearable.

Finding Freely in Hope

After high school, Lydia volunteered with two organisations — one focused on general community work, the other on menstrual health. Both were meaningful, but neither matched the thing she kept circling back to: sexual abuse, and the total absence of infrastructure to respond to it. Eventually, someone told her about an organisation offering academic scholarships to survivors of sexual abuse.

Until that point, Lydia had never called herself a survivor. Applying for the scholarship meant naming it, in writing, for the first time. She was called in for an interview — and that's where she met Nikole, the founder of Freely in Hope.

"I feel like for the first time someone paid attention to my experiences," Lydia told me. "Someone heard me, someone saw me... beyond the little girl from the hood."

She was accepted, and went on to pursue a degree in Gender Development and Women's Studies. But partway through, she told Nikole she wanted to step back from full-time study — she felt she was losing touch with her community, and wanted to intern instead. Nikole listened and designed a fellowship around Lydia so she could do both. 

A holistic model, built from lived experience

What began as a scholarship programme has grown into something much larger. Every scholar at Freely in Hope has access to in-house counselling, safe housing (if they need to be removed from an abusive home), healthcare, and legal support to follow through on reporting. But Lydia was clear that the most important piece is something less tangible—a community of belonging. Knowing you're not alone, and that your voice can go on to help someone else.

From there came child protection— programmes for children, caregivers, and practitioners. This grew directly out of Lydia's own story and her children's book, Pendo's Power, written after she became a mother herself, terrified of her daughter facing the same vulnerabilities she once did. The book teaches children that their voice is their power — that if someone makes them uncomfortable, they can speak up, and someone will believe them.

The response to the book surprised her. Parents wanted to know how to actually have these conversations, so a companion guide followed, then workshops for parents and caregivers on how to build trust and respond well to disclosures (Lydia's best friend, when she first told her own father she'd been raped, was met with disbelief and blame), and separately, for teachers and practitioners on building protective policies in schools.

Then there's the Malkia programme — a nine-month, survivor-led initiative supporting women working in prostitution. Participants get counselling, education on sexual and reproductive rights, and practical skills training in things like soap-making, baking, and beading, alongside seed capital to start small businesses. Lydia was candid about how the programme starts: often with something as small as a bucket of unga as an incentive to get women into the classroom instead of the streets. But a few sessions in, something shifts. Four cohorts have graduated so far — the most recent, ten women just the Saturday before we connected.

Survivors leading survivors

What struck me most was learning that 88% of Freely in Hope's staff are themselves survivors who've come through its programmes. Lydia traced a few threads for me. Mary Claire, who came through the scholarship programme and later helped start Malkia. Pauline, who joined her to lead the first cohort in 2017. Sarafina, a participant in that first cohort who is now the Malkia programme coordinator. Mercy, whom Sarafina identified and mentored in a later cohort, and who now works there too.

"That's why it's so powerful to work with survivors," Lydia said. "They were there. They experienced the system failures. They know what the solutions should look like." It's why she insists on calling the women she works with leaders, not beneficiaries.

What she'd tell her sixteen-year-old friend now

I asked Lydia what she'd say, knowing everything she knows now, to the friend who came to her all those years ago… and her words had me struggling to hold back tears.

I believe you. You're not alone. I'm with you, and I'm going to walk with you. It was not your fault. The shame is not yours to carry. You're worthy of love and safety and community — and I'm going to be that for you.

Sitting with people in their pain until they believe they're worthy of more is, by her own admission, exhausting work. So Lydia has built rhythms to sustain herself — therapy, which every staff member has access to; a monthly mental health day to simply rest; nature walks at Karura and the Nairobi Safari Walk; a week-long organisational mental health break each May, on top of regular leave. Community, too — her sisters, her friends, people she can call. And prayer.

I left our conversation thinking about how rare it is to meet someone who has turned her own unspeakable experience into infrastructure — literal counsellors, safe houses, curricula, cohorts — for other people's healing. Lydia didn't just survive what happened to her. She built a way for others to survive it better, and to lead once they have.

Interested to find out more about Freely in Hope? Reach out to Lydia:

Lydia Matioli
Senior Director of Program Strategy
Freely in Hope - Kenya
lydia@freelyinhope.org

How Yazua Afrika Is Reframing Masculinity

I’ll freely admit that I’m highly sceptical of programmes that target the ‘boy child’ or young men in a world that is still structurally stacked against women. That scepticism comes from a deep frustration: the sense that the rage we see so often is rooted in fear. Fear that women’s equality somehow threatens men’s current position of superiority. Fear that equality means loss.

So when I was introduced to Eric Mungai of Yazua Afrika, I held that scepticism close, but I also challenged myself to listen with an open mind. I’m glad I did.

“I’d like to see a continent that offers dignity — in health, education, and livelihoods. Where women are safe and able to participate fully. Where education is available for everyone. I’d like to see us leapfrog into modernity, to build cities like Dubai, while staying connected to our roots. I want us to find a place for everyone, so that everyone belongs. Where our people aren’t corrupt. Our resources don’t have to be wasted.”

Eric painted a compelling picture of the world he hopes to help build.

Born to a teenage mother, Eric was raised by his maternal grandfather. Teen pregnancy was difficult for his mother--she experienced post-natal depression, and was later diagnosed with bipolar disorder alongside other mental health challenges. His grandfather became the steady anchor Eric needed, providing love, care, and mentorship.

Without necessarily naming it as such, his grandfather took a coaching and mentorship approach. From an early age, he encouraged Eric to volunteer his time. One of the places Eric volunteered was a rehabilitation centre for street-involved boys. As he returned regularly, Eric began to notice something uncomfortable: while he came from the same environment and the same poverty as many of the boys there, his path was already diverging. He was doing well in school. He had support.

Digging deeper, he realised the difference was intentionality.

That realisation stayed with him. As Eric moved through college and into work, he continued to volunteer and remain curious about the lived experiences of these boys. At the centre, he noticed a troubling pattern. While school fees were being paid, many boys weren’t staying. The intervention wasn’t responding to their individual needs.

Eric came to understand that raising boys requires more than provision — it requires stories that speak to their hearts and imaginations.

What began as a weekend engagement slowly grew into a community. Eric developed a curriculum shaped by listening, observation, and lived experience.

“I wanted to give them something I had — something that gave me an edge.”

Much of that edge, he reflects, came from watching his grandfather evolve. While his grandfather had been angry, distant, and almost dictatorial with his own children, he was different with Eric. The shift came after his business failed, giving him the space to sit with himself.

“Men don’t know who they are until their world crumbles around them.”

With Eric, his grandfather was present. He listened. He encouraged expression. He had Eric read aloud to him — a practice Eric credits with significantly improving his academic performance.

These early experiences now inform Yazua Afrika’s programmes for boys and young men aged nine to twenty-one. Rather than teaching masculinity through rigid roles, Yazua reframes it through values and virtues.

“A lot of work with boys is still deeply patriarchal. Masculinity needs to move from roles to values. Discipline, determination, excellence — these are qualities that make you a good human being, and therefore a good man. The idea that manhood is about power over others isn’t just outdated; it’s dangerous.”

Yazua Afrika partners with high schools that need additional support in mentoring boys. They train mentors — including school alumni and professionals from corporate organisations — using their curriculum. They also license this curriculum to other organisations, such as rehabilitation centres for street-involved boys and groups working with boys from lower-income communities.

Their approach is intentionally experiential. Boys are immersed in their communities and encouraged to see themselves as contributors rather than recipients. For boys aged twelve to seventeen, this includes identifying a problem in their school or community and developing a solution. Often, they focus on issues such as waste management or climate change. Yazua Afrika then supports them by connecting the boys to relevant organisations — for example, the Africa Leadership Academy — which provide curriculum support, materials, and training.

The boys don’t just ideate. They act. They volunteer. They participate.

I was keen to hear stories of boys and men who had gone through Yazua Afrika’s programmes, and Eric shared several.

One is Peter Ndirangu, now working at L’Oréal and a strong supporter of Yazua Afrika. He is passionate about ethical sourcing, consistently asking what it would mean for a global company to prioritise clean products and moral supply chains — and how those decisions affect communities.

Another alumnus is a county assembly member actively pushing for progressive civic conversations. Another, also named Peter, runs a startup that encourages people to invest in and support coffee farmers.

Eric also shared reflections from participants who spoke about how the guidance and mentorship from him and the wider team helped them grow in confidence, discipline, and self-understanding.

As Yazua Afrika continues to grow, Eric is becoming increasingly intentional about partnerships and scale. The organisation is also preparing to open an office in Johannesburg.

I began this conversation sceptical. I left it persuaded of something important: working with boys does not have to come at the expense of women. When done thoughtfully, it is one of the ways we build safer, more equitable societies — for everyone.

Keen to learn more? Reach out to Yazua Afrika at eric@yazuaafrika.com or visit https://yazuaafrika.com/ 

Top 12 Nonfiction Reads of 2025

If you asked someone who knows me well to describe me, chances are that somewhere in the first paragraph there’d be a reference to my love of reading. I credit my mum for inculcating this love in me—when I was younger, even before I could really understand words, she would read me stories and make up her own.

I’m not sure whether this led to, or fed, my insatiable curiosity, but by a young age I was hooked. The librarian at school was surprised when my mum once asked her to stop lending me books (so that I could, you know, do homework). She mentioned that she usually had the opposite complaint from parents—that their children read too little.

The more you read, the faster you get. As a 10- or 11-year-old, I finished The Lord of the Rings in three days. These days? I average around 150 books a year (from 2020 to date). Not because I’m spending hours and hours reading every day (don’t tempt me…), but because I’ve built my speed to the point where I can.

Out of the 169 books I finished in 2025, I wanted to share 12 nonfiction reads that really stood out, in no particular order. Let me know if you end up picking any of these up.

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1. Invisible Women: Data Bias in a World Designed for Men, Caroline Criado Perez
How is this not a book everyone’s talking about? It had me—borrowing some Gen Z—shook. So much of how the world is designed hinges on a male default, and we rarely question it, even when the implications for women’s health, safety, happiness, and opportunity are enormous. READ. THIS. BOOK.

2. The Anxious Generation, Jonathan Haidt
Screen time and social media are bad for children. How bad? This rigorously researched book lays it out clearly. Haidt argues for minimal screen time, no social media until at least 16 (ideally longer), phone-free schools, and a return to more risky, independent play for kids.

3. Hope Dies Last, Alan Weisman
Climate change is terrifying. The speed and scale of ecological breakdown is terrifying. I tapped into that fear viscerally last year, and this book left me both unsettled and—surprisingly—hopeful. Weisman’s core argument is that while individual actions feel good (recycle those bottles!), we need much bigger bets to save ourselves, and many communities are already paying the price. He introduces us to people who are making those big bets. For all our sakes, I hope they succeed. This is probably the book I recommend most these days.

4. Between Two Kingdoms, Suleika Jaouad
Jaouad’s memoir traces her diagnosis with cancer, her treatment, and the long, disorienting aftermath. Her writing is raw and intimate; she doesn’t shy away from truth-telling, even when it reflects uncomfortably on herself.

5. If Oceans Were Ink: An Unlikely Friendship and a Journey to the Heart of the Quran, Carla Power
I picked this up via a daily Kindle deals newsletter I subscribe to. Power, a secular American raised by Christian and Jewish parents, forms a friendship with Sheikh Mohammad Akram Nadwi. Together, they read and debate the Quran. I found this book a beautiful case study in genuinely engaging with difference—and in challenging one’s own assumptions and biases.

6. Notes on a Nervous Planet, Matt Haig
At this point, if Matt Haig publishes something, I’m in. This book is a collection of observations on the modern world, written in his trademark charming, vulnerable, deeply relatable voice.

7. Hidden Potential, Adam Grant
Another author whose work I’ll always read. I describe my own purpose as unblocking, unlocking, and accelerating potential, so a book on exactly that—by one of my favourite thinkers on work and organisations—was a no-brainer. I took notes, including ideas like asking for advice instead of feedback (to turn critics into coaches), and helping students become proactive, prosocial, disciplined, and determined.

8. Cleverlands, Lucy Crehan
If I had to choose one intervention that could have a massive positive impact on humanity, it would be education. Crehan explores education systems in Finland, Canada, Japan, China, and Singapore, immersing herself in classrooms and living with teachers. A must-read for anyone interested in how learning systems are designed—and how they could be better.

9. Good Night Stories for Rebel Girls, Elena Favilli and Francesca Cavallo
I wish I’d had this book growing up. I plan to read the subsequent volumes soon. I’d recommend gifting this to anyone—regardless of age or gender—as a counterbalance to the overwhelmingly male-centric narratives many of us are raised on.

10. Manifesto for a Moral Revolution, Jacqueline Novogratz
I’d read The Blue Sweater years ago and had this sitting on my Kindle for a while before finally diving in. I’m glad I did. I love stories about people trying—earnestly and imperfectly—to make the world better, and Novogratz draws on many such stories to offer a much-needed moral and practical perspective.

11. 101 Essays That Will Change the Way You Think, Brianna Wiest
Was I sceptical because of the title? Absolutely. Did some of the essays make me think very deeply? Also yes. Maybe not life-changing across the board, but thoughtful, timely reflections that landed when I was ready for them.

12. Glucose Revolution, Jessie Inchauspé
Recommended by a friend, and genuinely instrumental in helping me reverse prediabetes last year (!!). Enough said, I think.