Coming from Africa, one witnesses a spectrum of life experiences. Even within my own family, where things were generally alright, the stark realities faced by others were impossible to ignore. Kenya, in particular, is a nation where politics runs deep, often marred by corruption. Socially, the disparities were glaring – a significant divide between the haves and the have-nots, a chasm that felt excessively wide. These observations, especially concerning my relatives, were deeply unsettling.

It felt inherently unfair that I might have access to sustenance while others close to me did not. As a child, witnessing such inequalities leaves an indelible mark. The question would constantly arise: why should I possess something that others lack? If there is a God who cares for all, why this imbalance? This led me into a profound state of contemplation, questioning our very existence: "Who are we? What are we doing here? Who orchestrated all of this? What is the purpose of our being?" The prevailing explanations simply didn't suffice, especially in the face of such visible suffering. Why should existence equate to enduring hardship? Religious teachings spoke of a divine plan, yet the suffering I witnessed seemed to contradict any notion of a benevolent design.

These thoughts weren't fleeting childhood musings; they took root early, even before the age of fourteen. I would say I matured in my understanding of the world quite prematurely. By fourteen, these ponderings had become so intense that I felt compelled to distance myself from organized religion. It wasn't that I rejected the concept of a higher power entirely, but the explanations offered felt inadequate, failing to address the fundamental questions about fairness and divine love in a world riddled with suffering. The sermons I heard lacked the answers I desperately sought, leaving me uninspired and prompting me to look elsewhere.

It's interesting, because often, those facing hardship question their own fate, asking, "Why me?" But for me, even with my own needs met and a degree of happiness, the inequity I observed in the lives of others was deeply troubling. It sparked a sense that something was fundamentally amiss, a stirring of compassion and a recognition of the need for equality. I found myself asking why others seemed able to move through life without grappling with these questions, while they weighed heavily on my heart.

This internal conflict propelled me to seek understanding beyond conventional religious frameworks. I felt a need to detach myself from specific religious identities to grasp the deeper essence of existence. I remember thinking that many institutions – political, social, religious – seemed complicit in perpetuating these inequalities, failing in their supposed role of aiding people. This concern was coupled with a sense of "why me?" Why was I so acutely aware of these issues?

Perhaps it was an innate inclination, a sensitivity from a young age that made me identify a dissonance in the world. There was an inner voice compelling me to seek these answers. Eventually, life moved forward. I entered high school, still carrying these unanswered questions. This intellectual and spiritual void led me to a point where I even rejected the existence of God, becoming an atheist. The explanations I had encountered about God seemed so inadequate in the face of the world's realities. If God existed amidst all this suffering and did nothing, then perhaps the very idea of God was a myth. I turned to science, to empirical evidence, to the tangible world, dismissing what I perceived as abstract and unfulfilling notions.

For a significant period, I lived without belief in God. Yet, intermittently, a sense of something more would resurface. The idea of a divine presence couldn't be entirely dismissed. There was an inner conviction, a persistent feeling that God was indeed real. This led to a pivotal realization: why had I abandoned this idea based solely on the explanations I had received? Perhaps there were other perspectives, other ways of understanding. I had only been exposed to the Christian viewpoint; what about other faiths and philosophies? This opened me up to a broader search.

By the time I reached university, I was in a state of earnest seeking. For some reason, the idea of meditation resonated as a potential pathway to understanding. I had heard the term, but those I asked seemed dismissive. My own intuition led me to believe that the answers might lie in exploring the inner world, in confronting discomfort, as I felt the majority of people were often driven by comfort and convenience. I reasoned that perhaps the path to deeper truth lay in venturing beyond the conventional.

Looking back, it strikes me that many spiritual and religious leaders were, in their own way, rebels against societal norms. They dared to step away from the accepted ways of thinking and living, ultimately becoming sources of new perspectives and movements. This resonated with my own feeling that the majority's way of doing things might be contributing to the world's problems, suggesting the need for an alternative approach. This wasn't a conscious act of rebellion, but rather a deep-seated feeling that compelled me to seek beyond the ordinary.

This inner prompting, whether you call it wisdom or intuition, was undeniable. I realized that my deep concern for the suffering of others, even when my own life was relatively comfortable, indicated a profound inner yearning. I could have simply enjoyed my life, but I couldn't ignore these persistent questions. It felt like a necessity to step outside societal norms to find the answers I sought, to venture beyond the conventional path.

This wasn't perceived as a hardship; rather, it was a deep desire to understand. It felt strange that others didn't seem to share this same level of concern or curiosity. This led me to believe that perhaps there were larger forces at play, obscuring these fundamental questions for many.

My search led me to explore various avenues. I remember visiting the Chinese Embassy library, delving into books on meditation and Zen Buddhism. I found aspects of it appealing, particularly the emphasis on peace and inner exploration. I also sought access to the philosophy department library at the University of Nairobi, even before I was officially a student there, driven by a need to understand the concepts of mind and meditation. This was in a time before the easy access of Google and the internet; libraries were the primary source of such knowledge.

I found a friend who was willing to accompany me and listen to my thoughts. It was often disheartening that when I shared these deep questions with others, they showed little interest, seemingly content with their normal lives focused on work and material pursuits. But for me, these questions felt incredibly important for society as a whole. Finding a companion who shared this intellectual and spiritual curiosity was a significant step. Together, we explored various paths, even venturing into martial arts like karate, hoping it might offer insights into meditation. However, the violence inherent in it didn't align with my inner seeking.

Then, a significant turning point occurred. My friend learned about the Brahma Kumaris. Remarkably, their center in Nairobi was only a short distance from where we lived. This felt like a significant lead.

Around this time, I began experiencing intense periods of sleeplessness, my mind flooded with the very questions that had plagued me since childhood: "Who are you? Where did you come from? What is all this?" These questions now arose with an even greater intensity, accompanied by a profound sense of unease. "What are we doing here? What is the purpose of our existence? What happens after this life?" It felt as though something within me was pushing these questions to the forefront, demanding answers.

Despite this inner turmoil, I never felt depressed or contemplated ending my life. However, there was a period, before finding answers, where life felt somewhat meaningless. I even expressed to my grandfather, to whom I was very close, that life didn't seem particularly interesting. I felt a sense of being at a crossroads: either I would continue in this state of unanswered questions, or I might become a rebel against a society that seemed to accept the status quo. I wasn't ready to simply accept life as it was without understanding its deeper purpose.

At that time, the thought of moving to another country to seek answers didn't occur to me. My focus was on understanding the situation within my own context, in Africa, and perhaps contributing to positive change there.

When I finally visited the Brahma Kumaris, I was struck by the very first lesson: "Who am I?" It was the very question that had been the crux of my lifelong search. It felt as though everything clicked into place. The introduction to their teachings, the exploration of "Who am I?" and "Where am I?" alongside the deeper understanding of God and the cyclical nature of life, began to provide the answers I had been seeking. The concept of the drama of life, the reasons behind suffering, and the understanding of karmic accounts resonated deeply. I began to grasp the underlying principles that governed existence, the mechanics of life itself. It was as if all the questions I had carried within me were finally being addressed. It was an amazing realization, discovering that I wasn't alone in these profound inquiries and that there were indeed answers to be found. And remarkably, these answers were being shared by the Indian sisters at the center, something I had not anticipated given the prevailing cultural perceptions. Despite my initial reservations, the depth of knowledge they shared was truly awe-inspiring. It was at that point that I knew I had found the path I wanted to pursue in my life.

BK Francis Musyoki
Brahma Kumaris Centre coordinator - Seychelles