By Peter Aowa
When Rael Nyte was born in the remote areas of Kisumu, the family was staring at abject poverty. A blessing that came in the wee days of struggles.
Her earliest memories are a mix of joy and struggle, woven together in a childhood that demanded resilience. Even though her family was poor, love was there in abundance. Nyte’s mother and her maternal grandmother who doubled as her guardian worked tirelessly to provide, yet there were days when even a single meal felt like a luxury. School was her escape, a place where she felt a sense of control over her future, though the journey was never easy.
When we begin the interview with Nyte, her memory takes her back to the days when she would walk long distances to class on worn out shoes and often an empty stomach. But she never allowed hardship to define her dreams.
“Some mornings, I left home not knowing if I would eat the entire day,” she recalls, her voice steady but reflective. “But hunger wasn’t the hardest part. It was uncertain whether I would be able to stay in school or be sent back home for fees.”
Books became her companions, her safe space in a world that sometimes felt unkind. Teachers noticed her brilliance. She was the kind of student who asked difficult questions, who stayed behind to read, who believed deep down that education could be the bridge to a better life.
But school didn’t shield her from the darkness that lurked at home and within the community. As she grew older, she learned that being a girl often meant being vulnerable in ways that boys weren’t. The people who were supposed to protect her turned into the very ones who shattered her innocence. Sexual abuse wasn’t something she had ever imagined would be part of her story, yet it became a scar she carried, one that shaped her understanding of the world.
For years, Rael lived with the weight of silence. Speaking out wasn’t an option, not when society often blamed the victim more than the perpetrator. She learned to hide her pain behind a quiet strength, channeling her energy into her studies, convincing herself that if she could just make it out, if she could just find a way to build a different life, maybe she could outrun the memories.
But trauma doesn’t disappear just because you try to forget. It lingers in the corners of your mind, surfacing when you least expect it. In university, while trying to balance academics and survival, the past crept back in. She struggled with self-worth, trust and with the constant feeling that she had to prove she was more than what had been taken from her.
After graduating, the hopeful Nyte stepped into the ruthless world of job hunting. It didn’t take long to realize that degrees alone didn’t open doors. Nepotism, corruption and unrealistic job market demands turned her dream of employment into a nightmare. Rejections piled up. Some interviewers hinted at favors she wasn’t willing to give. Others dismissed her before she even had a chance to prove herself.
At her lowest, she considered giving up. But the same fire that had pushed her through childhood hunger and teenage trauma refused to burn out. She took on odd jobs, worked late into the night, saved every coin, and kept applying. She refused to believe that her story would end in struggle.
Then came an opportunity, a chance to move to the United States. It wasn’t a smooth transition. Leaving behind everything she had known, stepping into a new culture, and rebuilding her life from scratch wasn’t easy. But in that new beginning, she found healing. She found her voice. She found a purpose greater than herself.
It was in the U.S. that she started to fully understand the weight of her journey. Every hardship, every tear, every moment of despair had shaped her into the woman she was becoming. And she knew she couldn’t keep that journey to herself. She had to turn her pain into something meaningful.
“Moving to the U.S. forced me to unlearn survival and start living,” she says. “For the first time, I wasn’t just fighting to exist. I was figuring out who I wanted to become.”
That was when Rael, who is among the only four Africans in the USA national hockey team, decided to become a mentor. She spoke out to young girls who felt voiceless with the aim of creating safe spaces where no child would have to endure what she had gone through.
Rael started by talking to young girls in her home village whenever she visited Kenya. She would gather them in small circles, sharing stories of resilience, urging them to prioritize education, and teaching them how to recognize and protect themselves from abuse. At first, they listened with hesitant eyes, unsure whether they could trust someone with experiences so close to their own. But as Rael spoke, they saw themselves in her, and slowly, they opened up.
It was then that she realized the depth of the problem. These girls were facing the same horrors she had—some even worse. Many had been forced into silence by cultural expectations, family pressure, and a lack of support systems. Some had given up on their education, believing that their worth had already been stolen from them. Others had resigned themselves to a life dictated by societal norms that told them their dreams were secondary to survival.
Rael couldn’t ignore what she saw. She began organizing more structured mentorship sessions, connecting with local schools to speak to girls about self-worth, education, and the importance of speaking out. She partnered with teachers who had long struggled with how to help students facing abuse and discrimination. Together, they developed workshops that focused not only on academic excellence but also on emotional resilience, self-defense, and career development.
But words alone were not enough. She knew that for real change to happen, these girls needed more than just motivation. They needed tangible support. That’s when she launched a scholarship initiative, fundraising through her networks in the U.S. to sponsor the education of bright but disadvantaged girls. At first, it was just a handful – three, then five, then ten. Over the years, the numbers grew. She watched as girls who once believed they had no future graduated from high school and went on to university, breaking generational cycles of poverty and hopelessness.
Education was only one part of the puzzle. Many of these girls came from homes where abuse was normalized, where the idea of reporting a perpetrator was unheard of. Rael knew they needed more than just encouragement; they needed protection. She began working with local women’s rights groups to create safe spaces where girls could seek help without fear of retribution. She helped connect survivors of abuse to counselors and legal aid, ensuring that those who needed justice found it.
Nyte’s work didn’t stop at young girls. She understood that to create lasting change, entire communities had to shift their mindset. She organized workshops for parents, teaching them the importance of supporting and believing their daughters. She worked with local authorities to push for stronger action against sexual violence. She spoke openly in community gatherings, challenging the stigma that often left survivors feeling isolated.
Back in the U.S., Rael used her voice on larger platforms. She spoke at conferences, collaborated with organizations that focused on gender equality, and lobbied for policies that supported survivors of abuse and gender-based violence. She didn’t just want to make an impact in Kenya. She wanted to be part of a global movement that ensured no girl, anywhere, ever had to suffer in silence.
Nyte has launched an online platform where young women from different parts of Africa share their stories anonymously, find mentors, and access educational resources. The platform has become a safe haven, a digital community where girls and women lift each other.
As a sportsperson who understands what impact it plays in the life of the youthful generation, Nyte founded Tunza Sports Academy as a Not-for-Profit sports-based youth development organization in the USA with field operations in Kenya.
“Sports saved me in many ways,” Rael notes, “It taught me discipline, resilience, and teamwork, adding that sheI wanted the girls to have something that empowers them beyond academics.”
Through this foundation, she has nurtured many talents and influenced a number of scholarships that has seen more than 10 girls move to the US to advance their studies.
Anila Bukhari