One Year Since I Lost My Job

From biometric doors to wilderness prayers, and the God who still sees.

On January 27, 2025, I walked into a glass building in Westlands feeling like a king.

Biometric doors. Phone-tap access. A shiny new laptop. A 15% pay raise. Big dreams.

Twenty‑four hours later, I walked out unemployed. This is the story of how a job lasted one day.

How a year stretched longer than I planned. How laughter survived loss. And how El Roi, the God who sees, met me in the wilderness.

Day One: The Arrival of a King

January 27, 2026.

This date should have been my first work anniversary as a Senior Learning Advisor with Management Systems International (MSI).

*When your dreams arrive before your reality catches up*

MSI was a USAID contractor, implementing a Third‑Party Monitoring program in Somalia.

Instead, this date marks one full year of unemployment.

But let me rewind.

I joined MSI on Monday, January 27, 2025. It came after nine long months of interviews, negotiations, counter‑offers, polite emails, awkward silences, and holy patience.

We finally agreed on terms. I felt justified leaving Social Impact (another USAID contractor). I had served there for two years as a Monitoring, Evaluation, and Learning Advisor.

The upgrade looked solid on paper:

15% salary raise
Bigger platform
Clear growth trajectory
A path toward supervision, learning, facilitation. My budding forte

I entered 2025 excited and confident. Maybe even a little smug. Perks? Sorted. Prestige? Loading. Purpose? Aligned.

Or so I thought.

Biometric Doors & Borrowed Confidence

MSI’s offices were housed by KOFISI (a co-working space). Bright, spacious, modern. The kind of place that whispers, “You’ve made it!”

Entry was through SALTO keys. A phone tap and glass doors swing open.

Every time they did, I swear my shoulders straightened an extra inch.

I was shown around with glee:

Reading spaces
Meeting rooms
Phone booths
A massive kitchen, stocked with autobiographies of global icons

Somewhere between the bookshelves and the coffee machine, I silently thought, Finally. Corner office energy.

My laptop was issued. Systems access granted. A brand‑new email address. Probably my sixth in this nomadic career.

The team was a beautiful mix of Somalis and Kenyans. One American colleague temporarily held my role, as I settled in.

The Chief of Party(Madam boss) sat across from me. Warm, welcoming, amused that I’d been a “tough cookie” during negotiations.

We laughed. Water under the bridge.

Day one ended easily. Too easily.

Day Two: When Heaven Went Quiet

Tuesday, January 28.

Everyone was (back) in the office. Including colleagues who had been away on security refresher training.

Working in Somalia teaches you to live alert: Improvised Explosive Devices, hazards, kidnapping, terrorism risks e.t.c.

I’d done similar Hostile Environment Integrated Security Training, back in 2008. Still terrifying. Still sobering.

As I pulled my shiny new laptop from my bag, the Chief of Party called us together.

Her voice was urgent. Heavy.

I joked nervously:

“Should I just put the laptop back in my bag?” Or it this one of those surprise bonding exercises?

We laughed.

Minutes later, I realized I wasn’t joking.

I wasn’t just returning the laptop to the bag. I was returning it to the office.

The honeymoon had ended, before it began.

A Global Decision, A Personal Earthquake

In his first week in office, President Trump issued a Stop Work Order for all U.S. government‑funded development and humanitarian programs.

Everything froze.

For 90 days, 5,000+ projects were reviewed by a newly formed U.S. Department of Government Efficiency.

Assessing their “value.” The Executive Order bluntly stated that U.S. foreign aid was often “not aligned with American interests.”

Our hope was stubborn. Surely humanitarian work: food, water, healthcare, cash assistance, would survive?

Valentine’s Day arrived. Because of course, heartbreak needed better timing.

While the world exchanged flowers and chocolates, I received my termination notice.

Contract ended. Just like that.

When Offices Emptied & Status Evaporated

MSI shut down its Kenya office.

Many American development firms followed suit. Westlands and Gigiri felt it first.

Offices emptied. Leases ended. Staff housing vacated. Severance packages were handed out, alongside office chairs and desks.

And me? I lost more than a job.

I lost rhythm.
I lost daily structure.
I lost colleagues.
I lost touch with some friends.
I lost money (future savings, investments and pension).
I lost status.

What I didn’t lose, though I didn’t know it yet, was God’s attention.

The Wilderness Has a Voice

Nine months later, I finally found the courage to write and preach:

Those posts and sermons cracked something open.

A window.

Then came enterprise, (read it here).

A webinar. A business idea.

My skillsets: storytelling, speaking, facilitation, and training. Converged into what is becoming Growth Communities: a space for storytelling for impact.

Not a detour. A re‑alignment.

El Roi, This Is My Beginning

Somewhere in this wilderness, a song found me.

“I won’t measure this year by what I lose, but by how You carry me through.”

The lyrics of El Roi, This Is My Beginning became my language when mine ran out.

God saw me before I arrived here.
He saw the seed before the harvest.
He saw the praise before the proof.

And if He saw me in the waiting.
If He saw me in the fire.
Then, I could trust Him with everything ahead.

*When your calendar clears, but heaven stays busy*

Losses I Didn’t Plan For

I’m glad this loss started in January (2025).

If I was going to be unemployed, at least let it align with New Year prayers and prophetic declarations.

Because October took my iPhone.
November almost took my father.
A month of hospital corridors tested our faith beyond words.

Yet here I am.

Fed. Clothed. Sheltered.

My wife stayed. A level of commitment that deserves its own national holiday. My children still call me Dad. Even when we skip school trips and holidays.

*When income shrinks, but love refuses to budget*

Friends called.
Former colleagues checked in.
My church held me steady when everything else shook.

A Word to You, Reader

Jesus once told grieving women:

“Do not weep for me, but for yourselves and for your children.” (Luke 23:28)

Today, I say this gently:

Please reach out to someone navigating unstable waters.

Cheer them. Loudly or quietly.
Show up. Physically or prayerfully.
Say something. Or say nothing at all.

Sometimes presence is the miracle.

*Turns out the wilderness has a microphone*

Closing the Loop

On January 27, 2025, I walked into a building feeling like a king.

One year later, I may not have the crown. But, I definitely have the character development. Standing in a very different place.

No biometric doors.
No shiny access cards.

But still seen.
Still known. Still held.

El Roi. This is my beginning. I begin again.

Comment Prompt

What unexpected ending became a surprising beginning in your life? Share your story below. Someone needs it today.

#OneYearLater #CareerCurveballs #ElRoi #StillStanding #FaithAndWork #GrowthCommunities #GodWhoSees

I write because people’s stories matter. If yours is ready to be shared. Triumph, tragedy, or something in between, my inbox is open. 📩 j.mungai@hotmail.co.uk

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