{"id":1011,"date":"2025-10-06T20:58:26","date_gmt":"2025-10-06T20:58:26","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/carolinebongo.com\/blog\/?p=1011"},"modified":"2025-10-08T21:20:23","modified_gmt":"2025-10-08T21:20:23","slug":"motherhood-made-me-brave-enough-to-be-my-own-boss","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/carolinebongo.com\/blog\/motherhood-made-me-brave-enough-to-be-my-own-boss\/","title":{"rendered":"Motherhood Made Me Brave Enough to Be My Own Boss"},"content":{"rendered":"\n

Part 3: A mothers Journey through Entrepreneurship<\/h2>\n\n\n\n

When I say East African Growers was one of the best companies I ever worked for, I truly mean it. This comes from my heart.
Funny thing? The industry on the outside used to warn us: \u201cNever work for Asian-owned companies\u2014you\u2019ll regret it!\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

But my story was different. Peeush Mahajan (RIP) and my direct supervisor, Vijay Kumar, were two of the finest leaders I\u2019ve ever met. They didn\u2019t just sign my pay slips\u2014they built me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

They noticed things in me I couldn\u2019t yet see in myself. Peeush the MD had this calm, fatherly way of saying, \u201cCaroline, go try it.\u201d
Vijay the GM was the quiet strength behind him. He was the boss who never raised his voice. Somehow, he made you want to raise your standards.
They gave me room to grow. They allowed me to make mistakes. I traveled the country. I even traveled the world. I represented the company with confidence.
And I bloomed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n\n\n\n

Becoming Myself Again<\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n
\"A<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

Those two years changed everything.
EAGA trusted me with high-level commercial clients.
I moved between farms in Naivasha, Thika, Mount Kenya, and Mwea\u2014auditing, training, inspecting, learning.
Every field visit toughened me; every client meeting shaped my voice.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I\u2019d wake before dawn, my rucksack full of checklists and my heart full of purpose. By sunset, I was dusty, sunburned, and proud.
Somewhere between the greenhouses and the packhouses, I became me<\/em> again.
The shy girl from the slopes of Mount Kenya had transformed into a woman. She can negotiate with importers and exporters. She can also quote GlobalG.A.P. and other ISO standards without blinking.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But while my confidence grew, my motherhood cracked.
My daughters were four and seven\u2014tiny, warm reminders of what really mattered.
Every time I left home for another long trip, their eyes and sometimes endless tears followed me to the gate.
I told myself, \u201cIt\u2019s just work. They\u2019ll understand when they\u2019re older.\u201d<\/em>
But motherhood has its own memory, and guilt is a terrible travelling companion.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n\n\n\n

The Fog on Limuru Road<\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n
\"Limuru<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

It was on one of those trips that everything changed.
I\u2019d been away for over two weeks. I was auditing farms in Nanyuki, Nyeri, Nakuru and Naivasha with the Marks and Spencer UK team. We stayed in hotels that smelled of disinfectant and loneliness, 5 star ones nevertheless<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That morning, after a very successful commercial audit, I woke up bone-tired but determined to get home. I felt too guilty to stay one more night. It was the last stretch\u2014from Nakuru through Limuru and into Nairobi.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Anyone who\u2019s driven through Limuru knows the fog there.
It\u2019s not regular fog\u2014it\u2019s biblical.<\/em>
The kind that swallows the road, the trees, and your sanity.
You drive by faith, not by sight\u2014literally. Somewhat, it felt like my motherhood Journey right there.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I remember gripping the steering wheel of that Toyota white pickup the company had assigned me.
The wipers fought bravely against mist and drizzle.
There was a slow, lumbering lorry ahead of me\u2014it moved at the speed of a grandmother crossing the road.
My eyelids were heavy, my sight weak.
The road hummed like a lullaby.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

And somewhere between fatigue and the ache of missing my children, the road split into a dual carriageway. I missed both lanes.
The pickup jumped the curb and slammed head-on into the middle reef.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Then\u2014impact.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The vehicle overturned.
The records were in a heavy box. Shalimar had given it to me to deliver to the airport. The box flew from the back seat and pinned me between the left door and the steering wheel.
In the distance, I hear tires skidding, people screaming.
Metal twisted like paper.
The world spun, everything a whirlwind.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Silence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For a second, I thought I was dreaming.
Then pain exploded through my chest.
I could smell petrol.
I could taste blood\u2014warm and metallic on my lips.
Somewhere outside, voices cut through the fog:
\u201cMadam! Madam! You\u2019re alive?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I remember reaching for my laptop bag, as if clutching it would somehow prove I was still in control.
Then came the weight of realisation: I could have died.<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n\n\n\n

Motherhood and Mortality<\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n
\"Accident\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

That night, the matatu crew helped turn the pickup back onto its wheels. I drove slowly toward Nairobi in that shattered car. My soul was trembling.
I called my brother. He came with his best friend. One of them would drive me the rest of the way.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Later that night, I sat on my bed and stared at my girls.
They were sleeping\u2014one with her hand flung over her head, the other clutching a worn-out teddy bear.
Tears slid down my face.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For the first time, I admitted it:
I was chasing success but losing myself.
I was working for the future but missing the now.
And the accident felt like God whispering, \u201cSlow down, daughter. You\u2019re moving too fast.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

That was the night I decided something had to change.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n\n\n\n

The Conversation<\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n
\"Kaylene<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

I called my fianc\u00e9\u2014George\u2014my then-budding musician with big dreams and no safety net.
He came over, concern written all over his face.
We sat on the edge of the bed, the silence between us heavy as rain.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\u201cI want to rebuild Farm to Fork,\u201d I finally said.
\u201cI want you to help me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

He looked at me as if I\u2019d announced I was moving to Mars.
\u201cCaroline,\u201d he said softly, \u201cyou have a good job. Why start something from scratch?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I saw the fear in his eyes.
He was just starting out in music, no steady income, no backup plan.
And here I was, asking him to join me in jumping off a cliff with no parachute.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

But that stubborn fire in me wouldn\u2019t die.
For days, we went back and forth\u2014me preaching, him worrying.
I reminded him of the parents\u2019 days I\u2019d missed and the school events I never attended. He spoke about how the girls\u2019 little faces fell whenever they asked, \u201cWhen is Mummy coming back?\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n\n\n\n

And I told him, \u201cNow I can change that. I can be both\u2014a mother and a businesswoman. I just need to try.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n\n\n\n

The Leap<\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n
\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

January 2008.
The air in Nairobi was heavy with post-election tension and uncertainty, but I had one focus: faith.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That month, Farm to Fork landed its very first consulting contract\u2014four months long, paying just enough to make me brave.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I still remember walking into East African Growers to meet Peush and Vijay.
My resignation letter trembled in my hands.
I told them honestly what I was about to do.
They didn\u2019t scold me.
They smiled\u2014proud and a little amused.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Peeush said, \u201cOnce an auditor, always an auditor. Go and make us proud.\u201d
Vijay added, \u201cRemember\u2014the same discipline you used here, carry it with you.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I walked out of that office knowing my life had just changed course. And my girls would be reclaiming a new found mother<\/p>\n\n\n\n

No backup plan. No investors. No capital.
Just a dream, a prayer, and a musician fianc\u00e9 who agreed to jump with me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I used to joke that I\u2019d dived into a river full of crocodiles.
But it wasn\u2019t a joke\u2014it was the truth.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The world of consultancy was wild, unpredictable, and hungry.
But so was I.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n\n\n\n

The Early Days of Farm to Fork<\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n
\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

We set up a small \u201coffice\u201d in our living room.
The furniture was basic. The phone line was unreliable. The internet connection came from a prepaid modem. It took half an hour to load a single page.
Our first \u201cboard meeting\u201d was at the kitchen table, surrounded by toys, laundry, and the smell of noodles.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That first contract took every ounce of courage I had.
I helped a training company design its first ISO 17025 system. I drafted SOPs and created food-safety manuals for new clients. I also sent out proposals.
I wrote reports deep into the night, then tucked my babies into bed before collapsing beside them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

George helped where he could\u2014music gigs here and there, moral support everywhere.
Sometimes he\u2019d walk in with his guitar, smile, and say, \u201cBreathe.\u201d
Other times, he\u2019d have a few clients to record, turning our home into a mix of lab notes and melodies.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

We were broke, scared, and exhilarated all at once.
But we were building something of our own.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n\n\n\n

Looking Back<\/strong><\/h3>\n\n\n\n
\"\"<\/figure>\n\n\n\n

When I look back now, I see how everything connected\u2014the job that trained me, the bosses who believed in me, the accident that broke me, the father who gave me his last 5,000 shillings, and the faith that refused to let me settle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

East African Growers wasn\u2019t just a workplace; it was the soil that prepared me for the harvest of purpose.
Peush Mahajan is gone now, but I still hear his voice: \u201cGo try it, Caroline.\u201d<\/em>
And Vijay\u2019s quiet confidence still echoes whenever I start to doubt myself.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

That company gave me wings.
The accident gave me clarity.
My father gave me courage.
And Farm to Fork gave me identity.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n\n\n\n

To be continued\u2026 Part 4 coming soon.<\/strong><\/p>\n\n\n\n

#Resilience #Entrepreneurship #WomenInBusiness #OvercomingAdversity #FaithAndWork #FarmToFork20<\/p>\n\n\n\n

<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Also read<\/p>\n\n\n\n

\n
How I Turned Adversity Into Entrepreneurship<\/a><\/blockquote>