Anchored to the Rock: An A Rocha story of redemption
I first reached the white sandy beaches of A Rocha Kenya feeling like a shipwrecked person –looking for firm land under my feet and something to quench the thirst.
Then, in February 2021, my life had just been through a year-long storm.
A long-term relationship collapsed under a pile of half-truths and deceits, just as the global pandemic confined me into an empty apartment in Milan, Italy.
With travels suspended, my freelance journalistic work in the Middle East ground to a halt. In the first days of the pandemic, when northern Italy replaced China as the epicentre of the outbreak, I went out reporting from overwhelmed intensive care units and improvised field hospitals.
But in a few weeks’ time, the news cycle had moved on and newspapers started slashing budgets amid global economic uncertainty. As work dried out, loneliness crept in. So did self-doubt, and shame for my 34-year-old single, unemployed self.
One year into my solo lockdown, I resolved to find myself a lifeline. I will never be able to piece together how I came to book a one-way ticket to Nairobi in the midst of a pandemic, beyond that I was craving nature and had come across a documentary on Kenyan wildlife.
Upon arrival, I signed up for a safari and then set out to explore the country all the way to the coast. On a booking website, I spotted an accommodation advertised as a “Christian conservation centre”. Nature conservation work sounded just right for me, but the Christian part made me hesitate. I certainly did not want to risk my sunset beer.
I resolved to stay only three nights. But as I was given a brief tour of the environmental field study centre at A Rocha Kenya – or as Kenyans call it, “Mwamba” – I had a strong feeling of being in the right place. Such foreboding does not go unnoticed when you’re someone who second-guesses every decision, so I asked if I could stay as a volunteer.
Community life came as a gulp of water. Gathered around the same table were people from the four corners of the world whose love for nature made any land their home. Over a shared meal, I would learn about the resilience of pocket-sized birds as they fly intercontinental for thousands of kilometres or learn what turns bright-coloured corals a pale, ghostly white. Most of all, I relished in the shared sense of purpose, the awe-fillness of every discovery, the selflessness with which everyone offered to wash my dishes, and each and every soul-nurturing word of kindness.
Among them was Amanda, a British woman about my age who was volunteering alongside her husband. We had little in common and our interactions remained sparse and polite, until the day I noticed her sitting alone, visibly flustered.
Tears ran down her face as she confided in me that her marriage was falling apart. The storm of sorrow and grief that roiled inside her felt all too familiar.
But something was oddly different in her turmoil. I sensed no self-deprecation, guilt or shame. Albeit disoriented, she had what struck me as an unrelenting hope for the future.
Her anchor in the storm, she said, was the God of Christianity, and I — rather mercilessly — proceeded to question her belief system from what I considered to be a rational standpoint.
Whenever she didn’t have an answer — or, perhaps, was running short of her bountiful patience — she would simply reply: “that’s a good question, why don’t you go and look it up?’ And so I went down the rabbit hole of research, as fast as only a journalist can.
Three months in, on one of my last days at A Rocha Kenya, I received the news that my grandmother had died. As I mourned, I joined the service held by Colin Jackson, the founder of A Rocha Kenya.
Colin stayed behind at the end of the gathering to listen to me as I wrestled with my doubts on life after death, on good and evil, on my own existence — and, ultimately, the existence of God.
He shared his own life-shattering sorrows and how God had walked with him through them. It was there, as he spoke words of truth on a rooftop overlooking the sea, that the veil dropped and I came to believe.
At A Rocha, I had hoped to find myself but found much more.
I found a community, which I have been back to visit twice. Once, in 2023, with Amanda, who baptised me in the Indian Ocean alongside Colin. The second in 2025, shortly after marrying the love of my life, Giuseppe.
Most importantly, I came to know Jesus, to know I am loved, and that I am enough. He’s been my anchor ever since.
Federica Marsi
Federica is news producer with Al Jezeera and a journalist covering migration and environmental issues.
You may also be interested in:
