Posts
On August 15, 2026—a holy day in the Christian faith marked by the Catholic Church as the Solemnity of the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary—our beloved matriarch, Reverend Nerice Owendi Ongaya, went home to be with the Lord. It was a fitting day for a faithful servant to be called to her heavenly rest.
Daughter of the late Mzee Jonathan Olwangu and the late Damaris Katsemba Olwangu, Rev. Nerice was lovingly raised by the late Dorah Andisi Olwangu, whose guidance laid the foundation for her life of faith. A devoted ordained minister in the Church of God, she dedicated her life to spiritual leadership and served until her demise as the Chaplain for both Ematsuli Secondary and Ematsuli Primary Schools, anchoring generations of students and teachers in faith, integrity, and prayer.
Her remarkable resilience shone brightly to the very end. She celebrated her 86th birthday at Synergy Hospital Clinics in Kisumu with the quiet grace that defined her entire life.
Though we miss her dearly, we rejoice knowing she fought the good fight, finished her course, and has been welcomed into glory.
“Mama Dorah”—A Name She Gave Me With a Story
There is something I have come to understand more deeply since Rev. Nerice left us. When she called me “Mama Dorah,” she was not simply giving me a term of affection—she was telling me a story.
She spoke often of the late Dorah Andisi Olwangu, the mother who raised her, with a tenderness that made it clear how permanently that relationship had imprinted on her soul. And then she would tell me something I will never forget:
“Love my son the way Mama Dorah loved me.”
She was speaking to me as the woman who had married her son but also as a mother who understood what it meant to be nurtured and raised by another woman. In those words, she was connecting three generations:
Dorah, who raised Nerice with unconditional love.
Nerice, who raised her children and built a lifetime of service.
And me, whom she entrusted with the responsibility of loving her son.
It was not a casual instruction; it was a passing of the baton. She was saying, “I know what it means to be loved by a mother, and I want you to give my son that same kind of love.”
Over the years, she reminded me of it again and again. I was not Dorah, but she saw something of the love she had received in the relationship she hoped I would build with her son. In doing so, she was entrusting me with part of her own story, showing me where her strength came from, and asking me to carry that love forward.
When she called me Mama Dorah, I was hearing more than my name. I was hearing a legacy. I was hearing the voice of a daughter remembering her mother, and I was being invited into that story.
Sitting beside her and holding her hand as she left this world, those words returned to me with a profound weight. I understood then that some of the most important things we inherit are not possessions or titles—they are stories, values, and instructions given in love. They are the responsibility to carry something precious from one generation to the next.
Rev. Nerice called me Mama Dorah. Now I truly understand why, and I will carry that name and the sacred story behind it for the rest of my life
