There was a time in my life when I wanted nothing more than to work at Nakumatt. For those who remember, Nakumatt wasn’t just a supermarket—it was a symbol of success, ambition, and modern Kenya. Its blue and white elephant logo stood tall across major towns, from Nairobi to Mombasa, Kisumu to Eldoret. To work there was to be part of something grand.
Like many young Kenyans chasing opportunity, I applied to Nakumatt with all the energy and optimism of someone ready to begin a meaningful career. I applied not once, not twice, not even thrice—but four times. Four different attempts, each filled with renewed hope. I carefully prepared my documents, updated my CV, rehear
Every time I sent in my application, I waited eagerly, imagining myself in a smart uniform behind the tills or managing shelves in one of those beautifully lit aisles. But every time, the answer was the same—a polite regret letter.
The first rejection felt like a temporary setback. The second stung. The third left me questioning my worth. The fourth almost broke my confidence. I began to think maybe I wasn’t good enough, maybe I didn’t have the right qualifications, or maybe I was just plain unlucky.
Back then, I didn’t understand that sometimes, unanswered prayers are God’s greatest gifts.
Years later, long after I had moved on and found my footing elsewhere, Nakumatt began to crumble. What had once been the giant of Kenyan retail started closing branches one by one. News reports spoke of debts, unpaid suppliers, vanishing stock, and frustrated employees who went for months without salaries.
Nakumatt, the retail titan that once boasted of 60 outlets across East Africa, was now gasping for survival. Eventually, it went into insolvency. The lights dimmed. The shelves emptied. The elephant bowed.
When I watched the story unfold, I was struck by an overwhelming realization: had any of my four applications succeeded, I would have been right in the middle of that storm. I would have been among those workers stranded with unpaid wages, jobless, and heartbroken as the company collapsed.
That was the day I understood that every rejection from Nakumatt had been a form of divine protection.
We often equate rejection with failure. We think a closed door means we’re unworthy or unlucky. But what if, instead of rejection, it is redirection?
When I was receiving those regret letters, I didn’t see the full picture. All I saw was pain and disappointment. But God, who sees the end from the beginning, knew that Nakumatt’s glory days were numbered. He was saving me from a future that looked glittering on the surface but was destined to collapse underneath.
In His wisdom, God sometimes denies us what we want to give us what we truly need. He saves us from walking into rooms that will later burn down. He shuts doors not to frustrate us, but to protect us.
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The four rejections that once felt like failure were, in truth, blessings in disguise. They forced me to look elsewhere, to keep searching for purpose beyond what I thought was perfect. They built my resilience, strengthened my faith, and taught me that God’s “no” is often louder in love than His “yes.”
I have come to believe that the mercy of God often hides behind disappointment. Every closed door carries a silent message: “There’s something better ahead.”
Had I been hired at Nakumatt, I might have built my identity around that job. I would have seen it as my career anchor, my source of stability. Its collapse might have shattered my financial and emotional world.
Instead, God guided me elsewhere—to a more stable, fulfilling path, one that aligned with my true calling in education and mentorship. Today, I look back and thank Him not only for the opportunities He gave me, but also for the ones He withheld.
When life denies you something you desire deeply, don’t rush to accuse fate. Take a pause and ask yourself what hidden lesson might lie within the rejection. Sometimes the job that didn’t work out, the relationship that ended, or the door that didn’t open was never part of your divine assignment in the first place.
Nakumatt’s story offers a broader life lesson beyond my personal experience. It reminds us that even the strongest-looking structures can fall when their foundations are weak. Success without sustainability is fleeting. Growth without humility is dangerous.
For individuals, the same principle applies. We must build our lives and careers on values that can withstand storms – integrity, faith, hard work, and adaptability. Jobs, companies, and opportunities may come and go, but when your foundation is right, you can always rise again.
It also teaches us not to envy others simply because their doors open faster than ours. When someone else gets what you wanted, celebrate them – but remember that your journey is different. The fact that a door is open for someone else doesn’t mean it’s the right one for you.
Today, those four regret letters no longer represent failure. They are badges of grace—proof that what felt like rejection was divine intervention. If I could go back in time, I would still choose to be rejected, because through those “no’s,” God was crafting a story that fits me perfectly.
In hindsight, every disappointment makes sense. The pain that once brought tears now brings gratitude. I learned that peace comes not from getting everything we want, but from trusting that whatever happens, it’s all working for our good.
Life’s greatest blessings often come wrapped in disguise. When doors close, let faith remind you that you are being redirected, not abandoned. Every “no” brings you closer to the right “yes.”
If you are facing rejection today – whether from a job, a business opportunity, or a dream you’ve held for years—don’t lose heart. Sometimes God withholds something good to prepare you for something greater. What feels like delay is often destiny in disguise.
Looking back, I can say with full conviction: I thank God Nakumatt rejected me four times. Because in doing so, He saved me from a collapsing empire and positioned me for a future that truly aligns with His purpose for my life.
Rejection is not the end of your story – it may just be the beginning of the right one.
By Ashford Kimani
Ashford teaches English and Literature in Gatundu North Sub-county and serves as Dean of Studies.
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