WHO ARE WE?

I was born and raised in Tanzania, a place where the colors of the sky shift like brushstrokes on an ever-changing canvas and where stories are woven into the rhythm of everyday life. My journey as an artist has never followed a straight path—it has been textured, layered, and fluid, much like the art I create.

I work with mixed media, not because I chose to, but because art refuses to be confined. Paint, ink, charcoal, resin, old paper—each material carries its history and voice. I sometimes lose myself in delicate details, fine lines, and muted hues. On other days, I embrace the chaos of torn edges, raw textures, and layers of forgotten things made new. My art is, at its core, a dialogue—between past and present, between memory and emotion, between what is seen and what is felt.

But art is only one part of my life. I am also a medical student navigating the world of science, where precision and knowledge dictate the rhythm of my days. Medicine, in its own way, is a form of storytelling—every symptom, every heartbeat, every scar carries a narrative of resilience and fragility. Balancing the structured world of medicine with the boundless world of art has been a journey of its own, but I have found that one informs the other. Both are, at their core, about understanding humanity.

Beyond my work, I have had the privilege of using my art for causes more significant than myself. I have worked with various charitable initiatives and have auctioned my artwork to support organizations dedicated to making a difference. I believe art is not just a means of expression—it is a force of connection, a way to give back, heal, and bring hope.

I write when I am not buried in medical textbooks or lost in my studio. Stories, poetry, fleeting thoughts scribbled in the margins of my notebooks—writing has always been another way for me to make sense of the world. Some thoughts demand to be painted, others need to be spoken. I try to listen.

At the heart of it all, I am a storyteller. Whether through a brushstroke, a line of ink, or the rhythm of a sentence, I create because I must. Because there are things that cannot be said in any other way.

And if you’ve found your way here, perhaps you, too, are looking for something unspoken. I hope you find it.