I am a Pastor's Kid.

We're commonly known as PKs. Not because we're sweet like the chewing gum, but because we're actually sweeter. Having a PK as a friend is a breath of fresh air. Most of us graduated from unofficial theological college by age 14, with advanced certificates in Bible reading, Scripture memorization, and identifying the key verse before the preacher asks for volunteers.

The PK title doesn't only belong to children of pastors. It stretches across the entire ministry department: bishops, elders, deacons, evangelists, and every other title that comes with people asking, "Na wewe mtoto wa mtumishi unasemaje kuhusu hili jambo?"

I belong to a fellowship of Pastors' Kids here in Thika. It's a wonderful gathering where we meet, hang out, laugh loudly, and make all the noise we are not allowed to make during church services simply because sisi ni watoto wa watumishi.

My own PK journey has been quite interesting.

Before I was born again, my father was already a pastor and church administrator. He served faithfully from around 1986 to 1996. Then in 1996, he took a trip to heaven and apparently liked the place so much that he decided not to come back.

We waited and waited.

To be precise, we waited two whole weeks before burying his remains. We were optimistic. Maybe he had simply gone for a long retreat. But after fourteen days, we accepted the situation and buried the remains. Reminds me of Enoch and that other prophet who took a chariot to heaven.

Now you'd think that automatically disqualified me from being a PK anymore. Si ndio? Ooooo! Wrong.

In this profession there is no retirement. Once a PK, always a PK. Even when the pastor has gone to glory, the title remains attached to you like a permanent church membership card. Even worse or better depending on how you look at it, ata uwe mwenye dhambi, custodian and distributor of sin, bado wewe ni member.

To be honest, I was a rather lazy PK. I participated in one PK fellowship because my girlfriend at the time was one of the officials. That was a joyous season. Later, I attended another because my roommate was the chairman and supporting your half rent payer is important. Civic duty, you know. It was a Timothy - Paul kind of a relationship.

At some point, I even exited the WhatsApp groups, hanged by apostolic boots and got into ministry as me and not as a PK as well.

Then, 23 years after Dad relocated to heaven, my mother was ordained into the office of pastor. Pale CCI. The same fellowship that my Dad served in, she was recognized and honored as a Woman of God. That's true, but I never saw the collar coming. Ata yeye hakuona hio. We actually didn't want it, but mafuta ilimwagika when the jar was tilt.

Just like that, I was officially reinstalled as a PK. Again.

The retirement package was cancelled.

The pension disappeared.

The title was restored.

Basically, I am a PK who retired and was later called back to serve another term. Mimi ni Tutam 😁😂.

Our Thika PK Fellowship meets every other month, provided there are no maandamano, church AGMs, leadership seminars, prayer rallies, fundraising committees, emergency meetings, or other church activities that somehow appear from nowhere. Yesterday we met for 5 hours. 2:30pm to 7:30pm and we discussed arsenal, maandamano, Ebola and why latecomers are even allowed to eat.

If you fit within the PK bracket and you're looking for a place where you can drop your guard, relax, laugh, and simply be a kid instead of "the pastor's kid," we'd love to have you join us.

The images attached are from our latest fellowship held at Christian Outreach Church on 31st May 2026.

Karibu sana. The support group for recovering, retired, active, and recalled PKs is alive and well na mimi ni member.