How Marriage Spells in Kenya Helped Save My Relationship

I don’t know how to start this properly. Maybe because I’m not even sure I believe in all this spells, herbal work, energy stuff. I wasn’t raised that way.

I went to a Catholic school. I did CRE. I prayed the rosary. But let me be honest here. Love, when it’s falling apart in your hands, makes you believe in things you used to laugh at. That’s what happened to me.

My name’s Njeri. I live in Thika, but the story begins in Rongai, where I moved in with a man who I thought I’d grow old with. We were one of those couples who looked like we had it all together on the outside.

Matching kaftans, birthday trips, captions like “my person” on Instagram. But inside the house? Silence. Tension. That thing where you argue over toothpaste, but what you’re really mad about is that you don’t feel seen anymore.

He stopped talking to me. Not all at once bit by bit. I’d say something and he’d nod but not hear me. Then came the cold nights. The random nights out.

The girl he was always “just helping” from church. I confronted him once. He said I was paranoid. But you know your person. You know when your love is leaking somewhere else.

I cried. A lot. Alone. I didn’t tell my mum because I didn’t want to hear “I told you so.” I didn’t tell my girls because I was the strong one in the group.

The one who gave advice. Imagine being the one who tells people how to hold their relationships together, and now you’re the one googling “marriage spells in Kenya” at 2 AM like your life is an episode of some Nigerian soap.

At first, I felt ashamed. Then I felt desperate. Then I found Mugwenu. I won’t lie to you, I stared at their website for like four days before I even called.

What made me call? I don’t know. Maybe it was the quiet in my own house. Maybe it was my husband whispering on the phone and switching it off when I walked in. Maybe I was tired of being the one left trying.

So I called. And I didn’t get fire and brimstone. No chanting. No weird demands. Just someone calm on the other end, listening to my nonsense, my sobbing, my “maybe I’m crazy.” They told me, “You’re not crazy. You’re just fighting for what matters.” That felt like enough.

The process wasn’t loud. It was soft. Grounding. A mix of things I was told to do spiritual things, small rituals, words to speak when I felt like giving up. I didn’t expect a miracle.

But something started shifting. My husband he looked at me one evening and said, “I’ve been… off. I think I need to fix things with you.” Just like that. Not dramatic. Not flowers. But real.

Now, I don’t know what you believe in. Maybe this isn’t your path. That’s fine. But for me? That little phone call to Mugwenu was the first time in months I felt like I wasn’t alone. Sometimes, love doesn’t just need effort. Sometimes, it needs a little help from beyond what we understand.

And maybe, just maybe, there’s something ancient that still works. Hidden in our soil. In our bones.

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