In Dar es Salaam, nobody really loves the sun. It’s always there. Always burning. Always reminding us that this is a hot city. From January to December, we walk under it, wipe sweat from our necks, hide in the shade, and wait for a breeze that rarely comes. The sun is just… there.

We don’t praise it. We don’t miss it when it disappears. We only remember it when we’ve washed clothes or need to dry maize after harvest. Some see it as useful. Most just see it as punishment. Because here, the sun doesn’t warm it scorches.

We even believe the same for our plants. That they, too, need protection from it. That too much exposure will kill them. That the right thing to do is to move the pot to the shade, to keep it safe, keep it cool, keep it soft.

But then I went to school. I learned about things I couldn’t see. About stomata, Osmosis, Chlorophyll. And how the green in the leaves dances only when there’s light. I came to understand that the sun, this thing we avoid is not the enemy of the plant. It is its life. That no matter how rich the soil, how pure the water, how careful the hands without light, the plant will not grow.

And that’s when something shifted in me. Because maybe life is like that too.

Maybe we also spend too much time avoiding heat. Emotional heat. Mental heat. Spiritual heat. We hide from pressure. We run from truth. We duck from criticism. We stay in the shade because it feels safe. We tell ourselves: I’m protecting myself.

But protection is not always growth.
And comfort is not always healing.

Sometimes, the very thing we run from is the very thing designed to stretch us. Sometimes, it’s the confrontation that helps us grow. The correction. The heartbreak. The moment that exposes us. The job that tested us. The year that broke us open.

What if those moments were not punishments?
What if they were light?

Because real growth doesn’t happen in the dark forever. Yes, it starts there; in silence, in softness, in roots. But to rise, to become, to stretch out fully, we need light. And not just the gentle kind. Sometimes it will burn. Sometimes it will show us our weak spots. Sometimes it will strip away what we thought we needed.

But it will grow us. And the truth is there is no real harvest without the sun.

So maybe, when life gets hot, when the days feel too much, when we feel exposed, when the truth hits too close, maybe it’s not a curse. Maybe it’s a signal. That something is growing. That something inside us is photosynthesising, even if we can’t explain it yet.

But even as I say this, I must say the whole truth. The sun, like life can also harm. Too much of it, and even the strongest leaf will wither. Too long under it, and even the most grounded person can burn.
So yes, the sun grows, but it can also destroy.

Balance is wisdom.

That’s why even plants rest. That’s why clouds come. That’s why shade exists. The goal is not to suffer endlessly in heat. The goal is to know when the light is healing, and when it’s harming. To know when to lean in, and when to retreat.

But never forget: avoiding all sunlight is not safety it’s starvation. So let the sun touch you. Let it burn what must go. Let it awaken what has been waiting.