Richard Maina: A Man Between Worlds

There are people who move through life like rivers, fluid, adaptable, carving out their path as they go. Then there are people like Richard Maina, who don’t just flow with the current but also understand the tides, the undercurrents, and the forces that shape their direction. He has always been in motion, shifting between worlds, absorbing cultures, adapting to new realities, yet never losing the core of who he is. His story is one of movement, through places, through identities, through belonging and self-discovery.

Richard’s early years in Kenya were defined by the spaces he occupied. He grew up attending international schools, first British, then American, where the curriculum and social circles were designed not for staying but for going. “It was always kind of understood that we weren’t being prepared for Kenya,” he reflected. “The way we learned history, economics, and science was all global. We were being primed for something bigger than just here.”

That idea of something bigger eventually led him to the United States, but the move was less of a conscious choice and more of an inevitability. “It wasn’t like I sat down and made a decision. It was a path I was on for a long time without even realizing it,” he said. The American culture he had consumed through satellite TV and classmates in Nairobi had already laid the groundwork. The dream was there, painted in bright, cinematic strokes. Los Angeles. Opportunity. Success. It felt like the natural next step.

But as with all things, the dream and the reality didn’t always align.

Between Two Worlds

Long before he set foot in the U.S., Richard had already felt the quiet dissonance of existing between two places. Even in Kenya, there were lines drawn between those who attended international schools and those who didn’t. “They had a name for us. Barbies,” he said with a laugh. “It meant you didn’t know the struggle of a Kenyan school. You spoke differently, you learned differently. You were already separate.”

That separation only deepened when he arrived in America. The adjustment was easier than it was for most immigrants. He already knew the music, the references, the humor. But there was still something missing. He had spent his whole life preparing to leave but not enough time preparing to find his way once he got there. “It’s one thing to move physically,” he reflected, “but it’s another to realize you left behind the community that made you. Now you have to build it all over again.”

Family had always been that foundation for him. His childhood was filled with big family gatherings, cousins who were more like siblings, and aunts and uncles who were ever-present. But America didn’t come with those built-in ties. It was a place where independence was prized over interdependence, where people lived parallel lives without touching. “Back home, there was no way you could go to a place every week and not know someone,” he said. “By the third time, you were on a first-name basis with the bouncer, the café owner, the guy who sat at the same spot every day. Here, it’s different. You have to work for that sense of community.”

And so he did.

Like Water

Richard described himself as perceptive, a person who knew how to move between spaces and find his place within them. “It’s that Bruce Lee quote. Be water. I never struggled to fit in,” he said. “But the more you adapt, the more you start to ask, who am I really? What are my values outside of who I’m around?”

In college, those questions became harder to ignore. He recalled nights where he found himself in situations that didn’t feel quite right, following paths simply because they were open, not because they were meant for him. “You realize that sometimes you’re just passively going along with things. Then one day, you stop and ask, how did I get here? Did I choose this?”

It was then that he started being more intentional about the people around him. He learned to recognize when he was being treated as a novelty, an international student, an interesting accent, an addition to someone else’s experience rather than a true friend. “There’s a difference between people who want you in their life for a season and people who actually want to build something with you,” he said. “That’s something you learn, sometimes the hard way.”

But if there was one thing Richard understood, it was how to find the right people. Whether in Nairobi, Nebraska, or San Diego, he had always known how to build connections. His friendships, across countries and cultures, were a reflection of the qualities he valued. Kindness. Curiosity. An openness to life’s twists and turns. “I think I was drawn to people who had traits I admired,” he said. “People who were kind in ways I wished I could be. People who were open to seeing the world differently.”

The Cost of the Dream

Looking back, Richard saw the move to America with more nuance. “I bought the dream I was sold,” he said, “but it wasn’t exactly what I thought I was buying.” The reality of visas, of jobs that didn’t just fall into place, of missing out on family milestones. It all added up. “You live somewhere, work somewhere, build a life there, and still, you’re never fully in. You’re always a couple of steps removed from the full experience.”

Yet, for all the struggles, there was still a deep appreciation for the journey. He had learned how to create community in places where it didn’t come naturally, how to navigate different worlds without losing himself in the process. “I think I used to believe life was about reaching a certain goal, a certain version of myself,” he said. “But now, I’m realizing it’s about the journey itself. The ups and downs. Letting go of control and just being.”

A Chapter of Becoming

If he had to name this current chapter of his life, he would call it a season of letting go. Letting life be what it is rather than what he thought it should be. “I used to be so focused on making a plan and executing it. But now? Now, I’m just letting things unfold,” he said. “The plan isn’t always what’s meant for you. Sometimes, the journey is more important than the destination.”

Richard Maina has spent his life moving between worlds. Kenyan and American. British and African. Past and present. He is fluid, always adapting, always learning. But at his core, he is someone who values connection, someone who understands that belonging isn’t just about where you are. It is about who you choose to be with.

And wherever he is, whatever world he finds himself in, one thing remains true. He will always find a way to belong.

---

Temi's Reflection

Richard’s story is one of movement, of constantly rebuilding, of slipping between worlds with an ease that, at first glance, seems effortless. But what struck me most in our conversation is that for someone who has spent his entire life adapting, his greatest gift is not just finding belonging. It is creating it. He has had to start over more times than most, and it would have been easy to become untethered, drifting between places without a true sense of home. Yet, maybe without even realizing it, he has become an anchor in so many people's lives, grounding those around him with his presence, his warmth, and his unwavering ability to make any space feel like home. His happy-go-lucky energy, his instinct to look out for others, and his ability to make people feel seen all seem ingrained in him. But a part of me has always recognized something deeper. In Richard, my friend, I see the best of humanity. I see the quiet, intentional work of someone who knows what it means to feel detached, yet refuses to let the people around him feel the same.

And still, for all he has built here, for the community he has fostered and the life he has made, the country he calls home refuses to fully claim him. The weight of the visa process, the bureaucratic limbo, and the constant pressure to prove that he belongs all feel like a cruel contradiction. How can someone so deeply woven into the fabric of people’s lives still be seen as temporary and conditional? It is unfair. Not just for Richard, but for so many who, despite doing everything right, are forced to live with the looming threat that their place here is never guaranteed. For someone who has spent his life making others feel at home, the country he chose should have long accepted him as its own.

To Richard, my friend, you belong here.