‘Don’t let a lack of papers stop you’: Njeri Njomo on rising to CEO

Lately, reflection has defined much of her life. Her children are slowly stepping into their own worlds, and with their growing independence comes her own question: Who am I beyond them? The professional milestones are clear; the personal ones, slightly elusive.

A natural singer and lifelong lover of music, she frames her life in musical terms—some parts in harmony, others improvisational, all guided by rhythm and faith. Music, she says, has always been a silent, steady compass. And now, as she stands between stillness and the hum of life, she trusts that the same rhythm will carry her home. Because even as the tide rises, we realise that the art was never in keeping the castle standing, but in how it was built.

Is there a moment from your childhood that, looking back, makes sense of what’s happening in your life right now?

That’s a good question. Honestly, no. I think we tend to connect the dots backwards. Right now, it might look like I was clever, but maybe it’s just because I’m a firstborn—that could be where the leadership instincts came from. Did I ever want to be a CEO? Honestly, no. I guess I’m just predisposed to solving things. I find myself in situations, and I want to fix them. That’s probably how I got here.

Looking back to high school at Limuru Girls, I remember when they announced my name—I couldn’t understand why they picked me. But in hindsight, there was a certain posture I took then that makes sense now. I told my friends, “If you’re my friend, you won’t put me in a difficult position. You’ll just do the right thing. If you don’t want to end up on the punishment list, just make life easy for me—do the right thing.”

That was probably the first sign. I sometimes wonder how I even came up with that. It had to do with integrity. You can’t create a special cluster for your friends; you just treat everyone the same. If you’re my friend, you’ll understand that and still let me do my job.

How has the journey to this office been?

Interesting. Leadership is interesting because it has many sides. For me, it’s always been about the day-to-day—just doing my part.

There’s a problem to solve, something that needs to be done, and I’ll do it. I’m naturally curious, so when something new comes up, I’ll say, “Let me try that, let me do this.”

But leadership tests every side of you. It often appears to be about managing others, yet what’s usually missed is how much self-work it demands.

I’ve had to do a lot of intentional reflection, constantly asking myself: Would I choose me as a leader? Because when you think about it, there are so many brilliant people around—so why you?

It’s easy to get comfortable, to sit back in the chair and believe you deserve to be here. But leadership, if done right, forces you to hold yourself accountable. You’re responsible for other people. So again—why you? Why should they care? Why should they choose to be led by you? That’s why I find leadership so compelling: it demands that you pay close attention to yourself.

I tell people the first commandment of leadership is know thyself—the good, the bad, and the ugly. Because if you don’t, you’ll end up bleeding on those you lead. And as someone who believes in God, I’m very conscious of being held accountable—for how I manage people and whether I am faithful with what was entrusted to me.

How did you end up here?

My route wasn’t typical. I didn’t go to university; I went into insurance early, even though I had no idea what insurance even was. What began as something temporary turned out fascinating—the idea of transferring risk hooked me.

Through a referral, I approached an organisation that told me they had no jobs. I said, “That’s fine, I’ll work for free.” It sounds clever now, but I just thought, If you let me in, I’ll prove myself.

After a month, they started paying me Sh300 a day. After two years, I moved on to a small start-up. It stayed afloat for nine months—poor governance. Jobless, I turned to selling insurance policies.

At UAP, I was a salesperson. Nobody dreams of selling insurance, but it is one of the best things I've ever done. Sales forces you to face yourself—you meet people, get rejected, you keep trying. I realised I was good at it; people believed me. That’s where I began learning about financial planning.

One client later offered me a job in his firm. I joined and moved into investments, asset management, and money markets—completely new ground.

I stayed 17 years, in seven roles, learning something different each time. Then Jubilee came calling. Health insurance, a whole new culture, something I hadn’t done in nearly 20 years. But I said yes. Three years later, here we are. A simple story, really.

Did you ever pursue higher learning?

My parents weren’t well-off, and being the firstborn meant there came a point when they had to ask me, “Can you take care of the others?” I was fortunate, though, because someone paid for me to do an insurance certification. For much of my career, I worked without the papers. It teaches you that nothing is handed to you—you do the work.

After a couple of false starts, I finally completed my degree in 2015 and immediately registered for a Master’s to develop a more strategic way of thinking. Looking back, I wonder if having the papers from the start would have been different.

By then, I had already built a track record of achievement. That’s why I tell young people: don’t let a lack of papers stop you. Build a strong record of delivery—papers will come, but your ability to deliver is what counts.

I eventually did my master’s, graduated in 2017, and today I have all the formal qualifications. Academic qualifications sharpen what’s already there.

What sort of life questions are you asking yourself now?

This came up over lunch with a colleague. He mentioned a woman who’s aged 75, and I realised I had never really thought about myself at that age.

We often move through life like it’s a sprint, and suddenly we realise we’ve run most of it—but there could be another 30 years ahead. That sparked tough conversations with myself: when I’m 75, what will my life look like? Will I like what I see? How do I make sure I’ve built enough fuel for that journey? It’s humbling and energising at the same time.

Talking to people older than me, I’ve realised that age doesn’t always feel the way it looks—many say, “I don’t feel as old as I am.” That perspective makes me reflect even more on what it means to grow older while staying fully alive.

How was your childhood?

I grew up in Tigoni, Limuru. My parents were teachers, so life was always busy. We were six children, though one passed away early. I grew around music—my dad played, we sang, and I even taught my sisters to harmonise when we were very young.

I was a hands-on child, always curious about how things worked—from simple tools to my dad’s TV and radio. Sometimes I got in trouble taking them apart, just to understand them.

Childhood was lively and eventful. We played a lot, but also helped my mom with chores—washing clothes, cleaning, all of it. There was a visible lack in certain things, though it only became obvious in high school when I noticed what others had.

Home was home: full of singing at family events and in church. That’s where my early love of music—and involvement in life around me—took root. Overall, it was a good childhood.

What's the one thing that has surprised you lately?

I’ve been reflecting on how my tendencies might connect to innate abilities, especially my musical background. Recently, someone said to me, “Njeri, you like order. If you’re in a room and the band is playing badly, what would you do?” I said I’d leave.

They told me, “That’s your musical ability.” Similarly, in a noisy meeting, I tend to step away. It was fascinating—I’d never realised that the way I process my environment and information is tied to harmony, rooted in my musical upbringing.

Corporate life hasn’t offered much opportunity to sing, though I’ve become more active in my church worship team at Nairobi Chapel Ngong Road, and I sing at home.

More than performing, I’ve noticed that music shapes how I think: my ideas flow naturally, almost like a rhythm guiding speech. I don’t sing as much as I probably should, but I plan to this December with Christmas carols.

Are you born again?

Yes, I am.

What is that?

It means that, by choice, I have chosen to believe that Jesus Christ is the Lord of my life and that He died for my sins.

Does that change anything?

It provides the foundation for how I make decisions—where I base my judgments and what I call truth. For me, truth comes from the Bible. So when I ask myself whether something is right or wrong, that serves as the basis for my values and decisions.

Is there a point where your faith and religious beliefs intersect with work?

For me, faith provides the foundation for how I live and make decisions. I believe I was created by God, which means I’m not here by accident—everything I do is an assignment. With that comes accountability: I owe it to God to do it well. It gives purpose to my actions and demands that I be a good steward of whatever is entrusted to me.

I am not the ultimate authority; I cannot act as I wish or treat people however I want. That perspective shapes how I act, perceive my work, and approach each day. What I’m doing now is an assignment; when it ends, another will follow. For me, work, business, and life are all part of the same story, and that sense of purpose guides everything I do.

What do you think is your purpose? Why are you here? Not in this room, but here.

[Chuckles] At this point, my purpose is tied to the voice I have and the spaces I occupy. I need to use that voice responsibly to drive agendas and decisions that create real impact. In meetings where choices are made, I advocate for those who aren’t in the room—not as a CSR exercise, but because my presence allows it. Initiatives like dedicated rooms for mothers or support for employees with young children—benefits I may never personally use—exist because someone else acted with foresight. Being in these spaces is a privilege.

When I weigh in on strategy, business direction, or employee experience, I aim to ensure my presence and voice translate into meaningful outcomes. Beyond that, I’m passionate about developing the next generation of leaders. We’re not here by luck—someone paved the way.

Mentorship allows me to share lessons you won’t learn in school, make accessible the insights executives often carry behind closed doors, and amplify the long-term impact of our work. For me, it’s all about transformation and impact. If I have the opportunity to speak, influence, or be heard, I will not waste it. I’m intentional about moving the needle—that’s how I strive to lead every day.

What makes you insecure?

Success can become a trap, depending on the meaning I attach to it. You mentioned trophies—if I achieve one goal, I immediately wonder, Is this the next ceiling? What comes after this? In my younger years, that definition of success was a beautiful trap: it pushed me constantly but made it hard to accept genuine compliments, to simply hear, well done.

That’s still a growth area for me. Ultimately, whatever meaning I give to success can also create insecurity. Success, for me, is as much about reflection and intention as it is about achievement.

Talking of harmony and music, what tune would you assign to this season of your life?

Oh, goodness. It’s still the songs that always play in my car. I’m in a very stable season of life—finally emerging from what we all call the turbulent 30s.

In your 40s, there’s less second-guessing; it’s either you know or you don’t, and you begin prioritising what truly matters. I’m told that in your 50s, clarity only intensifies. By the time I’m 75, who knows what that will look like?

Right now, my priorities are clear: family, impact, and faith—central to who I am. I’m also paying more attention to health. Working in a health business, I see the trends, and I want to reach 75 without constant hospital visits.

The soundtrack of this season is Maverick City, with lyrics like, “Christ is my firm foundation, the rock on which I stand when everything around me is shaking.”

Beyond that, I’m a millennial, and the soundtrack of my life will always include the songs that shaped our generation: Destiny’s Child, Ms Independent, Neo—songs that spoke to independence and empowerment. That’s the rhythm of this season.

What belief, conviction have you always held on firmly that you have now loosened your grip on?

I used to believe that you stopped being young at 30, but that’s completely changed for me. I’m now convinced we’re genuinely as young as we feel.

There’s a pace to life, and the milestones we once stressed over—having everything sorted by 40, building a career by a certain age—turn out to be far less rigid than we thought.

If you think about it, whatever age you are now, the things that stressed you 10 or 15 years ago often hold no weight today. Life eventually works out.

Right now, my view might feel constrained because I’m looking at a small slice of time, but over 10 or 15 years, things unfold, and it all eventually works out.

If you were not doing this, what would you be doing right now?

I’d probably have a farm—somewhere to exhale and just be. But I think it’s situational and seasonal. Right now, a farm feels right. If I hadn’t gone into insurance, I think I would have been an advocate, a lawyer.

Law is fascinating—so subjective, full of nuance. It’s like looking at an abstract painting: one person sees one thing, another sees something else. Since I’m in the medical field now, advocacy feels like the closest fit for that curiosity and challenge.

Is there something you're conflicted about, something you're searching for answers currently?

Right now, the stage of life I’m in is defined by my children leaving the nest. I’ve been grappling with how to define myself beyond being their mother.

When they were small, I would introduce them everywhere, proudly saying, These are my children. Now, I’m navigating what comes after that particular definition. Will I be the mother who checks in constantly, or will I step back and redefine this next season of my life?

My career has taken its course, my marriage is in a good place, and my children are approaching independence. I’m figuring out who I am in this new phase. Each stage of motherhood brings its own reflection on what it means to parent and evolve. I really enjoyed motherhood.

Jesus carried a cross for us. What personal cross are you currently carrying?

The continuous pursuit of what I consider perfection has been my cross. If I’m brutally honest, it’s something I’ve wrestled with constantly.

Some balls have to drop, and I still don’t always know how to let that happen. Firstborn syndrome, perhaps. But learning to accept that—that not everything has to be perfect—is part of the journey.

How do you unwind, and how do you reward yourself?

In recent years, I’ve started learning how to exercise because I hear it’s good for you. I spend a lot of time with family, and I also meet my girlfriends for a good laugh about life and everything in it.

I’m exercising more now, and I’m also learning how to go to a spa. That doesn’t come naturally for me. [Laughs] Idle time feels wrong, like I should be doing something more useful. Three hours at a spa? Why not split that time into something productive?

For me, self-care isn’t spa days or exercise routines—it’s stillness and silence.If I can sit quietly, process the thoughts racing through my head, and bring them down to calm, even for a moment, that’s a big deal.

I try to do this intentionally at least once a week: itemising what’s running through my mind, deciding what to address, and clearing the mental backlog. In those moments, nothing is demanding my attention, and I feel… fine.

When did you feel that you were most unkind to yourself?

In my 30s, I was figuring out children, marriage, and all the rest. It was a habit of worrying, giving everything of yourself to everyone else. I would travel and come back with suitcases full of gifts for others and nothing for me, thinking that was how you cared.

Looking back, I’m not sure why I did that—maybe it felt like the definition of being a mother. But that doesn’t happen anymore. Now, the first person I care for is myself. I no longer feel guilty about swiping my card for me. It’s not about the amount—it’s about honoring my own needs.

Is there a question that you thought before this meeting, and thought, oh, I hope he doesn't ask me that?

[Laughs] No, I was open-minded.

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