Girls. They were everywhere. They were perched in nooks under paintings, on every seat, in every shape. They were spread across the reception and outside the common area. They were all very striking in beauty. And young. Early twenties, bright-eyed, unaccustomed to storms. They sat as if their backs were made from planks of wood.
They wore heels, flats, or those shoes with blocks of wood for shoes – wood leftover from building their backbones.
They weren’t talking to each other. They either seemed to be ignoring each other or they didn’t know how to talk to each other. Their beauty remained a high wall between them. They looked down on their phones. All of them. Swiping through the screens, past snappy videos, past memes.
I’d gone to Teja, the co-working space on Riverside Drive, a day before the creative writing masterclass. You know, stake out the room and things. The rooms were lovely; with big windows looking out. Lots of light. AC. The common was bright and cosy enough to enjoy standing in while having a quick bite but not to linger on for too long.
“We will have an Interactive smartboard brought in,” the lady [what was her name?] said.
“Interactive smartboard?”
“Yes, we don’t use whiteboards.”
“Very cool.” I’d never seen an Interactive smartboard before. Never used one.
“What’s happening out there by the way?” I gestured at all the girls seated not talking to each other.
“They are models,” She said, “they have come for an interview. People hire this space for interviews, meetings, and things. So that’s probably for a brand or product.”
Made sense.
I wondered how one of those interviews was going.
“Do you eat rice?”
“Yes, I love rice.”
“How do you love your rice?”
“Uhm, boiled, with a pinch of salt. No oil.”
“Do you have any experience in modeling for rice?”
“No, I don’t.”
“What experience do you have in modelling?”
“I once modelled for my friend’s jewellery line. She makes jewellery from used bottle tops.”
“How did that go?”
“People said the bottle tops on the necklaces were uncomfortable around their necks. I didn’t mind the earrings, though. Is this job about rice?”
“Yes. We want to make rice sexy. Do you have ideas on how we can make rice sexy?”
“I don’t know if you can make rice sexy.”
“Why not?”
“Because rice just needs to be aromatic and very white.”
“That’s right.”
“Is that what your rice is?”
“Our rice is sexy.”
“So why do you want someone to make it sexy if it’s already sexy?”
“Because nobody knows it’s sexy. Except us. And now you.”
“So why don’t you just take a photo of the rice and write, this rice is sexy.”
“Nobody will believe us. So we need a girl next to it.”
“Let me guess, a sexy girl.”
“Bingo.”
“And people will buy it when they see a sexy girl next to it?”
“People will buy anything when they see a sexy girl next to anything.”
“That’s, like, I dunno, sexist? Objectification?”
“It’s also business. Now, please, I want you to walk from here to that door and back.”
“I was told that this job was for an airline commercial.”
“Who told you that?”
“My friend, Janice.”
“We don’t know any Janice.”
“She is the one of the bottle-top jewellery.”
“Airlines are nice but we are here to sell rice.”
“Sorry, but I can’t do this. It’s just not giving the vibes. I’m not in the right mental space for a rice job.”
“That’s a shame. You had the face to sell rice.”
***
I’m usually a little anxious on the morning of the writing masterclass. Because I never know what kind of group it will be. Once in a long while, we get a group that makes me want to jump through the window and run off into the woods…or buildings. What you want is an engaging group, you especially want one clown in there. The perfect class is one with one clown, one feminist, an extrovert, and one person who says very little, a deeply introverted person who has about sixteen words to spare for the whole day.
There are usually one or two very young folks who set things straight. GenZ’s. We once had a 10-year-old boy, Danny, who was very talkative, expressive, and opinionated. He had already written a couple of books. His hand was constantly up. It was cute but at some point, some attendees wanted to toss him out the window. I liked Danny. He must have a PhD now, probably in his second marriage. 80% of the class is always ladies.
We’ve had a lady who was in her 80s who wanted to write about growing up with the MauMau. We’ve had engineers and doctors and people in between jobs. We’ve had people who are in class because they are searching for something that they will only know when they see it. We have had teenagers in class under duress, so they sit sulking. But you never know until the morning. We’ve had several geriatrics, one was knocking 80 years old.
Normally I wake up early – 4:30 am- and go over my notes again. The first day is the day I break-ice and tackle the age-old question; how can I write beautifully? It’s also the day to introduce creative nonfiction as a genre of writing. Class starts at 9 and it goes on to 4:30 pm. That’s a lot of standing and talking. You need energy for it. My mind wanders a lot during class. My mind wanders a lot. Period. I have to remind myself to stay in the moment. I could look out and see a bird perched on the balcony across the building and that would completely distract me. Do birds suffer gastric issues? How long does a bird sleep for it to be well rested? Do birds sneeze? Useless things.
After going through my notes, I pack a bag and go to the gym or do a small 7km run. Helps with the energy, with the mind.
The last class just ended and here is the profile of the attendees. You can tell the extroverts, the jokers, and the introverts. And the cool kids.
Miriam.
Flight Purser.
People come to class to break a leg but she had done it before class. She came dragging a broken leg. It was in a fancy orthopaedic boot featuring little stickers of dolphins, rainbows, and things – artwork courtesy of her children. She was vague about how she broke this leg. She didn’t slip while running or try jumping off the first floor of a flat, none of the usual stuff. She mumbled something about, “It just happened.” We didn’t want to press it. How a woman breaks her leg is her own story to tell.
Verna
Sign Language Interpreter.
I wrote about her on social media. You can read her story HERE.
Biggie.
“It’s 2024, clarity is important,” he said. But he is also at home with contrasts and well acquainted with the pitfalls. He said, “In Nairobi lingo, I know dust, I have seen dust. I am familiar with its texture, its composition, its scent, and its taste.” He runs an events management and event production company. He plays drums in a band called Shamsi. He’s a biker. He runs a company called @Teeromafrica. Check out his merchandise.
Dope ey?
Because his day has 28 hours he also deals in the property market. He’s a double engineering degree holder but he said, “frk that.” He also sells honey from West Pokot. He’s a father of two adorable girls “with opinions stronger than Atlas.” He was married. Then he was not. He was in church. Then he was not.
But most importantly, he went to Alliance.
School number 8179.
God help us all.
Monica
Project Associate
I honestly don’t know much about Monica apart from the fact that she is a mother of two, a fitness enthusiast, and loves travelling and reading African literature. I don’t know if she likes the smell of rain or burning brake pads. If she is one of those people who don’t eat the crusty chicken skin. I don’t know much about her.
Irene
PR and Comms Manager
Lore has it that when the white man came to my village they stumbled upon my great grandfather, naked as an egg, herding cattle on a hill. It’s that hill that Irene hails from. She’s the first person from my village to attend my writing class. She knows the rivers and valleys I know. She understands the tempo of the hills and the rhythm of the seasons in Kendu Bay. She knows, by heart, the sounds the Mourning Doves make in the morning in the village. Sisal reminds her of shags, as it does me.
Caroline Ceekay
Impact investor
I said that a great part of the reason I have arrived at this station in life is as a result of great luck. That’s rubbish, she thought. An oversimplification. She said, “read Proverbs 18:16 NKJV. “ A man’s gift makes room for him and brings him before great men.”
I picture myself on one knee, bowing before a king who touches the crown of my head. Then a servant hands me a goblet to which I inquire, “Do you have ice cubes?” The whole room laughs. The king, stroking his long beard says, “What do you think this is, the Gastrobar? This is 3200 BC.”
Mercy Philips
She’s an aunt to the most adorable boy. She grew up an extroverted poet, but turned into an extremely awkward introvert. “I like to walk into thrift shops, touch items and feel their history- my most treasured item is an old framed photograph called ‘Grace by Eric Enstrom’- I strongly think I have the original piece.”
She continues. “In CBD when I am not thrifting, I am standing beside a pile of thrifted books taking photos of covers, reading epilogues and just flipping pages. I always end up getting a cheap copy to cover for the hour I have stood there. I find it hard to make decisions so it takes me ages to make any decisions. I don’t like having new hair on my head so for the last two years I’ve had locks that I barely retouch. And if someone is trying to describe me to you, they’ll probably start with, “she has a headwrap on her head- I like things that make me look African.”
Her sister says she’s talented in everything. She likes to cook, write, take photos, read literature and explore architecture. “I am currently exploring healthy wholefoods. I am hydrophobic but would love to live by a river someday.
“And yes, I am very much SDA.”
Sly
Student
These are the cool kids in class. They show up in their baggy/ mom jeans and spread their gospel of youth in class. They must look around the room and think; Man, this joint is old. Only they don’t use the word ‘joint’ because that’s a very Spike Lee word, which is very old. “I have been accused of being witty but I think I’m just an awkward human being who copes with humor,” Sly says. “I am also extremely self-aware and a little bit neuro-divergent. I started writing in my second year of high school as my way of escaping the realities of being in an 8-4-4 boarding school.”
Babu
Community Development Manager
Michael Babu is allergic to regret. If he could put that on his epitaph, he would. I wrote his story on social media. Read it HERE.
Charlotte
Communication Officer.
There is a story she told in class. “One time I was out in the club dancing with someone I fancied. At the end of the night, we went back home and as we slept, I stayed up and watched the base of their hairline move. It was as if their heart was beating from that hairline.”
She’s half French, half Danish. It’s the French bit that saw the heart beating from the hairline.
Something about that couch. If you napped on it, you’d dream of getting lost in a forest and finally coming to a green clearing with someone feeding a goat from the open palm of his hand.
Jacqueline
Counselling psychologist
She called a day before class and asked, “Is there a slot?” I said yes. So she took the last flight out of Kampala, Uganda. She was in class when it started. That’s either great commitment or great randomness. She’s the proud mother of five adults, the firstborn of a Tanzanian warrior queen, and a Ugandan man with a heart of gold.
Maria
Stay-at-Home Daughter, for now.
Another cool kid. In her former life, she was an advertising girl, toiling in the plantations of an AD agency. It was too unhealthy, she said. Not good for the soul. So she quit. Now she’s in-between life, staying at home with folks. She wakes up at 5 am every day and works out because she’s a gym rat. Afterward, she hangs with her thoughts because she’s a deep thinker. She was diagnosed with ADHD, which, she is quick to point out, isn’t some cool thing people like to wear on their sleeves as a bohemian badge. She lives in her head a lot. Her thoughts can get so deep it makes her breathless when she comes up for air. There, she creates. “I rap for vibes,” she says, “and back in uni, I dropped three educational tracks that were bangers. So I’m hoping to drop an EP before I turn 25.” And if that doesn’t work out she will try something else. Because she is not scared to hit restart. She can do it as many times as needed.
Each day, at 5 am, she goes on DND. That was the major reason she left her last job.
It was messin’ up with her DND.
There should be a rule that where there are more than three people congregated for tea, there should be chapos.
Judy Wamaitha Thuo
If you ask Judy what she does for a living, she will say, “Don’t ask me what I do, tell me what you want.”
Because she will get it for you.
She owns a bus company. She runs businesses. She makes decisions. She’s about getting shit done. And getting it done right. And at the right price. “My demeanour can be coquettish or a mean b#@h depending on whether it’s a candlelit dinner table or boardroom.”
And if you want to take it outside, she will take it outside.
“I know my Mr Jekyll and Dr Hyde. I live to feed one and starve the other. My faith is the fuel that makes the food for Mr Jekyll.”
Anne Waithira Kunene
She doesn’t like to say what she does for a living because then that is like putting her in a corridor. She isn’t a corridor kind of girl. “If life were a dress, mine would be mustard yellow, splashed with bold florals, and paired with a whole lot of ambition.” She says. “Why? Because life is too short for beige! You’ll rarely catch me blending into the background.”
The helmet
Only mzungus seem to own their own helmets for bodas.
Then we had guest speakers….
That’s my manager, Ivory. She took this photo during her past life when she was running a cabal of pole dancers out at that strip club on Baricho Road. She was some sort of a pimp. (She still is, I suspect). By night she would be at the strip club, chugging whisky, getting her girls in a row. By day she would be back home, chugging tequila while reading her many books, (for she is a voracious reader and one who knows a lot of useless trivia). But that was then. Now she’s sober (and less interesting) but still brilliant.
Ivory came over to talk about the business end of writing.
The Pacific midshipman is a fish with a slimy, dark green body, small eyes, and a large round head (kind of looks like Biko honestly)😂.
But that’s beside the point. The pacific midshipman are known for their ability to produce a loud sound (110 decibels approx –PS they vibrate), the sound they make is similar to a power lawnmower, to attract mates during mating season. They are so loud that if you live off the coast of Alaska they would frighten you awake. Because this phenomenon happens mostly at night
HOW FCKNG COOL IS THAT????
Then there was the irrepressible Abigail Arunga. She writes TV shows and for newspapers and she is a published poet. She is also eccentric and hilarious and you never know what she will say.
“Do I have to watch my language?” she asked before her session.
“Just be you,” I said. “The you that tries not to cuss a lot.”
She shared her experiences as a writer which means she shared her experience as someone living her life authentically and unapologetically.
Then there was Bett, the class and book administrator. She runs the class and my book end of the business. She has published two of her own books on money (she is ex-PWC) that you can find HERE. . She talked about publishing and her experience as a writer.
Someone- I won’t mention who – pulled me aside and said, “Is it me, or is every time I see Bett she is pregnant?” I laughed so hard that I tipped over samosas on a table and nearly broke my neck.
She was about a week or so due in this photo. She gave birth to a baby girl two days ago. Congrats Bett.
Drinks
Later we went out for drinks down the road at Ibury Lounge. The cool kids in class didn’t drink. Cool kids don’t drink.
***
Register for the next writing masterclass HERE. IT will be next March.
And on your way out, grab a copy of my books HERE.