My Past Doesn’t Define Me – A Wakajuaness Special.

Just like the South African comedian Trevoh Noah, I was born a crime. Not in the exact/literal sense of being born to multi racial parents in the middle of a raging apartheid. No, far from it. I was born out of wedlock. My birth caused a rift between my mother and my biological dad and that is how I ended up in the care of my grandmother and later on my Aunt.

My mother worked as a secretary in Siaya, the pay not all that and the proverbial ends would soon refuse to meet. Caught between a baby daddy who wouldn’t chip in and her meagre wages, her only option was to drop me off to her mother. Life in Kisiwa was hard, meals not assured, school fees almost impossible to raise. I was one of those students who would have to pay after selling some of the spare produce or the few animals reared in her homestead.

The more I became self aware the more delicate my feelings were. I remember after clearing my KCPE and scoring 301/500, only six other pupils scored above 300 marks, I was unable to proceed to highschool. I felt terrible. All my classmates and friends had proceeded to the next stage of education and they would taunt and torment me over my top performance. I was distraught! I even contemplated and eventually attempted suicide. I was so hell bent on ending it all and I tried not once or twice but thrice! I was saved by a stranger who would wonder what this young man was doing with a rope in a coffee plantation. “ Joel, the news you see of primary school kids cutting their lives short are real”. 

One teacher took interest and after noticing I was hurting, decided to weigh in. The advice was, since I was an exceptional student, by village standards at least, that I repeat my class eight ace it and aim for a scholarship to Starehe Boys. You know how plans and reality usually go right? It didn’t play out like that. Even though the very last exam to my second stab at KCPE I scored above 400 marks out of a possible 500, that was not the case with the last paper. I got a 378/500 and while I was top of my class, the scholarship was out of the question. An Aunt who was pissed off at my predicament reached out to my biological dad and told him about his son in the village who had passed his KCPE with flying colors! 

She got to him for some reason and he offered to pay for my Secondary education. He even suggested that I do not join Kimilili boys which was where I was to be admitted but rather I join Bungoma boys so that he can easily check in. This was short lived, immediately I got in form 2, the support stopped. My Aunt took me in as her own. Alongside her husband they offered the love and support that I so much needed. When you stay with someone who is not your biological parent, it’s either they go out of their way to show you that you are valued and loved or they give you earth’s version of hell. I was very lucky my mother’s elder sister went for the former. They schooled, fed and guided me every step of the way.

The only challenge was that I understood their struggle of taking an extra load so much such that when some rogue fellow student flipped my locker open and stole my calculator, log book or other valuables, I never reported this back home. I did not want to bother them. I would later pay for this decision by sitting for my KCSE without any of the aforementioned items. 

Of course that was detrimental to my overall performance. I scrapped a paltry C+ and did not feel so bad about it as I wasn’t so sure about my education afterwards. With no clear way forward in terms of pursuing higher education, I focused on getting a job. 

I very much wanted to work as a janitor at the Bungoma Law courts, rumour had it that they paid four hundred bob per day. That just seemed like a windfall to my broke self. Turns out the law courts did not need an extra hand sweeping the corridors of justice. I soldiered on. I heard that Keringet Hotel was recruiting so I dropped by and asked if there was a vacancy. I was told as a matter of fact there was one! When asked how much I felt my services were worth, I confidently said 400 bob/day! The lady interviewer almost fell off her stool laughing! She turned around after laughing and told me NO! It’s a 100 bob/day or nothing. I had nothing better going on at the moment, so I took the job. I waited on tables until I saw an advertisement in the local dailies about a Canadian firm that was offering paid training and seriously hefty perks upon completion. I applied and was selected. I was besides myself with joy. Packed a few belongings and left for Kisumu where the company was located. 

This was no Canadian firm and there was no paid training, we were to hawk cutlery and table mats! We would make fifteen bob off each a hundred bob made. I thought my upbringing was tough, it was nothing compared to the madness I had gotten myself into in the name of paid training at a Canadian company! With the Kisumu sun on my head all day, most of the fifteen bobs would be spent on hydrating. I remember one day we hawked our way into Kisumu girls and being a big institution and all, they had an intercom. We were allowed to use it to get the whole school’s attention and boy did we move our product. Problem was, ours were substandard knock offs and the table mats would soon melt when a hot dish or mug was placed on them. The teachers were furious and this forced us to avoid that route for about three weeks.

The hunger pangs wouldn’t allow us to avoid that route for long, I mean what did they expect anyway for a hundred bob hahaha! So I ventured that route once again. I was ready for whatever the teachers were going to dish at me. While at the gate I found some girls rehearsing a choral verse and boy was it terrible. Given my stint with my high school drama club I saw an opportunity. I went to see the teacher in charge and hoped he had the memory of a goldfish and that he wouldn’t hold my substandard table mats against me to the extent of not giving me an opportunity to share my skills. Turns out they’d had some not so good tidings in this department and he was all too eager to hear my ambitious promise of delivering ten choral verses by the next day. I spent a sleepless night composing the verses and yes I had all ten as promised. 

The teacher looked at me in disbelief when I delivered them the next day. He went through them and I could see him node in approval. He liked them! He went to one of the cabinets and retrieved a whole bunch of papers and told me how he had rejected so many of these things as they simply did not make the cut just like my cutlery haha! 

In a spur of the moment I told him that he could have all ten for the price of eight. No qualms there young man, I will pay you Ksh.10,000 for each of these. Ksh.50,000 now and the balance the day you show up to train my girls. That teacher cannot play poker even if his life depended on it. The fact that he could not tell the disbelief written all over me, made me wonder. Here I was expecting a measly Ksh. 2,000 for the two or three that he would pick and I got a whooping fifty! I will be honest Joel, I was not interested in training those kids, I was a millionaire! In fact I told the teacher so, but he would hear none of it. He told me to sleep on it and if I still felt this way the next day he would give me my balance.

I waltzed into Tuskys Supermarket  like the boss that I was and I did a shopping of 4,000 shillings. My Uncle (Kid bro to my Aunt’s husband) who was hosting me in a shanty that provided a roof over our head was worried that I had started hanging out with the wrong crowd or something. I told him not to worry. I deposited most of the cash into my Mpesa line, quit that good for nothing job and went to take my new job as a drama teacher. With perks like a daily upkeep of five hundred bob and 20,000 for every stage excelled, I was a Lord! My balance was paid in full. I gave my Uncle 10,000 and yes he didn’t return home that evening ( alienda kupigia mwili pole hahaha!) I got those ladies to the provincials which was good enough for me and I asked Mwalimu to grant me an early retirement. I needed time to spend my loot. 

I came back to Bungoma, took another drama training gig at Baptist girls.I  had run-ins with a fellow trainer who taught me a thing or two about written agreements and why they are mandatory in any business agreement ( alinifundisha kuishi town). Around the same time I took computer packages in some college in Eldoret which would later shut down. Those packages would later form the basis and foundation upon which I built my brand online. A former colleague at Keringet hotel hooked me up with this editorial job with an online christian magazine. This was my hustle for the most part till you and I met. Your idealistic quest to commercialize theatre in Bungoma was quite alluring. Alongside my good friend Kennedy Opatta (MC OPASH), we hopped aboard and look! We changed the face of theatre in Bungoma and Western at large. Big up Mr producer.

When I got your nine missed calls after a football practice someday, I wondered what was the emergency. Had you figured out an Oscar winning story or what was up. You offered me a job as a cleaner at Shenanigans sports bar at a time when the magazine job was alright but left me with plenty of idle time. The money was good but it could get cut short anytime. Your offer was a no brainer I took it! I have never been one for flare or the bombastic type, so yeah, I did not even for one minute think of the job as demeaning. I gave it my all and you can bear me witness…..you were my boss. Shenanigans taught me a lot: customer relations, bookkeeping, brand visibility and enhancement on all fronts including social media…. and most of all humility. 

I am thankful that you did not restrict me in my job description as a cleaner because that is the only way you were able to recommend me as the manager upon your exit. I started my blog while at shenanigans and I must admit it expanded my contact list immensely.   

The Wakajuaness legend started back in high-school when I would hand write articles and paste them on the school notice board. Many would wonder what was the source of my content or how I knew what Raila Odinga was up-to and yet I was ever behind the school walls. 

So they branded me as a “wakajua” which is a distorted swahili version of the phrase “know it all”. In a quest to give it an english touch I added the suffix “ness” and that is how “Wakajuaness” came to be. To ingrain it in fellow students minds I scribbled it at the back of my chair and it stuck completely.

I cannot claim that I was the first blogger from Bungoma, however I can emphatically state that I was the first established blogger from western at large. It has not been a walk in the park, I have had to surmount self doubt, ridicule from folks I served at the bar and lack of guidance in this field. I was trailblazing and that is never easy. I am sure you know all about that. You know how they say a prophet is never accepted at home? I would get brand endorsements from companies from Nairobi or invites to cover stories from far and beyond and yet locals shunned me. I did not falter in my step, I kept trudging on, after all writing is how I vent. Article after article it literally became impossible to dismiss me. My hard hitting articles and exposes would do rounds on the interwebs. My high school nickname that turned into a brand had finally started to pay off. 

My dalliance with the fourth estate was born when I was in class four when my uncle would swing by with the Sunday Nation. I would scheme though barely comprehending anything but I just loved it nonetheless. So when the same young boy jumps over all the hoops and bounds to score a steady traffic of over a hundred thousand visitors to his blogspot per month that is quite a feat. 

This young boy grew without primary parental love and care but he made it. I have scars to remind me of who I am. Yes my biological dad and I get along pretty well now, in fact he helped shape the Wakajuaness editorial policy. Being from a communication background himself he has been a pillar that has helped strengthen Wakajuaness. Do I harbour some ill feelings from the past? NO. My Aunt’s husband took me in and showered me with affection. He was the father I never had growing up. He shared whatever little he had with me. He taught me how to be a family man. To provide even in the toughest of situations and to be the source of strength for your family. All these washed away my pain and suffering. I am not a broken toy, I was made whole by a man who had no obligation whatsoever towards me. I call him Baba and God knows I love that Man. Yes, my biological dad joined the party late, however what is important is the fact that he is here now. I will not lie, my past rears its ugly head in who I am now and my romantic relationship(s) I am hell bent on breaking the cycle. Giving my dependants my all will always be my primary goal.   

I want to break the constraints limiting my path to excellence. A degree in Journalism and Mass communication is top on my to do list. I would like to be the very best to my five contributors to the Wakajuaness blog spot …… I also envision Wakajuaness being the biggest digital media agency in the country and even across borders. I foresee love, lots of it. I will not be limited by circumstance, where I come from, who is or isn’t in my life. I will not let my past define me.

Editorial Desk  

Sunday June 21st 2020 will be fathers day. A big shout to the gentlemen who have taken an active role in the upbringing of their sons and daughters. Your effort is laudable and continue with the amazing work. You have no idea the kind of impact that you are having on those young minds. A toast of your favorite poison as we celebrate the men among us.