'OUT HERE!'

                                                   

A hand reaching out to touch the sun-a sign of longing for Hope

The final year in university is usually an interesting one. Good thing or bad thing is – it only come once. It is the year when it dawns to most comrades that they seriously need to make a life for themselves – a great job, good money and less hustle. But in a country where unemployment is at forty percent, it is imminent that some comrades end up hustling for quite some time before God visits them.

Truth is even before graduation some comrades might have already secured themselves a source of income. They are normally the envy of others who are still stuck in the hell of sending application letters. Then there are others do not have any job but have some god father somewhere in a government office paving a way for them.

and the rest have themselves and belief that they would get jobs – without positive prospects or a godfather, but not without slaying a giant or two.

This piece is dedicated to all the ex-comrades who have turned hustlers. Those that the world of employment has beaten them senseless. Yes!

As I write this piece Walker a good friend of mine is a few months shy of his first anniversary as a graduate. Even before Walker graduated, some daddy’s friend had told daddy to bring his son’s certificate so he could get him a job; so father and son rest assured and waited for godfather to come through.

Things went South and all the strings daddy dear was pulling snapped. Every hope has been a dead end. To be precise: Five regret letters, one failed interview and a very screwed aptitude test down the line; Walker is still a statistic in the forty percent unemployed young Kenyans.

And his life has become a quandary of sorts.

See, lately ‘weird’ stuff have been happening; like being scheduled to partake in the house chores- a clear indication his family might be losing patience of his situation. Some family members have advanced to giving him looks that blatantly ask- ‘what are you contributing to in this house?’ Just the other day he heard his small sister sneer from the kitchen, “watu wengine ni kukula tu, hakuna kitu wanafanya.” (All you do is just eating without making any contribution). Words is the easiest weapon to destroy a man with, Walker has come to understand.

Walker does not have a hot hand for Sport Pesa bets. And Njoki Chege’s recent rant over sport betting fanatics has left him more devastated than healed. That lady is just a dedicated sadist, he believes.

She is a problem, but the least one. His priority right now is to restore his ‘dignity’. Income or no income, he has to. Even if that means creating an illusion.

Walker is not the only person who ‘life out here’ has screwed. There is Tee, also my good friend. Tee has always gone for the big things in life. You know when we were oriented as freshmen in campus, the vice chancellor described us as the – crème de la crème of the society. Tee did not get the memo that, that was just a speech. And speeches are meant to have sweet lies.

He let the crème de la crème ideology get into his head. That’s why he rented a house in Donholm and invited a friend with whom they would share the rental and upkeep costs. Each would give 5,000 shillings monthly to cater for the rent. From his school of thought this was easier than ABC…

That time of the month when the landlord pry’s around knocking on the doors of tenants’ who have not paid up the rent came. They ran out of lies and it all became clear: That accruing enough money from hustle, to find enough for sustenance was a lot harder than he had anticipated. Njoro their landlord had already threatened to lock down the house and bring in the local administration to deal with them.

So on one fateful night faced with the stark reality of being humiliated, they decided to disappear from the house. Yes! Disappear. When everyone was sound asleep each packed their few important belongings and ran as fast and far as from Donholm as they could. I mean what do you expect from a man who was best friends with some local police officers and the chief? That was a dangerous man to have for a landlord to a rent defaulter.

And that is how my friend Tee, started a new life in Mombasa.

And then there is me. Me- Elizabeth.

Of the three of us I was the most disillusioned.

I believed I was special, shock on me! Everyone out here is special- everybody believes they have something extraordinary to bring on the world table.

So being an adult in my father’s house I have had to re-arrange my priorities. Apart from growing myself as a writer I have to seriously up my game in preparing ugali. (Yes you heard me right!). I have seen the way people in the house including my parents savour my ugali – distracting them from the fact that I don’t contribute to the family’s upkeep. You think am being paranoid? Look…!

The other day I was in my bedroom as usual, busy typing my stories from my laptop. Then my dad came by and stood at the door and in a voice that reeked of suspicion he asked, “What are these things you do on your laptop?” I almost went defensive,

“Oh no! Am not addicted to pornography”

then I realized it would not add me any points. So I began to explain…

“You remember I told you am a creative writer, well I blog”

The expression on his face had only one question – “How does it make you money?”

I did not wait for the question, so I went ahead to give an answer.

I licked my lips, scratched my head then began to explain,

“there is this thing called traffic…so corporates'…”

Yes you guessed right! He did not stay for the whole explanation, he instead left me choosing words carefully to sound economically correct and proceeded to do more valuable things like having his four o’clock porridge.

I think he wants me to write a blog post and finish my explanation! (hahaha – this should stay between you and me.)

Men! Out here is really cold. It is really hard to find that person who will believe in your skill set and give you an opportunity to make them money and get yourself a living. But there are other people, who seem hell-bent to make a hard journey even harder.

                                               

A job seeker

The ex-comrades who already have jobs.

These guys cannot stop posting photos of themselves at work and captioning them with hashtags – “Work hard play harder”, “#born to win” “#work tings” (BTW why can’t you just write ‘things’? what does plucking the ‘h’ do for your status?). Thanx to their decisions I have inadvertently become a serial Facebook liar.

When these jobo comrades spot you in town, with a hanging face from a failed interview or carrying a load of envelopes with job application letters, they insist to say hi. Even though they can clearly see you are dodging them (for obvious reasons), they make sure to corner you, you exchange uncomfortable grins as they super annoyingly scan you head to toe; hastily trying to gauge how good you are doing.

And as if that is not torture enough, they deliver the infamous question

“Unawork wapi siku hizi?”

Then you are forced to either be courageous enough to say you are still job hunting or lie to dress your joblessness with witty words like am ‘self-employed and things are just picking up’. Given the incessant need of human beings to uphold their ego, you choose the latter. The devil bursts out in laughter while the jobo comrade walks away feeling accomplished.

But not to worry ex-comrade you and I are ‘#team ngori’ (sheng for bad-ass team), ‘God’s got us, and we gonn’ be alright!

Now if you don’t mind excuse me, because I need to google – how to perfect, perfect ugali?

A CALLING LETTER & A DREAM

Entrance to Maseno University's Main Campus

On that day, I was one year shy of being two decades old. By 6:30am my father and I sat at the easy coach waiting lounge in Railways- Nairobi.

At 7:30am i would begin a vital journey in the life of every young Kenyan: I would be en route to Maseno to start my four year undergraduate degree journey.

I was happy I made it to university, but I was very aware that studying an undergraduate degree was not a stellar accomplishment, at least not anymore- well apart from for my grandmother and a few villagers who still thought university students were ‘watoto wa serikali’ (the government’s children) entitled to free chicken and lots of money given by the government.

We were at the waiting lounge an hour earlier (or more-trust me); with a father like mine you could not dare be late in anything- especially to board  a bus we had paid for. Travelling on that day, would make sure we got to Maseno a day before thousands of young Kenyans who would be my comrades for four years. My father single handed decided we would arrive at Maseno one day before the material day, not because he was nervous but that was just his rule in life and by default my rule too. According to him; being the earliest bird came with multiple advantages.

When our bus was 30 minutes late, I began to give him faces that shouted (you see how worthless it is to arrive so early!!). And my statement that went like “mimi nilijua gari lazima ichelewe- wakisema 7:30am wanamaanisha 8:00am” (when they say 7:30am they mean 8:00am). Did not deter him from telling me stories of how he always caught the worms in life for being an early bird. He warned me that if that was not my philosophy in university I would fail in multiple things.

-of course he was right… But it took incomplete assignments and hypertension during exam periods to learn!

Later while in the university I would also learn that admitting loudly your parent accompanied you for admission to first year was very uncool and wasn’t a line that could score you a hot boyfriend in campus. By the time I learned this I had already announced that I was a daddy’s girl brought by daddy to campus.

At 8am we took our seats.

I confirmed one last time that I had all documents needed for admission. I cannot stress enough that according to my dad some things in life have absolutely no room for errors. Like arriving for admission then you realize you left an important document at home!! (this makes so much sense in my adult life).

One of those was my calling letter that read ‘Bachelors of Arts Degree in Economics’. Those bold letters told me that my dream of studying journalism would be dashed.

And it was, when I applied for inter faculty transfer I discovered as a regular student admitted by then JAB- Joint Admissions Board today Kenya Universities and Colleges Central Placement Service (KUCCPS), I was a few cluster points short to qualify for a Bachelor’s degree in journalism.

The first few weeks as freshman were a combination of excitement, disappointment and discovery that saw me in pursuit of an identity join the intercessory ministry under the Christian union. I did not last more than two weeks there and I assure you I will tell you the whole story in another post.

Everybody knows that when you go to a new place, making new friends is inevitable. The same was true for me in my first semester. I hopped from one friendship to another in search of I don’t know what.

One of the friendships that did not last was with this one lady who was totally obsessed with ‘looking fashionable’ – I was also obsessed with the same ‘devil’, only I was too busy seeing the speck in her eyes. She would go to Luanda every Thursday even if it meant skipping class.

Why did she go to Luanda? - You ask. (Let me explain)

Luanda is 15 minutes’ drive and 20 shillings from Maseno University. Every Thursday is usually a market day and there are cheap clothes sold; from as low as 20 shillings. When you are in Maseno and you need to look good at a low cost, Luanda is the place you need to go. But brace yourself for scorching sun as hell, possible pick pocketing and a run into a guy who has lost his mind to weed.

At that time, I could not fathom why this friendship was annoying: Was it coz this chic rubbed her Lunda elegance on my nose or was it the fact that I could not buy clothes like her as I was afraid of being broke while still in session? (But today I know why).

Anyway, before I joined campus I had heard stories of how comrades ran out of money and ended up having strong tea with a mandazi or two for three meals a day, or were totally dependent on food from the school mess (that dependence meant one was financially challenged), I most certainly did not want to be that comrade.

Plus what 19/ 20 year old wants their reputation to be tainted with such? - (“ule msee hukula mess” Jesus no!!).

So I was something between a strategic miser and a keen financial planner (of course this changed gradually, but not totally). In fact I can guarantee you that at one point, I worried more about being broke than failing my exams. First year Me is responsible for nearly half of the financial discipline I have today.

No matter how afraid I was of being broke, the nightmare came true, on double digit times in the four year long journey. In fact I believe at one point my situation was so bad it would seem hilarious to a church mouse.

When I left high school, I worked in a local school and I remember telling my colleagues fast forwarded tales of: How I would join the university and the reveries about my career would come true.

The university is indeed that place that paves the way for a comrade to achieve his or her dreams.

But it is also the place where dreams are broken, to be mend or not. In the four years it was that place for me. In the resounding clang of my broken dreams I still found joy.

In pursuit of satisfaction that I couldn’t get from my degree course I ended up being a presenter with Equator FM. Darn! I remember that night before my first day at the radio station – I literally couldn’t sleep, I tossed and turned in bed repeatedly going through my content and imagining what could go wrong and creating a solution for it.

Well – a lot of things went wrong. Like I left my microphone on when I was off 

air, I was a nervous wreck and somehow the music just had issues (later I learned that it is I who had issues, not the music). Of course I got better and greater – and regardless of how terrible the first day was, I was a radio presenter for three years.

I also became a content creator, thanks to my good friend Churchill Ongere who in 2012 invited me with a couple of other people to start BAMU (the Bloggers Association of Maseno University), this basically marked the beginning of blogging in my life.

…I still owe Churchill a cup of hot coffee.

In her commencement speech to2008 Harvard graduates J.K Rowling – wished the graduates blossomingfriendships. Friendships that could traverse the experiences the world wouldthrow at them. Supportive friendships that would make life’s riddles bearable.

After four years, as I sat at the graduation parlour, roasting in my mammoth of a graduation gown waiting for the chancellor to give me the power to read bla bla…. (Seriously I never got that thing he said). I remember asking myself questions about this past time that lasted four years that would never come again. I wondered - whether I made the most out of it. Whether I grabbed every opportunity. Whether I was happy with every choice I made the best choices. Whether I was happy with the young adult I had become. I did not have precise answers to these questions but one thing I knew for sure I had made great friends.

                                                    

My graduation

On that day, one sat few rows in front of me, another few rows behind me and the other in the column on my right hand side. I made friends who since I graduated I have turned to in times of distress, whom we share ideas and laugh. If one day nothing else ever counts, I know this will.

My dear reader from whatever place in life you are reading, this just like J.K Rowling wished 2008 Harvard graduates the best friendships:

I wish the same for you!

Here is a paragraph from that commencement speech –

“…the friends with whom I sat on graduation day have been my friends for life. They are my children’sgodparents, the people to whom I’ve been able to turn in times of trouble,people who have been kind enough not to sue me when I took their names forDeath Eaters. At our graduation we were bound by enormous affection, by our shared experience of a time that could never come again, and, of course, by theknowledge that we held certain photographic evidence that would beexceptionally valuable if any of us ran for Prime Minister.”

AN ANGRY DEMOGRAPHY

Someone using their phone

Public servants facing graft allegations in Kenya today find themselves between a rock and a hard place when citizens talk freely about their allegations on social media. The individual(s) facing the allegations is dragged on social media ‘mud’, mangling there once spotless reputation and declaring them guilty without a trial.

In his weekly column #Frontrow, Larry Madowo talked of this ruthless court of public opinion that condemned the estranged officials. The article that came after his tell it all interview with Nancy Barasa also drew an example of the predicament of Ann Waiguru who has fallen in the hands of the ‘court’ double digit times.

In the article titled ‘Stop judging people without facts; it can ruin their lives’, Larry raised a poignant question,

“Why are we so eager to believe that someone is automatically complicit just because an accusation has been made against them?”

One thing that is clear when the public servant facing malpractice allegations is torn apart on social media, is the anger laced in the no holds barred commentary. Not to justify the unjust treatment but the truth is unless; national institutions tasked with prosecuting corrupt officials are ‘cleansed’, to a point the taxpayers exude confidence in them, public officials respect hard earned taxpayers money,

the abuse and condemnation by citizens online is bound to continue and even get fierce.

In his article Larry wrote “…we should learn to suspend judgement and presume everyone to be innocent until proven otherwise.”

What is the reward in this morally upright way?

The reward should be the responsible person(s) being held accountable and the looted resources returned to public coffers. But we have been deprived of this reward for the longest time possible.

There is a demography in this country that not only knows no one responsible for loss of public funds is ever held accountable. A demography that has witnessed first-hand the legal process of accountability being rigged long before it started.

According to a story done by ventures Africa, 4 million Kenyans engage in social media daily.

35 percent of twitter users are aged between 18-29 years old, and they are part of the demography am writing about (source: jetcrams.com).

So, the largest portion of the population, about (40) percent, which is worst hit by joblessness, makes up the largest percentage of active social media users.

Basically, we have 40 percent of the total national population composed of angry people with Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, google+ and Linked in accounts, which they are not afraid to use to rip the people ripping their future through corruption- with and without evidence.

An angry and dissatisfied demography is the reason we see so much anger when issues of governance are discussed online.

I mean seriously...

What will a young person say about his/ her country, where despite having a degree they can’t get a decent job (and don’t be so fast to say how he/ she is not hard working). Corruption has created a wall between the potential employers and to climb over one needs ‘god-fathers’ and bribes

this is the bitter truth.

Goldenberg scandal was the country’s gift to this generation when they popped to the world. They are now in their twenties and the puzzle is still unsolved. The face of the Goldenberg scandal resonates with most if not all corruption cases in Kenya.

As corruption, and unemployment rise so does the anger and the feeling that our country does not reward hard work. It is such anger that manifests itself in venomous online rants whenever we talk about corruption.

It is because of this anger that judgement is never suspended and such anger pushes people to presume everyone is guilty even when the EACC declares them innocent.

By the way, remember Tunisia?

When Mohammed Bouazizi, a 26 year old Tunisian set himself ablaze on 17th December, 2010? The street vendor was protesting after confiscation of his wares by a municipal official.

His family and friends shared a video of angry Bouazizi on social media and on 18^th December, the same year there were civil protests against: Government corruption, unemployment and social inequalities.

An angry demography (I repeat) is a ticking time bomb and apart from brutal online rant, it can detonate to civil demonstrations.

There is a generation that is wounded. A generation that has lost trust in most of the fundamental institutions in the country.

Larry Madowo was right when he wrote, “…strange things happen in Kenya and they have helped erode our trust in institutions”. And this digital generation has no problem channeling the anger through hashtags.

We are way past asking them nicely to calm down. Hope only lies in seriously transforming our institutions to create a system that will reward the hard work the citizens.

FOR THE PURPLE HEARTS...

A sandal with a broken strand

In November 2015, I took a creative break. So I spent the last 2 months of the year building content for my blog and learning new tricks, useful on the blogging space. I also worked on a new name for my blog, although this took a lot of building and tearing down I eventually had one.

Over the holidays I had saved 3,000/=: I would spend 1,000/= to register with BAKE, and the remaining cash for my daily needs such as airtime and what have you (tight budget ahh!). By the time I left shagz on 3^rd January 2016, I just couldn’t wait to get my blog up and running and yes, I never saw anything, in heaven, earth or even hell that could derail me.

Few days after my arrival in Nairobi I received a call from my dad at around 8am. He did not sound as strong as he always did on the phone. I could feel that he was struggling to laugh at my jokes. I could feel that he was reaching too deep to find energy reserves to finish the conversation, but in vain.

He then told me he was ill.

I was quite shaken because; one, it was unlike my dad to tell people that he was unwell especially his kids and two, my mind insinuated that this was something serious (you know how the mind takes you to places you don’t wanna go?).

I had a hunch this was not the cold that passed after a few day or the fever that faded without medication. After the phone call I could simply not shake off the feeling that something terrible was imminent.

Somehow the same mind created an idea that this was just a passing cloud, in an effort to make me feel better. The two ideas played in my mind in turns with equal frequency leaving me nervous wreck. By 12 noon, the cloud had not passed and my dad was en route to Nairobi for urgent medical attention accompanied by the love of his life, mother dear. I was taken over by fear, and you can understand because I have lived for 2 decades and I had never seen my dad suffer from anything more than a common cold or a simple cough. After examination by the doctors, he was admitted.

We were down financially (I mean we were just fresh from Christmas holiday!).

Every one of the 5 family members was required to contribute towards the new costs at hand (daily transport to and from the hospital, special diet, et al). I reached for my precious 3,000/=, though it was difficult to watch the money go along with my grand plans,

the reward of the hope to see my dad heal fast was greater.

See I had grand plans, I thought I had it all figured out: But that’s the thing nothing is fail proof as long as you are human and living in this world. And it’s not such a terrible thing; in fact it’s okay when even the grandest plans of them get warped. Because it keeps us on check. Being cognizant of the fact that we are not in absolute control of our fate (it’s okay if you don’t believe in fate) is a subtle way to keep us grounded.

Not a single human being has ever successfully turned off their emotions, achieving a state of complete ‘not feeling’. This is a luxury that only vampires on ‘The Vampire Diaries’ have. Knowing that you are susceptible to pain, that you are not invincible can frighten you but it can also cause you to remain humble in equal measure.

My father was admitted for 2 weeks and a few days, I was devastated, I was broken and my family was drained financially: A bunch of ugly things happened to me and my family in this time but it was also a time when I seriously counted my blessings. We got to go home with our father a great blessing since I know it does always go down like that for every family.

I have not registered with BAKE and my family is still putting the hard financial puzzles together.

Did you have something going on that hit a bump? Then know that it is okay, you are not the first, you are not the only one and you won’t be last. Pick something from that mess and give it another fierce shot.

BECAUSE CANCER PATIENTS FIGHT EVERYDAY

BECAUSE CANCER PATIENTS FIGHT EVERYDAY- 

THE TIME IN BETWEEN

It is 23^rd October, exactly twenty two days into the month dedicated to tailored

activities of raising breast cancer awareness (steps to have a plan to detect the disease in its early stages, ways to reduce chances of suffering from it, signs and symptoms to look out for and most important actualize ways of helping those who are suffering from it.) It is the month when female celebrities grace magazine covers without bras and it also the time when celebrities and everyone who has a social media page puts up messages to show support for those suffering from breast cancer. Brands and franchises’ also get an opportunity to give back to the society by rallying their customers to contribute towards helping the affected. Do not get me twisted all these are splendid things to do.

photo courtesy of: www.facebook.com/carolinemutoko

But what is going to happen when October comes to an end? Will you wait for October 2016 to do something? Or will it be an appalling story of someone suffering from breast (or any other form of cancer) aired on television or printed on the dailies that will awaken your sympathy? Then get so mad at the government for failing to revamp cancer treatment facilities, have couple of minutes of guilt for all the time you have been ungrateful for your good health, quickly ask God to forgive you for such times, run to dr. google to find out whether you exhibit any symptoms of cancer and finally with self-assurances put all that behind you and move on.

What if that was to change? Support for those suffering from cancer and those affected by its consequences is not a destination and is definitely more than an event. Cancer patients fight every day, and so my support and yours should be accorded on a daily basis. It could be little cash that you consciously plan to put aside and once it has accrued channel it to help. Or a plan to pray for all those that cancer has affected daily: you can do this as an individual or in a group (WhatsApp group, bible study group, work colleagues, etc.) Anything that you can give or do, do not wait for an event or rather do not stop after an event.

PS: I have already started taking my advice…I hope you will follow up…I know you will follow up. Thank you

elizabeth muthama

GO BIG OR GO HOME….! GO BIG AND GO HOME…! OR JUST GO HOME!!!

KATUA, THE MAN IN A MISSION

Both Katua and Kamau worked in ‘Pat-Supplies’, a hardware owned by Patel in Kariokor. On that Thursday Katua was so nice to Kamau and everyone wondered what was happening because Katua was a lot of things but nice to people was not one of them. Earlier that week Katua was told by their employer- Patel that he could have a three day off from work. He had waited for the good news for nearly four months and so he was excited that he would travel home after nearly a whole year away. He quickly told his parents who lived with his five other siblings in Mumbuni-Machakos that come Friday he would finally be home. Everyone at home was excited: His father knew he would get money to brag while drinking beer at the local brew den, his mother knew that she would finally cook chapati and upon thinking about how her neighbours’ would envy her she felt so good and of course his siblings knew they would eat a lot of good stuff that was not githeri and they would have the coolest story to tell in school.

Even with a meager wage he managed to save and so shopping for his family would not be a problem: But he had one major problem in his mind-Mueni. Mueni was the yellow skin girl Katua had a serious crash on since they were in primary school, and now that he had been in the city he knew he had an advantage over Mutune who according to the village rumour mill was dating or sneaking (let your imagination go

photo courtesy of: modespices.info

wild) around with Mueni. He thought it through and decided that a smartphone would definitely topple Mutune who was a cook at the local Secondary school. Among all the workers only Kamau owned a ‘smartphone’ although Onyango and Onyancha said it was fake, but Katua cared not. He approached Kamau and asked if he could borrow his phone over the weekend, “Na nikikupea mimi nitasaidika aje?” he retorted (How will giving you my phone benefit me?). Katua promised to bring Kamau five kilograms of green grams for free from Mumbuni and so the deal was on. Kamau was however well known for going back on his promises and Katua knew he had to be in good books with him, so he played nice through the week.

That Thursday was the D-day, Katua would find out whether his plans to impress Mueni would be thwarted. At the end of the workday Kamau seemed to avoid Katua and he knew he had to step up his game so he bought him rice viazi (rice with potatoes stew) at the food vendor to soften the grounds for negotiations. Kamau finally gave in and gave Katua the phone. His act of generosity was however loaded with commandments and warnings, “Ukiharibu hii simu utanipea 20K bila negotiations” (If you cause any damages to my phone you will pay fifteen thousand shillings and there will be no negotiations about that). He made sure to speak so loudly that everyone present would be a witness. Everyone including Katua knew Kamau’s price was an extreme exaggeration but he still had a reputation of collecting his dues no matters how dubious they were. Nevertheless, Katua agreed and left to his house to get some sleep and most importantly to learn the way around the ‘new’ phone.

Upon arrival in his home in Mumbuni, Katua made sure that Kisinga his youngest sibling went to Mueni’s home and yapped about him having new and expensive things: a phone, shoes, a trouser, etc. Over lunch his siblings sat around him as he narrated to them about life in the ‘city under the sun’, his job and off-course ‘his’ expensive new phone. He dropped names like: Whats-app, USB, power bank, selfie and all the other cool things about and around smart phones that he had recently learnt, he did not care whether he had not actually used any of them but he was sure by the time Mueni came to say hi to him he would be flawless bragging to her and would obviously win her love or overthrow Mutune, he would be content with any of the two.

After lunch Katua put the phone under his pillow in fear of tampering by his siblings as he wanted to visit the latrine which was a good distance from the main house. When he came back from the latrine Musau, one of his siblings was whistling from the smoke filled kitchen and Kisinga and the others were playing hide and seek, basically no one was in sight. He smelt something had gone awfully wrong while he was away, he rushed into his bedroom praying that whatever it was, it had nothing to

photo courtesy of: roguenaturopath.com

do with his phone, but no it had everything to do with it. The phone was on the table and its screen had a bad crack, he tried to put it on with no success. His pulse rate increased, thoughts on how to pay back Kamau and impress Mueni were competing for his attention, he began to sweat profusely and got out to catch some air, and then he saw Mueni. She had just arrived and by the look on her face Katua could tell she was ready to give him a chance or rather give the coolest man in the village a chance.

The broken phone had already ruined everything. In the split of a second he decided that figuring out a way to pay Kamau was his priority. He hurriedly said hi to her and excused himself. He needed to come up with a payback formula that inevitably meant structuring a fail proof lie to help him get some money from his grandpa who owned the biggest herd of cattle in the village and who fortunately was also his best friend. 

HE DREAMT….AND HE EXECUTED…

I have used few paragraphs to describe a man who I met and talked to for few minutes but created a great impression… Enjoy…

William Ndolo during the interview

William Ndolo is not your average model. He has his eyes fixed on a higher price than just clinching the Mr. Machakos title. When I met him at the Mr/Miss World Kenya auditions in Machakos and mentioned I had a blog and wanted to tell the story of the male models he powerfully stood up and said yes. He is in his early twenties and is the proud founder of ‘Vogue Modelling Company’ a company he started in May 2013. Apart from having a profound passion for the fashion industry he believes that by creating the company he is part of the solution to the stinging problem of unemployment in Kenya.

William Ndolo

NDOLO’S COMPANY

So far ‘Vogue Modelling Company’ has signed 40 models (7male and 33 female) nurturing their talents and representing them. Besides talent management the company also: creates television advertisements and organises fashion events.

For the Five months that the company has been in operation, it has been working from Nairobi County the first place it launched. However soon it will spread its wings to other counties: Beginning with Machakos County where it will launch on 14^th November 2015.  

For more on 'Vogue Modelling Company' check out their website

itismywords.blogspot.com wishes William Ndolo all the best.