Awesome Ruiga Girls

Awesome Ruiga Girls: From Whence Comes Another?

This is a story that should be told in first person. Where I should have assembled the subjects and let them tell their story without my intervention. I should have but won’t because it is not a TV documentary. I will maintain the “I” factor as I try to as faithfully as humanely possible convey their message as they would. All the defects are mine. Care has been taken to minimize the errors though.

When we jumpstarted the Theatre and Arts Club we had a CSR objective to achieve during the semester. Since we multitask as Journalism members too, we tried to sell a few Varsity Post copies as we prepared to release the next issue. We washed lecturers’ cars which they paid handsomely (KES. 100 Each). They could not hide their joy as they received their sparkling rides. We had fun, dancing to Konshens’ “Gal A Bubble”, splashing hosepipe water to lazybones and generally bonding. We donated our own detergents and rags. I remember getting a rude shock of how Kenyans are apparently not a reading lot. Even the top cream prefers the fast and furious stuff. They don’t read news, they watch news. And so as we neared to roll off the forth issue, the stockpile of the first, second and third issues was a stark reminder of how our weak marketing strategy complicated by poor reading appetite of campus fraternity.

What is arguably the most noble and humanitarian venture by any Club in Chuka is the idea of holding a funkie at Ruiga Girls’ Secondary School. We partnered with Salsa Dance Group, Peer Counselors Club and the girls. The synergy was so powerful that it could propel a train. Imagine we did not have to incur a cent to go to Meru. All expenses paid. As we assembled on Sunday dawn of June 16, the crew thought the bus was Chuka University’s. And so when we alighted at Ruiga and started surveying the compound we realized the girls had lent us their bus complete with fuel, cozy seats and courteous driver.

On the way surprises kept popping up in the faces of first-timers. But first they had to contend with the cold reality of crossing the killer black spot that is the Nithi Bridge. This section of the road is notorious for cutting short promising lives more than terrorism, AIDS and cancer combined. And so it was understandable when all the humor was suspended and suddenly replaced by a solemn moment of silence. I guess that was the most eternal part of the journey. It lasted forever. Holding breath, catching breath and palpable fear. As soon as the infamous leg was done the jokes resumed as dirty as ever. Nelson claimed he heard someone nyambua a kitenzi. Such odor prompted him to fly open the window, he alleged.

Omnipresent contributors like Frank and Bob slept all the way since the yester night they cheered EPL and capped it with a KBC gig at the pavilion. That explains why they slept at 5a.m and woke up at 6a.m.

Drizzles and fog nearly dampened our cheerful mood. It was raining chill. Visibility was a few meters away. Without warning, we branched left a few kilometers shy of Meru town. I wiped the window and saw a huge blue signpost. It read: Ruiga Girls’ Secondary School 2km ahead. We went off the tarmac tangent. The mud path seemed not trodden and uncharted. We finally arrived safe and sound. After saying a thank you prayer to God, we alight.

Next item on the agenda a Church Service. Never before had I seen material sacrifices given to the Lord. After the basket was passed the auctioning of bar soaps and toilet papers ensued. The ushers sold the items to the highest bidders upon the fall of the hammer. The proceeds were dropped at the basket. Understandably, girls value hygiene and ended up buying the sacrifices they had offered. The comrades bought pens on offer. A big Panga Soap was purchased for the preacher and placed on his lectern. Interestingly, the stand was taller than him and was not adjustable. When the sermon was over we went for break.

I realized I had not used my camera since we arrived. I fished it out and immortalized my colleagues enjoying buttered bread and densely milky tea. A senior comrade on attachment there, I learned, was the contact person. She proved invaluable to our small needs. When we needed warm water to clear our vocal cords she was at hand. She improvised costumes by proving us with school uniforms so that we stage our plays.

But all the above were just on the sidelines. We did not want to dance before the main festival. We saved the best for last. In the midmorning we rolled our sleeves and marched to the classes. There, we found expectant eyes. We launched our agenda straight away. The themes were as follows: Self Esteem, Self Awareness, Attitude, Relationships and Drug Abuse.

The issues raised were enough to make their parents wonder in disbelief. We adopted an open question and answer approach. When they relaxed they wrote stunning leaves. It became clear, albeit by confession, that they were laden with baggage of crushes, infatuations and trials of love. Some were hurt, heartbroken and stressed. Others turned to lesbianism, incest and masturbation to quench their hot-blooded systems.

On academics and time management the girls realized that there is no need of proving to boys that they loved them. That it is good and assertive to say NO and be firm about it. Experts as we were, one question baffled us and as I pen this it is still a mystery. One Form Two said she had her periods twice per month and that in her own words: “I am too fertile and my hormones are very reactive. Am I normal?” Rufus opined that the weather and the environment affect menses. Helen said that normally a girl should menstruate after 28 days and any deviation from the norm should be referred to a doctor. I said that little girls do have fluctuating periods but they stabilize as they mature. Lunch break.

While at the changing room we shared our experiences so far. We ate sumptuous rice and stew and headed for the final showdown. Peer counselors took to the podium to reinforce the issues we had discussed before. They wowed the girls.

Salsa dancers swung their accessories, touched suggestively and for the first time ever, little lasses envied how cool it was for a lady to sit on the lap of  a gentleman. Clearly, they were not used to these acrobatics. The song did not last forever and the dancers bowed and curtsied marking the sad end. The audience gave a standing ovation, screamed and begged for more. Camera lights were blinding. My script “Between Us” drew the curtain. I was awed by how performers breathe life into mere words. Things I could not contemplate as I scripted came to the fore. The words, the actions and creativity amazed me. The student leader admitted as much as she moved a vote of thanks.

Have you ever known that not all play scripts are written? At the spur of the moment actors plan how to arrange the scenes and lines to make sense. Arguably so, the unwritten script eclipsed my plotted play. What with the localization of characters? We cheekily asked the Head Girl the nicknames of the most favorite and most hated teachers. Upon mentioning such household (or should I say schoolhold?) names the learners went gaga.

The most memorible maxim of Ruiga is “Love is natural here”. And show us love they did. Soft cheeks rolled with tears of joy when it was time to go. They hugged us and sent us with greeting but not before welcoming us again. We were humbled. We were ashamed by our boardroom wrangles about who should go, where to get the money and ever approaching deadlines which usually catches us flat footed. Sheer absence of discipline and the ever alien concept of time consciousness threatened the very existence of our club. How would we have known the impact of our charity without ever going there?

It was Mission Accomplished when Ruiga Girls’ bus returned us back to Chuka. Safe journey to and from. Thank you God! Nithi Bridge shindwe!

Below are photos from the event. Enjoy