Of cameras, lights and action

Of cameras, lights and action

“Mambo! Do you recognize me?”

“Poa. Why not?”

“I thought you would say it is Lilian Muli Kanene.”

That is the conversation which met me on entry to the university gate to board bus to Citizen Studios. It was Pauline Ngari flossing to Fleare Medza about her outfit she’d donned for the event.

Despite it being chilly and dark, the students were upbeat and enthusiastic. The bus was to take off at 5am sharp.

It was a journey that will forever be etched in the memories of second year journalist students. It was a pregnant wait punctuated with very high stakes and expectations.

It came at a time when most comrades were broke and HELB had told them to wait a little longer. Their folks too had told them to understand and make do with what they had. So raising the KES. 1000 for a bus trip seemed unreasonable as MPs hiking their salaries yet they go and doze in the parliament chambers.

For the comrades who managed to raise the fare it made a whole world of difference. There were two groups. The first is obviously the media class and the second and the last is the BCommers who were senior students. You know thing is that I really don’t know why the accountants went to Royal Media. They were not calling themselves accountants. They said they were marketers going to RMS. We wondered amid muted laughter.  The two groups invited their lecturers for the tour. Us we went with our favourites: Papa and Raiji. I don’t know whether it is conservatism but I did not see BCommers’ lecturers until we got to RMS.

On the way it was pure comedy and explicit drama. The first hour was spent catching up with the morning sleep- a little transferring of the bed from the hostels to the bus. For some strange reasons the comrades demanded that the lights should be off. One front row occupant shouted that bright lights inside the bus blur the vision of the driver by casting shadow in front of the bus.  This, he argued, was a ticking time bomb for an accident. Hard to understand the logic, the others bought the idea and so the lights were switched off. Whoever said that darkness covers many sins must have had the comrades in mind.

 We alighted at Mwea in order to answer pressing and urgent calls of nature. Some went to buy airtime, others snacks and some hanged around the bus wondering what the break was all about. Soon the fifteen minutes were over and all embarked.

Excitement is like alcohol. It makes you do something that you would ordinarily not do when sober. That explains why Basra accidentally bought a 500 shilling airtime instead of withdrawing the same from MPESA.

The famous Thika Superhighway greeted us with a naughty wink. Without any visible flaw on our branded vehicle, we were suddenly rudely stopped by spiky roadblocks. The boys in blue were brandishing clubs and guns. We were “arrested”. Students started advising the driver to “comply” with the officers. Marto said it better: Si dere utoe kakitu tuinue. Unajua RMS tunafaa kufika mangware na jam inaendelea kubuild”. After the golden handshake we were released.

The rest of the journey was express. We by-passed the city so that we resurface pap! at Hurligham. The spirits were high. On branching the State House road a swanky Range Rover zoomed by leaving comrades craning necks like giraffes. We were suddenly squeezed in a jam. A man old enough to be someone’s uncle was dangling keys to ogling girls and offering to pick whoever accepted his offer. Too bad for them. The bus accelerated and the offending mzee got lost in another lane.

Without warning we ran into exclusive residentials.  The first post to see was inscribed Royal literature and pointed inwards saying that it is the seat of the Australian High Commission. A few meters ahead we saw another diplomatic den. It was Japanese. We drove a little further. The driver was forced to eat a humble pie and asked an askari manning a high gate on the way to God knows where. ‘Nairobian’ comrades claimed that the saw us getting lost but assumed that the driver knew what he was doing thus they did not see the need to intervene. Kwanza Marto!

We rerouted and cruised all the way. But not before we saw a sleek white limousine race in the opposite direction. Damn! It was cool. Its owner must be “who owns Kenya” of today.

 We arrived at around half past nine. It was a warm welcome. However, we had to deal with fast and aggressive staff who organized us. As usual the hosts had a soft spot for us the journalist group. They identified with us and cued us to get in first to the chagrin of the BCommers who were ordered to get back into the bus and wait. Although the gate was magnificent the security guards were mean in screening us. They made sure that we did not sneak in cameras or laptops effectively confiscating every gadget save for the phones. Then after clearance the moment of moments was upon us.

The inviting red carpet graced our feet with immense comfort. The velvety mat signified power and exceeding authority. The yellow walls beamed the corporate logo of Citizen TV.  Huge portraits of anchors were hung strategically at every corner we turned. The starring actors smiled back mpaka comrades thought the pictures were alive while others criticized the photo as casualties of too much editing.

The first stop was Radio Citizen. Lincoln Njogu was reading the news while the morning crew was preparing to leave the studio. Wilbroda joked on air that she’d seen beautiful faces fill the other side of the studio just across the transparent glass.

We were taken through the broadcast process. We learned how the calls are made, how to track messages via the desktop but more importantly we asked both dumb and ignorant questions in order to know. Since both Citizen radio and TV are the most popular in Kenya our guide exercised all the bragging rights. She said they produce over 70 per cent of their programmes laced with local content; they nurture local artists and employ thousands. That was encouraging. By the way we are bosom friends. They come over to grace our events so it was our turn to return the favour with revenge. In the past they’d aired the awarding of charter, held Mseto Campus Tour and tried to juggle between beaming our ISO certification and the Media Breakfast at State House.

We asked whether we could come for attachment the next year and they did not disappoint. However, they were categorical that we must have hands-on experience as well as theoretical knowledge. They said writing to the Human Resource Manager in advance is good enough to be considered. And we better be careful because some lecturers set exams from the studio. Daystar students got baptism by fire when they slept through the visit only to be starred back by a practical exam hinged on RMS visit.

Next was the gallery. Here we found sophisticated cameras, control knobs and dedicated staff. Overlooking us was the busy and tastefully furnished Citizen TV news studio. Johnson Mwakazi popped in to say hi. Wow! The guy is larger than life. Girls ululated as his voice reverberated across the room. He was clad in brown suit with a matching pair of shoes. His tie was pinned while his hair was cropped. Then he raised his hand to stress a point. I will paraphrase. He said: “Hello! You better know and notice when you are in the presence of greatness. Wise people take the position of a learner at such instances.  Never let any day pass without learning something new from every experience you go through.”

He was done and snapped. The nuggets of wisdom dripped from his mouth like sweet honey. Need I say that the girls instantly fell in love with him and dismissed male comrades as non competitors? But do I say? I’ve said it anyway.

At the Ballot Studio the workers were sprucing up chairs in readiness for the Slimpossible contestants. That was quite something. The runway was stretching and longed to be stepped on. We did not stay there long enough to ask anything about it. We finally went to the hot seat-the Talk Studio. Here, interviewers engage guests in riveting and insightful debates about topical issues. It is where the Power Breakfast is shot. It is the theatre of Sunday Live and cradle of all thought provoking videos you see on your favourite TV.

B COM crew lamented that it stayed at the bus for far too long and was bored stiff. Fleare opportunistically returned with them for the tour. She intimated to me that they were only shown media equipment and never went to the marketing department. BCommers had a problem, a big one. While we were sneaking our way to town they were in agreement that they had left Chuka without a goal of what they wanted to do at RMS. They just kept quiet and had the shortest stint ever. I don’t recall whether they lasted more than a half an hour inside. Being fourth years we expected them to know better. May be they were preoccupied with graduating and the looming reality of tarmacking.

We were dropped at Jevanjee Gardens. Most guys did not have a form. They just waited for chips and smokies to eat and return to Tharaka Nithi Stronghold County. Others roamed the city just to be away from the omnipresent cameras of Naswa. Doesn’t Naswa do a good thing to catch idlers seated on city benches?

I was rescued by Cephas, my bro who studies at the Technical University. He bought me a drink otherwise I would have ‘jumped’ lunch. You know I don’t eat exotic junk that was offered by organizers of the tour. Chips and tomato sauce are polite euphemism for potatoes and tomatoes which cannot satisfy my gastronomic needs. Better muthokoi that anchors the stomach longer and leaves you with enough energy to work at a construction site.

The comedy and sideshows returned and lasted the full five hours of return journey. One inebriated chick lay facing the roof on the three enjoined chairs and locked the Director of Academics Akuba VC with her legs and dared him to come on. VC was chokozwad too provocatively that he decided to shift sitting positions until he eventually left the place and sat on a quieter front row near the lecturers and the driver. Upon request, comrades were dropped on the way at their own convenience never mind the rain. Even others were left in Nairobi.

We pulled up at Ndagani 8.30pm spent and fatigued. But it was deserved. God’s grace proofed sufficient as no accident was reported.

Next semester we will go to the Standard Group or the Kenya Institute of Mass Communication; whoever replies first. We expect it to be bigger and better and of course more loaded. Ready or not here we come!