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
