The love for writing is probably one of the neediest things in the world, ask any writer. You fail to shower it with attention, then it will nag you incessantly, even in your sleep. Because, peace is something you value, you will give in and start your own blog. The first months will be filled with self doubt and there are days when the stats are not so encouraging but you soldier on. Then one day a reader asks you, “Yaani Agie hujawahi nitaja kwa blog yako? Kwani sikuinspire?” Paul Achola, You know am not talking about you, right? That makes you feel guilty but also happy that someone spares time to drop by.

My current job doesn’t give me the pleasure of writing and having my name on the publication credits but I still love it because it gives me an opportunity to work in the entertainment industry. I fell in love with the music business way before I knew it. Back in Westlands Primary School, I had a friend called Olive. We spent a great deal of our break time talking about new music while other girls gushed over Alejandro. Our celebrity crush was music producer Timbaland and we would compete over who knew the correct lyrics of the most popular songs. We loved (I still love) radio and entertainment magazines as they were the most credible source for entertainment news at the time. Olive wherever you are, am sorry to admit that I got over Timbaland. Not because I stopped loving his music, I just met a younger man and he has been my celebrity crush for the past few years. Anyway, my job is an 8-5 which mainly involves client relations. I handle queries, complaints, concerns, compliments etc. At client relations, I can say that I have seen it all. Like that lady who visited the office with a really cute baby that stirred up certain emotions (I think they are called motherly instincts or something) in me and made me realize that I may not owe the world a thing, but I owe myself a baby. A moment of silence for that point I became unprofessional and asked the client to let me hold her baby due to the cuteness overload.


I love that we don’t have a specific dress code so I can rock jeans Monday to Monday. Not forgetting my favorite beige ankle boots, which are now really noisy courtesy of a rock that got inside the right boot’s sole and the damn stone has made it clear to me that iko ndani ndani ndaaaaani kabisa. No skirt and trouser suits too, actually, I realized that I don’t even own one. Nobody gives a gosh darn of the number of piercings on my ear, nose………entire body. My hair color my choice.

A few months ago, I debuted into writing entertainment pieces for a friend’s site. I have always been fascinated by beats masters so, I mostly interview track producers. There is some underrated greatness about that person behind the scenes. The artists get so much attention and people forget that patient and super talented person who spent equally so much time in the studio trying to make a certified hit.

Last week though, reader challenged me and I decided try something slightly outside track production. Great idea right? Wrong! Things went south like a crushing aircraft. Yaani, ebindu vigonganga ukutanga mpaka vikabounceaga! I was introduced to this guy by an acquaintance. A really cool dude who was going places or rather made me believe that. We had not met in person but were in constant communication on Whats App. He told me about his awesome project and how far he had come with it. I will not delve into the details of the project because it’s not the point. I asked him for an interview and when he agreed, I did my victory dance which normally just involves vigorous head movements similar to the shadow madow dance and a chant, which goes like, “Go girl! Go girl! Go girl! Agieeee! Agieeee! Oh Yeah!” amid claps.

I hate doing email interviews so mostly I call the interviewee or meet them up in person. There is something amazingly inspiring about verbal interaction. We had agreed to meet at a coffee shop in the CBD at 5:30pm. Thank God I beat traffic and was in town a few minutes before time. I passed by the ATM and after withdrawing money, I made funny faces to the screen just to make myself feel better because there was nothing to smile about the balance projected by the ATM. After all, that balance was not going to bring me down because I was going to do an interview, a power interview guys! I gallantly marched into the coffee shop. My interviewee informed me that he was on his way so I ordered a milkshake as I went through the questions one last time on my notebook. A few minutes later, I got call from him asking where I was seated and after he had spotted me, he walked towards my seat with a big smile.

“Arrgnes! Good to see you!” He said oozing enthusiasm.

“Hi Nelly! Good to see you too!” I responded trying to be at par with his melodrama.

”Meet my friend Isabellar!” She stretched her hand to greet me.

“Hi Isabella!”

“It’s Isabellarrr! Hi” She corrected me

“Oh sorry. Your lip gloss looks really nice by the way.” Guys, this was a genuine compliment and you know us chics, compliments work all the time.

“Thanks. It was a gift from my boo!” Hobee! She still uses that word?

“So ladies shall we seat?” Nelly interrupted

We took seats and I was still wondering, “who the hell will foot Isabellar’s bill?” My fiscal plan for this interview was to cater for two stomachs not three!! Lakini haidhuru. They proceeded to make their orders. Isabellar took a decade to make her order as she studied the menu intently you would think it was as complicated as Geo-Physics, Human Anatomy and Brain Surgery combined. She finally settled for a latte.

This was one of the weirdest interviews I had ever done and I couldn’t help but be distracted. For starters, Nelly had so much going on. He was wearing a very tight top that made his nipples show and it was quite uncomfortable. Not that I was staring at his chest that much, but c’mon! His red mohawk looked tired as if it had hopelessly fallen from its zenith to its deathbed. Sonko must be his fashion icon if the tons of bling around his neck were anything to go by. His nose hosted a nose ring that looked awfully painful, because he kept touching it. His eyebrows had been tweezed I swear! In fact they were also filled using brown eye pencil. There were traces of lip liner on the edges of his lips and I don’t know if I was seeing my own things, but this guy had some foundation or face powder on, I could see some powder particles on his beard. I noticed that despite the eyebrows on fleek, his elbows were ashy. Yes, even we chics find it unfair when a guy focuses too much on grooming the face and forgets the other body parts. If you are going to do something, then do it fully!!

Isabellar, kept interrupting the interview with random useless facts like her massive crush on Babu Owino. At some point she even asked us to pose for a selfie which she posted with tons of hashtags on Instagram after relentlessly trying to find the perfect Wi-Fi spot. I never understood why Nelly tagged her along for this interview because she had no relation whatsoever to this project. Don’t get me started on the multitudinous calls she received from her ‘boo’ throughout the interview and it was just fucking annoying!! I honestly wish Nelly had told me that he was coming with his groupie. I also wish that his project was as good as he made it look on Whats App, because the interview showed that he had grossly lied before.

Both Nelly and Isabellar had an agonizing phony accent that made them throw rs in every word. Like for instance, they kept calling me Arrgie. Surely, why? I know that where I come from we pronounce our rs ndisre, chakre rachar, rabuor, chikre etc. But that doesn’t mean that one should add an extra r in my name!! I understood Isabellar when she specified how I should pronounce her name, I mean I also get annoyed when someone writes my name as Agness instead of Agnes or calls me Angie instead of Agie but let us all agree that a phony accent is horrendous yawa! So after half an hour of wondering whether this was an interview or a Nairobi Diaries Season Premier, I had to end the session, whatever it was! I faked an emergency and paid the bill before idle Isabellar would start flirting with dangerous ideas like ordering an accompaniment for her latte. I told Nelly that I would finish the interview over the phone, which I will not do by the way. I left that place with some self-esteem issues because if a guy can take his sweet time to do make up like Nelly did, and I just showed up with nothing but lipstick and eye shadow on my face, then clearly, there is a problem.  I boarded a matatu back home and played Nasty C’s Juice Back on repeat because I really needed to get my juice back as far as these interviews were concerned. Sadly, I have no interview to post (I haven’t had in a while), because there is no way that shambolic session will make a sensible interview.

********Ars for ther readersr orf my blog and entertainmernt colurmn, I lorve yrou gurys arnd I wirll resurme nerxt weerk. I neerd tor gert orver thirs arccent thart markes mer throwr rs irn ervery wrord. Aaaarrrrrrrrghh! (Please pronounce every r in that sentence to understand the magnitude of discomfiture that session caused)






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