In our lives, we often reflect on the past, wondering how we could have done things differently. While dwelling on yesterday’s mistakes is futile, I firmly believe in shaping a better tomorrow starting today. In my relatively short journey of wisdom, I’ve come to understand that tomorrow is closer than yesterday because I can actively influence it. Yesterday is gone; however, let’s revisit it through this blog.

Not too long ago, I shared a heartwarming story on Twitter, now X (although using that letter now triggers me so let me stick to Twitter), about the special relationship I share with my grandparents. It was a tale of gratitude for their well-being, accompanied by a humorous remark about my grandfather, Babu, sporting a new set of teeth. This light-hearted conversation on aging led to a surprising turn when Babu sent me a photo from 2016, featuring an article in which I was mentioned. The nostalgia hit, but it was also a moment of realization—time had passed, and I had grown. Perhaps, that was the very reason Babu shared it. The coincidence of discussing aging and receiving a photo of my younger self was oddly delightful.

Seven years ago, in 2016, the Kenya Poetry Slam organized a Women Slam Championship in Nairobi. The announcement of this unique event, exclusively for women, was a beacon of encouragement. Given the limited female participation in Nairobi’s Poetry Slam scene, this was a step towards fostering inclusivity. Eager to attend but short on funds, my friend Hetawakil suggested a plan: “If you enter as a contestant, you won’t need to pay for the ticket.” And just like that, I had a strategy. Rehearsals were minimal; my primary aim was to attend for free.

The audition day almost slipped my mind until a friend, Junielah, called one Sunday morning, asking if I was in town. “No, why?” I responded. “What do you mean why? It’s audition day!” Damn! I ran to the bathroom (can I add at a neck-breaking speed? Haha) and took a quick bath. I should have said shower but the Kamae of those days had a luxury called water that most residents could not quite afford. We’d get water running in our taps once a week, a Thursday night. Jamani!! We have suffered. We did have a particular Thursday night when we’d stay up all night fetching water that was sometimes just a few jerricans worth. Lucky are we who got a little bit of it. 

Arriving at Alliance Française, I entered the audition room just in time to hear poet and judge Orato Kevin delivering remarks on the poets’ general performance. Being the last to audition, I seized the moment, leveraging Junielah’s fabricated excuse of me being stuck in traffic. My audition performance is a blur, and the judges’ feedback is a distant memory. Forgive me for the forgetfulness. This took place 7 years ago and I hope you remember why I was going through this trouble in the first place. Fair enough.

I made it past the auditions. Thank God. Haya. The main event day arrived, and I was excited to be among accomplished women poets who inspired me. I dressed in a combat-like attire, reflecting my personality. I also attended a pre-championship workshop led by Tanzanian poet Vitalis Mamebe. Little did I know, this event would change the trajectory of my poetic journey. I did learn a lot from Vitali and made a friend in him. 

A roll call was done and we were all present, including some faces I had not seen on the audition day. It was weird but that was the last of my worries. There were 9 of us competing in a 2 round championship. An accumulation of one’s points would determine your qualification to the next round. I wasn’t worried about this. My goal was to be in the presence of these poets and of course not to be the last as it would bring shame I didn’t have enough gangsta points for. 

My nerves heightened as I sat backstage, anxiously listening to other poets. A fellow poet’s comment on my first-time status lingered, but I remained focused on my goal—not being last and avoiding potential embarrassment. She asked, “It’s your first time, right?” in a somewhat American-Kileleshwa accent. “Yeah,”  I said. She went on in a winning demeanor and “encouraged” me by saying, “Don’t worry! Even if you are last you made it past the auditions. You know not everyone in that room did!” She wasn’t in the room!!

I performed my first poem in the first round and by the time I was letting the judges figure out whether there was a need to continue with the championship, my fellow poets from PAL (Poetry After Lunch) were shouting my name like I had paid them to be present. Come to think of it: I think most of them are Gor Mahia fans ‘cause where else do you get such die-hards?

Alliance Française almost called zima moto to cool the house down. Will it surprise you that I performed Roba, who coincidentally was burnt alive? No? Okay! I just thought I should mention that. I can’t even remember what I scored but it must have been a 30/30 ‘cause you know–

Let me lower the pride a little. It’s a nostalgic moment. I feel it is very important for you to know that I performed Roba in Sheng which wasn’t a common thing at the slam of those days. Round 2 came and my oh my!! I killed it, again!

I remember sitting backstage as I listened to other poets perform and wondered why I was there. Finally the tally was done and we were all invited on stage– competing poets that is. The famous Gufy was the MC together with Njeri wa Migwi. I shivered. I didn’t wanna be last ‘cause I think my Kileleshwa-American-accent-fellow-competing-poet would have had a field day with my feelings that night. I wasn’t last. Phew!  They called our names from last to first. By the time they got to position 4, I was sure they just couldn’t read my name – Qui with a Q – and that was the only reason they had not called my name. 

Guess what? I was the Women Slam Champion! This fateful day was 9th December 2016. My heart was holding my knees otherwise I’d be on the ground crying. I took home 15,000 Kenyan shillings and had some money to get myself a Tecno W3 the next day. Haha.

Retweeted Tee Tee (@TerrieWangui):#SlamAfricaFest
@QarreQui killing it pic.twitter.com/5DGHZ9zgSn https://t.co/80vrkySR7p

— Dorphanage #Mwariama #TruthBeTold (@Dorphan_age) December 9, 2016

 My grandparents who I was living with at the time could not believe it. I got home at midnight and my Cucu who opened the gate for me. This was no time to be coming home as a young woman living in such an environment. Although money has a certain effect on the heart as our Swahili people like to put it. I remember walking behind her silently as she was in no speaking mood. As she took a corner to her bedroom, I handed her the prize envelope. She was hesitant to open it until I asked her to count the notes. Haha! Cucu was filled with joy and could not believe this Poetry that I loved dearly could make me such money. I can’t count the number of times she said “Ngai ni wa kiama”

The Slam festival was a two day event and this specific photo was taken the next day. By Ngai’s grace it landed in the newspaper, This was the first time I appeared in such media and oh my, Babu and Cucu were filled with pride  to say the least. That is what my Babu reminded me the other day.

This victory meant representing Kenya at the Women of The World Poetry Slam in Dallas, Texas, in March of the following year (2017). The journey had just begun, and I’ll share more about my first trip to the USA in the next blog. As I reflect on these past seven years, I’m reminded that “Ngai ni wa Kiama” (God is a miracle worker).

Stay blessed and Happy new season where we grow older, again!!