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My A.S.K Show Story: From Dreams to Drama

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All-Time Question: What Do You Want to Be When You Grow Up? At seven years old, I believed big buses symbolized power. Ownership wasn’t quite clear to my little mind, but ultimately, I wanted to be a bus driver. That, to me, was the dream. (Quick shoutout to the mathree driver who got me home today cos your playlist,🔥. But kindly, maybe less of the off-road stunts and random overtaking? Life has enough turbulence already. We’re out here trying to get home not looking for stomach ulcers and heart attacks.) Back to dreams. When I was eight, my father took us to the A.S.K. Showground. His main excitement? Grade 1 Friesian cows. Mine? The loud, booming music that filled the air. Honestly, I think it was the first time I heard music that loud and that good. There was this guy behind a "big wired table" (now I know—DJ decks), and he looked like the happiest, most carefree person on earth. Just like that, I dropped my driver ambitions and decided I wanted to be a DJ. Quick ...
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Warùrīithia

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Three decades later and I still recall her ready-to-kill face, that purple-maroonish headscarf—basically the headmistress from Matilda , live version. 🤭 Njeri once told me that once a child turns seven, childhood amnesia is no longer a thing. It fades. So this morning, I asked Hailey to finish up making her chocolate while I worked on her pancakes. The only thing left was adding sugar and cocoa. Easy, right? Well. The mess I found afterward? 🙆🏽‍♀️ “Surely, Hails—this is the most basic of things! Can’t you do anything without turning the kitchen into a disaster zone? Come on! At your age, I could manage meals solo—with mum away even! You’ve got to style up!” But honestly, I need to give her more grace. Comparing her current efforts to my ancient childhood responsibilities? That’ll only stress me and crush her. So yeah—deep breaths. Let’s rewind a little. Convent boarding school. Somewhere in Thika. I joined when I was barely nine. Enter Warùrīithia. An older lady from the ar...
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For My Future I Toil

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A personal tribute to my uncle, mentor, and family pillar -25 years gone, never forgotten. Let’s go back… mid-90s. Uncle Gakuo. His white pick-up truck. All of us. Our mums. Our huge bags-bigger than some of us. Nduta Gakuo, Cira Gakuo, Shiku Gakuo, Shiku Kariru, Waithera Marua (big), Waithera Marua (small), Wambui Njung’e, Shiku Mworia, Minneh Njoroge… And of course me-the ‘last’ born of the pack. Those registration numbers on the truck-to this day, I hear “709” and I feel nine years old all over again. Boarding school in an Assumption Sisters hostel was no joke. Oh my… Sr. Mbatha. Madaraka Primary School, Thika: top-performing. For My Future I Toil. That was the motto. And indeed, my mother’s brother wanted only the best for us. 25 years on. His candle still burns brightly in my heart. His love for extended family, those lively get-togethers- all gone with him. I often imagine him and Mum, taking tea outside under our avocado tree. Whenever I think of my education, Uncle Gaku...
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