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The Art of Giving a F*k

My class five teacher was called Weje. As the name might suggest she wasn’t really a teacher who smiled. You know the phrase, “to put fear of the Lord”? It was meant to be “to put the fear of Weje.” You wouldn’t describe Weje’s style of discipline as subtle. She would hold both your ears with the tip of her nails, pull them in opposite directions and then she would whack you across the face with one open palm. And she had palms the size of a banana leaf. From that sheer force, your neck would snap to the side, and as your ears rang with bells and melodies and chirping birds and just as you were trying to figure out if you still had all your teeth and how far your brain just shifted, she would whack you again on the opposite cheek because Jesus said we should turn the other cheek, even involuntarily. This savagery would be carried out in the full glare of the rest of the classroom to act as a deterrent to the rest of the miscreants. It worked like the public beheadings in the more primitive societies.

After this whacking, you would be so confused walking back to your desk in a fog of white, your ears clanging, your face flushed from the pain and worse, from the humiliation. And because in Class Five there was always a girl in class you liked, this humiliation would completely kill your ego and shrink your self-esteem to the size of a green gram.

Weje wasn’t the only teacher who disciplined us (assault is a word only born in the late 90s), others made you kneel in the sun for hours with your hands raised above your head, or had you sweep the football pitch, or run around the school field until they told you to stop, or caned you on the back of your legs, or on the arse, or across your palms until they were red and swollen. Weje was not respect, she was feared. When she was on duty the school toed the line. Her punishment was famous for being as instantaneous as it was violent. Her palm-marks would remain on your cheeks for hours- a Weje Tattoo. Which meant you didn’t go for the 10 O’clock break because everybody would know you were slapped and everybody would laugh at you because children are generally insensitive shitheads.

Of course this was in the mid-80s when beating other people’s children was allowed and encouraged and even enjoyed. Who could blame adults and teachers when forms of entertainment were so few and rare? A teacher would beat you, send you home, and when you came with your mom (because father’s never had time for such trivialities as raising children), the teacher would beat you again in front of your mom and then your mom would beat you in front of your teacher. Mothers never forgot for us like mothers fight for their children now. And it didn’t help if your mother was a teacher like mine. The 80s were the decade of savagery. Unless, of course, you went to St Andrew’s Turi where, I suspect, children were listened to and no voice raised at them and when they erred their backs were rubbed lovingly as they were asked, “How can we make this work for you and for us, mmmh?”

In my class there was a boy who was never touched by Weje. He was the apple of her eye, it seemed. He was called Odipo. Slimy character. A smooth criminal. But Weje never hurt him. For the longest time I wondered why, and that coin didn’t drop for a long time. His trick was that he, at that tender age, understood the delicate art of charm offensive. When say Weje was writing on the blackboard (I suspect it’s called a whiteboard or chalkboard now?) and the chalk snapped in half and dropped he would scamper from his desk and rush to hand her a new one. In class he was about the only one who dared make a light comment when she asked a question. If he saw Weje carrying books from the staffroom he would run and offer to carry them for her. We would snigger at this act. But he knew something we didn’t. Watching him handle Weje was like watching a snake-handler play a flute to a venomous cobra. What this meant was that if you found yourself in shit and Odipo was amongst the culprits, the punishment would be very lenient for the group or would be thrown out all together.

Well, Odipo died. Not in primary, but later in life. Alcoholism. Weje also died. Not in primary, but when we were in high school. The good ones die. The bad ones vie for public seats or start Youtube channels. If there is anything I learnt in class five – and, mark you I didn’t learn much in class five – it was that kissing ass has its place in society. But you have to be very selective on what ass to kiss, and when. So it’s by this mantra that I found myself at Nairobi Serena last week, because there is a little bit of Odipo in all of us.

“I’m bringing someone important over for lunch,” I had told David Shitaka, their F&B manager. “I would like a quiet table. Discreet. Bells but no whistles. I want to try hard but I don’t want to come across as trying too hard, you know what I mean?”

“It’s a lady,” he chuckled.

So he got me a table at Mandhari Fine Dining Restaurant upstairs, a table by the window. I get there 15 minutes earlier than her and I’m seen to our table by a maître d’. As a napkin is spread across my lap, I catch a whiff of the maître d’s hair, a sweet smell of hair oil and overripe pineapples. I stare out the window to the sparkling blue swimming pool below. Two men are swimming. One is black. The other is white. The black guy has thick arms and he uses them to chop the water in slow motion. The white guy is a stronger swimmer.

Wayua Muli arrives 16 minutes later. I stand as she approaches the table with that bouncy walk, like she has springs under the balls of her feet. She’s carrying with her a big bright smile. Now, I never know how that three-cheek kiss thing goes. I never know which side goes first, is it the right cheek or the left cheek? And are your lips supposed to touch the cheeks or are you just supposed to blow the air over her cheek? And is it supposed to make noise? What about your hands, do you hold her arm while you kiss her, do you hold her waist or do you let them hang by your side? Why do hands become such liabilities at time? Life is complicated enough without worrying about such things, so I hug her. She smells fresh, of shower and perfume and skin.

She says she’s sorry she’s late as she looks around the room appreciatively. A hand pulls her chair and spreads her napkin across her laps. She’s placing her purse on the floor against the window and smiling brightly. Her dreadlocks look clean. “You look lovely,” I tell her. And she does. Her skin is healthy, I know she is a black girl but her cheeks are rosy, I think you guys call it blusher or something. Whatever it is, I like it because it makes her look healthy and happy. “Did you do something to your locks, there were not this colour the last time, right?” She says they weren’t and I think I score my first point because girls like it when you notice their hair.

She has on a necklace with a round african pendant made from silver or something. Matching earrings dangle from underneath her dreadlocks. A ring with some colourful stone gleams from a finger on her right hand. Another with a blue stone on her left hand. She’s saying something about how long it has been since we last hanged out. Walter, the restaurant manager, comes with the menus and also to take the drinks orders. Walter must be 60-years old. He looks like someone who might enjoy a conversation with my dad.

“Can I have a wine?” Then she looks at me and asks coyly, “Is it okay for me to have alcohol?” And I say, “Of course you can have anything your heart desires, Wayua, this lunch is your lunch.” She laughs, a small laugh that sounds like a hundred beads falling and rolling on the floor at the same time. I’m turning the charm on, but slowly and gradually. “May I suggest the Casillero Del Diablo?” Walter tells her. She looks at him and says, “Yeah? Is it nice?” Walter says it’s very nice. He turns to me and I say, “Herbal tea for me…I’m cold.”

Wayua has edited my Mantalk column for close to eight years now. She also edited my work in True Love magazine for a couple of years. She’s a brilliant editor; she will beat your copy into shape and she writes the best headers for copy. But she isn’t exactly the kind of editor who will send you a forward on Whatsapp. Or call to wish you a Merry Christmas. She won’t suffer small talk. When she’s in a bad mood she will sometimes write withering emails, frosty ones that you open and you catch a cold from. Sometimes I will start sneezing for no reason and when I open my email I find one from her. There are people who will pretend that they want to be your friend, Wayua isn’t one of those people. She doesn’t want to be your friend. She only wants her copy and she wants it on time. She will write a group email to all Satmag contributors and say, “ Going forward, those of you have regular columns and are consistently unable to meet this deadline will now either share their space with another writer or will be replaced.” Then she ends the email with the irony of all ironies; “Warm regards, Wayua”. I always have to read the emails again to find which regards therein were warm. Was it the “Hello all” at the beginning? Or was it, “If you have any question don’t hesitate to call or email me.”? Was it the full stop after “me”?

“What do you think that guy does for a living to be able to swim at 1pm on a weekday?” I ask her, as we watch the black guy swim. He has done many laps. She rests the bottom of her chin on her hand like a fragile character in a French movie and says. “He’s in his late 40s and he wants to lose weight. He isn’t doing this for his wife because his wife doesn’t care if he lost weight or not, his wife wants to know that the children’s fees are paid and the mortgage is not defaulted. So she’s doing it for himself and the realisation that a big gut doesn’t exactly make him desirable to the ladies. And he wants to be desirable. Every man wants to be desirable,” then she looks at me with smoky eyes and asks, “don’t you want to be desirable?” I laugh like a school boy and say, “Yes, I’d love to be desirable.” She goes back to looking at our protagonist and says, “Swimming is what he enjoys. So he takes it seriously; see he even bought matching swimming trunks and fins. Maybe he has even lost some weight.”

“Where did he buy those fins and shit?” I ask chuckling.

“He travels a lot. So maybe Europe. He is an MD, not a CEO, because CEOs don’t get time to swim at lunch time. Do you see James Mworia swimming at 1pm?” she asks.

I tell her I ran into James at a parking lot coming from a gritty gym one cold and overcast morning, one of those gyms where people don’t go to take selfies, but to get to break serious sweat. He was in boxing trunks, boxing gloves dangling from his shoulders, his brow glistened from sweat and his biceps still twitching from the workout. He shook my hand and it felt like holding a Kisii soapstone.
“Exactly, so Mworia won’t be swimming here at 1pm.” She says “This guy is probably stressed at work, he got a call from the main office in Europe and was told that if those numbers don’t improve there would be a problem. So now he’s swimming.” Her wine appears. She sips it as she looks at the menu. Walter walks her through it. I like Walter. My pal, Paul’s son is called Walter but we call him Wally. Which is a very jango way of calling a Walter. I look at Walter taking her order and I wonder how he would react if I said, “Wally, what do you think I should have?” I smile at that thought.

“So, the vegetable soup for starter and for mains I will have this rib-eye steak,” Wayua says, handing back the menu. He says “It’s a good choice, it’s cross-breed steak of Boran and Angus beef.”

“Isn’t beef just beef?” she chides him playfully.

“No,” I say in his defence. “These are special cows, Wayua. They are pampered cows. The truly chosen ones. They are bred in very happy conditions so that they can give nice happy meat.”

She laughs, a thousand metallic beads rolling on the floor. Walter stands there grinning.

“No, really,” I say, warming up to it. “These cows are treated with care. I bet someone comes over once a week to stroke them and whisper in their ears, ‘You are a good cow, never forget that, in fact, you are a great cow and we love you and you make us very proud.’ “ She’s laughing loudly now. “In fact, I read somewhere that even the way they are slaughtered is very humane. These cows never even know they are being raised for steak. They think they are pets, part of the family. They think that they were born in privilege and that their lives will continue that way, being stroked and loved until they die. But even when they are eventually slaughtered, they don’t die scared, they die happy. And a cow that dies happy makes for a happy steak.”

I order the Bhuna Gosht, a tender piece of mutton cooked in indian spices and condiments and naan, the closest relative of chapos on the menu. I order it because the last time I ate there I had it and it worked. I’m not adventurous with food. As Walter takes away my menu Wayua says, “Biko, you need to order a drink. We need to celebrate something.”

“Are you pregnant?” I cry.

She laughs. More beads on the floor.

“Are you getting married?” I try again.

She rolls her eyes and says, “Just get a drink,” so I order a single Caol Ila. When it comes she raises it and says, “Satmag is turning 20-years old, I have been editing it for 10 years. And I have edited you for 13-years.”

Still with our glasses raised I say, “Ati 13-years? How now?” and she says, “Don’t you remember Uganda?”

I had forgotten Uganda. When I was in Uni I used to contribute to this pullout in The Monitor’s Friday magazine called Life or something. It was an occasional gig. Paid a whopping 45,000 bob a month. Relax, that was like a paltry 2,000 Kenya money. One day I heard a new editor from Kenya called Wayua had joined to edit the magazine. I was elated: one of our own! In the next editorial meeting I saw Wayua, she had blonde dreadlocks and I remember her wedges, wooden at the bottom. I thought that if she heard there was a Kenyan writer in the team, we would forge a kinship as countrymen. Nothing. She ignored me. She sat at the head of that table like the high priestess, holding court, unsmiling and conducting the editorial meeting. She was as cold as a barracuda’s kiss. The writers were in awe of this Kenyan expatriate in her wedges. I was in awe of her; she was talented and she was there as boss lady and she was beautiful and she seemed to know a lot of shit about editorial. Later I saw her smoking outside in the courtyard and I walked over to say hello. She was the ice-queen, not giving away anything, sizing me up from behind her wall of cigarette smoke.

But even though she was always aloof, she gave me writing gigs. She assigned me many stories, which means she fed me in Uni. I knew I had to align myself to her so when I would go over to pick up my cheque, I’d pass by her desk and say hello, light banter and try out a few silly jokes but also not stay too long because she always looked so busy and not the one for small talk.

“Why are we here, Biko? What’s this lunch about?” she asks me scooping her vegetable soup that reminds me of a fancy pond.

“This lunch is about lunch,” I say glibly. “I don’t need a reason to buy you lunch, do I? You are a great editor and I like you and you always treat me with respect.”

She titters. “Oh really? That’s so kind of you to say!”

“It’s also a true thing to say.”

I have now turned my charm up all the way. I also have a basketful of jokes under the table and I retrieve them one by one and she, being the very gracious guest and with a sharp sense of humour, laughs at a good number of them and also dishes some in kind. This is what many of your would call kissing ass, which is curious because it is what I call it too.

The black guy slowly raises himself from the edge of the swimming pool and stands there dripping, like a massive sea animal drying itself under the shy sun. We watch him as we start on our mains. He’s a big black man with big bones. His walk is languid. His midsection needs 25,000 laps but he’s getting there. You can tell he’s a boss by how he stands there, like that pool is in his backyard, dripping of self assurance. When he walks he walks like a man not used to being rushed. A man not used to being told where to go. The kind of man who leads other men. “I know him,” Wayua exclaims and mentions a name I have never heard, but can’t repeat here because I have already called him a “massive sea animal.”

But the man reminds me of Idi Amin. Or the guy who played Idi Amin in The Rise And Fall Of Idi Amin. He sits on the edge of the deck bed and checks messages on his phone as he towels his hair. Very few men can multitask. I know I can’t. But I can whistle while I pee. A white girl now takes to the water. She’s wearing an orange swimsuit and is doing that style where you lie on your back and only your feet pedal. It’s like watching a synchronised swimmer warm up. Elegance. She makes the swimming pool look good.

“I don’t think I can finish this steak, can you pack it for me in a doggy bag?” Wayua asks a waiter.

Because I’m facing the entrance guess who I see ambling in? Bobby Kamani! I’m surprised to see him because only a few days ago I had seen his Instagram photo of him standing in a demilitarised zone between North and South Korea. Now he’s in a well-cut blue suit and sleek hair that looks gelled or whatever it is snazzy Asians do to their hair. He unbuttons his suit and takes a seat three tables away. Months ago I had interviewed him and he loved the interview and had said if I ever wanted a holiday or to unwind I should go down and spend time at his hotel – Diani Reef Resort and Spa. Great place. Nice wide and soft beach. Fantastic, I repeat, fantastic chef.

And because he’s the kind of guy who goes the whole nine yards, when I got there I was surprised that he had booked me into their presidential suite! I’m told there is only one hotel with a presidential suite in Diani and it’s them. Massive bedroom, massive bathroom, massive living room, massive balcony – all overlooking the ocean. There were fresh fruits everyday. Fresh flowers. An ice bucket of champagne everyday. Assorted pastry. Since he had placed me on full board, I could drink anything I wanted to drink and eat anything I wanted to eat and at any time. Staff bowed before me thinking that I was a very important person. The GM would find me and ask me if I was doing okay and if there was anything, anything at all I needed to make my stay comfortable. I felt like a fraud. I felt like Khlestakov in the famous play The Government Inspector by Nikolai Gogol. We studied it as a high school setbook way back in the 16th Century.

“Excuse me, let me go say hello to someone,” I told Wayua and went over to his table. “Heey, Biko!! So good to see you! How was Diani? Did you have a good time? We should have a catch up drink again soon…” he smells of Creed by Aventus. I know the smell because when I interviewed him he was wearing that cologne and it’s a cologne you don’t forget easily. It’s like heartbreak, you may forget it but it’s familiar. “I love your tie!” I tell him. It looks green but it isn’t quite green. It looks pink but not quite pink. It looks embroidered but not really. One thing it is though, it’s expensive. I drag him over to Wayua where I introduce them. Like a gentleman he bows slightly when saying hi to her. “He’s a nice guy,” Wayua tells me after he goes back to his table. “I know someone who is doing a project for him.”

We skip the dessert. We chat some more. About life, work, about people we both know. We cackle at some jokes. I peek under the table and realise with a little panic that I have used almost all of my own jokes. You know, someone who used to write for Satmag before they got on the wrong side of Wayua asked me, “How the hell do you get along with Wayua? She is the most difficult person I have ever written for!”

My brother used to tell me that whenever he would accompany his boss for a charged and tense head of departments meeting he would sit quietly behind him and only talk if he turned in his seat and said, “OK, Julius will now tell us more about this.” And if when he spoke he would be careful not to contradict or embarrass him boss before the rest. “You have to know how to lean into the wind.” He would say. “You never ever forget your position in the pecking order.”

I have learnt that very few people get to the very top of the ladder because they have better education qualifications than the rest. Or because they are more talented than than everybody else. Most people get to the top because they get along with other people. They read people and they play on those people’s strengths and sometimes weaknesses. There are tons of people who sit in corner offices they don’t deserve but they are there because they are good with people.

I know sales people who have diplomas from those colleges downtown that sit above photocopy and printing bureaus. But they fitted a great suit and they shined their shoes and they learnt how to talk to people. They remember client’s birthdays and their children’s names and they show up at hospitals with flowers when a client has given birth. They make people feel good. And people raise them. They are the kind of people teacher Weje would not touch.

Because my column is a weekly, she is a constant fixture in my life and I long learnt how to align myself in Wayua’s wind. I send her very silly emails because I know she can’t resist a good laugh. I do a lunch and a drink up once a year to strengthen my bridge with her. Why? Because talent is never enough. There is tons of it out there anyway. She doesn’t have to keep me as her writer. Nobody does. Certainly not the paper I write for, because really, if I stopped writing for the column today there will be someone younger with fresher ideas who will do it for half of what I’m earning, and perhaps even do it better. So, she keeps me in her corner not because I get the job done but because we have a relationship. I’m just not a byline. I’m a person with a basketful of jokes, and we have a history of respect. (And some drunken nights.) But even respect has to be nurtured and tended to like a flower. Otherwise it wilts and it dies.

Also what this means is that when I’m late with my deadline and I’m out of ideas I will email her with an extension of my deadline. I will say, “Wayua, I’m running low on juice today, my tank is reading “E.” Can I have two more days?” And she will say, “Sawa.” Because she’s fresh and because she’s a professional and because she’s a writer and she understands “E” and because I’m more than a byline.

Someone once said that the secret of a happy marriage is a happy wife. When the wife is happy, the household blossoms. When she is sad, even the salt loses its taste. Her unhappiness seeps through the walls, killing plants and your happiness. That’s how I see my relationship with Wayua; get the job done while I also keep her happy. Or put simply; the not-so-subtle art of giving a f*k.

Happy 10th Anniversary, Wayua.

165 Responses
  • Frank kimani
    26.06.2018

    First lol..time to read

    • Kels
      27.06.2018

      @Biko- did the editor of this blog jump ship or something? Seeing more typos and grammar errors over the last 3 weeks or so. I read for the fun of it though can’t help but notice the incremental trend on these problemas #jussaying 🙂

      61
      • Regina
        27.06.2018

        That’s right.. I also noticed

        1
      • wamugu
        28.06.2018

        Also noticed, some of the lines below.

        >Weje was not respect, she was feared.
        >Mothers never forgot for us like mothers fight for their children now.
        >“ Going forward, those of you have regular columns and are consistently unable to meet this deadline will now either share their space with another writer or will be replaced.”

        4
        • Kent Mwokoz
          01.07.2018

          Wow… Saw that too but i tried to think it was the reported speech
          @Biko, fix it.
          Kissing arse must be an art i don’t know…. Love this story.
          Was the ass kissing to tell her happy anniversary??? I expected sth BIG… Guess am a sucker for suspense. Loved it Biko keep it up

      • Skar
        30.06.2018

        True Biko. Typos increasing. Doesn’t look good on you. I am a Mwalimu andcan’t stand seeing such errors

        2
  • Josphat
    26.06.2018

    Always an excellent read

    2
  • P.
    26.06.2018

    😎
    Been waiting for it all week.

  • Charles
    26.06.2018

    been waiting for it all week

  • Florence
    26.06.2018

    Wow! today am the first

    2
    • Kare
      26.06.2018

      Lucky for you its a happy story, you would have trolled

      2
  • Charles
    26.06.2018

    Thank you very much for the wonderful posts maahn.

  • Mukiri
    26.06.2018

    Great way to speak about your boss lady.
    I have always seen that name in the Saturday Magazine, and I have a crazy liking for Lizzy World.
    Saturday magazine has been there for eons, and it is people like you and Wayua who keeps it going.
    Happy Anniversary.

    22
  • githinji Mwaniki
    26.06.2018

    I agree with this, “there are tons of people who sit in corner offices they don’t deserve but they are there because they are good with people.”

    27
  • Nyash01
    26.06.2018

    A wonderful read and plenty of lessons learnt.

    Happy 10th Anniversary Wayua

    2
  • Nyash01
    26.06.2018

    Wonderful read and I have a great take away. Treat people well.

    Happy 10th anniversary to Wayua

    2
  • Mark
    26.06.2018

    Nice read, Biko.
    *aside… Did I see typos? I am flabbergasted!

    Happy Anniversary, Wanyua

    29
    • joe
      26.06.2018

      i also thought the same, today they were more typos

      7
    • Beverlyn
      26.06.2018

      Wayua not Wanyua……Mark Mr typos

      4
    • Stained Soul
      26.06.2018

      Mark, your comment also has a typo. A very bad one (pursed lips, shaking my head and pointing a beefy fat finger in your face), misspelt someone’s name.

      47
      • muthoni
        26.06.2018

        hahaha! pot and kettle kinda situation here. Good Read Biko, as always!

        5
      • Lee K
        26.06.2018

        Hehehe, true true. Maybe Biko’s typos are a homage to an article about an editor??? Yes?

        11
        • Irene
          26.06.2018

          why do I suspect that this is true? hahaha!

          2
      • Mark
        28.06.2018

        All in the spirit.

    • Anne
      26.06.2018

      Today’s read had lots of typos but the article is great. The subtle art of giving a f*k is the bottom line of great success

      9
      • Tony Onyango
        26.06.2018

        Even the title itself has a typo. Shouldn’t it be f**k instead of f*k?

        2
    • Debz Peku
      26.06.2018

      The typos are too many today (one typo is one too many)

      1
    • Sunshine
      26.06.2018

      The typos are shocking!!

      1
    • Shilla
      26.06.2018

      I also saw many typos and thought either my English has gone down to “E” today or it’s Biko’s way of not giving a f*k today about the typos I think it’s the latter.

      8
    • Wanjira
      26.06.2018

      Wayua definitely did not edit this piece.

      Mark, you should be grateful she is is not editing you. I’m sure she would replace you, for misspelling her name.

      6
      • Mark
        28.06.2018

        I know, right?
        How could I?
        *Deletes entire existence*

        1
    • Mary N.
      26.06.2018

      But it’s Wayua not “Wanyua”

      1
    • Kelsey
      27.06.2018

      same damn thing I said! @Biko did your editor jump ship or are they getting more and more complacent. Seeing a downward trend over the past couple of weeks. Also thought I published a comment but I guess it’s out baking in the blogosphere? lol

      Great article though! And I’m obsessed with Wayua- her personality is the ish!

      1
  • Joy
    26.06.2018

    Beautiful read Biko and an eye opener. Spend money to earn money. A concept many people are still foreign with. And kissing arse doesn’t mean doing dirty work for them, no, just getting to know your mentors or seniors at a personal level.
    Great read Biko

    16
    • Kent Mwokoz
      01.07.2018

      I should try this one day… Sound advise

  • Patricia K
    26.06.2018

    I have several fucks to give today,(in relation to this) despite having read the book ‘The subtle art of not givingna fuck ‘
    And I also want to be dripping of self assurance

    5
    • Mike
      26.06.2018

      Just finished reading the book, ‘The Subtle Art of not giving a F***k.’

      It is an eye opener.

      2
      • Tony Onyango
        26.06.2018

        You have misspelled f**k

        2
  • Sarah
    26.06.2018

    Beautiful piece. I picked one thing from it. Kissing ass pays.

  • diana
    26.06.2018

    Life is all about learning to cope and respect others..

    1
  • Pinky
    26.06.2018

    Strange that there are typos today, i have seen 3

  • Joy
    26.06.2018

    Beautiful read Biko and an eye opener. Spend money to earn money. A concept many people are still foreign with. And kissing arse doesn’t mean doing dirty work for them, no, just getting to know your mentors or seniors at a personal level. It opens doors and keeps the ones opened, opened longer
    Great read Biko

    5
  • Stained Soul
    26.06.2018

    Some things are never taught in school. They tell you to get good grades and you’ll get a good job but it doesn’t work out that way always. Acting all professional on people doesn’t always work. The people of central Kenya say “Mtu ni watu”. How and who you deal with people will either make or break you. Sadly it is not on any syllabus.

    8
  • Wesh - Peter Wesh
    26.06.2018

    Isn’t it awful that parents now raise kids under democracy? There is a sort of blurring perking order in the family. In the 17th century when I was growing up, even staring at an elder with the wrong eyes was reason enough for a beating. Pretty much anything could get you slaps. Eat too slow. Eat too fast. Sit when the elders are standing. Stand when elders are sitting. Wander aimlessly around the house. Playing with your mates too hard. Not playing with a mate. It was all a think line to walk but then worth it. I mean haven’t people from the 17th century grown into semi-functional adults?

    I dread the stance of Wayua because chances are that I would write for her a moon to come. It is not really fear but the unease of a road less traveled. It is comforting though that relationships are suckers for charm and good deeds. Happy 10th Anniversary Wayua.

    17
    • sarehuru
      27.06.2018

      I believe you meant to say “pecking order”.

      1
  • irene
    26.06.2018

    Biko is asking us to suck up? Duh! Not me.

    2
    • Wanja
      26.06.2018

      Great. But then you get to realise as Biko says, your smarts or certs will only get you so far in the streets. Human psyche always plays to an ego boost. People will always remember how you made them feel or look good more than the great work you handed in, and the day you make a big mistake? the ass kissing will be what will literally save your ass. 🙂

      7
    • Irene
      26.06.2018

      Odipo is in all of us. This lesson of kissing arse I skipped. You pay dearly for it sometimes. Give a F***K sometimes. The art of smart manipulation.

      1
  • Patricia Angela Koki
    26.06.2018

    So many typos today. Great read. Wayua is a phenomenal woman

  • Claire
    26.06.2018

    I have learnt that very few people get to the very top of the ladder because they have better education qualifications than the rest. Or because they are more talented than than everybody else. Most people get to the top because they get along with other people. They read people and they play on those people’s strengths and sometimes weaknesses. There are tons of people who sit in corner offices they don’t deserve but they are there because they are good with people.

    Relationships are more than important. Nice read Biko.

    6
  • Tish
    26.06.2018

    I am always eager to have my Tuesday read from you Biko. Interesting read.

    1
  • Beatrice Gatundu
    26.06.2018

    Happy Anniversary. Good read on relationships, good reminder that it is good relationships that raise you.

  • Njeri J
    26.06.2018

    Lakini Biko si article ya leo imejaa grammatical errors

    • Miriam
      26.06.2018

      And it was kinda boring……

  • Anthony
    26.06.2018

    I will keep the last quote in my archives. Most appropriate.

  • Ken Kago
    26.06.2018

    Yeah, what some of us went through back then in primary school was nothing short of child abuse!
    Congratulations on your 13 years of being edited by Wayua. And on her 10 years of editing Satmag!
    Enjoyed the tale.
    Cheers!

    1
  • Florence
    26.06.2018

    Happy 10th aniversary to her. I like the introduction part she writes in the saturday magazine….. and talking of weje i remember a teacher who would beat the whole school and still looked energetic after that, no one dared cross her path.

    2
  • Chico
    26.06.2018

    Happy 10 W lady..and Biko you managed to hit a home run here, you kiss ass you!

    2
  • Ombok Osuga
    26.06.2018

    I’ve read the Saturday Magazine every single week since I was in class eight. You guys have always done a good job. Thank you so much.

    1
  • Irene
    26.06.2018

    The typos though! Sigh

    • Mariah Mariah
      26.06.2018

      Wait, I think those typos are not mistakes.

      3
  • Carol
    26.06.2018

    Great read & solid advice on “managing up”, Biko.. Saw a couple of typos…so am offering a free pair of eyes to proof..

    1
  • Bittok
    26.06.2018

    I know sales people who have diplomas from those colleges downtown that sit above photocopy and printing bureaus. But they fitted a great suit and they shined their shoes and they learnt how to talk to people…very true. Nice read.

  • Alphonce Okoyo
    26.06.2018

    Wow! A colleague to keep and stick by their side.

  • Ben
    26.06.2018

    ” Most people get to the top because they get along with other people. They read people and they play on those people’s strengths and sometimes weaknesses.”

  • Nush wanjohi
    26.06.2018

    Great piece as always but a little bit of grammatical errors here and there. But awesome piece.

  • Charles
    26.06.2018

    The last quote sounds real. Nice read biko

  • Purity
    26.06.2018

    Aaaawww! Message is in between the lines.

  • Nyambura Kagwe
    26.06.2018

    Take home.!!……..talent is never enough. There is tons of it out there anyway.

    But even respect has to be nurtured and tended to like a flower. Otherwise it wilts and it dies.

    Great piece.

    5
  • Edna Keng'ara
    26.06.2018

    Great Article Biko!

  • kir
    26.06.2018

    maintaining the balance is an art indeed; Caring, Respect and professionalism

  • Louis Wamukoya
    26.06.2018

    Yap, knowing how far to take it is an art. Good read.

    1
  • Rosko
    26.06.2018

    There was the ‘first to comment’ bandwagon…

    Then came the ‘typos experts’….

    Ah people.. relax…just enjoy the post!!

    15
    • marie
      26.06.2018

      Biko you can make all the typos on earth, I will still enjoy reading

      5
    • Wanjiku
      26.06.2018

      I think most “typo experts” didn’t get Biko’s type of humor….it’s a 10th anniversary celebration article…..with a no-nonsense editor…..they just didn’t see what he did there…..and he doesn’t give a f**k…

      3
      • Irene.
        26.06.2018

        I agree with you. I enjoyed the post with all the typos.

        1
    • Pwahahaha! The grammar nazis have been unleashed. ION..where is Linda and the other editors? They should be cleaning up the post.

  • Kendi
    26.06.2018

    Easy on the typos. Wayua was away celebrating a milestone in her career and Biko ,ooh well.He had to multi task.

    4
  • Wambui
    26.06.2018

    Is you writing an entire article about her part of the ass kissing #justasking

    6
  • Mushie
    26.06.2018

    ”I know sales people who have diplomas from those colleges downtown that sit above photocopy and printing bureaus. But they fitted a great suit and they shined their shoes and they learnt how to talk to people.”

    Relationships are important.. #KissingArse

    3
  • Savannah
    26.06.2018

    Biko..you must have written this piece in a very good mood..I love it

    3
  • P. K.
    26.06.2018

    Thanks for the tip. I really like Muls as some folk used to call her. But si leo umetuharibia na typos bro?

  • A-team
    26.06.2018

    I fall in the same circle Biko and my editor gives me a rough time because of word preference (most of the time) but I am not one to kiss ass, so I am suffering. Running out of juice and way past the ‘E’ to a negative metre because of self doubt. Nice tips but I am not planning to kiss ass anytime soon.

  • abdullah omar
    26.06.2018

    siku za yoyoma!

  • Malika
    26.06.2018

    No ever told me that i will need people skills to get what i want at work! I had to learn that….

  • Mercy
    26.06.2018

    oh you kissass!
    The humor today was off the charts though!

  • Chrenyan
    26.06.2018

    “Sometimes I will start sneezing for no reason and when I open my email I find one from [Wayua]. … I always have to read the emails again to find which regards therein were warm.”

    There are nods of understanding in corporate offices around the world today – great lines, Biko.

    As for the Kamanis, be careful… AngloLeasing and all that, I hear…

    1
  • Jen
    26.06.2018

    “…Most people get to the top because they get along with other people. They read people and they play on those people’s strengths and sometimes weaknesses. There are tons of people who sit in corner offices they don’t deserve but they are there because they are good with people…”

    FACTS! Love it.

  • Shilla Khym
    26.06.2018

    I aspire to be like Wayua, not an editor but the best at what I do. A boss lady. A person who earns people’s respect the right way and deserves to be treated out to lunches and drinks by my clients. I just started my company last month and this is where I want to be in 10years.
    This article is for me Biko, Thanks for the inspiration.
    Happy 10th Anniversary Satmag

    2
  • David Mwenda
    26.06.2018

    Great read I read ManTalk every Saturday Morning before I start doing other things bottom line its so awesome and its nice like this piece Wayua looks tough and is tough she has that scary editor feel the ones you cant convince to push ur deadline abit

    1
  • Mike
    26.06.2018

    Ooh man! Odipo died?! So sad, I liked that guy,seriously. Its he of that hilarious prank to new girls of “get my handkerchief from my (torn) shorts”, right? enyewe good people die. Commiserations.
    Anyhow ” As a napkin is spread across my lap, I catch a whiff of the maître d’s hair, a sweet smell of hair oil and overripe pineapples.” Hannibal Lector will forever have followers. Actually Biko, you should audition for that role in season 4 and revive that series, I loved it. Always reminding of this friend in uni who after watching the series, we jokingly promised each other to each others livers first ( weird i know, get over it). Such good times we had!

    3
  • I Did Govt. Insp. Too
    26.06.2018

    Did I read after the typos were corrected or what? Or do I just turn a blind eye to them and enjoy the story? We used to have a teacher, and I’m a millenial btw, finished primary in 2010, or do we have different names, Generation Z or something? Anyway, we used to have this pretty teacher when we were in Class 2 and 3. You know those ladies you see and want to grow up being? She had this nice curly kit on her first day at work, and was wearing heels. Heels! Considering the rest of the lady teachers were old biddies wearing plastic flats, it’s reasonable that we fell in love with her at first sight. Fast forward a year later, some man, her husband prolly, got her pregnant. She was the size of a house and I think the baby covered her heart with it’s bum or something because this woman became mean. She would put two Speedo pens – you know the smooth round ones?- in the spaces between your index and middle finger, and the space between your middle finger and ring finger. She’d place them right at the bottom, then pull the three fingers tightly together so that she could comfortably hold them with one hand while seated. And then she’d twist the pens. Jesus Christ it was awful. Your knees would buckle and you’d go down squirming. You couldn’t really cry because there are some pains that go beyond evoking tears. The pain would roll into a ball and get stuck in your throat. God it was torture. I’m sure someone is beating that child of hers right now. I hope someone is anyway.

    2
    • Wanjira
      26.06.2018

      2010 primary!!!!!! Aki I’m now old. No dollars, and no toddlers. I wonder what life choices got me here. ‘Schedules a meeting with self. ‘

      2
  • Maggie
    26.06.2018

    These typo guys, what is the problem? Biko knows there are typos, we know there are typos. Cool your bosoms.
    Very nice read, more like never outshine your master,

    5
  • Angela Darcy
    26.06.2018

    So true Biko…
    I have learnt that very few people get to the very top of the ladder because they have better education qualifications than the rest. Or because they are more talented than than everybody else. Most people get to the top because they get along with other people. They read people and they play on those people’s strengths and sometimes weaknesses. There are tons of people who sit in corner offices they don’t deserve but they are there because they are good with people.

    2
  • ken
    26.06.2018

    The curious in me just googled creed by aventus. 38k . pesa otas omera

    2
    • Unknown Warrior
      26.06.2018

      Bank otuch, Jatelo!

  • Ntinyari
    26.06.2018

    “Those emails you open and catch a cold from” he he….your articles make my day Biko. The spelling mistakes though…

  • R
    26.06.2018

    This is so dope!!

  • Black Panther
    26.06.2018

    It’s true that we need to know what the boss wants/ does not like. We can then ethically play to this strengths & weaknesses. I have seen it work practically!

  • Susan
    26.06.2018

    A nice read Biko.
    Wayua is amazing. She did great with Pulse and she is doing even more great with Satmag.

  • Jules
    26.06.2018

    …and everybody would laugh at you because children are generally insensitive shitheads.
    hahaha very true

  • emmanuel nyankabaria
    26.06.2018

    Talent is never enough for sure. You need to keep those relationships warm even if you parted ways with the client. A contact gave me an account five years later. purely from keeping the relationship warm. WhatsApping occasionally etc.

  • Merci Jowi
    26.06.2018

    Good job Biko. I remember writing to Oyunga Pala commending him on a Man Talk column and he actually told me that it was your piece. It was a great transition, cheers, to many more Biko!

    1
  • NAIROS.
    26.06.2018

    Biko, you’re ever a genius. Quite a piece.

  • Emily
    26.06.2018

    I was more interested to hear more about Forest Whitaker,the guy at the pool.

  • J. M
    26.06.2018

    Nice piece, as always.
    Please ask her to edit this blog, the typos are getting out of control

  • Kenyan Guitarist
    26.06.2018

    Great read Biko. But the part on starting a Youtube channel was a burn for me. I have one and I’m not bad. I think.

  • Gabriel
    26.06.2018

    Give the man a break I thought he had previously put it out there that he masters in typos hoho!!

    2
  • Mims
    26.06.2018

    As always Biko,am never disappointed.Keep on man!Keep on.

  • Gabriel
    26.06.2018

    Education and talent is good but it’s just an enabler. Kissing a** gets you going. Just know when and who to kiss. After my internship period was over, I took my resignation letter (sorry… a** kissing letter) to the MD. He read it, sent me to the HR to be processed for full employment stating-‘The company cannot lose such an asset who I have ‘personally mentored’ -the last words were from my letter

    6
  • cherop
    26.06.2018

    The good ones die. The bad ones vie for public seats or start Youtube channels! this one got me giggling..soo true!

  • Wahito
    26.06.2018

    Lol way to kiss the bossladys’ ass…

  • Kim
    26.06.2018

    Good read. A few typos here and there though.

  • Juvenalis
    26.06.2018

    That you will be making my Tuesdays great.

  • Kironde
    26.06.2018

    The irony! You kissed one editor’s ass
    but forgot to kiss the blog editor’s ass!

    People do not leave bad jobs, they leave bad bosses.
    The number one reason people quit their jobs
    is because of a bad boss or an immediate supervisor.

  • Juvenalis
    26.06.2018

    “I have learnt that very few people get to the very top of the ladder because they have better education qualifications than the rest. Or because they are more talented than than everybody else. Most people get to the top because they get along with other people. They read people and they play on those people’s strengths and sometimes weaknesses. There are tons of people who sit in corner offices they don’t deserve but they are there because they are good with people.”

    I’m still chewing while tasting this paragraph and I don’t seem to shallow it… It’s so delicious.

  • Elvira
    26.06.2018

    How does that three-cheek kiss thing go? Working smart always works.

    1
  • Joy May
    26.06.2018

    I hope the story doesn’t end like Odipo’s and Teacher Fearful though…..

    Bless.

  • Unknown Warrior
    26.06.2018

    Interesting perspective in stakeholder management……BTW…..Bobbi Kamani is wearing Aventus by Creed……. Creed is the perfumerie , Aventus is the fragrance…

    1
  • Matini
    26.06.2018

    Haha..I still can’t seem to get the idea of beads falling and rolling on the ground out of my head …a very hearty read! Never dissapppoints..

    1
  • I shudder when I recall some of the punishments we were given..likely comparable to what goes on in North Korea’s gulags.
    There was a teacher who had talons..if you erred in her class ie didn’t complete your homework or talked in class, she pinched your fingers with her talons, until the skin broke and you were bleeding..and that was primary std 3, at barely 9 years old.
    In secondary school, one time our deputy head with a swollen belly, pregnant with her second child became very harsh. She made a classful of students kneel and move from one end of the corridor to the other, some girls with very sensitive knees scraped the skin off and were bleeding, a gory mess.
    It may be some decades back but those teachers should be located and brought to appear before a truth and reconciliation commission. They traumatized us!
    On mantalk..I’ve always wondered why there isn’t a Womantalk? That’s something I’d be interested in.
    Congratulations Wayua!

    2
  • jacob Aliet
    26.06.2018

    Dropping balls.

  • Nelly
    27.06.2018

    Too many typos and misplaced commas for an article about an editor, though I love the irony.

  • Derek
    27.06.2018

    Biko. Your article smacks of Dale Carnegie’s wisdom in his book “how to win friends and influence people”. If you want to get to the top learn how to get along with people. The book gives a blow by blow account of how to go about it. You are a true wordsmith.

  • Mwass
    27.06.2018

    Thing is not to kiss just any ass, or dishing out too many fucks

    1
  • Bree
    27.06.2018

    And I always tell people that it’s not a bad thing to kiss ass!!! just know which ass your kissing and what value it will add to you!! 🙂

  • feli
    27.06.2018

    This reminded me of the article by “The subtle art of not giving a fuck” by Mark Manson..I dislike people who kiss ass, But it is true some people only see and hear those who kiss their ass. Am still with mark Manson ,still learning and improving the subtle art of not giving a fuck.

  • Shiks
    27.06.2018

    “I know him,” Wayua exclaims and mentions a name I have never heard, but can’t repeat here because I have already called him a “massive sea animal.”no good read Biko.

    2
  • Judith Mwobobia
    27.06.2018

    Hehe Biko. I edited you for five years at True Love and I didn’t even get a coffee. I need to revise my phone book and shift allegiances…
    Good piece. Wayua is golden.

    1
  • Elvinah Obuya
    27.06.2018

    I knew Mrs. Weje.. We went to her house when she died. They had not moved her and I remember standing there staring at her. I stood there for so long someone had to ask me to leave… I didn’t believe she too could die, I didn’t believe she had been too tired to comb her hair before her death. But I was not sorry she had died before I got to year 4red. That had been her class in Arya Kisumu.

  • King Goriwo
    27.06.2018

    battered side of sliced bread….

  • Kadonye
    27.06.2018

    You have kissed ass so much in this piece. This is the most glowing I’ve ever seen you speaking of someone…don’t do it again, makes for a very non-compelling post.

  • Julie
    27.06.2018

    I always have to read the emails again to find which regards therein were warm. Was it the “Hello all” at the beginning? Or was it, “If you have any question don’t hesitate to call or email me.”? Was it the full stop after “me”?

    Good read Biko!!!

  • Bat Oti
    27.06.2018

    Man you didn’t just kiss ass, this is narration of how you eat it, with both a knife and a fork. Why didn’t you just order it. I am sure Walter would have served it just the way you like. Not to worry you though, I kiss my boss’ ass too. I have made in it life because it is in his ass that I recide.

    This was a lovely read! I wonder who the whale CEO is though!

    1
  • Kantaidrips
    27.06.2018

    I think I read this post the first moment it popped into my email the way Nakuru cats are popped into samosas. Yes, I did notice the typos here and there, but I think it`s more a statement of style than a statement of mistake if there`s such a thing. Just to confirm my aspersions, I came back (helter skelter) to read it again..Can`t blame the positive pessimist in me.You see, Biko was writing about his editor, and when you have a master of the art of flattery like him writing about you, and you are the editor, you probably wont see the typos in your blushing moments. I`m just saying, you know.
    I think the piece was on point, but then Biko was never made to kiss ass on any posts. It doesn`t have the silent nudging and sometimes recalcitrant allure of the normal Bikoism. I`d rank it below what I have seen him produce, even the off the cuff stories were a little off the point on this one.

    1
  • kioko
    27.06.2018

    She laughs, a small laugh that sounds like a hundred beads falling and rolling on the floor at the same time.

    1
  • Maggie
    27.06.2018

    This piece is in itself ass kissing…when’s your deadline Biko?

  • Chick from buru
    27.06.2018

    Please don’t get to the point where you will write ‘your’ instead of you’re. Great read. Happy Anniversary Wayua.

  • Keith
    28.06.2018

    What’s ironical is that this story was about a legendary editor.

  • The 7th Molla
    28.06.2018

    so much to pick and learn from this, reminds me of , ‘people do not care about what you know, until they know you care about them’ . extra miles always pay.

  • Penzi
    28.06.2018

    Happy 10th Wayua.
    Biko please, please let me edit some of your articles once in a while.

  • lovely
    28.06.2018

    it such a beauty..makes the day sunny even when its cloudy…brings lots of smiles.i heart it.

  • Waruguru
    28.06.2018

    As always, the articles are great, except that there were too many typos this time round. Nonetheless great read and a very happy Anniversary to Wayua.

  • Cnjeri
    28.06.2018

    I don’t know if it’s just me but this one feels a bit strained, as if you struggled to write it. Reading the first few paragraphs I was almost certain it was a guest writer but well…
    I wish you all the best

    • Judy
      03.07.2018

      Thought so too….. Ooooh how I expected more!!!! But that’s just me…

  • Noel Zetti
    28.06.2018

    There have been typos on the reads for quite sometime now though I must admit third time reading this for life skills and I just can’t get enough of the art of giving a f*ck

  • Tarquin
    28.06.2018

    I think I can relate with Odipo. I could craft my way from punishment most of the time. For example i used to bring dustless chalk every monday to my class teacher in class four(she was the most feared by that time). I made it my duty to make sure she never lacked in that department.(The school could not afford to buy dustless chalk for them and my mom, a teacher at another school had boxes of them). Every monday after her class I would run after her and hand over a box of chalk. She would look at me and say, sawa sawa – I would take that as a thankyou because Mrs Nduli never smiled or put up a facial expression that could be confused with a smile. I never suffered Mrs Nduli’s famed canes.

    Another instance that stands out was in class seven. My dad was the chairman of the BOG. I had been given a letter to take home and I forgot about it until a week later when the headmaster summoned me to his office and demanded to know why I was not delivering letters. I knew I was in serious trouble because the headmaster got up and carefully chose three of the best canes from a pile lying at a corner, “i was finished”. He would tell you to bend over and then he would put your head either between his knees or have you bend over with your head inside an empty shelf or card board container. He was a mountain of a man so he would easily hold your small hands behind your back and whack the living daylights out of you.

    By this time I was scared shitless. He came to me, grabbed my head and before I could put a fight my head was thrust between his knees. My light bulb moment came when he reached out for one of the canes. I thought if I could hit my nose seriously without him noticing and bleed that could probably scare him and he would let me free. I did not deliberate on this so I gave myself a serious knock and was rewarded when I immidiatly felt a liquid slowly make its way and then linger on my upper lip. At that instance Mr headmaster grabbed my hands and the next moment I felt the sting of the cane as it made contact with my bottoms. By this time a few drops of blood had hit the floor. I pushed him back using my shoulder and he stepped back willingly to support himself with the wall behind us. We were now over the drops of blood and some of it had stained even his trousers. He noticed the blood and I felt his grip loosen and suddenly he let me go.

    I had blood on my lips and chin. The look on his face also told me that my caning was over.

  • alex
    28.06.2018

    Wonderful read,…afew life lessons too

  • Carol Kuyo
    29.06.2018

    This is a great read.I loved each part of it.In this society we live in,the art of giving a f**k lives on.Talent is nothing without character hence,learn to give a f**k.

  • victoria
    29.06.2018

    haha well,i know you from gram but this is my very first time in your blog,,,and this is what i would say ‘una ufala;’loool i loved it.

  • Mwenginator
    29.06.2018

    Haki Wayua sio mchezo 🙂 Takes a Kao to put a Luo in his place.. :)O i kid. Good read as usual, makes this Texas heat bearable

  • Dorah
    29.06.2018

    wow, i am aspiring to go into writing and you are one of the people who nudge me to go for it, thanks a million for your refreshing work.

  • Lamoy C
    01.07.2018

    Always refreshing to read your work. In fact, I felt soo much in love with Wayua’s character. And…who knew there are class 5 children who already know how to kiss ass. I must have been a retarded child.

  • Eskay
    02.07.2018

    To Wayua, for the great reads over the years – I dedicate Maya Angelou’s PHENOMENAL WOMAN

    poet Maya Angelou
    #3 on top 500 poets

    Poet’s Page
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    Poems by Maya Angelou : 26 / 53

    « prev. poem
    next poem »

    Phenomenal Woman – Poem by Maya Angelou
    Autoplay next video

    Pretty women wonder where my secret lies.
    I’m not cute or built to suit a fashion model’s size
    But when I start to tell them,
    They think I’m telling lies.
    I say,
    It’s in the reach of my arms
    The span of my hips,
    The stride of my step,
    The curl of my lips.
    I’m a woman
    Phenomenally.
    Phenomenal woman,
    That’s me.

    I walk into a room
    Just as cool as you please,
    And to a man,
    The fellows stand or
    Fall down on their knees.
    Then they swarm around me,
    A hive of honey bees.
    I say,
    It’s the fire in my eyes,
    And the flash of my teeth,
    The swing in my waist,
    And the joy in my feet.
    I’m a woman
    Phenomenally.
    Phenomenal woman,
    That’s me.

    Men themselves have wondered
    What they see in me.
    They try so much
    But they can’t touch
    My inner mystery.
    When I try to show them
    They say they still can’t see.
    I say,
    It’s in the arch of my back,
    The sun of my smile,
    The ride of my breasts,
    The grace of my style.
    I’m a woman

    Phenomenally.
    Phenomenal woman,
    That’s me.

    Now you understand
    Just why my head’s not bowed.
    I don’t shout or jump about
    Or have to talk real loud.
    When you see me passing
    It ought to make you proud.
    I say,
    It’s in the click of my heels,
    The bend of my hair,
    the palm of my hand,
    The need of my care,
    ‘Cause I’m a woman
    Phenomenally.
    Phenomenal woman,
    That’s me

  • Shirmon
    02.07.2018

    Too many typos, punctuations in the wrong places, not so interesting a story. Was a difficult read.

  • Sam
    03.07.2018

    Great article, again!

  • Sipho
    08.07.2018

    And from now on am swinging the Odipo charm, this professional and arms length relationship keeper is not working for me… am turning on the charm…some book called it “the fred factor”.

  • Edwin Ruhiu
    13.07.2018

    very good piece

  • Jenny
    18.07.2018

    I see we have so many unemployed editors. Great article Biko. I hope your editor has the papers to be there, or is she there because she is nice to people?

  • Lizzie
    15.08.2018

    Love all your reads. Inspiring… That bit about relating well with people is so true.. Thanks for reminding us.

  • Mutuma
    02.09.2018

    Great read and insight, though I was being bothered by the prevalent typos here n there.

  • Molly Kamande
    05.09.2018

    Happy anniversary!

  • Dorothy
    10.09.2018

    True, kissing arse pays off, not all though lol.

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