Like Titanium, In a Way
Brenda is a lead singer in a band by night and a high school teacher by day. We talked about books, music, a curious and bubbly childhood, and her calling to be a teacher.
Leather jacket. Nice nails. She has a warm hearty laugh that’s almost infectious. It gracefully cuts across Java House, the one on Monrovia Street, and gets sucked into the evening conversations. And the air, now rich with coffee, makes the place come alive.
On her left shoulder lies a tattoo; some Roman numerals, separated by four vertical dots. The way we separate digits using a colon when telling time. And below that, a lily. It’s a nice tattoo. She says the flower is a common appearance in funeral wreaths. And the numerals represent a date. She lost someone close on the 18th of April, in 2018. The tattoo is kind of an anchor to that person. Maybe the dead never die after all.
“That week On Friday, I had an exam. I also had a gig that evening at Hilton. I took a bus to Mombasa when I was done. I just wanted to get away. I was so worked up. I was moody. I was cranky. I hadn’t really dealt with it.
I came back on a Tuesday. I needed to feel it. So I decided to acknowledge it by getting a tattoo. That was the best way I knew how to deal with it. Perhaps it’s not the smartest idea now. Sometimes I look at it and think it looks nice. Sometimes I look at it and think…argh!”
Brenda is a lead singer in a band by night and a high school teacher by day. When we met, I thought of a bird. A happy bird. One that has always been free, and driven by both impulse and wit. We talked about books, music, a curious and bubbly childhood, and her calling to be a teacher.
“I didn’t know I could sing. I thought anyone could sing. In primary school, I did solo pieces. You know the ones you sing with very high notes. I would do those, and I’d work on that till I hacked it. I was in the church choir. In high school, we had a singing group. We were a little famous in school. We were celebs. (laughs) That’s when we produced our first song.”
One time a friend asked us to perform at a fashion show. They paid peanuts. A single peanut. I think they gave us about two hundred bob each. But it felt nice because that’s the first time we actually got paid.”
(Comments on how my vanilla latte smells nice.)
They used to sing acapella. You know the scene. Some offkey guitar somewhere, slow acoustics, and low lights. Then in one such event, the guy who played the keyboard came up to her and asked whether she’d done gigs anywhere else. She’d never done a live band before. They exchanged numbers.
She first auditioned for a band called Weaver’s. I’d not heard of it before. Apparently, it’s a big deal in their world. She could only sing two songs at the time, Bob Marley’s Redemption Song and Yemi Alade’s Papa Asante. Back then, Adelle had seized the airwaves with Hello, and Titanium by Sia was a club banger.
“I actually locked myself in a loo and did like twenty takes of Titanium. My friend was like, it’s okay, it’s okay. The guy wanted five recordings, and I got it. So yeah…”
Every time she thinks she has said enough about a particular part of her narrative, that’s what she says. ‘So…yeah’. She rests on a ‘so…yeah.’ Then she’ll take the initiative to reveal something else if she feels we’ve been silent for too long.
“Then I started performing at Garden City on most Sundays. At Moca Loca, on the first floor. We’d be there from three in the afternoon going on to seven or eight. That band is still there to date. That’s where I started.’
But I think it’s not where she started. This script started years before this. In the early days when she’d wake up to listen to cassettes in her father’s car. Patti Smith, Patti La Belle, Etta James, Aretha Franklin, Prince, Pointer Sisters, Mary J Blidge, UB40, Lucky Dube. Those are the people she grew up listening to. That’s where she fell in love with music. And the rest is a roller coaster — Performing with Kidum for a month while still in school, quitting sometimes, singing at K1, in the studio, doing beautiful renditions of Falling by Alicia Keys…that laughter again.
She hates loud music in matatus and prefers to read in traffic instead. At home, she has a collection of poems by Anais Nin. She listens to Meghan Trainor and follows America’s Got Talent. She also shows me a picture of a guy called Jeronelle. Says he’s cute and pretty talented and insists I must listen to him sing.
“If you ask a typical millennial who her favorite musician is it’s likely that she’ll mention Beyonce. Personally, I’m not a fan of Beyonce. I find that she’s an ‘okay’ singer. I remember having a conversation about this with my friend. Nothing special about her voice. But she has a banging body and bigger brand. My kind of people, most of them are dead.”
She took a whole year before disclosing it to her parents. The idea of a woman working late at night is not well perceived. Most of her colleagues at work don’t know she sings. She has always felt the need to separate the two because she has late nights sometimes. She gets home past midnight on most Wednesdays and Thursdays.
Sometimes balancing two careers is a handful. When she gets on stage after a long day, these people don’t care what she’s been doing. They want a good show. She has to engage, smile, and dance. To escape all this, she leaves town anytime she gets a chance.
“ I think I even overdo it. Anytime I feel like it, I just go.”
Books
We let it rest. I try hard not to count the teaspoonfuls of sugar she’s put in her coffee so far. Oh, by the way, she’s trying to cut on sugar. A few minutes after she arrived, she’d taken a book out of her handbag — I Dare To Call Him Father by Bilquis Sheikh. It’s a small book. About the miraculous story of a Muslim woman’s encounter with God. She prefers that size because they’re easier to read in traffic. She’s doesn’t read on the phone, she’s afraid it might be stolen.
There are memories of booking Pacesetter Novels in primary school. Books like Meet Me In Conakry. It’s about two guys fresh from highschool determined to find their way from the backwaters to the city. In them, she read about falling in love, ethno-religious conflicts, tragic tales of woe, cautionary tales, and “rags to riches” tales.
“You had to wait for your turn. One of my classmates was notorious. After preps when everyone went to sleep, she’d steal the pacesetter she wanted to read. Then she’d rip the cover off and cover it with brown manila. She’d staple it and it’d be totally different. She’d tell you not to remove the cover because she was protective of her books like that. Then she’d only return them when she was done.” It was evil, but genius.
“In high school, we read Sidney Sheldon and Danielle Steele. I don’t do those books anymore. I just can’t. I feel like they all have a predictable plot. Nowadays books are so predictable. You know they’ll fall for the billionaire. Then there’s a ka obstacle somewhere, then they make up…(Her phone rings, it’s her aunt. They are close. She answers it in classic Kikuyu but doesn’t talk for long.)
“I think if you’re just shallow these funny stories will appeal to you. I realized most books I’m reading currently are set before 1950. During world war one and two. The more you read, the more your brain opens up to interesting things. I enjoy getting lost. Sometimes I’m reading a book and it feels like I’m walking side by side with the character. Especially when I find that we’re going through a somewhat parallel experience. I get into a book yaani…(laughs)
There’s someone I’m warming up to. He actually reads. That was our connection. I always wanted to do a book club with someone I’m dating. We read a book then go on a date and discuss it. See where our perspectives collide. He’s fun and spontaneous. He reads. He’s clean and doesn’t go out much. Recently I asked him his love language and we both came up with quality time, physical touch, and acts of service.”
“When I was in nursery school I couldn’t read that well. I had these two neighbors, they were sisters. My mum was a teacher. She taught Kiswahili. We were also living with an older cousin of mine. I’d try to read but it was all Greek to me. I’d take a book to my aunt, tell her to read and tell me the story. She would read a chapter, and I’d sit right next to her waiting impatiently. I’d nag her if it took too long.”
Siku Njema, by Ken Walibora, was the first book I tried to read. I think it was a set book people were doing then. By the time I got to class one, I started grasping. There’s this red Swahili textbook I read in class one. It belonged to one of the two sisters. The story was about kids doing something I can’t remember now. But knowing how to read it was a big deal for me. I was very proud of myself. For a whole week, I walked around showing them I could read, like ‘Oneni naeza soma…’ When I got a difficult book I’d bully my cousin into reading it for me.”
(Seeps her coffee)
“You don’t look like a writer…”
“What do I look like?”
“Like a skater. A you-guy-my-guy.”
“You do look like you’re very smart though.”
(Says that to make me feel better.)
What were you like as a child?
“I grew up in Naivasha. Used to live in an estate for government workers. The first time my cucu from my dad’s side visited I took her to our neighbor’s house. Thought it was their grandmother. She came and found us playing. My parents were away. So I tell my neighbor, “Mbugua, cucu wenyu amekuja.” I helped her, picked her stuff and took her to kina Mbugua’s place. Only for our neighbor to bring her over to our place that evening. She’d brought us ndumas. I’d never had ndumas before. My mother packed them for my lunch the next day. I remember asking what those things were. I didn’t like them.
We used to walk from our estate to school. I was the shortest but probably the smartest. Used to guide other students while crossing the road. I forced them to each take a piece of nduma in exchange for a share of their food. This went on for a week until one of the boys called Brian told his mother. One day Brian rebelled and refused to give me his share. I wondered where this rebellion was coming from. So I threatened not to help him cross the road with us that evening.
I would also watch over the kids who didn’t know how to pee. I’d tell them toa pantie, simama, panguza… I was like the school captain of nursery school. (laughs) So during break time, I saw my mum coming at me, fuming, clutching her handbag, with Mama Brayo following closely. Alininyorosha!”
It’s not hard to see why she became a teacher.
“You see even if I was a bully. I’d stand up for other kids. One time some kids picked on my neighbor, Mbugua. He was cute and had curly Somali hair though he was Kikuyu. He died in class six. Had an Asthma attack. The boys in his class used to pick on him. They beat him up daily. They wanted to put him in a tire and roll him. Nakwambia I beat those people up, with stones and everything. I don’t like saying I’m a good person, but I always stood up for the weak.”
First time on stage
“The first time I got on stage, I went offkey. I was singing and the band was playing but I was somewhere else. They had to stop not to embarrass me. I froze. It was scary. See, when you’re just from singing acapella you’re used to listening to your voice. Suddenly you’ve been thrown to a stage with live instruments. The drums, the guitar, a keyboard, so you’re not in sync. But I slowly trained myself to listen. To keep key. Finally, I got it right.”
Any ego issues in a band?
“A friend of mine got married to a guy who used to teach music. He called me for a show. Gave me like five songs to practice. I had them printed out. I had my A4s and a microphone on a live stage.
The lead singer of that band tried to intimidate me. I used to start a song and she’d take over. Then she’d go into the crowd and do something and I’d be like wow…Trying to show me I wasn’t really it. Fast forward a few years later. I’m singing on stage. She insists to come and sing. The band members exchange looks, but I give her the mike anyway. I go off stage and she continues that song I was doing. So I’m watching it. This chic actually sings offkey. She is a horrible singer. Way later is when I realized I was now better. Given the steps I’ve made, I can actually sing better than her now. Yet that time she almost pushed me off stage.
It happens. It gets into your head. I think I’ve had such instances too. You’re in front of people. They’re gassing you up and clapping for you. With time it kind of gets into your head. The day people don’t clap for you that’s when you realize you’re human. On stage, you feel yourself. But it’s a nice feeling. As long as you learn that you’re supposed to apply a work ethic just like any other job. It becomes easier to work with people that way.”
At some point in life, have you ever felt lost?
“Singing at night. It’s not perceived well. At some point, I got this criticism from a person I was dating. He said I was singing in clubs. That he didn’t know what I was doing. That my job was “tricky.” He’d shift every blame on my side hustle when I caught him cheating.
It got into my head. I was like, am I doing the right thing? At some point, I panicked. I wondered if I’d ever get married. Would someone ever see beyond this or they’d just look at me as the girl who sings in clubs? It got into my head. I actually considered quitting. Then I remembered this music has put me through school, paid my rent… I can’t even call it a side hustle, this is where I get the fulfillment. I really doubted myself at that point. I wouldn’t post anything on my page. I even pulled down some of my videos. I even stopped inviting people for my shows. I felt like it was just something I’d do in a hurry and just leave. It was a very wrong perspective. Some people just get into your energy. I believe I’ve always done it honestly. Never taken some weird favors.”
Best moments from teaching?
“I had this student who couldn’t read and he was in form three. By the end, he could read and write very well and I felt very proud of myself. I’d fought teaching at first, till I did my internship and came to love it.
By the way, I’m learning French. Initially, I’d started French to target a job at an embassy. I want to teach it now. I have come to love it now. We were told teaching is a noble profession. You can’t do it unless you’re called to it.
Someone asked me how I find it discussing set books with form fours and form threes. I tell them it’s like a sober book club. There’s no wine or beer. Sometimes you think you’ve got it right, then they bring up an idea you’d not noticed before. It’s pretty interesting. You always have to remember.”
What makes you insecure?
“Sometimes it’s my body. Sometimes I wake up and I’m like damn, look at that! Sometimes I’m on stage and it feels so good. Other times I don’t get the performer’s high. But I feel like it’s God’s way of reminding you to look beyond that. Look at the sunrise, look at other things. It’s God telling you to stop being shallow.”
Do you like hip-hop?
“Yes, I love DMX. But right now I feel like he’s more vulgar. I also like Eminem. I also feel Nicki Minaj is a good rapper. I don’t hear what she says, but I enjoy listening to her. I think Jay Z is cute.
I also listen to a podcast called Laid Bare. It’s about sex. It’s by three Africans who live in the U.K. They discuss sex and relationships. I’ve done all 49 episodes. They talk about everything. (Shows me several episodes.)”
“What’s vabbing?” I ask.
“It’s something women do to their vaginas.”
I have a feeling that Brenda would do well if they were to cast her on Insecure, by Issa Rae. She’d be more like Molly with a dash of Issa. Like titanium — someone with lightweight strength and ability to withstand extremes.