Stories from Nairobi Sandra Kimokoti Rehema Nanfuka Bina Maseno

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Go back to [Stories from Nairobi Sandra Kimokoti Rehema Nanfuka Bina Maseno} Episode. 
 

Host: Lola Okusami

 

Lola: [00:00:01] Welcome to The Moth Podcast. I'm Lola Okusami, The Moth's global producer. 

 

In the spring of last year, we gathered a group of people to craft personal stories on the theme of women and girls. 602 people applied from all around the world, and we could only choose 24 to join us this time. And these storytelling workshops took place in Kenya as part of our global community program. We're excited to include three storytellers from these women and girls’ workshop who went on to share their stories at our first Moth Mainstage in Kenya this past January. 

 

First up is Sandra Kimokoti, telling her story live at the Kenya National Theatre in Nairobi.

 

[cheers and applause] 

 

Sandra: [00:00:49] As a child, I idolized my brothers. I wanted to be just like them. They were the cool kids in the neighborhood, they were the cool kids in school and they played sports. So, by default, I did too. So, one day, when I was about 10 years old, we had been playing basketball outside and we were heading back into the house. So, just as we were in the doorway, my brothers were comparing the size of their biceps, as teenage boys do. And I got into the flow and I said, "Look at me. I have big biceps too." One of my brothers turned to me and said, "Who told you girls with muscles are beautiful?" Strike one. 

 

I'm not sure how to describe what I felt at that point. It was a combination of confusion and hurt, and I was wondering why it wasn't okay for me to look the way I did and I wasn't sure why somebody else should tell me what I'm supposed to look like. But at 10, I didn't have the words to articulate this, so I just kept it in my mind. But from that moment, I carried it with me that, as a girl, it was okay to be athletic, but I couldn't be too athletic, because at the end of the day, what I looked like took precedence over anything else. So, life goes on. 

 

When I was in the sixth grade, my classmate and I were walking from class, going to take the bus home. Her older brother and his friend were walking behind us. So, as we walked, her brother says to me, "You have such big curls. You look like a boy." Strike two. Wow. So, this kind of teasing about how boyish I looked continued for about a year or so. I joined high school. 

 

I went to a public boarding school in Kenya. In my school, we were not allowed to have permed hair. I had permed hair, so that meant I had to cut my hair or the school would cut it for me. So, I took myself to the salon, cut off my hair. I was walking back home. On my way, I passed by two men walking in the opposite direction. As they walked by me, I overheard one of the guys say to the other man, "Is this a girl or a boy?" Strike three. I was hoping that high school would be some kind of new beginning and I could start afresh. But at that moment, I felt like I would never be able to shake off this perception that I wasn't feminine enough and I therefore wasn't beautiful enough. So, as I said, life has to go on. 

 

All through high school, I played sports, because that's just who I was and that's just what I did. I played sports. After high school, I started uni in the US and decided, I'll try something different, something new. So, I had seen these posters on campus asking girls to come try out rugby. So, I thought, why not? So, I walk onto the pitch. The first day, I find a few girls getting ready, wearing their boots, getting strapped. One of the coaches walks over to me, starts talking to me. She stretches out her arms, and puts them on my shoulders and feels my shoulders for about five seconds. And then, she says to me, "You're so solid. This is awesome." [audience chuckles] 

 

I bask in that glory for what [chuckles] feels like hours, but it's just a few seconds. And then, she has me make some tackles and I realize I really enjoy hitting people without having to go to jail. [audience laughter] So, in short, I fell in love with rugby and I loved how we would compete on how strong we were, how fast we were, how hard we could hit. It was about what our bodies could do. It was about how our bodies could perform, not what they look like. And my coach mentioned to me, "You know, Sandra, if you really want to, you can play professional rugby." And at the time, I didn't take it too seriously, but it was always at the back of my head.

 

A few weeks into the season, we were in the gym lifting weights. Now, our school gym had mirrors all around. So, as we were lifting, I was looking at myself in the mirror and I realized that my muscle mass had increased significantly and I had a lot more muscle definition now. And as I looked in the mirror, all those emotions from when I was 10, in primary school and in high school, of feeling too boyish, too masculine, too muscular, all those feelings came back. And the more I played rugby, the happier I was with what my body could do, but the more frustrated I became with what my body looked like. It was like this internal conflict where I want these two things really badly, but I can't have one without compromising the other.

 

So, at the end of the year, we have to break for the summer. The coach gives us a training program that has both cardio and weights. And I think, okay, this is my chance. So, I go home, I reduce the weightlifting, I amp up the cardio. I do way more cardio than I'm supposed to do for my position and I also cut my meal sizes by half. That summer, I lose 10 kgs and feels awesome. I feel amazing, because now my body is morphing into this thin ideal that I believe it's supposed to be. So, at the end of the summer, I go back to school. I walk into my coach's office. I'm expecting a warm welcome. As soon as I walk through the door, she looks at me and says, "What the hell happened to your body?"

 

So, for my position, my biggest assets were my strength and my size. Before the weight loss, I was already the smallest person in the league in my position and I had gone and made myself even smaller. So, what I had essentially done was self-sabotage. So, for the next two years, I played this game where I did just enough to be good enough at my position, but always toning down the weight gain and the muscle gain. And at the end of my third year, I come back home and I get this opportunity somehow to train with the women's national team in Kenya. And I think, okay, this might be the door to that career in professional rugby that I've been waiting for. I walk onto the pitch that first day, and these girls, man, these girls are big. [audience laughter] They're strong, they're fast.

 

We do a gym session. The smallest person on that team lifts more weights than I've ever lifted my entire life. They're a lot more muscular than I am. They're just great athletes, and they're so unapologetic about it. I know this is the competition. If I want to wear that jersey, if I want to present my country, this is who I have to beat to make the squad. And at that point, I know that something has to change and I know that the self-sabotage has to stop. And deep down, I always knew that the body that I needed to perform optimally as an athlete might not be the body that society thinks is ideal for a woman. But in that moment, I was finally ready to just go out there and be the best rugby player that my body would allow me to be. Thank you.

 

[cheers and applause] 

 

Lola: [00:08:15] That was Sandra Kimokoti. Sandra has since retired from competitive rugby, but she remains a self-professed gym warrior and works as a strategy consultant in Nairobi. If you'd like to see a picture of Sandra in action, visit themoth.org. 

 

Up next is a story from Rehema Nanfuka. She also shared her story at The Moth's first Mainstage in Kenya in January. Here is Rehema Nanfuka, from Nairobi.

 

[applause] 

 

Rehema: [00:08:49] Thank you. In 2013, an NGO asked me to make a film to address the issue of violence against children. We set out to make a film that would not only reflect on what was happening in our lives, we would also provide a solution to the violence. In the film, the elders, the teachers, the local authorities, they witness a father being violent to a child. They intervene and condemn the violence. The father reflects on his actions. He asks forgiveness from the son. They reconcile and live on happily. The solution was just so simple. 

 

I put together the team. The cast and crew looked forward to doing this. We filmed. It was hectic, like most low budget films, [audience chuckles] and we triumphed through. We wrapped up. And in the evening, I was paying everyone off when two actors started demanding for more money. This is not something that we had agreed on. So, I told them no. When I said no, they got really angry. They started shouting at me and insulting me. It was very intimidating. They just got really, really loud with the verbal abuses. I panicked and I paid them. But I still insisted in front of everyone that they were lying, that they had changed their statements. 

 

 When one of the actors slapped me hard across the face, and then he shoved me back and moved in to punch me. When he was pulled back by the rest of the crew, I was shocked and hurt. I was also embarrassed that he hit me in front of everyone. I was so angry. I remember telling him that you are going to pay for this. You are not getting away with it. He pulled away from the men who are holding him and he pushed me against the gate and he said he would do anything to me. And I wouldn't do anything. I got scared. 

 

They pulled him off me and I called the police. The police told me that they did not have enough fuel to come to us. But I should find a way of taking the man to the police station myself. [audience chuckles] I wondered how I was going to do that. I looked up and I saw him run to the back of the house. He jumped over the fence. I pressed on, I went to the police, I gave a statement. The police wanted three witnesses, and my crew gave their statements. And the police picked up the actors. And somehow, the news spread throughout the film community. 

 

There was a backlash. People were very angry. They reacted with anger toward me. They started pressuring me to drop the case. But I was not giving in. You see, I've been beaten before. I've been beaten [sobs] much harder than that man beat me. And I took it silently. This was the first time that I was speaking out. So, I pushed on. A female friend, she's a female director, she reached out to me and she said these top filmmakers in Uganda wanted to meet me at the National Theatre. And she thought this would be a very good opportunity for me to air out some of the abuses that were, that had happened to women on film sets. So, I met these men. Many of them were much older than me. 

 

I was very optimistic. I met them and I looked up to these men, like some of them inspired me to join the film industry. I go to them. They listen. I was so grateful when they listened to what I had to say. But then, they trivialized the issue. They said, it is normal what the man had done to me. They said tensions run high on set. It was wrong of me to take one of our own to the police, because filmmakers handle these things amongst themselves. They said it was going to be very difficult for me to work in the film industry if I did not drop the case, that no one would want to work with me anymore. 

 

So when they told me I couldn't work anymore, I had to drop the case. The irony is that I had made a film to stop this violence, and these men were telling me that a certain kind of violence was okay. I realized in the film that the solution was so simple. In life, it's not that simple. Thank you.

 

[applause]

 

Lola: [00:15:18] Rehema Nanfuka is a Ugandan actress who has worked extensively in film and theater. She has been featured in productions like Macbeth and The Body of a Woman as a Battlefield in the Bosnian War. She also organizes storytelling events in Uganda. 

 

For our final story, we're going to hear from Bina Maseno. Bina told this version of her story on the last day of our storytelling workshop. It was a small group of people sharing and listening that day. We love the intimacy of the sound, and we're excited to invite you to be there with us. Here is Bina Maseno.

 

Moderator: [00:15:57] All right, a round of applause.

 

[hollering and applause]

 

Bina: [00:16:06] Are we ready? Okay. [sighs] It's March 2013, 02:00 AM in the night, results are trickling in. And with each announcement, my heart stops. It's been a tough year running a rigorous campaign in my bid to become the next member of county assembly in Embakasi Central. It's 12 contestants, and the hall is packed, all of us with our supporters tapping our backs, that it's going to be fine. All of us believe we're going to be the last man standing. I think of my dad who from the very beginning told me political arena is not a space for young women and certainly not a space for a 22-year-old young woman. I think of my mom who told me, “You know what? You're disrespecting your father,” because she believes culturally this is not a space for women.

 

I think of my grandmother who's been worried from the very beginning when she learned I'm running this campaign that I'm never going to get a man to marry me. I think of this man I have a crush on who I've put on hold, because I'm running the campaigns. Certainly, not even the heavens will let me down. It's now 03:00 AM, and they've announced results for three polling stations. And so far, I am not leading in any of those results. But I'm hopeful. Three more polling stations to go and two of those are my strongholds. I have a very heavy coat on, because I'm afraid someone can hear my heart pounding. [audience laughter] [sighs] 

 

One more polling station and I'm still not leading. Two more to go. It's 06:00. The final results will be announced at 09:00. Two more polling stations and I'm worried. My nightmare is beginning to dawn on me. You see, 62% of women in my community make their living running grocery shops and washing laundry for other people. 51% of youths in my community are jobless. In fact, I have attended two funerals where men I grew up with have been shot dead, because they chose stealing as their career path. 39% of young women drop out of school each and every year. And this was some of the reasons why I ran for the seat, because I believed this platform would give me an opportunity to change these statistics. 

 

By 06:30, they've announced one more polling station, and it's a tie between me and my opponent. And yeah, my nightmare is now becoming a reality. I leave the hall and I start going home. And when I get to the door of my home, I break down. I cry out, how can the community betray me? How could they not see-- What happened to all those people who told me they support me, that they're going to vote for me? How could they not see through my heart the intentions I had for the community? 

 

And the situation is the same for a whole month. Tears have become my food. I cannot let anybody in my room. All these voices. But maybe they were right. Political arena is not a space for young women. Maybe they were right. Maybe I should have listened from the very beginning. I think of my sponsor. I don't know what I'm going to tell him, because it's been a whole year semester break and there's nothing to show for it. I think of their reaction when I don't have any report cards to table in to show that I had been in school. 

 

So, each and every day, it gets more depressing and more depressing. SMS’ are streaming in on my phone, “Congratulations, you are number 3 out of 12 people. That was a good fight.” But it's not worth it. I didn't run to be number three. I didn't run to be number two. I was in this race to be the first one. That's the only difference. That's the only way to have made a difference if I won the race. 

 

It's a Sunday morning, and it's that time of the month when I have a meeting with my mentor and I have to drag myself out of the house. We go for coffee. When I see Pastor Gowe, I break down. He lets me cry for some few minutes. He can read the disappointment through my face. And he asks me, "Bina, is this the only way you'd have achieved all you wanted to achieve, by getting this political seat? Is this the only way you can help these women? Is this the only way you can help the youth in your community? Is this the only way you can get back young pregnant moms back to school?" 

 

And there the light bulb, my light bulb switches on and I realize, you know what? A change agent initiates change whether they are in or out office. And that is the day Badili Africa was born, an initiative that empowers young people to be change agents in their community. You know why? We are 40 million Kenyans, and our leaders make just a fraction of that number. And the most important office is not the office of the president, is not the office of the member of county assembly, is not the office of the governor, is not the office of the senator, but the office of the citizen.

 

[cheers, hollers and applause]

 

Lola: [00:21:46] That was Bina Maseno. Bina has been a moderator for several African Union summits. She is now realizing her dream of a young and active Africa through an organization she founded, the Badili Africa Initiative. Badili Africa empowers youth to participate in governance and democracy, and aims to change young women's perspectives on politics. 

 

That's all this week on The Moth Podcast. For photos from today's episode and more information on our global community program supported by the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation, visit our website, themoth.org. And as always, have a story-worthy week.

 

Timothy: [00:22:28] Lola Okusami is The Moth's global producer. She is also the writer and director of the short film, Gone Nine Months.

 

Lola: [00:22:36] Podcast production by Timothy Lou Ly. The Moth Podcast is presented by PRX, the Public Radio Exchange, helping make public radio more public at prx.org.