Belonging!
"Gaka ni Kahii kau?" These words—"Whose boy is this?"—marked my earliest memory of being referred to as a boy. I was a 5-year-old girl living in Nairobi. During the late 80s and early 90s, the women from Gitugi, which was my mother’s village, didn't seem to wear trousers (at least none that I met during my visits), so my habit of wearing trousers and shorts seemed rather unconventional. This prompted the old village men to question my identity, "Gaka ni Kahii kau?", during my visits to the village.
Growing up, I often felt caught between worlds. With siblings who were much older and seemingly cooler, I spent a lot of time alone, adopting an imaginary persona of a boy. I preferred playing with things the world considered "for boys”. One of my favorite games in this fantasy world was jumping in and out of my mother’s Suzuki, shouting "beba, beba" like the Matatu touts plying the Buru Buru route. In these imaginary worlds, I felt like I belonged, but in reality, my sense of belonging was as warped as my sense of humor.
In high school, I was branded a "tomboy" and expelled for being a lesbian —a joke— that didn’t align with my fickle reality. I was just trying to be a ‘normal’ teenager, liking boys. Chasing the elusive belonging by “doing what was expected”. This didn’t matter though because, I got into trouble with teachers who didn’t believe me (In Kenya they often don’t), with girls who thought we could have something (Hmm), and with my mother for getting into trouble with my teachers. I struggled with authority, identity, and my sense of belonging.
Religion became a strict compass during my post high school years, reinforcing a gender binary that left no space for exploration—I had to be into boys. Being a Christian and a 'tomboy' seemed incompatible, leading to internal conflict. Outside conflict too. The whispers of elders, my mother’s reprimands, my peers’ sneers, and church pressures left me feeling constrained, constantly pushing me towards what was deemed appropriate for my gender. I briefly conformed, trying to wear "girlie" tops, but my agency of belonging only grew.
When I got to thirty, I said FUCK society and began to embrace my identity. My journey wasn't straight (pun intended) forward, with moments of intense doubt and societal pressure. Despite the friction, I discovered warmth and belonging in the arms of women, feeling the support and acceptance I'd longed for. This newfound acceptance became the catalyst for my artistic expression — a way to explore the complexities of my journey.
In 2023-2024, I scripted, directed, and produced a 20-episode podcast series exploring queerness in Africa, depicting the topic through the lens of different characters and story lines. Each episode is a fictional narrative that draws from my lived experiences, with stories fleshed out through a blend of personal memories and fictionalized accounts. As the stories took shape, I saw the power of these narratives in addressing societal challenges, ranging from homophobia and transphobia to body dysphoria and the darker aspects of human experience, including death, rape, and suicide.
As a polymath creative, I adapted the Blooms in the Dark podcast into an immersive theatre production that brings these stories to life. The 1.5-hour stage performance takes audiences on a journey through the challenges and victories experienced by those exploring gender identity and sexual orientation against the backdrop of Kenyan society. It’s a tapestry of stories that mirrors the resilience and strength of the LGBTQ+ community while confronting the harsh realities we face.
It's crucial for me to share this body of work as an immersive theatre production because of the raw emotions I witnessed as the performers read the scripts—the tears we shed as the narrators brought the stories to life in the studio, and the genuine support from the production team as they rooted for the characters. These profound emotions deserve to be experienced in a tangible, visual context. By adapting these narratives into theatre, I can give them a face, a character, a movement, and a voice. Theatre provides the perfect platform to evoke the visceral feelings and connections that these stories inspire.
I combine music, poetry, contemporary dance, and theatre acting to create a multi-sensory experience that engages audiences on multiple levels. The musical elements heavily draw from Kikuyu language and culture, which has been both a source of oppression and a means of reclamation. Growing up in a single-parent home, I was labelled " not Kikuyu enough" due to my mixed heritage. In African culture, the child ideally belongs to the father. What this culture didn’t account for was growing up in a single-parent household where my primary caregiver was Kikuyu, so my influences were heavily shaped by this upbringing.
This language was used to put me down, reprimand me, and dissect my being, even as it was used to address me. Kikuyu was the language that first reminded me I was not a boy. The word "Kahii" or "Kihii" refers to an uncircumcised boy, which made me wonder: if I wasn't even a kihii, how could I be a man? "Wanja kihii" (meaning "tomboy") was the olive branch extended to me, but it also reminded me of what I wasn’t, even though I strongly felt like I was raised as a boy as I performed most tasks ideally reserved for boys. I use Kikuyu music and nuances to reclaim my sense of belonging.
Belonging?
A question I have struggled with throughout my life.
What is not lost on me and should be put into consideration is that the Kikuyu culture has always been matriarchal and even though the influence of colonisation and western religion has tried to erase that part of history, there are still nuggets of the original way of life spread through different naming practices and cultural practices. By embracing the Kikuyu language and culture, I also challenge the misconception that being queer is un-African.
I have been in pursuit of belonging. I did not find belonging in religion. I did not belong in school. I did not belong at home, and I did not feel like I belonged within myself. This body of work serves as a testament to the enduring human spirit, a reminder that the journey to belonging is always evolving. Blooms in the Dark is a journey through self-doubt, finding oneself, and reclaiming what is true. Through this work, I embrace my identity and encourage others to find their own path, because even in darkness, everything blooms.
Thayù
Writer x Director