I wasn’t always the child that eagerly awaited to go outside.To go play with the other children for hours on end, then rush home when the street lights came on. You know in an African home when those lights come on at 6 pm and you are not home, then prepare yourself to duck slippers and muikos on arrival. I was the very opposite. Going out to play and interact with others was always more of a chore for me and all I wanted to do was sit in the house, read as many books as I could, and watch as many shows as I could.

See the thing that fascinated me about all of this was the fact that someone was able to sit and come up with a whole other world and put it down on paper. I thought that was the most amazing thing in the world. For as long as I can remember I always tried to make stores and worlds of my own. I always looked forward to Club Kiboko on Saturday mornings (the only time I would ever willingly wake up before 9 am if it wasn’t for school). Up to date, I remember the episode where the arts and crafts segment was about making a storybook out of manila paper and some strings and glue, then getting to come up with a story and write it on there.

I must have bugged my mother with this so much that the next day we went out, got manila paper, made one of those books (I crammed every bit of instruction I kid you not) and wrote a story. I ended up carrying it in my backpack the entire week and every time there was a break in between lessons guess who would shove her “storybook” in the face of everyone in my class to read? Yes, you guessed it, this girl over here.

Writing has always come sort of second nature to me. Maybe the fact that I was a quiet kid who kept to herself led me down this path. I had so many stories and words in my head. Mjy only source of escape was writing it all down. I remember my primary school teachers saying that my compositions were always interesting. My high school English teacher would always tell me that my stories or poems sounded precocious. I took this as a compliment because hey, that means I could really be a good writer right? Am grateful that my dad always bought us books and novels. I think he could tell that I wanted to be just like that, and so he would always tell me,

“A good writer must also be an avid reader. It helps broaden your thinking”

Thanks Dad, that was the best advice I have ever gotten in my life.

I guess if I was to answer the question of why I write, my answer would be why not? Words, stories, and poems, and all of that have the power to move people in ways that nothing else can. Sure I can’t perform lifesaving heart surgery, but wouldn’t you love to have a good read as you recover? I cannot stop the flow of words once they are out. I find that I can write for hours on end. Though I am afraid of rumbling on and on and losing people along the way. I write because I love it, and I enjoy it, whether two or ten million people read it. It keeps me sane, it helps me communicate, it is therapy. And also I like to think that I am at least a little interesting right?