Archive for July, 2016

In my head from Nairobi to Kisumu.

I took a flight to Kisumu a few days ago. We almost missed our flight actually. We got to the airport at 5pm for a 5pm flight. I know what you must be thinking and you are probably very right. We walk in (stroll in) having already accepted our fate, planes don’t respect traffic jam rules do they? We go up to the counter to ask to change our tickets to the next day hoping the fine won’t be ridiculous. We hand in our e-tickets to the lady at the counter and she just looks up and smiles and not a tired, ‘I’ve been smiling all day and I don’t even like people’ smile. It was a sweet ‘seriously guys?’ smile. I think she saw how embarrassed we were for getting to the airport at the time of departure. She quickly consults a colleague and what do you know, turns out the flight had delayed and we could actually make it if we start sprinting right that second. She quickly prints out our boarding passes; we say a big thank you to the ‘Pride of Africa’ peeps and rush off! As we go through the last check point, we hear our names announced over the P.A; #celebritiesmuch #weoutchea. We get to the boarding station, hand in our tickets, the lady and gent there give us knowing smiles, we return a nervous laugh and onto the tarmac we go. My seat is at the very far back. I make my way down the aisle.

Welcome to 35 minutes in my head, on a plane, from Nairobi to Kisumu. 

Polite disclaimer: Science or any form of logic not allowed (will not make sense) beyond this point…..

‘So many bags in the overhead compartments already, where the heck is mine supposed to fit? Yaay, I found a spot. I got the window seat. Score! I’m seated next to some random dude who insists on chatting me up and he really needs a mint or ten. Just smile and wave Cynthia, just smile and wave. The pilot is welcoming people onto the flight over the P.A. He has a really soothing voice. Do they train for that? Does the trainer have to measure the soothing capacity of each aspiring pilot’s voice? Can one fail the ‘soothing test’ and have to retake the class?

Maybe I should have been a pilot. Ha-ha, who am I kidding, I panic at the thought of riding a bicycle on the main road and I am the only human being I have met who dropped out of driving school. 

They are doing the safety thingy now but I can’t see the attendants (back seat things). Well I guess we are winging it. It’s ok though, I watched the first two episodes of Lost so I can totally handle a plane crash like a pro.

We are moving. Wow, planes are huge! Imagine a traffic (flight) jam on the platform and runway. Planes everywhere bumper to bumper; hooting at each other.  

Some pimped out planes on the sides trying to jump the queue, wings tilted almost touching the ground. Tiny charter planes trying to make their way between the lanes. Helicopters just hop-skipping their way through the runway. Airport traffic police trying to untangle the mess. Pilots screaming at each other through their intercoms.

Pilot 1:“toa hiyo bamba hapo kizee!”(Get that tin out of the way!)

Pilot 2: “Si uruke!”(Jump over then!)

And then Pilot 1 actually does.

The plane is taking off. Suck it gravity! Oops maybe I shouldn’t have said that. What if gravity is in a bad mood and she decides to pull the plane back and smack it on the ground and because I was the idiot who dissed her, the back of the plane where I’m seated gets blown off.

“I’m so sorry your Excellency Madam Gravity”

I start to get that bubbly feeling in my tummy as we ascend to 26,000 feet above sea level. I love the clouds up here, they look so fluffy. We are flying between two layers, the bottom poufy and cotton-candy like and the top streaky. OMG! We are in a flipping cloud sandwich! I wonder if that would catch on if I hash tag it. Maybe. All my 11 followers get ready to tweet this mad hashtag yoh!!! I really can’t speak hip.

The bottom layer looks like flocks upon flocks of sheep sleeping. There’s one that looks like an alien baby though. Uuh! There’s one part up ahead that looks like the clouds are swirling together, like the water did before they ‘released the crakin!’ on the Clash of the Titans movie. That would be fun, no?

I wonder if our pilots are trained for alien invasions. What if a huge alien dragon spider thingy appears like; 

“Run, Kenya Airways, Run (insert evil laugh here)!”

 Would our pilot know what to do or would he just park the plane, get a parachute and with a ‘see ya suckers!’ jump off the plane? 

I wonder what I would do if we have terrorist in the plane. They stand up with machine guns they assembled while on their seats somehow (technology dude) and asked for me specifically.

“Give us Cynthia and we will let everyone else live”

Would I be a hero and give myself up or would I be an absolute woos, tear out the ID page of my passport, chew it up and swallow only to find out they have the passenger manifesto and they could find me anyway. Then I would be the idiot who got shot on a plane with her passport stuffed in her mouth.

Ah, they are serving juice and nuts. I like the tiny tumblers and the tiny packs of nuts. I like cute, tiny things. I recently made a friend buy a bulb just because it was cute and tiny. In my defense, we were on a budget and this little thing was the only energy saving, fluorescent bulb in our price range. Later, we get to her place, she fixes the bulb and the little thing is so dim it barely lights up the top half of the sitting room. It’s like the little bulb that (couldn’t) could. 

I eat one pack of peanuts and decide to re-gift the other one. Maybe I’ll give it to my friend, to make up for the dim light bulb. The pilot is speaking again, something about it being a rough landing. ‘Bumpy ride’ he calls it. I wonder if part of the co-pilot’s job is to look out for cloud bumps. Dude, watch out, big bump coming up ahead he would say. They should really mark these things, the pilot would joke then they’d both laugh out loud. Pilot-humor is weird. 

I wonder if pilots would get first dibs when we invent flying cars, I’ll stick to the ground personally because I think that is you have an accident in the air then you plummet to the ground that would be a double accident, no? There would be a negative % chance of survival. You’ll be turned mush or ash, road-kill (air kill?). I really don’t want to die ugly. I really don’t want my spirit to be looking down at my lifeless body when I die thinking; ‘Ouch, I did not know my limbs could bend that way’ or ‘geez Cynthia, that’s the look you went for?’

We start to descend. The butterflies in my tummy start to wake up. We are flying over Lake Victoria. It’s huge! I wonder how deep it is and whether anyone would survive if we crash landed in it. I really should have paid more attention to the safety routine thingy. Its ok, I’m sure my superhero instincts will kick in if anything happens. We all have them right? It’s like the ‘mummy-switch all women supposedly have. It’s supposed to help you stop thinking( and saying out loud) that some newborn babies look like aliens and why the heck do people insist on posting photos of everything their babies do. ‘aww, baby burped today’, #babythings, #mybabycuterthanyours, #blessed, ‘baby’s first nap’, baby’s first smile (it was really just gas)’, ‘baby’s cute booties’. I mean, I love cute little things as much as the next guy but have you watched Rugrats? ; Those tiny humans be cray cray!

What was I saying? Oh yes, the lake. I think maybe we might survive if the plane doesn’t explode on impact. That would suck. I thought the hyacinth was a lot more than it looks like from up here. Maybe we could hold on to those as we wait for rescue. I’ve watched National Geographic though and there are a number of scary things that live in fresh water lakes. I really don’t want to swim with the fishes.

The plane takes a right, mid-air like it is turning a corner. Air roads are funny. What if a pilot deviates from the flight pattern? Would he be going ‘off-air’? Hahahaha! Get it? #idie . Would he land in a ditch? Climb onto a cloud pavement? NTSA air squad would be on his case eiy. Hahaha! A girl has got jokes.

We land smoothly.

Stink-breath guy seated next to me asks if I know how to get to some hospital in Kisumu. I tell him I don’t know, I don’t live in Kisumu, I’m just visiting. He really isn’t the least bit interesting person to talk to is he?

You should all thank him though because if he weren’t such a dull conversationalist, you wouldn’t have just spent 35 minutes in my head, on a flight from Nairobi to Kisumu. Thank you random guy!


I met a guy one night,

I had little cash on me, only enough to help me wait for another guy who ended up standing me up; thanks a lot ‘another guy’.  Anyway, guy number one was a different specimen all together. He came to my table, introduced himself by all three names, stared blankly as I introduced myself as if I was talking about the weather. Right off the bat,he insisted on telling me how he owns land in Mombasa and Nakuru. He made sure I knew how humble he was by constantly reminding me how he struggled in his childhood and how that if it wasn’t for God, he would not have the big luxury car he had parked outside. He encouraged me by saying that one doesn’t have to hustle at all.

“I mean look at me,” he said, “my sister now lives in a house at 200,000kshs per month.”

He did not have the courtesy to buy me a drink to help me swallow the ‘bs’ he kept spewing out but he did repeat all three of his names more than twice just in case I had forgotten. He also made sure his voice was heard by everyone in the club because everyone needed to know how the good lord had blessed him and his family. I definitely needed to know how he was no longer living in his mother’s house but that he was living in his own house (rent unknown) and driving his own big, luxurious car which he bought with his own money. I also needed to know that he had a really nice job.

He must have also seen how curious I was to know how he could spend over 10,000kshs(that’s a lot apparently) on a night out and how he can drink on credit at The Tribe hotel because, well, they all know him there. He must have also heard me enquire why the club 3 floors up treats him like royalty and how if any of the waiters from there were to see him drinking at another pub, they would immediately swoosh him up to the top floor because they couldn’t afford to lose their biggest customer. He must have also noticed how I was dying to know how his father was the wisest man that ever lived and made sure he left his children a truck load of inheritance that included land in several counties.

Of course every sentence was punctuated by ‘I owe all this to God’ because then if I scowled or rolled my eyes I would have been that girl (rude bitch) who doesn’t want to listen to testimonies of the lord’s goodness.  He paused after every few sentences to dance to a song and to think of the next thing he could brag about obviously. The Dj and waitresses, whom I know personally kept looking at me and smiling empathetically. It seemed they too had heard this story a few times. I silently cursed the friend who had stood me up; this was wholly his fault.

I’m sure he thought he was really testifying as he loudly and drunkenly rumbled on about all his riches and glory in the name of God. He finally left my table without so much as a ‘What are you drinking’ and ‘can I get you one’. If only I had carried my savings account (a sock full of one bobs) and left my politeness at home, that man would have been telling a whole different story about the girl at the pub who attacked him with a sock full of coins.

But that night I was just a girl who went to her local pub to have one drink for the road and contemplate why she had so many stories in her head and no money in her pocket.

NB: I was embarrassed to note that the guy hailed from a village just next to mine somewhere in Western so no stereotypes to be qualified here. Turns out, a douchebag is a douchebag and they come in all shapes and sizes. We are one.



Posted: July 17, 2016 in My truth
Tags: , , ,

I’m startled from my sleep sometimes by thoughts of my impending doom. Probable failure trickles down my back in a cold sweat.

29 years old…

Never been rich, never been famous

Never swam with the dolphins,never meditated with the Tibetan monks
Never eaten, prayed or loved my way around the world
Never been at the foothills of Mount Everest or on the peaks of the great Kilimanjaro
Never danced with the lions of Serengeti or raced with the cheetahs of the Mara
Living from paycheck to paycheck, heartbreak to heartbreak
Never had my name engraved on a plaque and pasted on a door, never had a corner office on the 39th floor
No house to my name, no treasury bonds maturing at the Central Bank, no millions hidden under my mattress
No stone ring on my finger, no fussy baby on my bosom spitting onto my new white chiffon blouse
No husband to cook for,waiting with his feet up on the poof
No boyfriend to pine for or throw jealous fits about, no distant lover’s photo to frame and place under my pillow

Society frowns on people like me, tells me am growing old, that I’m unaccomplished, that it’s about time,that my ‘girl’s’ clock is ticking. “Cobwebs will grow down there if they haven’t already” Haha! Wouldn’t that be a sight!

Never been on Broadway, never been cast in one of those billion dollar coca cola ads (how does one even apply?)
Never dug wells in the desert, never built homes for the destitute, never planted a forest to save the future

Still, I can’t say I haven’t lived
I have loved to the point of breaking (I think I even broke that one time)
I have kissed and been kissed till my knees grew weak and my feet swept off the ground in sheer bliss
I smile till my jaws ache, laugh till my voice chords grow sore
I have lost plenty and gained much
I have dreamt* of taking bullets for those I love
I jump at the privilege to love and care to the point of smothering, ask anyone,
I can’t help it

I write my soul out
I have written to get by, to heal, to move on from those I have loved and lost

I have written to keep the active volcano that is my emotions in check
I have written to release the fires within, of dangerous lust, insatiable desire,unquenchable rage, crippling distress and immeasurable joy
Oh and I also write to earn my keep
29 years old,
I haven’t done a lot but what I have done I am grateful for, those I have met, those who have left, those who chose to stay,
those I love with undying devotion, those I would love to hate but cannot
The sun the moon the stars and all that jazz
29 years old and I love being me even when I don’t.


This is the first post on my ‘The China Experience’ series..

The year 2011 felt like a roller coaster ride for me. I started the year in a job I hated and wasn’t in the least bit good at. April came, my resignation letter with it. I didn’t have a plan B so when China came knocking, I did not think twice. I hadn’t planned on a master’s but then again I had no plan so I thought , why the heck not. New country, new people, new culture, new friends I couldn’t resist discovering a new-ish me. These are a few of my firsts…

Playing the ukulele: Kind of happened out of sheer necessity.. I was going through a really dark time, I needed to get my mind off it because I literally thought I was losing my mind. So my friend Danielle, God bless her, suggested playing an instrument and as soon as I started expressing interest, my other friends give me an ukulele as a birthday gift! One month in and I’m playing actual songs, even played it during worship for some time at church. So in many ways, it saved me.

selfie time

Playing the ukulele

First solo performance, just some random school contest thingy;didn't win but I looked smashing!!

First solo performance, just some random school contest thingy;didn’t win but I looked smashing!!

Spoken word and poetry: First time I tried my hand in poetry was when I had just finished elementary school, waiting to join highschool. I had two months of holiday, we had just moved to a new house, I was bored out of my mind so I decided to try poetry and it sucked so I decided that i’d quit while I was ahead and appreciate poetry as a spectator. Then China happens, then a girl happened, then one day am writing a piece for a duet of a song she had written and asked I write something to go with it! Of course I was beside myself.

Singing: Ok so some time back before China, rumor had it that I have a nice singing voice, I just never made much of it. I mean you hear people with amazing voices and decide that maybe yours should remain in the shower. But, shock on me I have done a bit of singing while in China at my church and people actually think I have a pretty good voice. I joined the worship team after my super-talented friend, asked me to join with her. We were inseparable then. We did a few duets together, she has one of the most powerful, versatile voices I have ever had the honor of listening to and the fact that she even asked me to put my voice next to hers was unbelievable. Our voices went really well together and we would switch it up too so yeah I guess in the process, I gained more confidence in my own sound. I was even the lead singer in a band; ‘Andy and the string theory’. We had, Andy on the bongo drums, Danielle on violin, Lindsay on guitar and vocals and me on ukulele and lead vocals. We only performed just the one song in just the one concert and it wasn’t as good but still it was pretty cool! Definitely a first for me.

photography for jonny

‘Weeding’: Maybe I shouldn’t expound on this because big brother may be watching (reading). I’ll summarize; I did it, it was ahmazzing, I loved it in every form; baked, brewed, rolled, chocolat-ed,shisha-d.

Locked my hair: This was definitely the highlight. I had always wanted locks since I discovered the pain of hot-combing and blow drying at full power and braiding and general combing of my very kinky (4C is it?) hair was just no longer worth it. I had short hair from age 12 to age 18 then twists (own hair) all through college. My hair and I always knew one day we would have locks. Opportunity knocked with the admission letter to a university in China. I would be out of my father’s house (strictly no locks in my house) for three years! In a country where I knew no one and no one knew me, they had nothing to compare me too, what they saw was what they got and I got to dictate exactly what that was. So  the day after I undid my braids (4 months old; there were really not so many options for African hair in China and I did not want to go through the struggle again not when for the first time in my life I was really free to do anything. Pretty ironic considering I was in a communist country where most freedoms are only given as the government sees fit and even then, just in manageable pieces ).

It has been 4 and a half years since and I could not be more proud. I look at myself in the mirror and smile every time, even on bad hair days. I finally found my look and I’m keeping it. Photoshoot1



‘Stop overthinking’: If I had a dollar for every time someone said that to me and a nickel for each time it was followed by me fuming and imploding well I would have a sock full of nickels to flipping pound on my wall and a drawer full of dollar notes to fix it with.

‘Speak your mind. Stop feeling like you need to hold back’

But then you do and it comes back to bite you. I’m tired, tired of every time I tricked myself into being emotionally open, share my crazy with someone and all that’s left is dust in my face from their sprinting away.

‘Why are you being so emotional’ Oh my Goodness, someone get me my sock of nickels to bash in the next mouth that dares to utter those words to me. You know what let’s do this, let’s be all smiles, all meadows and rainbows, all ‘oh my gosh this is the best day ever’ EVERYDAY. Let’s be all composed, all in control of our emotions, all joyous and indifferent to anything above a certain decibel of reaction. Let’s all suck it in because, well, we don’t want to empower the stereotype:

‘I’m a lady so I get irrationally/illogically emotional sometimes and in those moments, I should not be taken seriously…AAArgh!!!…see’

So maybe I can’t help myself, I’m trapped in the cycle rather am trapped in my chromosomes.

‘cruise through life with joy and simplicity’, innocent statement right? One filled with meaning and sense and seems suitable for whichever situation right? Wrong! Not after I just explained to you how I feel you have been distant and how you have pulled away from me yet before we talked all day every day. You shared your feelings with me, promised I could call you day or night and you’d be there. Turns out, it came with conditions.  I’m not even asking to see you or be with you every day, honestly that would irritate the heck out of me. But once you form a pattern and then one day it just changes; I’m I unjustified in asking what’s up? In wondering if I did something or if you did something and somehow it’s trickling down to me? Let’s not even talk about that, tell me about your day, how stressful it was because you have a big contract, how you’ve had a lot on your mind and all that has drained you and you are just too tired now to deal with too many things so you are choosing to focus on work. Let me worry about communicating when you can’t. But you just check out of the friendship and what seemed to me to have been deep interest in me and you expect me to check out too? Without hesitation? Without question? Oh sweetie I’m not that simple.

But you know what; clearly, my concerns whether founded or unfounded don’t matter to you. Clearly, you would prefer it when am all sweet and composed and flirty and ‘loveable’. AAAAARGGGHHHH!!!

So what is it that makes me this way?

·       Sudden change in routine

·       Sudden decrease in attention

·       Sudden switch form friendship to romance and vice versa

Just a shift in balance generally. So for someone who has not seen that side of me, it may come as a surprise. I’m done though. Just cruising now. No pushing, no emotionally inclined reactions, just joy and simplicity. Hahaha, I can’t even say that with a straight face. I am who I am.

BUT for your sake; no, you don’t have to get to know my crazy side, you don’t need to invest any more time or feelings on me. Was it even real? Or just seasonal, changing with convenience or timing or schedule? You just do your thing drummer-boy, work, church, whatever. When you talk to me, I’ll still be me but only just. You don’t have to meet me at my level of crazy, ‘overreacting or overthinking’. I have a short-apologetic temper. I bitch, I whine when I feel like someone does not understand me but I choose to write it down than say it because when people say:

‘Don’t overthink it, just say how you feel or what you think’ I have come to find that they are just as foolish for saying it as I am foolish for believing it.

And here comes the apologetic part..hehe because you can’t be defined as emotional if your mood doesn’t change atleast 3 times in the same breathe.

I could be wrong, I mean they say if several many people have a problem with something about you; it could be true or at least have some level of truth. But understand me ok, if I have a problem with how different you are treating me should you sit back and just say ‘You are overthinking shit, just sit back and relax’?

Or should you flipping try and see it from my point of view. Walk a mile or even just 10feet in my black army boots. Is that so hard to ask??????????!!!!!!!!

Whichever way, I’ll just be here, cruising in simplicity and joy!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!hahaha! who am I kidding, if I could make and burn an effigy of you right now right on my front yard, I have a feeling I would.

P.S: to prove just how irrationally emotional I can be, I wont even spell check this. DONE!!


I watched my younger cousin stagger down the road, most likely heading to the nearest watering hole. His left hand was swollen from a previous brush with thugs. He’s an angry boy. At only 22 he has already lost his father to the bottle and his mother to her own pursuits. My uncle had come home drunk one night, fell on the ground, and hit his head and that was it. My aunty had never cared for the boy much so my father practically adopted him. But still the damage had been done and as African as we are, we all push the pain down and move on. Life is hard enough without constantly trying to sort our ‘issues’. I see myself in him a little. I am angry too; years of pain have made sure I will not leave this life without breaking a few glasses and putting my fist through a few walls. Alas, my being a lightweight when it comes to alcohol tolerance (and for this I thank God daily) I cannot indulge as much. Unlike my cousin, I can’t down a glass of vodka straight from the bottle at a go. I definitely can’t follow that with two pints of local brew at 25 shillings a glass and down it with a bottle of tusker and top it off with a tot of brandy and still stand up and walk or even crawl to the nearest bar. I’m too afraid to risk ending up in a ditch a few yards away from home. I’m too easily embarrassed  to risk losing control at a club and have to be carried home even if it is by my friends whom I love and trust with my life. So I take my anger out on my pillow and I write down the pain in black and white. But it’s not enough, I still feel the monster growling inside me. I pray, I cry, I tell God. I need help sometimes, I think we all do, we just don’t have the time to stop and seek it. I need to meet my deadlines at work, I need to meet up with this friend and that and listen to their problems for a change, I need to silence the voices in my head from time to time or I will get lost in there.

My knack for empathizing with those close to me doesn’t help much. Sometimes, my friend comes to the office frustrated about life in general. Our salaries have delayed again. Landlords don’t want to hear that. KPLC, Nairobi water, other debt collectors all lining up at the doorstep waiting for their dues. He was angry, and justifiably so. By the end of the day I think I was angrier than him. It’s not the first time it has happened and it will not be the last. I’m an emotional sponge, I absorb it all but unlike a sponge, the excess doesn’t drip off. It just stays inside until I let it out but sometimes I just don’t have the time. I still have to drag myself out of bed every morning, walk to the stage 5 minutes away, get on that matatu, get off at the last stage and walk the 10 minutes to work. But not every day is a bad day and those are the days I live for. I get to the office and it’s all smiles and it’s not even pay day, it’s just simply a good day. Those days I sneak glances at him and hope he catches me because his smile kills me every time, like a flipping long glass of crispy cold tusker lite (or passion juice? for the teetotalers) after a long hard day or a long really good day.

We all have similar issues I think, aside from the more common daddy/mommy issues which only the lucky few will ever really solve (since some of us don’t even know we have them). You have the ‘I’m not where I want to be’ issues, the ‘I may be addicted to *insert vice here*’ the ‘Sometimes I just want to die’ issues, the ‘My boss is a complete *donkey*’ issues and the ‘My government is useless and everything is its fault’ issues. Maybe issues are good though. Reminds us of reality, humanity as it were. I don’t think human beings can survive in a world where everything is always awesome. Now that would be weird.  For you who is about to correct me on this; remember how you secretly want to bitch slap that guy/chic who is always so cheery and sunny and smiley at the office looking like he/she walks on clouds, eats rainbows and poops roses? There you have it. And that is why our bodies were created with pain receptors because God knew one day you would stub your toe on the corner of a table or get punched in your face or put your hand through a wall. He knew that one day that boy/girl you thought was the one, yeah the one who could do no wrong, the one you made that halo for, that that same person would take your heart put it through a shredder, take the strips, blend them into pulp, pound it on a chopping board, throw it on the floor and run over it with a steam presser . That is why we are born with the capability to feel hurt and sad and angry. To top it all off, we are born with the relentless urge to survive in spite of all this, otherwise we would have all at one point or another, downed that bottle of pills, driven off that cliff, walked onto that highway during rush hour, made that belt into a noose or blown our brains off with that unregistered gun and the human race would be extinct. Unfortunately some have; I cannot judge them nor explain why but for those of us who still find a reason to get up in the morning and even more to be grateful for it I say, ‘Well done’. As much as there is terror and the potential for it round every corner, there will always be something to live for, someone we cannot imagine leaving behind and that, well that has to be worth something.


Some time not so long ago when the whole world seemed to be all #teamlupita, I too was bit by the ‘lupi’-bug. ‘We’ won an Oscar, and several other prestigious awards, ‘we’ slayed every red carpet event we went to, made great speeches that have people talking to date, we’ve been featured on this magazine and that news article, we became a beauty symbol #teamnatural  The symptoms subsided with time but  I feel a relapse coming on so I thought why not remind myself of just how deep into lupi-world I was. Wrote this very serious application letter then…

 Ref: Application for Groupie for Ms. Lupita Nyong’o

I would like to express my extreme interest in the position above. I have been following your rise to star-dom (in a healthy, non-stalker-ish sense) since before Shuga and I’m blown away by your great talents. When it grows up, my talent wants to be just as great.

I am currently groupie to some of the greats, Gift Kyansimire, a talented poet and creative writer who also dabbles in photography, Ms. Rachel Wamoto, my esteemed roommate and also the greatest Dj I have ever had the honor of dancing to and Ms Jacquitta Wangui, who has one of the most beautiful voices I have ever heard. You may never have heard of them but when they explode in their respective industries and their talents become the talk of every red carpet event u may also experience the greatness they have to offer the world as I have been. That just goes to show how dedicated a groupie I can be to you.
This will in no way affect my duties to you, as I have been told I have enough “groupiness” to fill a bottom less pit and then some.

I can scream and cheer on demand my voice never goes hoarse for at least ten hours of top-of-the-lung screaming. I can also boo your less-talented peers off stages with a 97% proven success rate. I come with my own, clappers, bongo drums, fire crackers, whistle, face paint and other groupie-related paraphernalia.

I can start immediately but for big shows and red carpet events I will need at least 4 days notice to prepare. Sadly I don’t just ‘wake up like this’.

References and full resume available upon request.

I look forward to your positive response.

Thank you in advance.
Cynthia .A.