#WhoHeldMyHand is a tribute to some of the men and women who gave me a break or helped to shape my career. I start with the man who opened my first critical door.

THE TV SCREEN TESTS THAT TESTED MY LIFE

A THREAD

Several cars and a van swept into the Jomo Kenyatta International Airport in Nairobi on the evening of Monday 29th June 1992. At the parking lot, a number of shaky feet with Bata rubber shoes that had known better times stepped out and shuffled along unsteadily to one corner.

The last pair of feet to touch the tarmac were covered in new black leather shoes with a thick layer of brown dust gathered liberally from the village. The owner of the shoes had a spring in his step as he joined everyone else. #WhoHeldMyHand

The group held hands and prayed over the young man who was leaving Ndumberi village to start a new life in England.
As I boarded the British Airways flight to take up a new job at the BBC in London, my mind went back to the words of one of the elderly... #WhoHeldMyHand

...women that came to see me off, “Go well son, and never forget where you come from.”
The fact that many people, some of them strangers, came to bid me farewell was a reminder that my career was not mine, it was theirs too... #WhoHeldMyHand

It has always meant that when I’m on air on radio or Tv, the villagers are in the air – happy.
“That’s our son speaking on the radio,” were words that were frequently used about me. All this kept me grounded and helped me develop strict rules for my brand from those early days.

More on that in a moment. But first, those dreaded screen tests.
I was born a storyteller. Old folk in my village tell me that from around the age of five I regaled them with endless tales – a combination of my observations and imagination. In class, I would not shut up.

I sat at the back firing off jokes and running commentaries on everything and everyone.
By the age of 14 I had a weekly publication. It was called "Kushusha Journalist," an article that was handwritten on a page torn from my school exercise book and circulated to my classmates.

It was essentially erotic narrative, brewed in a teenage mind to wreak havoc in the testosterone levels of excitable peers.
I also had a lunchtime ‘radio’ show at school. After lunch I took over the music system in the school assembly hall. #WhoHeldMyHand

Using borrowed vinyl records, I kept many students entertained with music, amusing extracts from various publications and easy talk whose intelligence I cannot now vouch for.
So, when I finished high school, I knew I wanted to be a broadcaster and a professional storyteller.

I camped outside the gates of the Voice of Kenya (VoK), the only broadcasting station in Kenya at the time. I did screen test after screen test. But the bosses never gave me feedback.
Some days it would be, “Sorry, the tape was deleted accidentally.”

Other days: “The person who recorded your test is on leave, come back after two weeks”. Or: “I’m not familiar with your case because I’ve just recently taken up this role. I need to look into the records to find out what happened to your screen test.” #WhoHeldMyHand

I personally knew I had passed the screen tests because I was very confident in my ability and sometimes the sympathetic TV studio crew would give me positive feedback. So why would the bosses not share the results with me?

The answer was simple:
#WhoHeldMyHand

Problem number one: I was from the wrong tribe. Those in positions of authority at the time surrounded themselves with their tribespeople. It was a reflection of our national politics at the time – each tribe holding the hand of with their own; #WhoHeldMyHand

each job set aside for “mtu wetu”, Swahili for ‘our person’.

Problem number two: I did not have relatives in high places or with deep pockets. Hardly anyone in the context of Kenya at the time would pay any attention to a boy born of an unknown single mother, #WhoHeldMyHand

in an obscure village. We were neither dirt poor nor filthy rich. We were just an ordinary, simple Kenyan family of five brothers surviving on the meager earnings of their mother - a government copy typist. She was our mother, father and sister all in one. #WhoHeldMyHand

So, the only way to secure my dream job as a broadcast journalist was through merit, relentless drive and unwavering focus. It had been instilled in us at Starehe Boys Centre (a national school for orphaned or underprivileged pupils)...

that ‘when you’re given a coffee cup to wash, wash it better than it has ever been washed.’
Whenever I got a chance to record a screen test, I unleashed such a performance that there would be no room for a decision by VAR (video assisted referee). #WhoHeldMyHand

It also meant that the more they “lost” my recordings or turned me away, the more I showed up and the harder I worked at my craft.
The biggest problem was that in an era with no mobile phones, no internet and no emails, every communication was done by letter, #WhoHeldMyHand

which had to be sent by post and it took several days to reach its destination. The reply would follow the same route. This meant it could take up to a month or more to secure an appointment for a screen test and the same amount of time to get feedback.

After two years of trying to join the Voice of Kenya without success, a new Director of Broadcasting was appointed. Prior to becoming the boss at VoK with a brief to transform the organisation, Cornelius Nyamboki was the head of the Presidential Press Unit... #WHoHeldMyHand

working for President Daniel arap Moi.
Before he’d even warmed his seat at VoK, I sent him a letter requesting an appointment. Miraculously, he wrote back and invited me to his office. Armed with all my previous communication with VoK bosses I explained my two-year struggle...

and said I was willing to work for free if I passed my screen test.
Nyamboki immediately summoned the Controller of Radio Programmes and said to him “Test this young man, and if he has anything to offer let’s make use of him.” #WHoHeldMyHand

I did the screen test and passed, but the bosses said that I looked far too young for TV News. This could undermine the credibility of the bulletin because viewers would not take me seriously. I was advised to start off in radio and then transition to TV #WhoHeldMyHand

I was disappointed at first but I later came to realize that was the best decision of my early career. Radio is a great teacher of broadcasting. Because you’re only working with the human voice without the aid of visuals, you learn to work with words. #WhoHeldMyHand

You pay a lot of attention to the writing, speech and your vocal performance. By the time I crossed over to TV, I was ready for the world.
Cornelius Nyamboki did not know me. He’d never seen me before. I did not pay him a bribe. #WhoHeldMyHand

We were neither from the same tribe nor the same region of the country. I met him without having to go through an intermediary.
Yet he opened the door for me to enter the Voice of Kenya as a freelance news anchor. #WhoHeldMyHand

That one single door opened huge gates for me to eventually end up at the BBC in London almost ten years later. He was the first influential person to hold my hand professionally.
#WhoHeldMyHand

I learnt a few important things from the Nyamboki experience, which guide my brand & philosophy at work:
1.Someone has to take a risk to open a door to the world of your dreams.
http://2.You  should never tire of knocking on doors or iron gates... #WHoHeldMyHand

One day someone will hear the knock or be irritated enough to open the door, or at least a window.
3. It’s not your level of education, religion or ethnic origin that matters; rather the door responds to a belief in yourself, mastery of your craft, focus, integrity and attitude.

4. Do not despise a day of small beginnings, the journey to the peak of any mountain starts from the base, however rugged.
5. You have a responsibility to take the risk and open doors for others, especially young people at the start of their career #WhoHeldMyHand

Nyamboki’s act of bravery and kindness is part of the reason why after leaving the BBC I chose to start and invest my time and personal resources in a national mentorship programme for young journalists in Kenya. #WhoHeldMyHand

It takes the form of a journalism competition and TV reality show called @topstoryafrica. Now in its sixth year and fifth season on national TV in Kenya, the project involves 25 universities and a production team of 20 people.
#WhoHeldMyHand

It’s my prayer that the over 200 alumni will one day hold the hand of an upcoming journalist looking for a break.
For now, whenever I’m tempted to fly above the clouds puffed up with an air of invincibility, ...
#WhoHeldMyHand

I always remember the words of the granny who tugged at my shirt shortly before I boarded the BA flight to London in 1992 and said to me:
“Go well son, and never forget where you come from.”

Ends…..

#WhoHeldMyHand

Take care of yourselves.