Nairobi News

A calm Monday morning several years back when I arrived with my oversized metallic box from the beautiful land of Bunyore.

It was my first time setting foot in Nairobi. The big box only had a few pairs of clothes. I was reporting to the Kenya Institute of Mass Communication (KIMC) to embark on a three-year journey.

A journey to kickstart me in my journalism work. After a few words of counsel from Dad, who had accompanied me, I was left alone, wondering where to begin.

I was lucky to get a room within the school hostel, and voila, directly opposite my room, was a beautiful girl with a bright smile and long hair.

Rita, welcomed me alongside my friends, Bella, Angie and Eunice, and we struck a friendship that we never knew would be long-lasting. “I am Rita Tinina Yiapan” she rapped. It was indeed a tongue twister. We struck it off immediately.

Rita would call me and share niceties, from clothes (never mind our height differences) to her shopping to everything.

Like me, she was also a village girl, but our degree differed; she was stylish. Every meal time, we would go and eat together, and in the evenings, we would spend our time either at the gossip corner or taking a stroll to the South B shopping centre. We didn’t have relatives to visit.

Rita was kind and focused. She encouraged me that things would be better soon and that we would no longer be lost in the city. Rita loved her family; she had a sister in Zimbabwe, whom she would fondly talk about.

The sister used to bring her goodies, and she would share them with her friends.

There was once a mass night in our third year, and girls from our class were performing. I remember the outfit was a pair of white pants and a white top. I didn’t make it to the team, but Rita did.

You and the whole squad rocked it so much that some men from our class who had started funny debates around third-year students were left speechless! You held my hand all around in college; you were meticulous and organised, from coursework, and your room was clean.

I remember once I was pronouncing the word “vehicle” in a Luhyia accent, “Vi-he-ko”; you laughed, and I couldn’t stop being mad at you for several days, but our friendship was stronger; soon we started laughing again…you taught me how to write and pronounce well what the late Mr Kamau (God rest his soul) and Mr Gichuki would call diction.

After graduation, you got a job before me, and like we had promised each other, “lazima tumake it”. You held my hand.

I remember once I was still tarmacking and had rent arrears for three months… my house was being locked up by the landlord; you took a whopping Sh24,000 (this was a lot of money then) and paid my rent.

You may never get to know, but that saved me from retiring early and perhaps having a mental breakdown. I focused, and the rest is history; we became healthy competitors in the Environmental reporting field, and we went to great and mighty places like the UN and other countries we flew to.

No one can ever know we were ordinary village girls. I will always hold you dear in my heart. RIP, pretty one. Go well, my friend. To the family,

“Though Rita may be absent from our sight, she will forever remain present in our hearts, cherished and remembered with love.”