The episode is almost done and I have to quickly decide if I am going to have airpods on or off. Part of me wants to finish the episode so I can focus once in the office but I am also acutely aware of the perils of crossing S.Vanderventer road oblivious of city drivers. Driving in St. Louis Missouri has a reputation for reckless driving. Natives will point towards the lax driver’s certification process but as a Nairobian, this is just city driving.
I swing my Denri lunch bag on my left shoulder. It is a little bit of home that I take with me to campus every day. The backpack holds the lunch bag in place and off we are to another day as a professor. A few students are waiting with me at the lights, cars driving over the speed limit flying past us and a siren is going off somewhere within earshot. Sirens are the soundtrack of this city I now call home.
It takes me 7 minutes from the car park to Xavier Hall, twice the time when the temperature drops. The stairs add to my step count so I heave to my floor as I curse under my breath. No amount of kickboxing, walking on the treadmill, or weight lifting seems to offset how winded I get going up the stairs.
There is a student outside the media center peeping into the dark room that seems dead now but in a couple of hours will be a social space meets media lab. One of my colleagues redesigned the use of the space to increase student traffic. In there, you will find all manner of snack bars, toiletries, coffee, tea, sugar, a kettle, lounging sofas, and tucked away in a corner is the equipment room.
‘I don’t think anyone is in there’, I offer to the student.
‘The lights are on.’
I peep into the room. The lights are off. I only held my heaving long enough for a sentence and this might be a longer conversation.
I take a quick one in, ‘ The team is in between noon and 8 pm.’
‘ I thought it was 11 am.’
I give in, take a very deep breath, and check my email for confirmation. He is right. They should open at 11 am but we are short-staffed. Our student workers are great but there is more work than there are people.
‘ I am sorry!’
The apology is no solace but it is the best I can offer.
The mural in my office was done by a friend, Amber. A talented visual artist who marries art and faith. It tells the story of how I ended up in this office. On the left side of the wall are buildings in Nairobi as Amber imagined them with KICC ( Kenya International Conference Center) standing tall. There is a profile of me holding my chin with a pout that is a replica of a picture I shared with her. To the extreme right of the wall is the arch that gave St. Louis her name ‘Gateway to the West’ based on her ideal geography connecting Ohio to Mississippi. St. Louis is close enough to the south to have a vibrant restaurant scene and far enough from Ohio to have a few snowy days.
‘It’s okay to be a beginner’ slides under the arch to an unfinished end. Amber and I agreed to update that in three years.
For the first time in my life, I can forecast my professional life beyond six months. This is my first grown-up, mortgage-paying, tax filing, monthly budget, retirement fund, job. In the 12 years I worked in the media industry in Kenya I hopped from one TV set to a short film one. The uncertainty was horrible for financial planning and a cosmic high for my creative brain.
The watershed moment happened while working as a broadcaster and producer for a small Christian media outfit. There had been headwinds from the beginning that gave me the grit to produce a daily TV and Radio show. This time, a Christmas show was canceled and there was no room for compromise despite having an entire crew prepping for it for weeks. The gnawing helplessness and chronic fatigue of trying to charter a path forward collided to slouch my once defiant posture.
Six years ago this month, I submitted my graduate school application.
That one decision led me to this moment preparing teaching materials on elements of visual design. I get to talk about creative projects all day with students who are tech whizzes brimming with brilliance and ideas.
Becoming a professor was not on a vision board, it snuck up on me. When it happened a friend told me that I had always sounded like a teacher in our conversations. My mother has mentioned that as a child I questioned television programming and why society worked as it did. In college, I checked out as many books as the librarian allowed and hid in the library to read from the special selection.
The pursuit of answers in books gives me confidence in the power of my mind.
Creative abilities were beaten down by an education system that looked down on the arts as backup plan careers. The arts were first to be cut off as part of austerity measures. In high school, we had to either participate in inter-school sport competitions or art festivals. Never both. In one year, we petitioned to self-fund for supplies and gas so we could compete in the local music festival.
My undergraduate experience was the on-ramp I had desperately needed to give me permission to be creative. Ms. Beverly had enough gumption to back up her confidence. While the multiple degrees gave her the educational qualifications to teach us ‘How to Write for Television’, her compassion for students made each one of us feel special. She held us to a high standard and demanded punctuality.
Ms. Susan was a media practitioner who worked for different media outlets and accepted nothing short of excellence. Most of us were scared of her but I secretly admired her. I leaned into her stringent class policies. Beyond the tough aura was a professional who cared about the work and the person. She would eventually write a recommendation for my graduate school application.
I am a professor today because Ms. Beverly affirmed my lofty ambitions of working in television. Ms. Susan’s feedback challenged me to think beyond the realms of possibilities. My graduate school experience necessitated a constant curiosity I didn’t think was allowed. Inquisition was not silenced by the status quo of academia. It was encouraged and expected.
As I wipe my desk of tea stains from two days ago, there is immense gratitude for the opportunity to research and practice digital media. Including when technology fails in class, or I forget my hard drive at home and have to teach from memory. The anxiety before I teach a class I designed. It is all part of the package. Until life or God requires a different path, I continue to till this farm with diligence and have fun while at it.
This blog is a space to scratch my creative itch. A space where I will share stories of academia, give commentary on culture, and connect with you on shared interests like books, TV shows, movies, media technology, culture, womanhood, and the immigrant experience. I hope this blog brings some light into this world and we can learn a few things in this academic corner.
There is a knock at the door. It’s time for office hours.
