Do you sometimes look back at your life and get shocked by how your life has turned out? It almost feels like a Nigerian film. Having spent time down in the trenches, tasted defeat, despair, depression, salty tears, and long nights wondering whether things would ever get better. Most times, an inch away from smashing your phone against the wall out of anger, thanks to social media where pretty much everyone else in the universe is doing better than you.
Scratch that, living your dream, yet you are still struggling with basics. Bitterness fills your insides as age catches up with you. You blame society, government, family members, and finally yourself for existing and taking up space on earth yet you aren’t productive. Braving toxic supervisors in an organization where you are underemployed, underpaid, and treated like a lesser human or living under a relative’s house who constantly belittles and treats you like an outcast yet you can’t leave because you are still unable to support yourself.
When you least expect your life turns a corner. Your passport is filled up with stamps as you tour exotic cities, experience different cultures and rake up sky miles. You move from squeezing in rickety matatus, manned by foul-mouth conductors, drivers whose chang’aa-laden breaths dull your tastebuds and make you immune to flu to owning a few cars. Now, you walk into any fancy restaurant, order meals without even bothering to check on prices because they are all within your budget range.
Sometimes you chuckle at the thought that you almost had all your household items auctioned over Ksh. 6,000 rent arrears when you now pay several thousand in rent or live in a house you own. The friends and relatives who looked down upon you back then now want to hang out with you every chance they get. Everyone in your social circle respects you, hanging to every word you utter. At times you feel guilty. Like you don’t deserve good things in life. Other times you feel like an imposter. Afraid that higher-ups would come to the realization you aren’t good enough, pull off the privileges and incentives plunging you back into the dark days. Everyone around you keeps telling you that you have earned your place, however, you just can’t shake this feeling.
For the last hour, I have been swinging from this balcony seat, looking into a swarm of birds flying in mesmerizing patterns above a canopy of trees in the adjacent property, thinking of a story I watched on the news last night. A 1st Class Electrical Engineering graduate who is on the brink of depression having received countless job rejection emails over the past two years. The saddest part is the mother’s expression of desolation having toiled tirelessly in biting poverty, as a single parent, to educate her son only for him to end up back in the village toiling on their tiny farm beside her. Hopes of her offspring breaking the vicious cycle of poverty wane with each passing day. Heart-wrenching. The young man ended by saying he is working on getting a camera, mic, and lights to start a YouTube channel with the hopes that he will build something for himself.
His tale took me back to my struggles as a civil engineering graduate seeking to carve a niche in that tumultuous industry marred by nepotism, tribalism, and corruption, which disadvantages most graduates from poor backgrounds from landing gainful employment.
This tale of woe has made me realize that I was able to surmount humongous obstacles on the paths of most graduates, regardless of specialization, to achieve substantial success in my chosen career path simply because I could tell stories.
I can’t quite point out what triggered my love for storytelling. Was it the evenings as a child that my father would have me stand on a coffee table and read out aloud from the book, Ali Baba and Other 40 stories and weekend newspapers? Or my troubled life in high school, which had me constantly read novels to stay sane? Or the toxic girlfriend back on campus who at one point held a knife to my throat while accusing me of not loving her as she did. Backed into a corner, facing mortal danger from the deranged lady I fought back with the only tool in my possession. My tongue. It was a scene straight out of a Mexican soap opera as I poured out my heart, detailing why I was the only man in the entire galaxy who truly loved her. Hell, even tears rolled down my cheeks as I expressed hurt that my affection was doubted, and love put on trial. Suffice it to say I escaped unscathed and became brazen at getting myself in trouble because so long as whoever I was in conflict with gave me an ear, I wouldn’t stop talking until they were softened by my words and agreed to my proposition.
I first discovered the power of storytelling to an organization back in 2015, when I joined Nation FM as a radio producer soon after 80% of the radio staff had been laid off as part of the restructuring process. I single-handedly transformed the content of prime shows by doing away with shallow and fluff discussions that characterize such shows and brought in real-life tales through storytelling. In just three months, we had doubled Nation FM’s market share.
By quickly landing a common interest with potential customers in the different businesses I have been part of, I have closed several deals, upsold, and cross-sold several offerings because people don’t buy products or services, they buy people. Storytelling is a powerful tool for any business and has earned me a few accolades.
My recent favorite was a marketing campaign I spearheaded for an organization that had been getting lots of negative sentiments from the general public for a couple of years to the point their customers and even employees didn’t want to be associated with it. By employing a storytelling angle that resonated well with family-oriented people they saw a 40% increase in customer enquiries, a complete overhaul of sentiments around the brand, and an unprecedented number of referrals. The campaign was crowned the Best Digital and Social Media Marketing entry by the Marketing Society of Kenya (MSK) Awards 2021.
A few years ago, I was living in a small foreign city where most people I worked with knew very little about Kenya and Africa. Often they would ask how I survived Ebola, raging wars, and whether I planned to ever go back home since everything they saw on TV about my motherland portrayed it as a single street lined with mud huts on the side, malnourished kids, sickly old folks and bloodthirsty soldiers with nicotine-stained teeth, rugged hair and red ribbons tied around their biceps, slinging AK 47’s from their shoulders.
Tired of countering this narrative with facts, I decided to tell a different story. I had the full Maasai attire shipped to me and don it to a party I was invited to that brought together coworkers and their families.
All eyes turned to me the moment I walked into the hall dressed as a Maasai warrior. Soon enough a crowd formed around me touching my accessories and accompanied by numerous questions. I urged them to sit down as I narrated a story of how I killed a full-grown lion as part of my initiation by grabbing, wrestling it to the ground and stabbing it with a spear. You should have seen the awe in their eyes as I paraded scars on my right arm owing from the battle yet this was a story I heard from a tour guide during a trip to Maasai Mara.
Convinced I was a heroic warrior and apparent heir to an African tribal chief, coworkers treated me like royalty in subsequent days as news of my bravery spread around. Management accorded me more privileges. I was invited to departmental head’s meetings and my work vehicle switched to a 4,700cc SUV befitting my status. The only downside, I could no longer get any discounts whenever I bought stuff from those in my circle as they were convinced farms in my village back in Kenya were littered with Gold. Any contrary explanations I made to correct this untrue story were met with the same rebuttal. “Mark. It’s okay. We know you are just trying to be humble.” It was a battle I couldn’t win so I sat back and enjoyed it, as it felt better than being treated like a homeless immigrant.
Somewhere in our upbringing society programmed us to curtail our eccentricities. All the good things that make us different and interesting, in favor of rigid societal expectations, making us boring. To escape this conundrum coupled with negative news that characterizes mainstream news, many people seek stories in various forms to live vicariously through others and experience their thrills resulting in a phenomenal increase in YouTube storytellers.
A couple of weeks ago, I had the good fortune of going through training by The Moth, a nonprofit dedicated to the art & craft of storytelling for the last 25 years. Larry Rosen who was leading the group I was in unlocked fascinating insights about Finding Your Story, which involves distilling stories from an idea, opposing forces, conflict, and triumph in an authentic way.
The Moth has a show slated for Saturday, November 5th at 6pm to 9pm at the Catholic University, LRC Auditorium, hosted by Adelle Onyango, featuring five storytellers who will share their stories on the evening’s theme ‘Don’t Hold Back #WeMove’ — a celebration of bold action and the power of moving forward. If you are a storytelling enthusiast, this is an event you wouldn’t want to miss. Click here to get your ticket.
Storytelling has catapulted my life to unimaginable heights. From expressing my entrepreneurship struggles under #TheBrokeBillionaire initiative to actually having many accomplished men as my mentors including two billionaires. I have learned so much from these men who have also helped me make some smart decisions that have set me up on a path to greatness.
As the good book posits, ‘From everyone who has been given much, much will be demanded; and from the one who has been entrusted with much, much more will be asked’, I want to support other budding storytellers to improve their craft. As such I will give away three tickets to The Moth event and offer honest feedback and tips to upcoming creatives. If interested in my offer, please share a link (blog, IG, YouTube, FB, etc), a synopsis of your story, or an image of your creative works in the comment section and I will check it out.
Written By Mark Maish
