My Story

In writing this section, I realized that there were many “sprinklings” of the very things that Iight me up and illuminated the path I'm on. I was a quiet, creative and curious kid growing up. As I got older, I faced bullying during my teen years and became burdened with all the ‘shoulds’ of life, so I switched off that part of myself. Fortunately, through improv, I found my way back :)

Born and raised in Nairobi, Kenya to a single-mum juggling caregiving for my grandma and uncle, I had an unconventional, but very loving childhood.

Summers were spent immersed in books, dancing, crafting (my books and art were scattered all over our house) and watching TV. I loved it - I’ve always been a big introvert. I believe this is where my imagination really got to thrive. We didn’t have cable, so I indiscriminately devoured whatever was on (including soap operas I was too young to understand and hours of newsfeeds from CNN or Sky News). Limited to local TV channels, I’d check the TV listings, standby for my fave shows (mostly 90’s sitcoms and dramedies), and record them on VHS tapes to rewatch over and over again. On Fridays, my mum and I would rush home after evening ceremonies at mosque to catch our fave telenovelas and she liked taking me to the cinema on weekends. 

This was my first introduction to storytelling, characters, comedic timing, genre, relationship dynamics, interlinked storylines, motives, settings - basically all the fundamental elements of story. I didn’t have the words or terminology but my narrative brain began building a vivid library of everything.

I attended a wonderful primary school, Braeburn, where teachers rewarded points for effort and creativity in our school work, and encouraged fun extracurriculars (music, dance, theatre, sports), and participation in school plays. Braeburn had (and still has) one of the biggest performance theatres in Nairobi and was renowned for its musicals and pantomimes, which often featured staff and students as part of the cast! My mum and I frequently attended these grand productions (like Cinderella, Grease, Robinson Crusoe, Oliver Twist). that were so impeccably executed at both Braeburn Theatre and Phoenix Players. 

My love for storytelling and theatre continued to evolve and I made my Braeburn Theatre debut as Nana the dog in Peter Pan circa ‘96. I had no lines, just barks, and some of my grade 3 classmates played the lost boys in Neverland. After that, I was cast as one of the children in The King and I. Class plays were also a BIG deal and every teacher went all out with costumes and productions every semester (notable performances include Tiddalick, How God made the World in 7 Days and Smile High, Sigh Low). 

I absolutely loved seeing how serious adults were about play. It mattered. This mattered to them as much as it mattered to us kids.

My first taste of ‘improv’ came through the extracurricular LAMDA Speech & Drama classes I had signed up for because my mum thought I spoke too fast and needed to learn to slow down. For a couple of school years, a few of us essentially skipped a regular class to gather in an empty room above the school library to engage in a series of what I now see were really fun improv games, character work and learning the art of expression and elocution. We’d practise memorizing and reciting poems and monologues with intention, enunciation, and emotion, all working toward an evaluated performance at the end of the semester. I vividly recall doing Angelica Houston’s Grand High Witch’s address, and my friend Regeru did a Chimera monologue from one of the Mission Impossibles. How cool.

Playing small

Alas, a significant shift occurred when I was about 12 or 13. Academically, the focus moved toward paving the way to a good university. Socially, life became about teenage things. Both these things left no time, space or celebration for the thing that fueled me. 

Moving from a well-rounded, diverse school with international kids to a competitive Indian high school that had a great reputation for its impressive university admission rates but solely prioritized subjects like the sciences and business was a bit of a shock. I did well in school and found a wonderful small group of friends, but my creativity was stifled. 

I also quickly realized that socially, there was a ‘coolness game’ at play, which was incredibly, stupidly arbitrary – revolving around appearances, sports and clubbing, and was determined by a little self-appointed clique. It made no sense to me. It seemed like the summer before high school, many of the girls got their braces removed, plucked and waxed, and purchased coloured contact lenses and hair straighteners. Meanwhile I was still very hairy, wore an ill-fitting uniform, was in an extended awkward phase and now, had no creative outlet… I didn't stand a chance, and I didn't feel safe expressing my authentic self. I became a target for bullying and I began to shut down. My self-esteem plummeted, my whole posture and vibe changed, and I didn’t want to be seen. I retreated into academics, tying my value to it and just continued to move through a cycle of school-homework-sleep-repeat.

Nairobi 🇰🇪→ Montreal 🇨🇦 

At 18, I moved to Montreal on my own for university, where a blurred routine of academics, work and poor health ensued. While in school full-time, I had also started working 20-30 hour weeks at a company that was a 1.5 hour commute each way, to pay for school. Needless to say there was no work-life-school balance, I was so burnt out and sleep-deprived. I’m genuinely shocked and impressed at how I managed this. Why would I do this, you ask? Honestly, I don’t know. I didn’t have a mentor or anyone to guide me and ask “Hey girl, you ok? Why are you doing the most? Why is your job so far away? This is not normal - or okay!” Add to that the ol’ productivity wound (where your value being tied to how much work you do), the outdated immigrant-mindset (“it’s normal for life to be hard in a new country, you don’t have a choice”) and maybe I hid the struggle well enough for no one to call it out, so I just kept going. I remember how it felt like I was screaming for guidance on the inside but no one could hear me.

The moment that sparked the beginning of everything.

A pivotal moment came during my fourth year when I (somehow, some way) found the time and courage to sign up for something I had wanted to do for a while – a gift to myself, really: I took an improv open workshop at Montreal Improv. It was the best hour, sparking a reconnection with that curious, bright, lively part of me. I did a hot-dog vendor scene, and a room filled with very supportive strangers laughed. Without hesitation, signed up for Level 1 —and later, more levels — not knowing how the the trajectory of my life would unfold.

Post-graduation, between my friends leaving Montreal and being at an unfulfilling desk-job, my commitment to Improv was different this time. I was All-all-in.  Almost immediately, things took off. Classes were larger, there was a growing community and more opportunities to perform. I entered a massive Flow state that is hard to put into words. It felt like we had all tapped into this fun, supportive, creative escape from real-life. I even wrote and performed my first solo comedy play at 23 (what!?) which was terrifying, exhilarating and well-received! 

The double-life of a person-by-day, performer-by-night (-and-weekends), evolved seamlessly.

I was the first South-Asian improvisor and among the first few women of colour (following the likes of Ana de Lara, Léa Rondot and Vanessa Matsui) in Montreal’s improv scene, for several years.

I said yes (ok fine, Yes And) to doing every show or opportunity that came my way, making it onto house teams, forming new troupes, experimenting with new formats and travelling to other cities for improv festivals! Then in 2016, I took the leap into teaching, completing my teacher-training and began leading classes at Montreal Improv.

Through 13 years of ups, downs and in-betweens, Improv remained the unwavering constant - through successes and setbacks, overwork, burnout, loneliness, career changes, a global pandemic, an apartment fire, an injury, you name it. 

On healing