Gamaliel’s Feet

They Say The Squeaky Wheel Gets Greased.

We’re seated at MaloMalo on a Sunday afternoon. It’s a chilly Nairobi day. I have a maroon leather jacket on. Matching my lipstick. I’m looking like a snack. He’s dressed in black. Always. We’re chatting away about everything and nothing in particular. The conversation flows like an all-year-round river. Smooth, constant & uninterrupted.

I’ve been a fan since I was in diapers – well, since I graduated to female diapers. And now here I am seated across from the man. He was recently described by a budding & talented artist as a tall cup of chocolate deliciousness. I would concur.

He’s got a masterclass coming up where he will, for the 10th year in a row, attempt to pass on his skill and talent to other eager & upcoming artists. I want to attend. Badly. Why? I’m a tech girlie. The artist in me is non-existent or just dormant. But I’m curious as a cat.

I wanna know everything. I wanna see everything. I wanna experience everything.

I wanna get inside his mind like a 7-year-old boy would get into the radio to find the man whose voice he grew up listening to. Just to sit at his feet like Paul did Gamaliel and understand: how does he do it? Conjure magic with his words.

I wanna be in the kitchen where the magic is made. Get a glimpse into the mind that has brought a smile to my face for years. I wanna be an inside man.

I interrupt the flow, letting the river pause for a moment. I look him in the eye. He pauses, stares back at me. Anticipation. He can tell I have something to say.

“Can I come to your Masterclass?” I ask softly but certainly. It’s a bold ask. But you lose 100% of the chances you don’t take & these days I’m taking all the damn chances.

He’s the kind of man who will say “No” in a heartbeat. He doesn’t sugarcoat either. It won’t be “Nah” or “Not really” or “Oh, I don’t think…” He just says No & rarely offers any explanation to his “Nos”. You do with it what you will. Thin skins won’t survive him. I don’t know if I’ll survive him.

“Yeah, sure you can.” He says it within a split second of me asking the question.

“Really?” I ask, wide-eyed and in disbelief.

“Yeah, you can come. For a day. And as a fly on the wall,” he affirms, adding conditions to my attendance.

I’ll take it. I’m over the moon.

Three weeks later, here I am. Seated at Gamaliel’s feet. Soaking it all in.

It was everything I dreamed it would be and more.

The experience ignites something inside me. Maybe the artist in me was just dormant after all.

This is the beginning of something.

I can feel the embers catching. And I’m here to fan the flames.

Part II – Coming Soon.

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