Feminazi wamekujia Biko Zulu

Honestly what’s wrong with Biko Asking such questions? The ladies he interviews are not offended so why should you be on their behalf?


interview iko hapa https://www.businessdailyafrica.com/lifestyle/profiles/Anne--the-geneticist/4258438-4296832-cc6w5n/index.html

[ATTACH=full]156870[/ATTACH] [ATTACH=full]156871[/ATTACH]

[SIZE=6]Anne, the geneticist[/SIZE]
THURSDAY, FEBRUARY 8, 2018 15:30

Prof Anne Muigai is a[SIZE=6] molecular population geneticist[/SIZE] with over 17 years’ experience. Under her belt is a doctorate degree in Population Genetics and Molecular Biology from JKUAT.

She is humble about this but she is the [SIZE=6]first female professor in the field of genetics and was the founder chairperson of the Department of Botany at 26 years of age[/SIZE].

Until beginning of this year, she had been the co-ordinator of the postgraduate programme in the Botany department.

She has published articles on prehistoric fight between hunters and gatherers dated 1,000 years ago in Lake Turkana. On top of all these, she is a Taxonomy Group Member of the African Union, advising on issues relating to genetic resources of indigenous animals. She has more accolades but we have less space here.

In person she is anything but professorial (whatever that means anymore) as JACKSON BIKO found out when they had tea at a cafe.

I didn’t Google you, so when I was looking for the most professorial lady— distractedly dressed with functional shoes—you surprise me with this trendy jacket you have on. It’s not a jacket I would have imagined on a professor.

(Laughs) Because professors are not great dressers?

Hardly ever. I guess most have more important issues in their heads than to think of clothes. But, seriously, of all the things you could have done with your life, why genetics?

Genetics found me. My dad was a scientist. He’s one of the pioneers of maize breeders in Kenya. I only realised how genius he was because he showed us his work and his passion. We had a fruit garden and he’d take us around telling us about pollination, germination and all these things. It’s only when I got to university that I realised that Zea mays was real?


That’s the scientific name for maize. We always talked about it using the scientific name. I wanted to become a dentist but missed dental school by one point. I cried because I had also missed my second choice which was pharmacy. When I was finally taken in for a Bachelor of Education course, I was like, ‘God, I don’t want to be a teacher.’

My father was a single dad, he told me, “go study education and when you finish it I’ll take you to the US and you’ll do dentistry. I’ll have saved money.” I picked botany and zoology and I was sucked into this beautiful science. I never bothered to take my father up on his offer.

Tell me something about animal genetics that would excite me.

(Pause) My PhD was on characterising the indigenous sheep genetics of Africa. Our sheep are not native to Africa, not like the elephant, rhino, cheetah and lion. Turns out the sheep were once like wild antelopes in Asia and man domesticated them. When he started migrating, he moved with his food and that’s how the sheep ended up in Africa. Sheep came in through Egypt, crossed down Sudan, stayed a bit in Ethiopia, came down to Kenya, and then down to South Africa.

Jetlagged sheep. People in academia are known to be socially awkward, they live in their own world. What’s your handicap?

It’s not necessarily professors but scientists or people who have a big passion. I can talk about genetics the whole day, maybe that’s a handicap.

What are your qualities that you least admire?

I am very impatient with slow people. Slow in the sense that maybe I have asked you to do something and send it to me by Monday and then you decide to take a month. Sometimes students think I’m very aggressive, unfair. In fact, my daughter who studies in JKUAT sometimes hesitates to say I’m her mother because she doesn’t know what she will be told.

Are you curious about your own genetic history?

The genealogy. This is where from a small amount of blood we can actually tell much more than genealogy. I can tell you what disease will kill you. I’ll know if you are prone to obesity, or if you have the gene for addiction. We can tell whether you have the genes for breast cancer. Would you want to know? Or would you wait. I don’t think I’d want to know myself.

What are you bad at?

Operating the TV. I have to call my son when I want to watch a movie. (Laughs) Normally, I will press the wrong thing and everything goes. I’m like, ‘oh my gosh! What do I do? How do I get the sound?’

Who’s been your greatest influence?

My father. He was a single dad in the 70s, divorced. Raised three children, never remarried and completely committed to his profession. From him I learnt integrity. He was a civil servant, first director of research in Kenya. He had a GK car but he would drop us to school in his personal car and then go back home to pick his government car. He never spent more than he needed to, he never stole money. Very straight man.

How did your mum influence you?

She is, I even wonder how they got together because she is a proper mama, very much in the world and everything. She is the one who’d be like, ‘get a boyfriend, you know you need children.’ My dad would never want to hear anything like that. She is the first person who started calling me Professor Wangari. She planted the seed to think about being a professor.

Is it harder for women with PhDs to get married?

If I introduce myself like, ‘Hi, I’m Professor Ann.’ You’ll look at me differently. Like I have horns. (Laughs) Traditionally, educated women are deemed unruly or militant. How will you manage a powerful woman like that? They ask.

How do you think your husband “manages” you?

He’s a breadwinner.

Does that “manage” a woman, if the man is a breadwinner?

No, not necessarily. He doesn’t see me as a scientist. He sees me as a friend. If you see me as a professional then I guess there is already a barrier. But he says I’m difficult. (Laughs). I mean, if I’m passionate about something then I will go for it. But I believe in harmony and unity and that the man is the head of the home and all. So we don’t have those things of who’s the boss. We consult. It’s also how he treats you.

Do you ever introduce yourself as Prof. Ann?

I still have an issue when people say that you have earned it, use it! When I introduce myself as Ann Muigai they say, no, you forgot Prof. I’m like really, does it matter? They are like yeah, yeah, it does. But when you do that people treat you differently. Some wonder how I am so young to be one. I don’t want to be looked at differently or in any other way.

What are your biggest fears?

(Pause) I used to fear death but I am not afraid anymore because I have faced death. I was at Westgate, and I was shot twice in the chest.

No way!

Yes way. (Chuckles). And I survived that. And I did come close to dying. I felt myself letting go, that point of release. Now I don’t fear death anymore…been there done that. (Laughs)

Kariuki wa Wanjiru

Let us not turn everything into feminazi vs male chauvinism tings. Its just logical.

  1. Biko does not have even a journalism degree, though he writes well on social issues

  2. Biko is not suited for any kind of reporting/interviewing let alone business reporting, his forte is writing original pieces - he got into trouble over an interview he did with a gang rape victim,such that he had to pull down the article and apologise.

  3. Biko did not do any research on the person he would interview or on the area she is a Prof in. The questions are the generic questions a unprepared person would use like who is your greatest influence.

  4. Biko is young enough to be this woman’s son and as such should not have asked her questions of a very personal nature such as about her husband, and other uncomfortable topics. In Africa we respect elders.

  5. Biko should watch anchors at CNBC and borrow a leaf of how they do interviews, this is a very fascinating area and it could have made for a very engaging piece however Biko forgets his audience are not Cyprian Nyakundi and other people with no education theyre business executives.

6)Biko had better up his game before he gets replaced by people with some work ethic to do due diligence to research the field his interviewee is in before wasting a Professors time and space on a newspaper people spend money to buy.

Hats off madam. Today you’ve spoken both truth and sense. I totally agree with your point of view and wish others could agree to the same. Areas of improvement to this would include a total annihilation of points 1-6 which muddy up the clarity already exhibited in the entire statement.

Keep on and that phd is yours for the

Hats off madam. Today you’ve spoken both truth and sense. I totally agree with your point of view and wish others could agree to the same. Areas of improvement to this would include a total annihilation of points 1-6 which muddy up the clarity already exhibited in the entire statement.

Keep it up.

Even if it was me, and I have no masomo ni journalism. This is a Prof for crying out loud. You should pick her brain, hadi ata ule mtu anasoma hio piece aone uko na akili

1)ningemuliza mambo ya Fall Amy Worm and what genetic reenginering theyre doing to make maize and other crops more resilient to evolving resistant diseases

  1. what are the latest advances in the field

3)what is molecuar population genetics

  1. what are the challenages in the field

Surely hii interview ingefanywa na any wooman witha PhD even in Aerobics it has added no value to the reader. Kenyan writers/editors should stop being mediocre. Imagine this lady’s family reading this, or her collegues wanashindwa what is this now? A joke? Take your job seriously kuna watu wengi hapa inje wanatafuta job better qualified.

He is doing an interview for a general publication for heaven sake. It’s a human interest piece to understand how such a person views mundane issues that affect normal people.

I think the problem with Ory is not the questions but gender of the person who asked the questions.

I agree with you the interview lacks depth especially on important accomplishments of the good professor.

In total agreement.

Biko doesn’t do the conventional interviews. He has told people that since he started writing. Hell, the last article on his blog involves him refusing to interview “boring” people. Employees who send Biko to do interviews well know that he isn’t going to ask the conventional boring stories. Biko has a following. A very huge following. When people go to read Biko, they don’t go to read Those Boring conventional interviews that the rest of the people do. The newspaper are clearly a business and wanted Biko and his fans. They got their worth.

PS. You do realize that Biko has been Kenya’s best blogger since awards started being dished out, right? His blog is 90% interviews of this kind! He has a formula, and boy, does it work!

Allow me Ladies and Gentlemen to give you a taste of the genius that is Biko Zulu and his unconventional interviewing ways that brings him fans and awards year in, year out… The following excerpt involves an interview that Biko was to conduct. It is a masterpiece!

I only own two suits. A black one and a blue one. Both are nice suits; one is from the designer Nick Ondu –
Sartorial who, although – like most fundis will take 300 years to finish your suit – does a pretty decent job of it. The other was an unworn gift from Ramah of Le’ Kasri a young man taking the chance with a thimble and making bespoke suits inspired by the great African kings and leaders who walked before us. This particular suit is from his latest collection called Linda Ufalme – or protect the Kingdom.
The night before I’m scheduled to meet President Uhuru Kenyatta I retrieved the suit-carrier from the darkest depths of my wardrobe, lay it on my bed and unzipped it slowly like you would a body bag.
I raised the suit up to the light and closely inspected his handiwork as I mulled over how the most abused attire is not even happy socks, but the suit. If you are under 50 there is never any reason to wear a suit that looks like you are about to parachute off a plane. Big, baggy and flappy things with large turn-ups at the bottom. Suits that would horrify even MC Hammer.
When I told a friend that I was going to meet the president and I was going to wear a suit she asked, “A suit? Isn’t that excessive? I don’t think Uhuru is the kind of guy who would care if you showed up in jeans. He’s easy.” True, I said, the president might be easy but the Office of The President might not be.
I grew up in the Nyayo era where we would be made to line up for hours only to catch a 4-second glimpse of Baba Moi hurtling past in his indomitable motorcade. Moi was mythical. He was baba and he was mama and he gave us free milk. Lore in our school’s playground had it that no man alive would ever look into Moi’s eyes for too long. That his gaze was so powerful mere mortals wouldn’t dare stare into his depths. He shrivelled your soul. Moi was the sun. And so the president was like folk-lore, fantastical. He didn’t fart or shower like us, neither did he use toothpicks. Maybe we were just young but the president was immortal, an extraterrestrial. It didn’t help that when we were born we found Moi and he was there through our childhood and teenage right up until we became adults. Some of us even became fathers and mothers while he ruled. So he was all we knew; a looming monument of our lives. And because I’m from that generation, I was excited at the prospect of meeting the president.
As night fell I remember trying out my blue suit to make sure it fit. Ramah calls it an Osei Tutu blue , a blue that represents calmness and tranquility – neither of which I felt. Infact I felt anxious.
I tried it on with a white shirt, then removed the white shirt and tried it on with a plain blue shirt, then thought Naah, I look like a medical insurance broker. I then tried it on with a red-checked shirt which made me look like those men who drink cocktails through a straw. I was starting to feel like a girl going for her first date but I didn’t care because you don’t meet the president daily.
Undeterred, I tried on my suit with a striped blue shirt and addressed my reflection in the mirror: “ It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr President. ” Pause. “It’s an honor to meet you, your Excellency. ” Clear throat, “ It’s a great pleasure to meet you, Mr President, you are much taller in person than you are on TV, could it be your shoes? ” Then laughed alone like a maniac.
I retired to bed and settled to watch his Youtube interviews with Julie Gichuru on African Leadership Dialogues and Folly Bah Thibault of Al Jazeera and the one with Richard Quest who pronounced his name like my grandmother does, “ Ohuru .” (Without the twang).
I noticed how – during interviews – the president often starts answering a question before the interviewer has fully completed the question which could be anything from impatience to confidence. So I got up and went to my desk and reviewed my six questions again and tweaked and reworked them so that they didn’t run more than 20 words per question. Once they were good and ready – running into short solid sentences – I mouthed them off to hear how they sounded. They were perfect.
I climbed back in bed at 11:02pm and lay on my back staring at the ceiling my mind alive with possibilities: What if he wakes up in a lousy mood because he remembered something nasty someone in NASA had said? What if one of his kids pisses him off and he’s all fire and brimstone before the interview? What if he has a hangie? I hoped that no security situation happened that night to keep him up all night. I told God, “Lord, make Ohuru sleep well tonight, tuck him in early and please ensure that he doesn’t wake up in the middle of the night to go pee. Please give him a solid seven-hour sleep because I want him in a mint and happy condition tomorrow morning.”
The Lord works in mysterious ways he took away my sleep and gave it to Uhuru because I hardly slept at night. I tossed and turned and freaked out that I would oversleep and miss the interview. I had small, fragmented and utterly useless dreams. One particular one was of the President walking into the interview room with a towel tied around his waist, kicking a tin of Kimbo lying on the floor and screaming, “ Wakenya wenzangu, I have said this over and over again, I DO NOT WANT BLUE BAND on my bread !” I almost woke up screaming myself: NO BLUE BAND ON THE PRESIDENT’S BREAD!

I wake up early and do 120 push-ups, 100 crunches, stand under a hot shower then pop one Seven Seas Omega tablet. I avoid breakfast because you don’t want your stomach making funny noises as you sit with the president because you decided to take leftover beans and chapos.
My mind is crisp and clear, I feel healthy and youthful and I’ve never been more ready for an interview. I have mastered the questions in my head and can deliver them in two different ways, each not exceeding 7 seconds. I’m as ready as instant soup.
6:20 am exactly, finds me -together with the rest of the crew – at Gate D of State House. Gate D is where the watus and vegetable deliveries come through. Onions and things. School vans as well. VIPs and dignitaries use other gates. Life is an animal farm.
I thought the red beret security at the gate would be brutish and gruff instead they are professional and friendlier than I imagined they would be.
There is waiting involved, after all everybody waits to see the president. Standing there in the cold, I feel like those chaps who wait outside factories in Industrial Area for a muhindi to open the gate and ask [ thick indian voice], “ nani iko na kitambulisho?..wewe kuja…wewe baki…wewe kuja. …”
After what seems like two months we are finally cleared by security. I feel both excitement and anxiety. We all drive in. State House is massive and immaculate. We drive down a winding road, through picturesque grounds of green lawns and well tended gardens. We pass a massive white house. There are more houses. Even the trees sway in a stately way. The parking is full of cars. I wonder what time the president’s day starts since the parking is already full so early in the morning. Everybody seems to want to see the president. Does he remember all faces and requests? Or does an aide whisper in his ear before a meeting, “ So this next guy is the guy whose twelve granaries were eaten by termites. He has been writing letters to see you for two years now.”
“What does he want?” The president asks. “Do we keep insecticides here?”
“No, we don’t Mr President, but he was your father’s good friend.”
“Is that so?”
“He says he farmed with your father before -”
“My father never farmed, he was a carpenter first.”
“Of course, Mr President, but he says he went to school in Russia with your father, he has some very old papers to prove that he attended The Communist University of the Toilers in Moscow with him.”
The president for the first time turns to look at his aide.
“Just how old is he?”
“Very old, he’s in a wheelchair. He can’t see properly. His hands shake. He’s accompanied by his son, and, er [the aide hesitates] he’s wearing a suit with a KANU flag.”
The president chuckles and says, “Blast from the past, ey? Oh, memories.” Then goes back to being serious. “You said his granaries were eaten by termites?”
“Yes, sir. In 1968. He says your father promised to help him.”
“Does he know this is 2017?”
“No, Mr. President. I’m afraid not. I suspect he thinks you are, your father.”
The president adjusts his tie and pats his hair. (His hair,not the aide’s hair).
“Wamekunywa chai?” He inquires. “Did you guys serve them breakfast?”
“We did, sir.”
“OK, great. Send him in.”

We walk from the parking heading to the main State House building. We pass a man trimming a hedge with a large pair of shears. Everything is so clean and orderly. We pass a group of presidential outriders standing in a cluster, leaning and joshing around and having a cackle. Off their imposing powerful motorcycles, without their helmets on and their luminous jackets unbuttoned they look disappointingly like humans. They are like us; they are fathers, boyfriends, brothers, they send money back home to mend leaking roofs and holes in fences. I feel cheated because when you see them in those bikes, clearing the way, they look like cyborgs; robotic, efficient, cold.
Men in suits walk about the grounds. It seems like every other person is in a dark suit. Across the lawn, a tall skinny security man in an oversized suit prowls around carrying an automatic weapon. He probably is in an elite squad, proficient in all manner of weaponry and warfare. I bet he can jump off planes, diffuse bombs and swim for kilometers with his hands tied behind his back. The kind of guy who can immobilize a threat with his thumb. What does a guy like that fear?
At the Aide De Camp we stop at the security check where we surrender our phones through a small window. We then go through a metal detector where a mute, unsmiling man in a suit runs his hands against our bodies. His hands are tough and big. He must body-search dozens of bodies in a day, looking for something that juts or protrudes, something not allowed in the president’s space.
How does a guy like that touch his wife after a long day of patting down people? Does he touch her and say, “ Brenda, your hipbone feels funny today, are you OK?” and the wife is like, “What do you mean funny?” And he says, there is a slight shift when I touch it. Then the wife is like, “Maybe it likes you.” Then he laughs and says, “No, really. Are you sure it’s not painful?” Then the wife sighs heavily in the dark and says, “Look, do you want to spend the next hour talking about my hip bone, because if that’s the case then I will leave you to it.”

We are led into a very plush waiting room; Lounge 10. It’s got a bright red luxurious carpet the colour of anger. The seats are deep tanned brown leather. There is a fireplace, fresh roses in a massive urn and, above us, fancy wrought-iron chandeliers like drops of Jupiter. A TV plays with the volume turned low. The room is stately and it demands silence and reverence. The president with too much makeup smiles at us from a portrait photo above the fireplace. I silently wonder if Emmanuel Jambo took that particular photo and who powdered the president’s nose for it. The air is thick and charged with power. You can feel it, you can smell it against the oaky smell of age and tradition. The “ghosts” of presidents past still linger.
The room leads out to a small courtyard with a fountain gurgling in the center. The grass there looks impossibly green.
We sit there in relative silence. I go through my questions in my head. They are beautiful questions, it’s a beautiful day and I will have a beautiful interview, I tell myself. The universe is rooting for me.
Chatter and laughter drift from across the courtyard. I look outside and secretly hope to see the president come out of a doorway and roam in the courtyard, maybe smoking a cigarette (if he does), pacing about in deep thought. None of that happens instead a suited man passes outside the room and looks at me. Five minutes later the same man passes again and looks at me. I start getting paranoid that maybe he knows something about me. I suppose they do background checks on guests. After all, the government knows everything the government wants to know, innit?
I start thinking that perhaps that man knows that I’m always late in filing my tax returns. That I’m one of those guys who KRA will have to put up billboards for, all over the place to remind them of the 30th June deadline and the 20K penalty. The look that man gave me as he passed was a look of reproach, as if I’m letting the country down by not being patriotic enough to file my tax returns on time. That I’m not what KRA now calls
Mkenya Mtrue because Mkenya Mtrue hulipa ushuru.
If he passes again and looks at me I plan to mouth the word, “ I will pay, I promise! Mimi ni Mkenya Mtrue!”
We are ushered into another room that I suppose is a dining room. There we are served breakfast of chicken wings, eggs, baked beans, toasted bread, freshly squeezed juice and a large platter of fruits. We are served by men in suits. Somewhere within the building, the president waits.
My mind fragments into a million thoughts. I have questions that are unrelated to the interview swimming in my head. I want to ask the president if he’s on Whatsapp. And if sometimes he wakes up and finds that some uncle from Kiambu has suddenly added him to a group he doesn’t want to be in.What dreams did he have growing up? What are the disadvantages of overabundance?
I want to ask him how it was growing in the State House and if he finds it surreal that he is there again as an adult (as the president now). I want to ask him what his whisky of choice is and if he has ever had a drink with an umbrella on it. I want to ask him what was his favourite room in the State House was when he was 9 years old. Does he see the memes people make of him and does he find them funny or just old? What does he fear the most?
I want to ask him about his teenage dating years and if he ever brought back a chick to State House to watch movies. I want to ask him to kindly empty his pockets (and hopefully nothing else falls out hehe) to see how much he carries in pocket change. I want to ask him if he has ever driven himself since he was the president. Or if he has ever used M-banking. I want to ask him if it’s lonely being a president. Or exhausting. Or boring. And since he has been in and around power all his life, what is his formula for picking out friends who like him for him or who like him for being close to power. Or what “personal space” means to him now as a president.
I want to ask him who he thinks is the funniest person in NASA, someone he wouldn’t mind catching a pint with and having a laugh. Does he find that State House sometimes echoes with the presence of his father? When Mzee Kibaki left did they have to buy a new bed for him or he’s using that same bed? I want to ask him if his father were to show up in the courtyard for five minutes and he had a chance to get one piece of advice out of him about running the country what would that one question to him be? Or what his father would be least impressed with on how he runs the country. I want to ask him if when he was dating he ever was heartbroken by a woman and if he sent her gushy messages in the middle of the night saying, “ you have done something horrible, you have not only broken my heart, you have broken the heart of a nation.” (Then the chick sends back an emoji rolling her eyes with the words, “Oh please. Just go to sleep, Muigai).
All these mad questions are swimming in my head but I know I can’t ask them because this isn’t that interview.
Then something dreadful happens.
The door to the left bursts open and someone comes bearing an apology; the President is very sorry but he has to run, perhaps we can reschedule? My heart sinks. I didn’t think I would be so crashed with disappointment, but I am. I tell myself it’s no big deal, but a small voice laughs and says, “Oh yes it is!”
Actually I feel so terrible, like something important has been taken away from me. In contrast, the rest take it so well. I slump in my chair with defeat and stare at my chicken wing which now has no meat in it.
He was practically in the next room! I think to myself. So close yet so far! As in, had he sneezed we would all have caught a presidential cold.
We silently clear out of the room like soldiers wounded from a lost war, dragging heavy carcasses of disappointment and dashed dreams. I find myself with a new predicament: My suit. I wonder what I should do with it; should I wear it throughout the day and have people ask me “who died?” or should I go home and slip into my usual jeans? These are decisions I didn’t think of 20mins ago. Life had temporarily handed me lemons but I was in no mood for lemonade. I decide to keep the suit on and show it off to my daughter later when I pick her up from school.
I also had another problem; I had ran my mouth off to a few friends that I was going to interview the president so I was dreading putting my phone back on because now I had pals waiting to hear how it went; how he was like in person, was he funny?
At 3:30 I go to pick Tamms in my suit because she has never seen me wear a full suit in her 9-years of living. Plus she has previously made it clear that I wear clothes that embarrass her before her friends in school. That I don’t dress like “other dads” who show up in white dress shirts and ties, fathers with proper jobs. This is my chance to redeem my image before her friends, as a well adjusted father who is perhaps in a gainful occupation.
It’s a hot day and I even sacrifice and leave the coat on but when she walks out of the classroom, – bag slung behind her, purple water bottle in hand – and finds me standing there she doesn’t even complement my goddamn suit! She gives it a quick look and doesn’t as much as acknowledge it. Business as bloody usual. I mean how nasty and insensitive can a child be? Who does this child take after anyway? I ask myself. Are these my recessive genes by any chance? Does she not know what a disappointing day I have had? Can she not read her father’s mood? Why can’t she be kind to my feelings like I am to hers?
Funny thing is that when the president cancelled the meeting I thought nothing worse could top that. Clearly I had forgotten I had cold hearted child!
In the car she finally asks me if I met Uhuru. I say no. She asks me, “Why?” I say because he is busy and he had to go. She asks, “Go where?” And I smile because it sounded like she was asking where the president would run that was so important he couldn’t meet her father. But knowing Tamms that’s not what she meant, she was only curious because she doesn’t care about my ambition. I tell her he had to go to campaign. She asks what a campaign is and I regret using that word because I’m too tired and I’ve had a long day to explain what a bloody campaign is. But I do and thankfully she’s a sharp girl so she gets it and I don’t have to use many words.
She stares ahead in silence. (She’s a thinker, that one). For a while we happily drive in silence.
“He will probably call us back,” I tell her.
“He has your number?” She asks her voice betraying mild admiration.
“No, darling, but he’s the president – if he wants anyone’s number he can get it.”
“I don’t know, maybe call Bob?”
“Who is Bob?”
Then my head begins to throb.
Ps. Our 40s Series resumes next week. Men, please write up. Ladies, do you know of men who have gone through the rabbit hole and come out triumphant. Or are still in the hole.

There are different kinds of journalism, just because one is a popular blogger does not mean he can do stories and interviews on other topics perfectly. I think a scientific-oriented writer would have been a better option for this interview.

It is titled
Not Yet Uhuru.
Here is the link: Not Yet Uhuru - Bikozulu

I think my point didn’t come out so well!
Biko has been doing those kind of interviews since he started writing. He has sat CEO’s down and asked them about about High School instead of the business . His formula clearly works. Guys who send Biko to do interviews know this. He isn’t new! He refuses to do those conventional interviews as a general rule. The Prof had to agree to open up to Biko and was hell prepared for Biko’s kinda questions. Biko has walked out of Boring interviews before and would have surely done so!

This is very long I cant read all of it who was he interviewing?

So actual substance is boring instead the man is attacking the woman for being a professor and asking her about how her husband is managing her just because she is a Prof. surely are Kenyans this petty? Like I said , his forte is social issues not business. If the editor was looking to tap into his following , thats not a professional editor. This is a business paper not SATMAG or Pulse. It needs content and is targeting professionals and business execs I would think, just because you have a following in blogging doesnt mean you’ll be good in business reporting. As someone who watches CNBC siwezi elewa how this guy even got to a business paper but then in Kenya once you’ve made a name you can be as mediocre as you want.

Let’s forget his brand in blogging for a minute,say it was posted without a name . Critique the piece. And convince me this is a very exciting quality interview. Am sure even the woman regrets this interview. The guy is just being obnoxious and to someone old enough to be his mother. Well maybe what we can appreciate is how obnoxious he was in the interview. I believe if you have quality anything you dont need gimmicks such as being obnoxious to get peoples attention but if you are appealing to petty people who couldnt care less what geneticists do and just want you to attack a poor female Prof about her clothes,her husband,her Title wtf? Anyway,mark my words if the guy keeps this up on this particular paper he will be transferred elsewea.

Whatever following Biko has ,he’s got nothing on this woman, just listen to how she interviews - even about sensitive topics you need not be obnoxious to have an edge


[SIZE=6]Characteristics of a Good Interview[/SIZE]

Characteristics of a Good Interview
Adapted from Paula J. Paul
OAH Magazine of History, Spring 1997

  1. [SIZE=6]Come to the interview well prepared with background knowledge of the subject,[/SIZE] familiarity with your recording equipment, a consent form that the interviewee will sign giving you permission to use the tape recorded interview for research purposes. You should also mention that the interview will be archived as part of a larger project documenting the lives of Latino migrants in the United States.

  2. Make the narrator as comfortable as possible; polite, friendly behavior will put your interviewee at ease. Interviews should not begin abruptly. Take the time to introduce yourself and to talk about your project. For example, “Hello Mr. Jones, I’m Jill Savage. How are you today? Thanks for taking time to let me interview you about your migration experiences for my oral history project. Let’s find a quiet place where we can sit down and talk. Where would you like to sit to do the interview? How would you like to proceed with the interview?”

  3. Take time to find a quiet spot in which to conduct the interview. Remember that even the sound of clocks, pets, chatter, add distracting noises to the recordings and may also distract you and the interviewer, affecting the overall quality of the interview & recording. Set up the recorder between yourself and the interviewee. Before you turn on the recorder, ask if the narrator is ready to begin.

  4. Begin the interview with a few simple questions that the interviewee can answer easily and comfortably.

  5. Ask questions one at a time and do not rush the interviewee to respond. Allow the interviewee time to think and respond. Do not become anxious by silence. Silences will make for a better interview; pause at least ten seconds before asking a new question.

  6. Speak clearly so that the interviewee can easily understand and hear you. Keep the questions as brief as possible so that what you are asking will be clear to the interviewee. Repeat the question if you need to.

  7. Ask as many open ended questions as possible. These questions encourage the interviewee to tell stories rather than providing yes/no responses.

  8. When constructing your questions, write them in clear, plain English. Remember that your interviewees are not academics.

For example, do not ask: “How has gender impacted your migration experience.” Rather, ask, “What was your experience like as woman crossing the border?” “How did being a woman affect your decision to migrate?” “How was your experience as a woman different than that of other migrants you know?” “Tell me about what your experiences as a single man were like immigrating to the United States.”

Another example. Do not ask: “Did you access social networks?” or “what social networks if any did you access?” Instead, consider: “Were there people (family members, friends, or co-workers, for example) that you depended on to help you with your trip?” Or “Were there family members or friends that you were able to depend on when you first came to the United States?” Then you can ask follow up questions if they answer yes…For example: “Who were they? And, in what ways (or how) did they help you? Was that common practice?”

  1. Listen actively to the interviewee’s answers and then ask follow up questions like, “how did you feel about that?” or “what happened next?” to bring out more details before you go on to the next question on your page. Respond appropriately to the interviewee. Pause or say something like “that must have been difficult” if the interviewee describes a painful memory. Also, if the interviewee is clearly overcome by emotion, ask if they would like to take a break and/or stop the interview and return to it later.

  2. Do not contradict or correct your interviewee and keep your personal opinions to yourself as much as possible. Do not ask leading questions like: “Tell me about that winter, you must have had a miserable time.”

  3. Do not rush the end of the interview. Have a good closing question that helps the interviewee summarize or come to a conclusion. You might consider asking them if there is anything they wish to say that they may not have already told you, before pausing the recorder.

Always thank your interviewee for the time and generosity in helping with your project. Remember to have the interviewee sign the release form.

Mahn. Hawa watu it’s like a career kuwa outraged. And the interviewee doesn’t seem to mind, I wonder what those busybodies have done to even qualify to be interviewed.

You don’t know Jackson Biko Zulu. I am sure you heard of him today basi. He has done top level interviews for the Business Insider since it was conceived! He is 40 years old for heaven’s sake. He is going nowhere. He has written for The Daily Nation for over 15 years! People beg him to work for them! It is not the other way round. He is not some struggling blogger! He is having the time of his life.

I think you think Biko is some budding blogger who has gotten popular of late. No, he is 40. He made it in life. How many years is ManTalk on DailyNation? Over 20 years right? That is him! You should really check out his blog www.bikozulu.co.ke . He hasn’t spent a month in Kenya since he was 30. The guy travels the world courtesy of his writing!

That excerpt is on an interview that he prepared for the president! He wasn’t going to ask any formal question in it. You should take time to read Biko. He isn’t the funniest and best blogger in Eastern Africa through pure writing for nothing!