The first story I ever wrote, 22 years ago, I wrote for my journalism club. I called it Johnny.

Johnny was an ode to a special little boy I had met while doing volunteer work at a Hospice for Orphaned Children living with HIV-AIDS. I told the story of how I spent time holding his frail little body, school holiday after school holiday. I knew there would be a day when I would never look into his soulful little eyes or smile back to his radiant little smile full of sadness.

Nothing prepared me for the day I came back and he was not there. My heart was broken into smithereens, I was crushed. I didn’t know how to grieve so I wrote about it. Everybody who read the story in the school magazine was Wowed by Johnny’s story.

They flocked to me to tell them about Johnny. They loved him as much as I did, all because of my story! 

I was proud.

What is my point, dear reader of Mama Mia! If Johnny’s story which made me lie in bed, uncontrollably crying my poor teenage heart out for months, could be told so beautifully, why can’t all stories be told beautifully?

Sheeko Gitagia is my name. You can call me Sheeks if you like me. Mary if you don’t like me so much. Gitagia if you respect me in a mafia boss sort of way.

My part in the orchestra has began. I am about to make you stories that will be etched in your hearts forever. Let’s do this!