It's saturday evening, quater past eight and i'm about to start dying slow deaths. Yes, you read right.. slow deaths.

You see it's the German version of pop idol... they call it Deutchland sucht den Superstar which roughly translates to „Germany is searching for the superstar“... well I did say roughly translated. Forgive my grammar tonight for I have had an indecent amount of red wine already... and all that on an empty stomach... ahem... empty except for a packet of potato crisps and a tin of cashew nuts.

For someone who can hardly get tones right, let alone sing, I'm very.... hmmm ... what's that word... judicial? I hear the jarring judgemental in me every time they get it wrong and I cringe in discomfort as if it were me on that stage... then I die a slow death with each and every one of them as they await the jury's comments which come in torrents... mean, brutally honest comments. My favourite is Thomas Godoj. Why? You may ask.. well simply because he's still unaware of the talent he has and gets shocked every time he receives a standing ovation. Thomas is the best „alternative“ singer in the group... he's also the oldest and has apparently tried his hand so often at music and hit so many dead ends that he'd more or less given up. And that's exactly how he looks like – vulnerable. He gets on the stage, closes his eyes, does his thing and then stands there waiting for the bomb to explode, his eyes bright with unshed tears.

You might be wondering why I've posted this stuff here. It's not meant to be "my dsds journal" rather, blame it on the wine. Every time I watch this DSDS thing, I wonder what my talents are. It certainly isn't singing, though the Good Lord above knows how hard I try to achieve this pursuit and it doesn't make it any easier that every third European you meet who realises your love for music thinks and says it out loud, „you must be a good singer.“ 

„No“, I reply. Being black doesn't necessarily mean I can sing and before you ask - no - I'm not a good dancer either and you wouldn't want to meet me after an indecent – ahem – intake of alcohol – on the dancefloor. I'd always thought people left the dancefloor to me so they could stand back and be awed by my talent... a sober mind tells me quite the opposite. Oh well... you only live once, right? Let me dance my heart out.

Back to stereotyping. „You're Kenyan?“ they ask „Oh, Kenyans are good runners.“ You smile that tired smile... because the picture you have in your mind is that of you about to faint as you run after that bus that's about to take off. The next one comes in 20 minutes which means you'll be terribly late. You've heard of German punctuality... it's not exaggerated. You huff and puff your way into a bus full of school kids who think their school bags also have a right to take a seat. You know that statement - haki watoto wa siku hizi - that used to get on your nerves; well now you find yourself saying it and not in a very friendly manner either.

So I can't sing, I'm not a good runner, I can't win any championships with my dancing skills... I can't draw or paint either. I am a touch creative - I like to think - but my creativity brings about more question marks than applause, so I''ll let that be for a while. I definitely can't bake though I got one very good, very simple recipe for baking scones and they were so great, I ate them all by myself... nanii wasn't amused especially as their smell stayed on deliciously long after they were rested in me. Some know me as the always talkative, always jovial Joyce while others think I'm a psycho... always walking alone and never talking much. I just so happen to enjoy my own company very, very much... especially when I'm in the mood for a walk. I have phases when I'm passionate about sports... I've taken up canoeing now yet I can hardly swim. I just pray the boat doesn't overturn. Those prayers were answered last year at the tournament but our team lost nonetheless. I took up boxing some time back and really wanted to fight in at least one match. I've become more reasonable since then... I have a wide/flat enough nose as it is.. no need to get it even more flattened.

So as I sit home alone this evening still contemplating what my ultimate talent is, I'll have another glass of this cheap but delicous red wine...  prost and do have a „talent-full“ weekend, won't you?