First Show Almost Didn’t Happen (But Somehow Did)

2019 Me. Broke, restless, fresh out of religion, and hungry to finally scream my thoughts into the world. No money, no team, no roadmap, just notebooks full of scribbles, random raps I recorded at Santana’s studio in Nyamirambo... nervous, shaky, excited and a one-page printed proposal I carried around Kigali like a holy scroll, hoping someone would notice my first-ever theater show.

I knocked on doors, pitched with all the conviction I could muster, left proposals lying around like little abandoned dreams, and got… ghosted. Every single one of them. Not one reply. Nada. Ghost town. But stubbornness is a superpower, and quitting was never an option.

Enter Brian Geza. I met him at an audition I didn’t even pass. Somehow, instead of brushing me off, we clicked. He saw my vision, my stubborn energy, my chaos, and decided to back me up, later directing the show remotely from Zimbabwe. To be for real though... the calls with Brian were sometimes annoying; like there's me thinking that the show is finally taking shape and there comes Brian with his expert insights that made it look like the production was just at 10%. Meanwhile, my girlfriend at the time (RIP relationship 2020) was my emotional rock, cheering me on through sleepless nights, self-doubt, welding sparks, and pure panic energy.

Venue? Life has a wild sense of humor. One day, scrolling through Instagram stories, I stumble on a post of Kigali artist Abdoul Mujyambere doing yoga. I slide into his DMs (because desperation is charming, right?), join the session, and boom I find Kiyovu Compound. The energy there is wild, welcoming, creative, alive. I meet some of the friendliest humans ever, including the ridiculously gifted Wandulu Timothy. That compound? Now home of Shrouded Barriers.

Money? Ha. My one-page proposal got ignored, so I turn to an old friend, Champion, who lives up to his name by single-handedly funding the show. No red tape, no bureaucracy just belief. A man who lives up to his name; literal champion indeed.

Then begins the chaos: I trek Nyamirambo for four straight days welding a cage that will later symbolize all the barriers we build around ourselves: manmade, spiritual, emotional, self-imposed. Sparks everywhere. Smells like metal, sweat, and ambition. I set up sound, lights, and props myself, recording raps, freestyling lines, and basically doing the work of ten people while looking like a one-man army on a caffeine high.

Costume? Oh, that’s another story. I take one of my mom’s old kitenge dresses, dismantle it, and with the help of a Kimironko tailor, turn it into shorts; and I kind of managed to make a top piece from a random white fabric. On stage, I’m wearing my mom’s past, my family, my heritage, and my story—literally stitched onto my body.

Meanwhile, my new college classmates show up in full effect to support me (I’d later drop out, but their hype that night? Priceless).

The show itself Shrouded Barriers was a mirror of life, a question mark slapped in the audience’s faces: What walls are you living behind? What pollutes you enough to build them? How do you knock them down? Can you do it alone, or do you need others? It was edutaining, emotional, chaotic, and beautiful. A French couple who missed their flight stumbled in, stayed the whole time, crying and laughing and absorbing the madness. People opened up, shared stories, and I realized this wasn’t just my show, it was a collective release.

Filming? Disaster. The guy who was supposed to cover it ghosted me last minute. Bless my brother David Ndahiriwe, who held his phone like a hero and captured what he could. That footage is now on YouTube; raw as they come, imperfect, perfect.

And as if the universe wanted to double down, I meet Desmond that night, who later introduces me to the Kenya International Theater Festival. Fast forward, late 2019, and I’m performing the same show on a professional theater stage in Kenya. Same cage, same raps, same energy but polished, recognized, validated.

Standing there, I feel proud, alive, and seen, realizing how far stubbornness, courage, and the right people believing in you can take a vision.

From IG scrolling to Nyamirambo's potato samosa that was literally my lunch for most of the days to welding sparks to college hype to DIY cage construction, first raps, costumes stitched from family history and raw experiments, ghosted sponsors, emotional support systems, French couples, and international stages Shrouded Barriers was chaos, courage, humor, fear, sweat, reflection, and triumph rolled into one unforgettable night. And the lesson? Barriers only have power if you let them. Knock them down, and what’s left is freedom, humanity, and art that sticks in your soul.