She Is Still Here Alice Musukwa   © Copyright 2024 by Alice Musukwa

Photo by Tima Miroshnichenko at Pexels.

"I want to sign up for computer science," I explained, pointing to the paper on the desk. He did not say anything for a few seconds; he seemed to be trying to find the right words to say, which only made the moment a bit more nerve-racking.

"Please, I am begging you, go sign up for chemistry or something else. This is not for you."

He finally spoke in a pleading manner. I felt like someone had just turned up the heat in the room, I could feel beads of sweat running down my back. I was nervous, embarrassed and damn right petrified. You see the decision to choose computer science had not come easy for me. First of all the prerequisite was that I pass my first year of my bachelors in science program with a credit in Mathematics. Which in itself was a huge feat for me as Mathematics and I had a hot and cold relationship, to top it off I was also a quiet introverted insecure young woman who did not know how to stand up for myself. There was something about wanting computer science that made me abandon my usual tendency to hide and run. From the first moment I heard about the course something in me rose up and said you are going to do that. So defiantly to plead my case I showed him my grades. This seemed to still not convince him so we played a staring game for a few seconds.

He eventually seemed to accept defeat, so with a shrug he handed the sign-up sheet to me saying these words.

“Trust me, you will regret this decision, Do not say we did not warn you.”

My name is Alice Musukwa and this is my story, here is some background information on me. Am the youngest of five children, four girls and one boy. I was born and raised in a city called Blantyre, located in Malawi Southern Africa. As I mentioned having the courage to speak up for myself did not come to me till much later in my life. Growing up in a house full of children did not help. On a normal day in the Musukwa household many years ago I was in the kitchen doing the cleaning up chores with my oldest sister in the evening, she came over to inspect as I was cleaning the stove. Looking dissatisfied she grabbed the rug I was using from my hands and started to scold me because I was not doing it right. At the time she was in her early twenties, she is thirteen years older than me. My sister never one to mince her words gave me all she had, I seemed to be an indirect target for her own life frustrations. Being me and the good African sister I am, I kept my mouth shut while fighting back tears from hurt and embarrassment, when my other sister walked in and rebuked my oldest sister for being unusually cruel.

I left them at it as I retreated to my room. After a few minutes my sister walked into the room we shared and told me something that would be the birth of my writing. She said Alice if you ever feel sad or scared and you are not able to express it, you can write those feelings down in a journal. From that moment on writing became a safe release for me, a way to express my emotions and process them. I had always loved reading, but once I got to high school reading took on a different meaning. It became my escape from all my teenage angst and issues, it allowed me see beyond what my experience, background, ethnicity, social class had shown me. The words transported me to a make belief world that had nothing of the issues I was dealing with in the world. As an added bonus the expression of emotions and feelings through words allowed me to find familiarity in my own feelings.

At some point, writing stories also became a creative expression, especially as I wrote fiction. I wrote several stories that only my best friends at the time read, they loved them and heaped praise on my writing but then again I thought was it not their duty to be supportive. It was then I secretly started falling in love with the idea of being a published author, I remember dreamingly writing best-selling author on the covers of my stories. How silly it all seems now, but as I grew older and some real world facts began to sink in my dream began to fade. I was an African black girl after all. The messages the world was telling me was that I was not that special, and I was already dealing with self-confidence issues at the time. The authors that seem to have found success certainly did not look like me nor have my background or story, the voices in my head convinced me that no one really wanted to read a story from this not so cool African girl with a weird name. So slowly I stopped writing, my passion and love for words still burned though. I loved English literature classes, and even choosing to do it in sixth form.

However I struggled in that class, it seemed my understanding of the texts we read were not in line with what was expected. This made me feel more inadequate and insecure about my writing, getting a C in my final exams was the final nail in the coffin. In College I wrote a few poems or notes as they were known on Facebook back then, but beyond that I had for all purposes stopped daring to dream of writing as something I could do in future. Fast forward to four years after graduation, I was going through a lot at the time. Having endured toxic learning environment I had graduated with a degree in computer science, with a dream to become a software developer. Something I dared not utter except to my friends and sister.

For fear of being judged of even having a dream, my father was one of the first people in his family to get a degree and find good employment such that even his children were educated. The silent rule was the path to a good life was get that education, get a good job and do your best to survive.

Frivolous things such dreams and destiny were only myths that seemed true on TV. So after struggling to break into the IT sector, I found a job as a bank teller hoping to break into the ICT department. But as luck would have it, corporate politics as well as a diminishing economy left very few opportunities available. My soul was in turmoil at this time, I was unhappy, depressed and started getting physically sick.

But by this time I had abandoned my journaling ritual and was deep in survival mode. Eventually I resigned from this job to further my ICT skills and secretly accomplish my software developer dreams. After a series of challenges I landed my dream role at a software application development non-profit organization. Unfortunately this stint lasted for a year as my contract was not renewed. I had to move back in with my parents after leaving the nest at twenty eight, to say I felt shame, embarrassment and ridicule was an understatement.

To make matters worse it took another year and half to find employment, my confidence was an at all-time low. There were struggles I had faced in my previous job that took me back to days of depression and sadness. My body bore the burden of all these emotional struggles as a fibroid in my uterus was discovered six months later. At this point I still was an avid reader and had connected a lot with biographies, spiritual and motivational books, and some of the ones I read during that time really saved me. It was people sharing their stories that slowly started to speak to me again. My journey in tech had been interesting to say the least, my friend started encouraging to share my story. It had been ten years since I last wrote anything, but there was such an overwhelming feeling of repressed emotions from the last couple of years that needed an outlet. So I started writing my life story and in looking back at the things I had been through I was able to find the words to describe my experiences and what they taught me.

At the same time I could see how who I was had been affected by what I had been through, I saw the various versions of me I became during each season in my attempt to survive. My current job at that time was also at a non-profit, a sector that I realized I was purposed to be in. As ever since I was young I had a spirit of helping others, being able to empathize with their pain. But somehow life and its overwhelming impact had made forget all that in an effort to get by. The work was not in software development but still dealing with technology as a whole. So there was still a restless spirit in me to find my way back to software development, even though I still worked on individual projects.

I would start writing and eventually stop, my job involved a lot of travelling so finding time was hard. Unfortunately or fortunately whichever way you look at it, the project we were working on ended after two years. I still was not able to secure another developer position, so that took me on another spiral of emotional turmoil. My desire to continue writing also hit a very hard blow, maybe it was the images and messages I had seen or maybe I had just been beat down that much but once again I started doubting worthiness of sharing my story. Especially that I was not exactly living the dream.

Working on the project had not only taught me new skills, but it also allowed me to be clear on certain things. I wanted to work in the humanitarian sector. I also wanted to work with girls and young women.

For years since that lecturer had insisted I not take computer science, his words still haunted me at every detour, misstep in my software developer dream. Growing up I was never an assured person, always reverting to someone else’s opinion or ideas. So I struggled with the belief that maybe everyone else including that lecturer had been right about me not pursuing Computer science. It took me, pardon me it is taking me all these years to learn that in if you allow others people to live your life for you they will. Unless you make the decision to live it for yourself and that means fighting for what you believe is right for you.

Facing an uncertain and possibly long period of unemployment caused me so much anxiety and stress. Waking up every day at around two or three in the morning with my heart beating so fast, my chest tightening as I thought of the future became my norm. I tried to deal with my pain silently while still looking for my next move. While on the internet I found a software engineering program, and yes you could ask why did I need another software course but this one was different it offered both front-end and back-end training something I always felt I did not get enough. My family at this point were skeptical of these programs I always seem to be doing and honestly by the third month I started feeling demotivated too.

The intensity of work was overwhelming and it just seemed like we were being loaded with more and more information. However what made me stick around was the eye opening experience the community had on me, for the first time I had found an all-female community of developers. Being able to share my struggles and have someone relate to it, I felt validated my experiences. Suddenly I was inspired to continue my story, as I could see so much of myself in the young women doing software engineering for the first time. I wanted to share what I had learnt, I wanted them to succeed and become their best versions.

As much as this kept me holding on, I still felt weary as I saw my career prospects remain unchanged. However in the eighth/ninth month something happened that made all the sacrifices worth it. We were introduced to technical writing as one of the areas of software engineering. I realized that I loved being able to break down and explain the sometimes complex software engineering terms so that people could understand things better. Blog writing also got my attention, it allowed me to connect emotionally with the young women around the world on our related experiences.

This got me reflecting on my journey in the tech sector, and because most of these were young women just entering the industry. I found sharing my insights very therapeutic to me, I found myself wanting to be that person I had needed at that stage in my life many years before I found purpose in all my different experiences. Slowly my love and desire for writing was re-ignited. I saw the merging of my purpose and my dream. I enjoyed writing blogs that would women in tech not feel so alone in their experiences. I also was able to write my first article on the impact of women in tech in Africa for a Kenyan Magazine. I slowly started to pour who I am into what I love doing which was software development. And even though I still haven’t landed my dream position in another software developer position, I am at peace knowing that I am on purpose.

I began this story with my encounter with that lecturer to illustrate how powerful words spoken over us can be. But on a deeper level I think it was a physical illustration of watching my desire not being valid enough. Just like in the case of my writing, I could not see the messages telling me that dream was worthy of investment. As a child I rarely saw the world based on what was and what was not possible for me, only when I got to my teenage years did this reality show itself. My writing is one of the most purest expression of who I am, as it enables me to share my hopes, perceptions, ideas straight from soul as it is. Doing computer science was something that was a desire straight from soul, it was an expression from within me and not based on how the world saw me. But with each challenge the world threw at me I started to believe the who I was as shown by the world outside of me.

However this season in my life has reminded me that she is still here, that the essence of who I am as I was introduced to world on the day that I was born thirty five years ago never left the building. She was simply trying to find courage to allow her voice be heard amongst the many other voices that were speaking.