Building confidence in the studio
one young woman, one session, and one song at a time
Imagine we are sitting together again by that fire. The Kenyan night is still cool, the crickets are still handling percussion duties, and tonight… the sparks aren’t just floating into the sky. They’re trying to draw a map.
Not a perfect map. More like the kind you sketch on a napkin and hope for the best.
In my last post, I told you how I almost let the music sleep because the “gatekeepers” made the studio feel smaller than it should have been. I eventually found my way around those walls—sometimes by climbing, sometimes by squeezing through. But along the way, I kept asking myself one question:
Why do we wait until we are adults to start fighting for space in the control room?
Because by the time you’re fighting, you’re already tired.
The Missing Piece of the Map
I spent some time at the Institute for the Musical Arts (IMA) in the United States, and it shifted something in me.
Over there, many girls are introduced to music and technology early. Not just singing into a hairbrush (which, to be clear, is a valid starting point), but actually touching the equipment, learning signal flow, and understanding what all those mysterious knobs do.
By the time they say they want to be an engineer, producer, or technician, it doesn’t sound like a wild dream. It sounds… normal.
Back home in Africa, we don’t lack rhythm. Rhythm is part of who we are. But access to technical spaces? That’s where the gap has been.
Somewhere along the way, the story became: the stage is for girls, the studio is for boys.
I don’t know who wrote that story, but honestly, the studio didn’t agree to it.
The booth doesn’t care who you are. It only cares if you know where to place the microphone.
The SWAN Moment
At the Support Women Artists Now (SWAN) event, I spoke about my upcoming April launch: The Sonic Blueprint: Teen Music & Tech Boot Camp.
I was excited—talking a little too fast, hoping my passion was making sense.
Then I looked at the girls in the room.
Curious eyes. Sharp minds. That quiet kind of hunger that says, “I just need a chance.”
And then, the reality we all know too well showed up.
Even with a small fee, for some of them, the camp might as well have been on the moon.
That part never gets easier to see.
So I made a decision on the spot. Pink Pulse Institute (a program of Pink Pulse Media) will sponsor two girls for the camp.
Two is not enough. I know that.
If it were up to my heart, we would remove the fee entirely and just say, “Come, bring your dreams—and maybe a notebook.”
But for now, we start with two. Because sometimes change doesn’t begin as a flood—it begins as a crack in the wall.
From Blank Page to First Record
This April, these girls won’t just be learning theory.
They will be in it.
They will write. They will record. They will sit in front of software that may look confusing at first (and yes, we will all pretend we understand it immediately… then figure it out together).
By the end of the camp, each of them will have a solo track they created—from idea to final output—guided by us.
Not just as artists, but as engineers, producers, and technicians.
That part matters.
Because there is something powerful about pressing record on your own story.
Still a Student, Always
Even as I prepare to teach, I am still learning.
I’ll be returning to the Institute for the Musical Arts in the United States for a residency this year, and I’m excited in the way that only someone who genuinely loves sound can understand. New techniques, new perspectives, new questions.
Every skill I gain is something I carry back home.
Because this isn’t just about access—it’s about building excellence.
Building the Future Studio
The goal of the Sonic Blueprint is simple.
I don’t want the next generation of engineers in East Africa to have to be “brave” just to walk into a studio.
Bravery is overrated when it’s required for basic access.
I want them to be prepared.
I want them to walk in and think:
“Okay… where should I place this mic?”
Not:
“Do I even belong here?”
That shift—that’s everything.
The fire is still burning.
But this time, we’re not just sitting around it.
This April, we start building something around it.
Something that lasts.