Demystifying The Universe of Motivational Speakers

 Each of us has a list of speakers we return to when we need a boost of energy, an inspiration for the day, an affirmation from a YouTube stranger whom we now call friend, to tell us that we are able to achieve the impossible. 

Increasingly, many of us feel that without that daily dose, we are unable to function. They are the life-line, the oxygen and the one that calms the storm in our tempestuous lives.

When did God not become enough? 

Or was it the mushrooming churches and pastors that caused so much befuddlement, we needed to turn to people who spoke a language that gave us that warmth and fuzzy feeling again, that gave us specific direction on how we needed to smile, dress, and even think, in order to live our best lives.

Is it possible that we are becoming addicted to this? 

Is it possible that the line between our ability and our insatiable appetite to seek advice from a known or unknown person, has been blurred and we find ourselves incapacitated without them close to us, breathing near us, their messages inscribed on our WhatsApp statuses and Twitter feeds?

 

According to Speakers Associates, the top motivational speakers, a list decided by a variety of factors, like popularity, impact, number of bookings, books sold and so on, with some subjectivity, places Oprah Winfrey at the top. 

The world’s leading talk show host, first amongst firsts in the billionaire world, media and so much.

A close second is Bear Grylls, an adventurer, writer and TV presenter who has been to the North Pole, climbed Mount Everest and crossed the Pacific Ocean in a rowboat. 

Nick Vujicic, an evangelist born without arms or legs who inspires the world to continue living their best despite their circumstances.

What is similar amongst these? They have achieved what the world would have deemed as impossible. For Nick, by any standard, he was not meant to become successful and yet he beat the insurmountable odds to become everyone’s favourite chum.

Bear Grylls has borne every possible human impossibility in extreme physical conditions and overcome.

Oprah, facing discrimination and abuse from early childhood, has risen and continues to rise. The connection; each of them overcame, they built brands and their life stories are highly admirable, leaving us with the knowledge and relief that we too have it within us.

Uncle Mo, who is easily one of Uganda’s most intelligent comedians, says of some motivational speakers, that we should be wary of those who speak of the possibilities of wealth, who dress in threadbare clothes and shoes, or whose lives are riddled by debt and questionable career reputations.

Motivational Speakers are not above reproach, far be it.

We must agree though, that they do hold a consistent life filled with courage, charm and breaking of barriers, and it appears that they do it mostly for themselves. That is what makes them appealing.

They are experts in an area. They are learners; hungry for knowledge. They travel. And, what makes us run to their corner of the internet most, is their ability to connect with us, as they share their stories, their escapades and their aspirations. It’s almost as if they seek our permission, or as if they are inviting us into their world of winners.

I am a speaker. I’m not sure which category of speakers. Come this Saturday, on 11 March at Silver Springs Hotel in Bugolobi, 9am. My keynote address is on inward leadership, the inward journey that makes the outward journey successful. The fee is only 70,000 UGX.

Great week!

Beverley Nambozo Nsengiyunva

 

 

I was disqualified from the ‘Children’s Olympics’, at the age of 8.

 

I was disqualified from the ‘Children’s Olympics’, at the age of 8.

 

I must have been 8 years old, during which, a pupil at Child’s Hill School, which still stands there on Dersingham Road, this time with an electric gate, I was the fastest girl in my class.

Selected amongst dozens of others, to represent the school in a form of children’s Olympic-like event, was an honour. To me though, I was all butterflies, moths and mosquitoes buzzing in my stomach. That morning, I gulped down raw egg and orange, which my P.E teacher said would boost my energy. Holding my nose and closing my eyes, I gulped down this concoction of yuck and torture.

It wasn’t the Olympics, of course but it was a grand sports event. The bleachers were filled with spectators, the stadium was either an actual Olympics size, or half. I was eight and while my memory remains fuzzy, I do recall the hundreds of people and that all runners were taken to a specific place for preps.

Sizing out my competition, I was neither petrified nor confident, because of the butterflies. My mum was somewhere nearby, I think. I don’t even remember how I got there. I do remember the raw egg and orange juice.

A few of our school-mates and teachers came to wish me the best. It was time for us to walk to our places. There were many eyes. The painted lines could have fit three of us, they were huge. Only 100 metres, I think, or at least it was a distance I had run many times and won. It may have been less than 100 metres, since we were only 8 or 9 years old.

Why did everything appear so different? Everything was ten times the size of Child’s Hill School. Even the adults appeared more domineering.

Each of us girls, about six or eight altogether, stood by our places. I wore a number 13 bib and the Japanese girl next to me, wore a number 30.

Why was I given 13? Everyone who lived in the eighties, in the Northern Hemisphere, knew that 13 was an unlucky number of that time.

I had run this distance many times and always won. Why did today seem so different?

The clapper went and we began running. There was a short curly-haired girl who led the line. She was a speedy Gonzales. Three others were ahead of me. I don’t know how. Looking behind me, I saw the Japanese girl directly behind. What!

Didn’t she know that we were each supposed to stay in our own lanes? We started doing our own zig-zag dance. She, trying to overtake me and me running right in front of her, until the end of the race. I must have emerged 4^th. At least I beat No. 30.

And that’s when I heard the announcer say,

“Number 13 has been disqualified.”

What! No. Surely he meant No. 30.

My P.E teacher came and put her hands around me. Well Bev, well done but you were disqualified.

“No Miss, he said No. 30!”

One of the sports officials came and explained to me, with N0. 30 in tears, that I was running in her lane, which led to my disqualification.

I went home and shared my version of events. That I would have been the first or second if Number 30 was not in my lane.

I want to share this with my children, without forcing a life lesson. Sometimes a story is for entertainment.

And I’ll never take raw egg and orange juice together, again.

 

 

‘Be My Date!’ Ten Years After, Will it matter?

 ‘Be My Date?’ Ten Years After, Will it matter?

 

Nine years ago, several friends asked me what my photo was doing, as part of the marketing for the programme, ‘Be My Date?’

I told them that I had never heard of this programme and that they were surely mistaken. By the fifteen or so person to approach me, my interest was piqued. In 2014, I was busy running the Babishai Niwe Poetry Foundation, attending to the wishes of every poet on the continent, including their grandmother's, without a thought to other activities. This year, we are focused on editing and publishing African poets.

I am sure my friends thought that my photo was part of one of my special literary campaigns, as they tried to no avail, to find the connection between me and this programme.

My instincts told me to let it go, that by the next year, it would not matter. Against my better judgement, I sent a message on their Facebook page, to kindly remove my photo, which I had not even seen yet. That was in 2014.

Nine years after, the message still sits there, forlorn, unattended to, without a date (pun intended).

On deciding to travel to the TV station, the lady whom I was led to, uninterested in my request to remove my photo, must have been reprimanded by her workmates, who were in the room at the time, passing me furtive glances. Shortly after, my friends reported that my photo had been removed.

It mattered that my friends told me. That was nine years ago. And yes, to me, it still matters.

The mentioned Studio Photo taken in 2010

The message.

One day somebody borrowed a certain tiny car that I used to drive, and parked it in a dingy part of town. Someone called to ask if I had sold it, because I had built a profile that bore no resemblance to where the car was parked. That was over ten years ago. And yes, it matters.

It matters if people are able to associate you with something that you have willingly or unwillingly worked towards.

They will not always be there to stand up for you. Your life should be able to stand up for itself. Even through the many times that we all stumble, our lives should still be able to speak for themselves.

Whatever life you have chosen, stand up and own it, so that others are able to recognize your presence, even when you’re not there.

 

Blessings!

Bev

How I Would Love to See Fela Kuti in Concert!

 ‘How I would love to see Fela Kuti in concert!’

That conversation took place a good number of years ago. I didn’t know who Fela Kuti was. I just needed to keep up the conversation, since everyone around me was educated in all things African music.

‘How I would love to see Fela Kuti in concert!’

Not until someone whispered. “Beverley, Fela Kuti is dead.”

Another one, rather uncomfortably said, “I’m sure she was talking about his son.”

Those were the years when I was still living my inauthentic self, with an insatiable need to appear in a certain way before people. I needed people to perceive me as intelligent, educated and interesting. Their validation was all that I lived for.

Growing in authenticity. 2010

2021

Do we even know what we sound like?

When there is no one else prodding us and whispering things in our ears, do we know what we sound like?

When nobody is amplifying our sound on a pedestal or dimming our sound by muting our efforts, do we really know what we sound like?

We have been told innumerable times, to speak up and speak out. This does not mean we need to shout. What it means, is that we need to make our authentic selves heard.

There are so many inauthentic people, those who hide their flaws. Instead of saying,

“Please tell me more about Fela Kuti,” we go on a continuous verbal onslaught, against our better judgement and make fools of ourselves.

There’s something pure about vulnerability, about letting go of people pleasing, of understanding that ‘No’ is a complete sentence. The more you abandon yourself to please others, the more you’ll forget who you are.

What are your values? If you value healthy eating, prayerfulness and exercise, then walk away from those who dim this part of you.

If there are spaces where you always feel like you are second guessing yourself, walk away. They are muting your authenticity. Whether it’s siblings, spouses, work colleagues or old friends, you know that they are interfering with your journey of self-awareness. Just let them go. On this journey, you will find those that will nourish you.

Authenticity is being able to acknowledge your flaws, apologize when necessary and give credit to those that deserve it.

It’s knowing that the more you hold onto the breadcrumbs being offered on some platforms, the less you’ll be able to experience the yeast that helps you arise every single day.

Join me this evening on 20 February, 2023, at 7pm EAT, on this important topic, as I wind down my excellent seven years of service at Toastmasters. The topic: ‘Identify Your Authentic Voice.’ The registration link is here.

 Identify Your Authentic Voice

The day after the wedding, is more important than the wedding day.

 The day after the wedding, is more important than the wedding day.

The day after you give birth, is more important than the day you give birth.

The day after the accolade, the day after you arrive in the new country, the day after.

Think of the day after; because that’s the most important day.

                                                    

                                                           Taken on 07/07/07 at Dolicoes Studios

We have all watched interviews, heard our friends say it and often gushed it ourselves, that our wedding day, or the day we got the job, or the day we travelled, gave birth, were the most important days of our lives.

I halt y’all, right there, skid marks and all. A screeching halt, burnt rubber, with the awful smell rising.

The most important day, is the day after.

When you’re a virgin on your wedding night and were promised angels and golden awards for your virginity, you’ll most likely still be waiting, because the day after is when your thighs are bruised, your head aches and you’re dazed, from a long night of partying and listening to speeches, camera lights, preceded by a week of sleepless nights.

It’s the day you wake up from all of this and you are still determined that it was worth it and you can actually see what you both look like without make-up, bow ties and hair gel, without maids in waiting and carriages at your beck and call. That is the most important day. When the butterflies have gone to roost and your body and mind are healing from the flurry of it all, and you are still agreeable, then congratulations.

It's the day after the media interviews, holding your countless trophies, hugging a ceaseless number of friends, acquaintances and skeptics, when all of that is gone and the trophies have no space in your sitting room and your phone stops ringing, the job offers have stopped flooding in and when the last camera has stopped clicking and the party is over.

It’s the day after all of that, when there is hardly any response to any of the emails from the large pile of business cards that were thrust into your hands, during your moments of fame.

If, after all of that, you can still thrust your chest out and hold a smile that’s warmer than Uganda, and acknowledge your goals, aspirations and visions to a brighter tomorrow, then you’ve found the most important day. It’s not the award but it’s what it represents. Because even without it, and even without the fame, it means you still know who you are and what you stand for.

I have had more media interviews than I can count, my name mentioned in more circles than I dare to say and my former students spent copious amounts of time googling my name in awe. Did any of that matter? Maybe.

What I do know is that even before google, and I had my yahoo account, I still knew what I stood for and what I represented.

Old email address: bevwithjc@yahoo.com

It’s always the day after, that matters. Build your foundation. Remain unshakeable, with or without the accolade. You are.

 

Bless!

Beverley N Nsengiyunva

It was on an ordinary morning in 1997; Pastor Gary the Legend

 It was on an ordinary morning in 1997.

I was in my senior six vacation, and I knew that I needed to speak to somebody about a few things that were troubling me. I needed someone sound, sincere and steadfast. I took a taxi to KPC, to meet Pastor Gary Skinner. We didn’t have an appointment.

The conversation was easy. I told him about my childhood, how I enjoyed the places we lived, my father who enabled us to have a splendid life given his work, and how a lot of that had changed. I spoke to him about how after becoming saved, I felt like my confidence had waned. I had stopped being as audacious, self-aware and outgoing as I used to be. I needed to understand the dissonance.

Why did I feel like I had lost my identity? I missed the old me, who was popular, brilliant at everything I set my mind to, (except cooking and sewing, at the time). I was Bev. What had happened! I felt I’d lost my confidence and cheerful attitude, two attributes that are central to who I am.

I needed to know if I truly understood who God was and where He was in my future. I wanted answers. I wasn’t a member of KPC. I don’t think I belonged to any particular church except the school fellowships, like many of us.

Pastor Gary listened intently and said,

“Beverley, you do not look like you have lost your confidence. You’re one of the most confident people to ever walk into my office. You speak well.”

I don’t remember the rest of what he said. I don’t even remember if he prayed for me.

What I do remember, is that Pastor Gary sees people. He sees you. He sees potential and harnesses it. His unwavering confidence in God and the systems created under KPC and Watoto, led him to disciple Pastor Rwotlonyo, who’s now the lead Pastor of Watoto.

Screenshot of the handover ceremony.

Screenshot of Pastor Rwot and Vernita

To witness a missionary establishment with enough confidence in God and the systems they have created in Uganda to enable another Ugandan to lead, is noteworthy.

I have helped to coordinate two children’s Cantatas under Watoto, worked at Power FM under KPC and while still there, taught Sunday school there for a number of years. Enough to know the tenacious spirit that goes into planning, under Marilyn and her team.

The fastidious strength of the leaders is admirable. Like any place, there are insurmountable challenges. At least we don’t read about any back stabbing or mud-slinging from insecure ‘opponents’ on social media. Whatever it is, they deal with it on the inside.

Admit it, we all learned something about leadership from the handover of Pastor Gary to Pastor Rwot and from Marilyn to Vernita. Yes, we did.

And those who may have borne grudges, been shrouded under misunderstandings, had to rethink.

I’m glad that Pastor Gary is writing a book, which many of us will be blessed by. I know that there will be continued growth and in a few decades when Pastor Rwot hands over, there will be another similar post.

Bless!

Beverley N Nsengiyunva

Of Memories at Rainbow International School

Do you see the young lady in spectacles? That's me.

It's 2001 and I'm at my very first job, teaching at Rainbow International School Kampala, (Now changed to Rainbow International School Uganda). 

That's my senior secondary class, Year 7, all of whom are in their thirties, and most of whom have families of their own. That particular day was non-uniform day, last day of school, just before the Christmas holidays.

Having a first job, that pays in US Dollars, one that empowers you to buy a car before your peers, even as the youngest employee at your job, does a lot for your confidence, with a tad bit of anxiety too.

I was ready. Always ready for any international or global challenge, which is how I got the job. Volunteering at Uganda Women Writers’ Association, the head of the English department at Rainbow, Sophie Bamwoyerakyi, a constant visitor at the organisation, noticed the way I ushered in visitors, arranged the material for workshops, sold books with enthusiasm, politely responded to inquiries, and was always immaculately dressed.

Introducing herself as the head of the English department, after a brief chat and an application letter and C.V, I began teaching English and History in August of 2001.

 

I am always ready for a global challenge and international opportunity, because I know there are spaces for learning about ideas far loftier than my own and for connections across borders. The thrill!

It was one rainy afternoon in early August of 2001 when the headmaster at the time, Cliff Green, called me for an impromptu interview.

"Hello Beverley, are you able to pop in for an interview?"

I was dressed in a long skirt with a blouse, tucked in. Not in jeans, not that it would have mattered, since it was impromptu? Hmmm.

Boarding a taxi from the park, to Kansanga, I made it in about 30 minutes to the school gate, and was ushered to the headmaster's office. There he was waiting for me, in the rain. I offered him my umbrella which he politely refused, and gave me a quick history and tour of the school.

On mentioning my salary, I am not sure if he heard me gulping down my intense satisfaction at receiving close to 1,000 USD as starting salary. The rate then, was slightly less than 2,000 UGX and yet it was enough to make me feel rich and increasingly privileged.

I enjoyed Rainbow a lot. During an opportunity for two teachers to travel to South Africa, escorting eighteen students on a holiday tour across Johannesburg, Sun City, Durban and Pretoria, many of the teachers, for some reason, voted me. And I went, stayed at the 4 star Randburg Hotel, next to the Waterfront, toured the most delectable of places which honeymooners dream of.

 

Pretoria Zoo, the largest in Africa, had penguins. Now that was a sight! And then Gold Reef City with peacocks walking by like important pedestrians. Sun City was a Disney like marvel. Places like Soweto and relearning the history of Mandela and Apartheid, Hillbrow, which we were told to never pass by as tourists and Sandton, with malls larger than we could have imagined.

 

It was not uncommon for many of the tour guides to mistake me for one of the students. I was 25 years old and wore jeans and bandanas.

 

I always felt part of something special when I was at Rainbow, undoubtedly because as an individual, the ability to express my creative side was unlimited. I led the creative dance club, held debates in many of my History and English lessons and led a successful camping trip to Samuka Island in Jinja. The hummocks, boats, magnificent views of the lake and cosy campfires at night.

 

Being new to an international teaching curriculum, there was a lot to navigate. Two decades later, I’m still in touch with some of the staff and students, who formed an indelible impact on my life.

 

Rainbow was one of the most important learning curves of my career, a trajectory for my global experience. With every job, we need to share our narrative, the truth and the joy that often go untold, the lessons we learned and the future we continue to live towards.

If you ever have a chance to work in an international space where your creative side is harnessed, with a salary that pleases you, then that's a gift.

#jobs #opportunities #leadership #Rainbow #Teaching