Njoki Chege provoked Kenyans.
She made me hide behind her skirt and left me wondering who was behind the caricature.
Then she changed the script. I wasn’t ready.
The woman I loved to disagree with
Some writers make you nod in agreement. Others make you think.
Then there was Njoki Chege.
She made you wonder whether you had accidentally walked into a family meeting where everyone had been given a microphone.
As City Girl in the Saturday Nation, Njoki had a remarkable talent for turning everyday subjects into national conversations:
Nobody was entirely safe. And me? I kept reading.
Welcome to Episode 3 of The Writers Who Inspired Me
A series exploring the writers whose words shaped how I see, think and write.
This time, we revisit the columnist whose audacity fascinated me, and whose departure from City Girl I struggled to accept.
Subaru owners, Instagram men and Mr Right
Njoki knew how to get people talking.
She could write about Subaru owners and turn a car into a personality profile. Suddenly, owning a Subaru wasn’t merely a motoring preference.
It was an invitation for strangers to make assumptions about your lifestyle, character and possibly your entire upbringing.
Then came, Why I Would Never Date a Man on Instagram.
In an age of curated profiles, carefully positioned photographs and people who seem to have personal photographers on retainer…
Njoki had something to say about Kenyan men on Instagram.
And she said it.
Then there was her writing about why she couldn’t find a man who was her type. What might have been a personal reflection became public entertainment and debate.
Njoki’s writing was provocative, confrontational and unapologetic.
She could impress and anger Kenyans in equal measure. You could agree, disagree, laugh, take offence, or do all four before lunchtime.
A University of Nairobi master’s study examining readership and online news content at Nation Media Group highlighted the popularity of her online articles.
With reported figures reaching 200,000 views. Whatever readers thought of her opinions, she had their attention.
But I sometimes wondered:
Was she simply being forthright? Was she deliberately courting controversy, much as Oyunga Pala provoked conversations about men and masculinity?
Or was she exposing how readily we profile people:
- Subaru drivers,
- Instagram users, and
- Everyone else we think we have figured out?
Was she challenging stereotypes, reinforcing them, or doing a little of both?
I couldn’t always tell. Perhaps that was part of the appeal.
I was hiding behind her skirt
Here is my confession:
I sometimes found myself hiding behind Njoki’s skirt.
She was saying things I might have thought about, but would probably have struggled to express so boldly. She took the heat. I enjoyed the spectacle from a safe distance.
It was rather convenient. If the argument went badly, I was just a reader. If she landed a good punchline, I was among the appreciative audience.
I admired her audacity.
She seemed willing to say what others might soften, avoid or leave unsaid.
Whether you considered her refreshingly honest or unnecessarily abrasive, you could hardly accuse her of being timid.
Looking back, I remember her audacity more clearly than every argument she made. I remember waiting for the next column. Wondering who would be in the firing line this time.
Perhaps that was one lesson she left me: a strong voice can command attention.
But controversy alone doesn’t make a compelling argument. The deeper question is what the provocation reveals, challenges or helps us see differently.
The face behind the caricature
Funny enough, like Oyunga Pala, I had never really known Njoki beyond the caricature accompanying her newspaper column.
In my mind, City Girl had a face. It was the little illustration beside the words. That was the person I had come to know.
Then, (years later) I searched for her online.
And there she was. A fairly pretty face, a smile. I found myself struggling to reconcile the two images.
Was this really the woman who had taken on Subaru owners, declared why she would never date a man on Instagram, and written about the difficulty of finding a man her type?
Where was the abrasive, unapologetic City Girl I had constructed in my imagination?
How did that smile belong to the woman whose columns could leave some Kenyans cheering and others reaching for their keyboards?
Of course, a face is not a personality, and a smile is not a manifesto.
Perhaps I had expected her to look more like Orie Rogo Manduli. Bold, imposing, and unapologetically fierce. Yet here was Njoki, with her fairly pretty face and warm smile.
I had somehow expected the woman behind those words to look as confrontational as she sounded.
I had mistaken the character I knew, for the whole woman.
When City Girl moved on, and I didn’t
In 2018, Njoki announced that she was leaving City Girl after five years in the Saturday Nation.
She acknowledged that her writing had impressed and angered Kenyans in equal measure.
She also moving into a new phase of life. One that might require a different (language and) approach to writing.
While ‘elderly’ aunties warned Oyunga Pala against drifting into red-pill territory, Njoki Chege faced calls to tone down her firebrand City Girl narrative.
Who knows, might she too have taken a red-pill turn? We’ll never know.
The battle lines were drawn. A ceasefire loomed. And just as we settled in for another round, the pens went silent.
Some of us were left with unfinished business!
Behind that smile was a columnist who knew how to keep Kenya talking! 😄
I understood: People grow. Interests change. Writers move on.
But emotionally? I wasn’t quite ready.
I had become attached to the bold, combative columnist who seemed willing to take on almost anyone.
I wanted to know what she would say next, which social convention she would challenge, and whose assumptions she would turn upside down.
I struggled to let go of that version of her.
It was almost as though I wanted her to remain in the same corner. Throwing punches on behalf of readers like me, who sometimes preferred to watch from the sidelines.
But Njoki was moving on. I was the one trying to hold her in place.
From City Girl to Dr. Njoki Chege
Then came the plot twist I hadn’t ordered.
Njoki moved into academia. Taking up a managerial role at Aga Khan University’s Graduate School of Media and Communications.
The columnist had entered a different professional arena.
And the surprises continued.
Early 2025, reports were introducing her as Dr. Njoki Chege, with a PhD.
Documenting her transition into Christian media leadership as Executive Director of Trans World Radio Kenya and SIFA FM.
I also learnt of her involvement in the PCEA church and her leadership of Kirk Media. I confess, I would never have placed the woman I remembered from City Girl on that path.
And then I noticed another detail: Evalyne.
Dr. Evalyne Njoki Chege.
During her newspaper years, I knew her as Njoki Chege. Now I was encountering a fuller name. A professional title that belonged to a chapter of her life I had not witnessed.
It sent me down another rabbit hole.
Why do some journalists and writers use their local names professionally, while leaving their English or Christian names out of the public eye?
Wahome Mutahi, for instance, had been baptised Paul before becoming known by his local name. Oyunga Pala, too, is the name I knew from the column.
And here I am wondering whether I should drop Joseph and become Ngaara Mungai. Perhaps there’s a writer hiding in that name, waiting for his turn.
Or perhaps I’m just looking for an excuse to rebrand. 😂
But the bigger discovery was how little I knew about the woman whose writing I had followed so closely.
I knew the columnist. I hadn’t known the academic, the church media leader or the Christian radio executive. I had seen one public identity and assumed it told me more than it actually did.
Was this a departure from the City Girl years, or a continuation of a journey whose other chapters I simply never saw? I don’t know.
I wouldn’t presume to explain her motives or suggest that her earlier writing and present faith are somehow incompatible.
Perhaps the same communication skills, confidence and ability to command attention have simply found a different arena.
Perhaps, it’s her coming-of-age moment. Or perhaps I am finally seeing that her story was never as narrow as I thought.
What Njoki Chege taught me
Njoki taught me that a strong voice can make people pay attention.
She showed me how everyday observations, boldly expressed, can spark conversations far beyond the page.
But she also left me with a caution: controversy isn’t automatically courage, and a strong reaction isn’t necessarily proof of a strong argument.
My most personal lesson, however, came later.
I had struggled to let go of City Girl because I had grown attached to the version of Njoki I knew.
I wanted her to keep speaking the language I had grown accustomed to, even as she prepared to speak another.
That was my limitation, not necessarily hers.
We do this with people all the time. We meet them in one season. Give them a permanent role in our mental cast. And then wonder why they don’t keep performing the same part.
We forget that people are allowed to outgrow the versions of themselves we find most entertaining.
I had reduced Njoki to a profile. Even as I wondered whether her writing encouraged Kenyans to do the same to Subaru owners and Instagram men.
The irony is not lost on me.
I can appreciate the audacity, entertainment and questions she left behind without demanding that she remain that person forever.
Thank you, Njoki, for the arguments, the wit, the provocation
And the reminder that the person behind the byline is always bigger than the byline.
And now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to decide whether to rebrand as Ngaara Mungai.
Over to you
Have you ever followed a writer, artist or public figure for years, only to be surprised by the direction their life eventually took?
Have you ever struggled to let go of an older version of someone because that’s the version you liked best?
Tell me in the comments. I promise not to turn your answer into a column about Subaru owners. Unless, of course, you drive one! 😂
The Writers Who Inspired Me
This is Episode 3 of my series exploring the writers whose words shaped how I see, think and write.
- Episode 1: Oyunga Pala – The Writer Who Made Me Want to Write.
- Episode 2: Wahome Mutahi – The Writer Who Taught Me That Serious Things Can Be Funny.
- Episode 3: Njoki Chege – The Writer Who Wasn’t Afraid to Say it. (You’re here)
More writers, more memories, and more evidence that sometimes the people who inspire us into being have no idea they’re doing it.
Until the next episode, keep reading, keep thinking, and please, be kind to Subaru owners.
#TheWritersWhoInspiredMe #NjokiChege #CityGirl #KenyanWriters #Storytelling #WritingJourney #NgaaraBlog
Joseph Ngaara is inspired by people’s stories, especially those shaped by faith, resilience, and grace. If you’ve walked through triumph, tragedy, or something beautifully in between and feel ready to share, my inbox is open. 📩 j.mungai@hotmail.co.uk
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Thanks Joseph : Some of us were also lost – Asking the same questions you were struggling with ; who was this Njoki Chege the columnist writing intriguing and provoking City Girl Saturday Nation/And what made her move into Academia?. Good to hear she moved on !