First, it was the acculturation to the mundane. The routine of coffee smells in the morning, droning gravel crunch under treads. The routine of smiles and friendliness and warmth and a coercion of the introvert to speak. Then, it moved to the persistent taste of the regular, strong, with two spoons of sugar. All the while, my empty stare at the laptop turned from presence to present. Here, in my one meter-spaced dedicated desk, in my silence, I grew comfortable, accustomed, and inspired.
I was once asked, “This is your new favorite joint?” I was tempted to say “it’s the new co-shared space in town”, but deep down, I knew it was not just a co-shared office. It was my back against the never-ending whizzing of reverse-engineered miniaturized vehicles from the tweaking of robotics programmers. It was her and him and they and white noise of faces that I could not work comfortably without seeing every once in a while, walking out to talk on phones after realizing they were contributing a little too much to the whiteness of the noise. It was her and him and them and their coordinated motions; keeping the space sparkling and shinning and noiseless. It was us; white noises that comforted each other’s anxieties as we worked alone together.
I have not been here long; about two/three months, maybe? I am not one to keep tabs; we have Denis for that, the piling of white invoices and receipts. White noise of the recurrent bills and payments and record-keeping and peace in expensing. But that is what all co-shared spaces are about? So you’ll say. I refute. Prior experience with co-sharing was obnoxious shoulder rubbing, loud phone calls and no-one-taking-responsibility-for-the-exploded-egg-in-microwave kind of work environment. This? This is Kikao64. Tranquility, sighed with hues of dark blacks and light whites. Rustic as Beethoven’s Fifth, with a touch of steel from Havergal’s timpani rolls.
Consistency!
So, what is a co-shared office. I previously thought them to mean individuals working alone, leaving each other alone, mostly, or rather, apart from no-one-taking-responsibility-for-the-exploded-egg-in-microwave. Then you get to Kikao64, and white noise hits you with a peace encoded in consistency of service, consistency of Denis’ black cap, consistency of an ever-open door, consistency of internet speeds, consistency of work flow. Bliss.
And just as I was getting accustomed to this particular whiteness of noise; just a little lighter and noisier, they showed me; EVENTS! A philosopher, a disgruntled atheist, and a tax lawyer walk into a bar… Sounds like the beginning of a joke, right? Here is the thing. There is another kind of white noise; I would like to call it Black Intellectualism. Here, there is no “Kwani ni Kesho!” It flows. Sparking from one idea to the next, and the next. Here, there is enlightenment with a touch of wit, stirred in cultural pots so deep you can peer in and see tips of your African roots. Here, there is Black Noise!
Okollo Magawa is a Kikao64 Patron
