Beauty Is The Best.

Beauty Is The Best.
By Clifford Oluoch.

The stage lights blinded Frankie but she did not squint nor for any moment unnecessarily shut her eyes. “Focus on one spot and move your eyes around,” she remembered the etiquette coach telling them just before they hit the cat walk.
There were six girls who had made it to the finals after a tumultuous and emotionally charged semi-finals session that had in the morning witnessed the sensational elimination of four other girls. It was heart breaking to see them leave, their dreams gone up in smoke. Of the remaining six, who would be declared Miss Kenya and thus earn the honours of representing the country in the global competition?
Frankie’s heart beat wildly as she looked at the girls lining up with and against her. At 5ft 7inches tall, Frankie was the shortest in the group. However, her curvy structure, mesmerizing smile, bulging eyes and sharp mind made her one of the favourites. Frankie was dressed in designer Morjaria’s stunning evening wear, a crimson one body suit that clung suggestively to her body.
“I am sorry I will either wear a biker or a panty but I am not modeling that outfit without underwear,” Frankie had put her foot down while being dressed backstage by the skimpily dressed artist.
“That will restrict the wiggliness of your bums,” had beern the reply and advice from the much older coach.
“It is my body not yours, my principles not yours!” Frankie had put her foot down. The backstage crew had lost that fight, and now Frankie was the only one of the parading six girls wearing underwear. The other five girls had not even raised a finger, thinking that arguing with the organizers would jeopardize their chances of winning. Not with Frankie. Not after seeing how badly her mom’s embarrassing dress code used to draw endless personal taunts from her friends and neighbours in Nairobi’s South B estate. The children used to peep out of the window when Frankie’s mum was passing. Then they would come out and imitate her walking and dressing styles.
The light zeroed down on Frankie as the MC’s voice boomed. “As you all are aware, tonight is the grand finale and the winner will not only get the ticket to represent the country in the famed Miss Universe beauty pageant but will also walk away with a cash prize of Ksh.1 million, a Toyota Vitz worth shs.500 000 and many other endorsements.” The audience clapped wildly. The girls tensed as they looked around. The huge banners of the prizes to be won were spread across the hotel ball room. It was every girl’s dream.
Frankie tried to look for her dad in the crowd but all faces looked the same. The dazzling stage lights did not help much. And she also knew that her mother was not there. Neither would her two siblings be around. It was now more than six years since the highly publicized divorce case involving her parents, her accountant dad and her ex-model mother, had graced the gossip columns of the dailies for days on end. Frankie was the only one of the kids to have testified against her mother.
“Either I stay with my dad or you take me to children’s home,” Frankie, who was 13 at that time, had told the stunned courtroom. Her confidence and smart mind had saved her on that day because her mother’s lawyer had tried all manner of intimidation only to be met with a curt: “Only the people who live in that house know what type of a person she is! I am old enough to know what hurts and what doesn’t.” It is a remark that had earned her respect from the elderly judge.
Frankie’s mum had tried swaying the judgment by claiming that Frankie was enjoying a sexual relationship with her own dad whom the mother claimed to be a step father. It was an accusation that many in the courtroom took with a pinch of salt, especially given the way Frankie’s mum was dressed on that day: a dyed wild wig resembling a lion’s mane, a short red skirt that was inches away from her bottom line, over applied black lipstick, painted red blood long nails and a husky voice that leaned heavily on alcohol and cigarette usage.
“He is not her father,” she had told the courtroom, though her sensational utterances had stopped impressing the judge. The judge, however, had ordered a DNA testing to determine the outcome of the paternity test.
The MCs voice boomed, bringing Frankie back to the present. “Six gorgeous beauties representing the pride of Kenya but only one will walk away with the ultimate prize. But first to the eliminations.” He paused as he looked at the girls. He smiled at them and they reciprocated.
“Nervousness is the enemy of greatness,” the etiquette coach had told the girls. “However nervous you are, learn how to hide it!” Frankie hummed her favourite song R Kelly’s “Storm is over.” The other girls could be heard taking deep breaths.
The MC purred on, slurring his words and trying to get the maximum out of a tense situation. “The first contestant to be eliminated is…….” He paused, looked at the six girls, then at the judges, then at the audience. The effect, though dramatic, was over exaggerated. “…….. Joan Jogu.”
The girl burst out in tears and instead of stepping in front as expected, she turned and ran out of the stage back to the changing rooms. No one followed her neither did the other girls turn. Frankie’s heart beat faster. She did not like Joan as she was one of those who had aggressively taken bringing Frankie down by making snide references about Frankie’s family background. Last night they almost came to a fist fight in the dining hall when Joan, sensing serious competition from Frankie, had referred to an imaginary daughter of a slut thinking she could win the beauty pageant. “The daughter of a slut is also a slut,” Joan said within hearing distance of Frankie. It took all the patience drilled in Frankie by her dad and former teachers about patience for her not to dent Joan’s head permanently. “When the heart is full, the head is often empty,” was one of Frankie’s dad’s favourite quotes. Frankie walked out and went to her room where she buried herself in tears. The pressure was getting to her.
The paternity test had proved positive, affirming that Frankie’s dad was indeed the genuine one. This was the major turning point during the hearing and Frankie had scored a necessary victory over her mum. Unfortunately Frankie’s younger siblings, Ken, 7 years old and Tony 3 years old were considered minors who had to stay with their mother, though with strict conditions about visitation rights to both dad and older sister. Frankie loved her younger brothers to bits and it was sad to be separated from them. She missed them.
Six years later and at 19 years old, Frankie contacts with her sibling were countable and unforgettably unpleasant. The boys had become unruly and personally rude to Frankie, often referring to her as a traitor and sometimes a slut. It hurt her so much that she stopped the visits all together. “She is not our real sister. She is the one who made Daddy leave us” was the constant reminder to Frankie. It took the efforts of a counselor and the love of her father to bring her out of her dark moods and to focus on the positivism of life.
The MCs voice came on air again, and this time he tried dancing to one of the local tunes. Same annoying slurring technique was deployed. Frankie hated it. “The next competitor to be eliminated is …………” Predictably, another long pause followed by a few cat calls and the eerie beats of a distant piano. “………..is Mary Maringo,” the voice was raised to place emphasis on the person’s name to be accompanied by the crashing sound of drums. Quite an effect. Polite applause accompanied Mary as she bravely moved forward and stoically stared down at the six judges – the three men and three women who were furiously writing on their pads.
Mary was the wild and loud one in the group. “Use your body to get the crown!” she had told Frankie the day before. “There is no man I have not slept with in this whole damn place!” She had gone ahead to name all the men, describing not only their anatomy but also comparing and contrasting their performance in bed to the extent of rating them on a scale of one to ten. Frankie was not sure whether or not it was a figment of the girl’s wild imagination.
“It is not a matter of life and death,” Frankie had told her calmly. The sneer on Mary’s face had told a lot about her feelings towards Frankie. “Hypothetically, if all six of us sleep with the three judges, then who will run away with the crown?” Frankie had asked though from the frown on Mary’s face, Frankie concluded that the logic had hit the right buttons in Mary’s brains.
Frankie’s dad had played a major role in bringing out the best out of his daughter, especially after the trauma of the divorce. He accompanied his daughter to all the major concerts, encouraging her to join acting, singing and art classes and to audition for any major events. As a result, Frankie had starred in radio and TV commercials, a few local drama productions and played a minor role in a local movie. She was going places and it was during one of these sessions that Frankie met one a scout eager to make the best out of her modeling.
“You don’t have the height but you have the looks and the brains. That is very important,” is what the coach had told Frankie. It is a maxim that Frankie vowed to live by.
The signature tune played and Frankie knew that the MC was coming back on the stage. “There are four grils left. The third competitor to exit the competition is………..Susan Siagi.” The pause and the dramatic effect was not as prolonged as the first two. Susan stood transfixed to the spot. She did not move an inch and the MC repeated very slowly, “Susan please come forward.” There still was no movement from Susan. There was tension and murmuring from the audience. It is then that Frankie took matters into her hands. She slowly moved three places to where Susan was standing.
“Don’t make a fool of yourself,” Frankie quietly whispered. “You will be all over the papers for the wrong reason and that will be the end of you.”
“How?” Susan whispered, torrential tears streaming down her cheeks. “My agent told me that she had taken care of things and the judges promised me that I would be the winner,” she whispered hysterically. That shocked Frankie. Mary had said one thing and now Susan was adding a different angle to it. Bloody corruption everywhere!
“Let’s go,” Frankie put her hand around Susan’s shoulders and gently led her to the front, their synchronized cat walking looking quite regal. Then Frankie hugged Susan. “They are the losers. Keep your head high,” Frankie whispered as she wiggled her way back to the lineup. The accompanying thunderous clapping and standing ovation brought the best ever smile from Frankie, though the judges did not look pleased. One of the female judges was seen passing a note to a male judge.
The background music hit the airwaves again as the judges conferred amongst themselves before they motioned the MC to move over to their desk. Some heated discussion was seen to be made as Frankie’s mind went back to what Susan had just told her.
“There is a big difference between sex and love making,” was the first lesson on sex education that Frankie had received from her dad. She was fourteen and the stories going around in school had somehow frightened her.
“Sex is animal. Love making is human which is fully enjoyed when one is mature,” her father had gone on at the Carnivore Restaurant where they had lunch every Sunday after church. She loved the meat platter.
“What about kissing?” Frankie had asked bravely. She shared a rare bond with her father and embarrassment was not in her vocabulary.
“Pecking yes, kissing no!” her dad had replied. “Any man who respects you will give you time for the relationship to grow. A loose woman has many suitors; a principled woman has many admirers.”
The words stuck as a one of the principle pillars to Frankie’s passage through pre and post adolescence. It was not easy, especially with her beauty and popularity. The more she said no to boys, the more aggressive they became. This became a sore point in her relationship with her DJ boyfriend, Ben.
“No kissing, no touching, no sex!” she repeated over and over to him each time he asked for a hug. She liked him. No, she loved him because he was fun to be around with. And he was a gentleman, at least with her. Rumours abound about his philandering ways but she did not pay any attention to them.
“Right time, right place, right person!” became her mantra. Ben’s patience was wearing thin and the last three months he was playing hard to get. Until Frankie won the Nairobi edition of the competition. Then the boys came flooding to pledge their allegiance and love. She laughed and enjoyed the moment.
Frankie saw the MC coming up to the podium. He looked tense. Frankie lined up with the remaining three girls and she wondered how many of them had slept or paid their way to the top. She remembered one of the male judges telling her that they could fix the championship and make sure that she won. The only condition was that she was to sleep with all of them.
She had snorted at them. “I will proudly remain a virgin till my wedding day.” He had burst out in laughter mocking her virginity by making vulgar hip motions to signify sex.
“Then kiss the crown goodbye,” had been the judge’s reply to her.
“Goodbye!” Frankie had gone ahead to blow a kiss at the shameless male judge who had walked out of the dining hall’s lobby.
The MC loudly cleared his voice, savoring every moment of the tension in all the girls. He looked at the girls, the fire in him a little low. Three to go – first runner up, second runner up and the winner. The rules stipulated that the three remaining girls answer questions from either the MC or from the judges.
It was down to 21 year old Millicent, 20 year old June and 19 year old Frankie. The spotlight shone on them, their glittering dresses reflecting the azure light and making them look like ancient Greek goddesses.
Millicent was the first one to be put to the sword. She was confident, her radiant smile disarming the MC. “What will you do with the money if you won?” the MC asked.
Millicent put up her fake American accent. “I will use the money to further my education in Community Service.” Standard answer that the etiquette coach had drummed into them. Community Service sells, is what they had been told over and over again.
There was polite applause as the MC moved to June, the tallest of them all. She was a towering 6ft and with the high heels she almost hit 6ft 3 inches, an inch or so above the MC.
“June, how many things would you do with shs.1 million?” the MC asked, clearly looking bored with the lack of challenge Millicent had offered.
June was impatient to make an impression. “I will go and buy tree seedlings and plant one million trees in a year!” she replied. The Environment also sells, had been the message. Another polite applause from the audience.
“Who is your role model?” the MC asked mechanically.
“Wangari Mathai, the 2004 Nobel Peace Prize winner,” June replied the glow in her face becoming real. The MC looked at the judges and as they nodded their heads, he moved on to Frankie.
“Tell us something different,” the MC peered down at Frankie who did not feel intimidated by the lack of height.
“I will channel the money towards my NGO ‘Save The Virgin Fund’,” Frankie replied, her voice rising with confidence. A naughty smile spread across the MCs mouth. A few chuckles were heard from the crowd.
“And what does this NGO do or will what will it do?” the MC asked, posing cheekily and waiting to see if Frankie would wilt.
“Empowerment is the key. Girls need to be empowered to know that their fate does not lie in sleeping with men before the time is right. My NGO has already organized holiday camps for young girls,” Frankie continued. There was pin drop silence. “We invite mothers, grandmothers and career women to talk to girls about self respect and to share with them experiences of being misused.”
“Are you a virgin?” one of the judges asked, his voice laced with sarcasm.
“Yes, I am a proud virgin,” Frankie’s voice rang out with pride in her voice. “And I would like anyone girl in this room who is a virgin to give herself a pat on the back. Virginity is to be shared, not lost to the wrong person in the wrong place at the wrong time!” Frankie’s voice took a different defiance that shocked the judges.
Frankie was not through. “Our motto is Right Time, Right Place, Right Person – The Three Rs!” This time the clapping was loud and the cat calls prolonged. The MC held his hand for attention and he finally got it.
“Who is your role model?” one of the female judges, who seemed to want a different view from the virgin discussion, asked.
A warm smile spread across Frankie’s face. The etiquette coach had told them to pick political figures like Nelson Mandela, Mother Theresa, Mahatma Gandhi or any of the great presidents of the past.
“My dad is my hero and my role model,” she whispered, her voice choking for the first time. “Daddy, wherever you are I love you so so much. Thanks for being there all the way.” She genuinely wiped a tear with back of her hand as images of her struggles and tribulations flashed through her mind.
The applause was almost instantaneous and it went beyond the expected time. The standing ovation just did not seem to die down and the six judges conferring and arguing was muffled in the noisy cat calls and raucous crowd. Frankie had swept them off their feet. Chants of “Frankie! Frankie” rent the air. It was almost two minutes before the crowd settled down.
The MC took over after collecting papers from the judges. He looked at the girls and smiled. “The first runner up of this year’s beauty pageant is…..” PAUSE….. “Millicent!” This time there was thunderous applause and the crowd was about to start chanting but the MC held his hand high.
“There are two contestants left. So I will read the winner’s name,” the MC said slowly.
The tension was palpable, the silence unbearable. Frankie looked to the crowd. She had come this far without breaking any of her principles. That, alone, made her feel like a winner. “The best lessons in life are life itself,” her father had told her just before she left home to come for the competition. June was a nervous wreck. Involuntary she found herself biting her nails, despite what they had been told by the etiquette coach. The judges looked satisfied. They had done their bit. The rest was up to the MC to finish what had been a glorious week.
The MC started even slower, “And the winner of this year’s beauty pageant is…………..F-r-a-n-k-i-e!”
There was simultaneous deafening roar of approval from both the audience and the other four girls who immediately rushed to congratulate Frankie by hugging and jumping on her. They all huddled as if in prayer.
“You were right about not sleeping with the judges,” Millicent whispered above the chants.
“That was a brilliant show,” Mary told her. Frankie was in shock and in the distant she saw her dad walking towards the stage. The rules did not allow contestants to get off stage; neither did it allow the audience to come on stage. So father and daughter had to content with waving at each other.
In the melee that ensued, no one noticed the heated arguments between the judges and what appeared to be a sponsor. The quiet entry of another sponsor also escaped the attention of the roaring crowd who could not stop chanting, “Frankie! Frankie!”
A lady dressed in black skirt suit was seen talking to the MC.
“She was not supposed to win!” she shouted above the raucous crowd.
“Too late she has,” the MC shouted back and moved on to call the place to order.

© 2009 Clifford Oluoch oluochcliff@yahoo.co.uk