The laughter starts before she even opens her mouth. Auntie Jemimah walks onto the stage in her signature walking style, eyes glinting with mischief, and before long, the theatre is in stitches.
But as the laughter builds, something else creeps in, reflection. Because behind every joke, every exaggerated Kikuyu expression and perfectly timed punchline, lies a truth that stings.
This is Maitu Mukabete, a play that is at once hilarious, heartfelt, and hauntingly familiar. It is Auntie Jemimah’s story and, by extension, the story of thousands of women who have laughed through their pain, cried in silence, and somehow found healing in the act of sharing.
Born Wangari Nguru, but known to fans simply as Auntie Jemimah, the celebrated comedian has carved her own lane in Kenya’s entertainment scene. She is not your typical comic, no one-liners, no endless roasting. Her style is raw, immersive and deeply personal.
“Our style of comedy is storytelling,” she says. “We are with you from the start to the end. You laugh, you cry, you reflect. It’s a journey.”
That journey began with Maitu 1, the first instalment of her trilogy, tracing her childhood; from a public primary school where dreams were shaped, to a private school where culture shock hit hard. In high school, things took a dark turn. She battled addiction and found herself in rehab.But even the hard parts, she says, have their place on stage.
“We tell that story in a very hilarious way, but it’s also about awareness,” she says. “After some shows, people ask for rehab contacts. One woman told me if she’d seen it earlier, she might have saved her brother.”
Maitu 2 captures the chaos of early adulthood; the self-discovery, the insecurities, the fame that came with her radio career, and the online bullying that followed.
“Black girls face so much projection about beauty,” she says. “I struggled with self-esteem until I went for therapy. It changed my life.”
Then comes Maitu 3, the most intimate and emotional yet. It tackled dating in Nairobi (“character development proper,” she jokes), and the heartbreak of losing her baby in 2021.
“My baby died in my womb,” she says quietly. “I shared it online, and though there was some negativity, the love outweighed it. So many women reached out — mothers who had gone through the same. That’s when I realised this story was bigger than me.”
She recounts, voice trembling, how the baby was handled after stillbirth “put in a trash bag”, a memory that fuels her mission to speak for women who have lost children and been told to simply “move on.” “When you lose a child, the pain is invisible. People assume you’ll get another one and be fine. But you never forget.”
Every Maitu Mukabete show swings between uproarious laughter and stunned silence. One moment, the audience is giggling at Nairobi dating drama; the next, they are wiping tears as Jemimah relives her loss.
At one performance, a sponsor was so moved they offered to pay for therapy for two women in the audience.
“That’s when I knew this wasn’t just comedy, it was healing,” she says.
Last year, Auntie Jemimah made history as the first vernacular comedian to take her craft to the UK. Her shows in Reading and Luton drew packed halls and emotional reactions.
“In Luton, after the show, people didn’t go home,” she laughs. “They stayed behind, forming small groups, talking about what they had just seen. It had triggered something deep.”
Back home, she filled the KICC with over 3,000 fans, then hit the road; Nakuru, Nanyuki, Nyeri — every stop a sell-out. “Being the first female comedian to do a national tour isn’t easy,” she admits. “But seeing the impact on people makes it worth it.”
In Nakuru, three women had their therapy paid for by one of the sponsors, Dairyland. In Nanyuki, a local villa owner hosted her entire crew at no charge.
“The kindness we’ve received is unbelievable,” she says. “Sometimes all people want in return is a shout-out or a logo on our banners. It’s humbling.”
Out of Maitu Mukabete came something even bigger — Malaika Mama, a community for women who have experienced miscarriage or stillbirth.
“At KICC, we launched Malaika Mama as a safe space for women to share their stories,” Jemimah says. “It’s about breaking silence, one story at a time.”
Behind the laughter is a powerhouse crew that turns her pain into art.
The production was directed by Phil Karanja and produced by Dennis Ngibuini, also known as Madam Producer. The script was written by Shigwan, with Young Mutha serving as the creative lead. The event was hosted by Karima Thee MC, while Maina Rada Safi provided the music as the DJ.
“Phil asked, ‘How do we make fun of pain?’” she recalls. “We went on a writers’ boot camp, and when I shared my story, we all cried. Then we rebuilt it with laughter.”
For Jemimah, Maitu Mukabete is not about fame or fortune. It is about impact.
“My drive isn’t money — it’s the difference we make,” she says. “When someone leaves our show lighter, or braver, or ready to seek help, that’s success.”
Still, she urges corporates to support Kenyan creatives.
“When brands need us to promote their campaigns, we show up and deliver,” she says. “Now we need them to show up for us too. That’s how we build the industry together.”
In a world where comedy often plays it safe, Auntie Jemimah dares to go deep — to use laughter as therapy, to turn her personal scars into shared healing.
“I’ve always known I’m not ordinary,” she says with a smile. “And that’s okay. My purpose is to tell stories that make people feel seen, to show that we can laugh through pain and still come out whole.”