I find it difficult to talk about the weather or how that door sometimes looks like it’s going to fall. In my mind, there will be all manner of alarm bells going off. “Where is this conversation headed?” My too-serious self will wonder what the end goal of that conversation is. And when my brain finally determines that the conversation is not going anywhere, and has no logical conclusion, I find myself plotting an exit. A physical exit. A space exit. Just exit. You see, small talk huwa job. It is a lot of work. And as Nyashinski said, huwa hailipi.
But here’s the thing – small talk is important. It is how we break the ice, how we connect. When I say “hii jua ni ya mvua”, I’m not just giving you my unverified meteorological opinion. What I really mean is “it would really be a pleasure to talk to you.” Small talk is how we reach for each other. When I ask you kama unaenda nje when you’re opening the front door leading outside, what I really mean is Stay. Let’s linger in this moment, just a little bit longer. Awkward as it may be. Sometimes, my words betray me but better to sit in this awkwardness with you than to wonder if you’re stepping outside to get away from me.
And here’s the other thing—your introverted or neurodivergent self can learn small talk. I promise. It’s hard, but it’s learnable. This is not to mean that you must talk to people when you don’t want to. It just means this: it is in our nature to connect. Denying ourselves that connection is denying our essence. It’s denying God—or whatever higher power makes us, us. Okay, I just made that up. It sounded poetic in my head. Yeesh! I’m good with words.
Small talk opens doors. The other day, my colleague walked into the kitchen and told our office assistant, “If I don’t see you in paradise, I’ll know I’m not in heaven.” My too-serious self immediately thought, “Where is this conversation headed?” But then the part of my brain that understands social cues kicked in and said, “He’s just telling her she’s an awesome human being.” And she is. I would have said that too, but not in such a poetic way. And it wouldn’t have made her day the same way it did when he said it. She burst into laughter and launched into a story about how her pastor used to tell her the same thing, week after week, before he passed away in November. For a moment, I believed it—if you get to heaven and find our office assistant there, you’re in the right place.
Part of small talk is learning how to transition it to meaningful conversations. It’s a delicate balance between keeping it hearty, ensuring it does not go too far and transitioning to meaningful conversations. Like my deskie in high school. One day, she said I laugh like the children in her home village. Another classmate walked into the room, heard my laughter, and declared I laugh like a witch. And then a friend, desperate to join the conversation, turned to my deskie and asked, “Do the children in your village laugh like witches?”
All I wanted to say really is this – Small talk is work. But it’s also magic. It’s how we move from hii jua ni ya mvua to Hii maisha si mchezo. But si ni life?