Today we’d like to introduce you to Naomi “Nairobi” Allen.
Alright, so thank you so much for sharing your story and insight with our readers. To kick things off, can you tell us a bit about how you got started?
I’ve been singing and performing since I was a child, and eventually attended a huge and renowned conservatory, where I earned my degree in acting. For as long as I can remember, I’ve known and basically everyone around me has known that I was creatively gifted. I’ve also always recognized that my artistry extends across multiple disciplines—singing, songwriting, rapping, poetry, visual art, theatrical and creative direction, playwriting, screenwriting, music composition, vocal production, vocal coaching, acting, and more.
What I’ve struggled with is figuring out how to divide my attention among all of these gifts. What should I prioritize? Where should I focus my energy? Am I actually supposed to pursue all of this? What is my purpose?
Attending a conservatory also gave me a deeper understanding of just how competitive and rigorous the creative industry can be. It taught me that success isn’t always determined by talent alone, but often by relationships, access, likability, image, and who you know. That realization challenged me and, at times, made me question whether there was truly a place for me in this industry.
Now, I’m an Arts Administrator and in the process of pursuing my master’s degree, working for a nonprofit as a Program Coordinator and Vocal Coach, a performer in an orchestra that plays Hip Hop, running my own art business as an entrepreneur, and continuing to perform. In many ways, I knew I would eventually find myself doing this kind of work. I just never knew what the path to get there would look like. I’m also working on a mixtape, my debut album, and I’m going on tour for a play that is all about healing, which couldn’t be more fitting.
I think, along the way, I’ve doubted myself and tried to run from this career. I’ve pursued things that seemed “easier” or that I believed would provide more financial stability because, at times, fear felt more practical than faith. But I’m realizing that I can’t continue operating from a place of fear.
I’ve spent so much time questioning whether I should pursue my gifts, when perhaps the greater question is how I can honor all of them while creating a life and career that feels purposeful, sustainable, and authentically mine.
I’m sure it wasn’t obstacle-free, but would you say the journey has been fairly smooth so far?
It has not been a smooth road. In many ways, my university experience broke me. I arrived confident in who I was and in what I was capable of, but by the time I left, I no longer recognized that version of myself. I eventually had to sue my university over racial discrimination, harassment, mistreatment, and other experiences that profoundly affected me. So, you can imagine what that experience did to me.
For a while, I walked away from acting altogether. After everything I endured during my college years, I wanted nothing to do with it. The only thing that kept me connected to that chapter of my life was knowing that I had earned my degree—and I was determined to receive the degree they had worked so hard to make me feel I didn’t deserve. I earned it, and I refused to let anyone take that accomplishment away from me.
That experience fundamentally changed my perspective and, in many ways, changed me. Since then, I’ve struggled with self-doubt, been afraid to put myself out there, hesitated to take risks, and developed a deep fear of failure. At the same time, I’ve carried an immense pressure to succeed—not just by my own definition, but at the level I believe everyone expects of me.
Academically, college was not particularly difficult for me, aside from a couple of subjects. The real challenge was having to advocate for myself and fight for myself every single day. During my sophomore and junior years, I experienced panic attacks every day, sometimes multiple times a day. It was a physical battle, but it was also a spiritual one.
I had come from a predominantly Black high school that was also incredibly diverse because of its focus on languages and international studies. Students from different countries and continents were part of my everyday environment. I grew up in Pittsburgh, so racism was not unfamiliar to me. I had experienced it throughout my life, particularly in high school from white peers and even from some teachers. But I was not prepared for the level of racism I experienced in college. It was something I had never encountered at that magnitude, and it deeply affected and traumatized me. And, I used to be an activist and organizer for protests for the black Lives Matters Movement all throughout high school where I routinely came face to face and up close and personal to racist cops, even nearly ending up in jail because they were looking for anyone to toss in a cell just because. It still didn’t feel like that.
At the same time, I was navigating significant personal and professional struggles outside of the university. I experienced people stealing my music, engineers failing to meet the standards they were paid to meet, projects being left incomplete, and even having my stems and music withheld from me, and a million no’s for opportunities that I was well deserving of. Then, in 2021, I was raped, and I completely lost myself.
I became even more depressed and suicidal and was struggling largely on my own. It wasn’t because I didn’t have people who loved me or people I could have reached out to. I simply didn’t want to burden anyone. My mother was recovering from a massive heart attack that nearly took her life, and bringing my own pain to her felt impossible when she was already fighting to recover. I also lost people I believed were my friends after they blamed me for what happened to me.
Then my physical health began to deteriorate. After never having significant health issues before, I was hospitalized and even diagnosed with a rare skin disease for which there is currently no cure. In 2022, I lost my grandmother, who was arguably the most significant person in my life.
Every time something new happened, I stopped creating.
Art had always been the place where I processed, expressed, and understood myself, but I reached a point where I couldn’t create anymore. I was overwhelmed by grief, trauma, fear, anger, and exhaustion. There was simply too much happening at once, and I was trying to survive it all.
Safe to say, I was in a very dark place. I had lost my confidence, my sense of direction, and, for a period of time, my connection to the very thing that had always made me feel most like myself.
Alright, so let’s switch gears a bit and talk business. What should we know about your work?
I’m a multidisciplinary artist, so I do just about everything—except dance. Your girl does not dance. The bag has to be right for me to willingly make a fool of myself like that. I honestly don’t know why I can’t dance. Maybe I can give you a little one-two, but I guess God said, “Enough is enough, babe. You’ve got rhythm and more than enough gifts already.”
But seriously, what I’m most proud of is myself. I’ve accomplished a lot at a relatively young age from being the face of a campaign that resulted in several billboards around the region at only 12 years old to winning monologue competitions, posts of mine going viral for almost every one of my gifts, and opening up for huge acts like Rapsody, Beanie Siegel, Freeway, Jessica Care Moore, and more. Sometimes that becomes its own source of pressure. I catch myself wondering whether I’m doing enough or asking myself, “How am I supposed to top some of the things I’ve already accomplished?” I’m learning, though, that I don’t always have to top the past. I just have to be present.
I’ve done a lot. I’m still doing a lot. And beyond every accomplishment, title, performance, degree, or career milestone, I am a survivor of an incredible amount of trauma. That alone is something worth celebrating.
That’s the place I’m trying to live, breathe, and operate from now: gratitude, self-appreciation, and genuinely, deeply, really loving myself. And that is hard. I’ve experienced so much trauma, particularly sexual trauma, that learning to love and trust myself again has been a journey. But I’m still here. I didn’t think I’d make it past nine years old, and now I’m several years beyond the age I once thought I’d never reach. There is something incredibly powerful about that.
I’m also incredibly proud of performing on Broadway as a finalist in the August Wilson Monologue Competition. I didn’t win finals, but I was 18 years old. I left school to perform on a Broadway stage. How many kids my age can say that?
During that experience, I had the opportunity to be mentored by Kenny Leon, Denzel Washington, Jennifer Hudson, who I’ve looked up to since Dreamgirls, Bill Nunn, and so many other incredible artists and industry professionals. It was an extraordinary experience, but it also came with a tremendous amount of scrutiny.
Because I had won the regional competition, I faced criticism from some of the other participants and even their loved ones. That was my first time experiencing cyber bullying or hate on social media. At 18, that was difficult to navigate. My first instinct was to clap back because, honestly, I was thinking, “How are you mad at me because I won?” But that experience taught me something much bigger: how to carry myself with grace and be a class act, even when people are projecting their own feelings onto me.
Someone even went as far as saying that I was related to Debbie Allen because apparently she had been a judge for the regional competition. At the time, I had no idea. We simply shared a last name. And listen, I absolutely love Debbie Allen and look up to her tremendously, so I wouldn’t have been mad if we were related—but we’re not, babe.
There was a lot of pressure surrounding that experience, especially because of where I came from. My school had a reputation for being somewhat arts- and music-oriented, but we weren’t actually an arts school. We were a baccalaureate school focused heavily on international studies and languages. We had students from all over the world, and our curriculum reflected that.
So representing my school in a major performing arts competition, particularly against students from schools specifically known for the arts, felt like a huge responsibility. I felt like I was representing more than just myself. I was representing my school, my city, and everything that had shaped me as an artist. At 18, that was a tremendous amount of pressure to carry.
I’m well beyond that chapter of my life now, but the dream has never really changed.
One of my lifelong dreams has always been to perform on Broadway—not just as part of a competition, but officially, as a working artist in a Broadway production. And when I think about it now, there’s something almost poetic about the fact that I stood on a Broadway stage at 18.
If I could do that at 18, as a teenager who was still figuring herself out, then I can certainly do it now.
And maybe that’s what I’m learning now: I don’t have to prove that I deserve to be here. I’ve already survived enough, accomplished enough, created enough, and lived enough to know that I belong in the rooms I’m trying to enter.
Are there any books, apps, podcasts or blogs that help you do your best?
God, prayer, and being still, which is something I am still working on but He is the ultimate resource for me. Yes, education and talent has helped but I couldn’t achieve anything by merit alone and I know that none of this is my doing but rather his plan for me.
Contact Info:
- Website: https://www.queenofnairobi.net
- Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/_queenofnairobi/
- Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/queenofnairobi
- Youtube: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCVP990o4CxmOc9BtjhVoC1A?view_as=subscriber
- Soundcloud: https://soundcloud.com/naomiruthallen
- Other: https://www.instagram.com/naominukedthat/
