Visit to Fort Portal

The Uganda countryside is very beautiful. Scenic, picturesque, rolling hills carpeted in green with a few rock outcrops the closer one gets to the Rwenzori foothills. Most of the land is cultivated, or in some other form of use. Land that is not cultivated for agriculture is often covered by extensive stretches of purposely planted eucalyptus or pine trees. There is precious little virgin tropical forest, but encountering such forests often offers sightings of baboons and other wild fauna. 

It was quite an interesting road journey, really, between Kampala and Fort Portal. I am in this post attempting to put together my thoughts and observations of, and during, the journey itself when these are still fresh in my memory, so as not to lose them and to capture them for posterity.

The 296km highway itself was fairly good, but rough and uncomfortable on those stretches where the road surface had suffered neglect, and was undergoing maintenance at the same time. So it was a combination of smooth road for a while, massive potholes on different stretches, and then stretches with extensive roadworks disrupting the flow of traffic, with each scenario occurring one after the other. For these reasons the journey was more tedious and took longer than it might have taken otherwise. 

The traffic was composed of ordinary private vehicles like ours, numerous brand new pickup trucks and 4x4s with government numberplates darting at high speed in both directions, many Heavy Goods Vehicles (HGVs), large buses, and smaller commercial vehicles, and also the ubiquitous Uganda motorcycles performing various functions. The motorcycle in Uganda appears to be an institution of its own. To be found everywhere, the motorcycle is undoubtedly the most popular utility vehicle, used for the transport of everything; from mattresses, to roofing sheets; from crates of soft drinks (colloquially known as "sodas") to entire families; the motorcycle is a fixture on the Ugandan road. The sight of a 5,000 litre polyurethane water tank balanced precariously on the passenger seat of a motorcycle was a sight for the ages.

These photos are of breathtakingly beautiful tea plantations in Kabarole District that I shakingly managed to capture with my phone as we approached Fort Portal, photos from a moving vehicle that do not do justice to just how spectacularly scenic the views truly were. Kabarole District itself, which is part of the Tooro Kingdom, had Fort Portal as its main town before 1 July, 2020, when Fort Portal was elevated to a city, and separated from Kabarole District. In that year, Fort Portal Municipality constituency became the Fort Portal City with an independent local government. The trip from Kampala to Fort Portal had us pass through towns like Mityana and Mubende. 

Fort Portal is covered in bunting for the new king's coronation tomorrow. Yep, I caught sight of the Rwenzori Mountain Range from a distance, but we're hoping tomorrow to move closer to it to get a better look. We're hitched up for the night in some hotel, but tomorrow we won't be hanging around for the coronation. After viewing the mountains, we intend to visit some hot springs, then some caves, and then drive over to Bunyoro to visit the Murchison Falls National Park. 

The streets of Fort Portal are very busy, but it's not clear if the streets are so busy this evening because of tomorrow's coronation. We went to see the Omukama's Palace, which is located on the top of a hill, and with visions in my mind's eye of the famous Princess Elizabeth of Tooro directing preparations for tomorrow's events. As I'm typing this while lying back in my hotel room, it's close to midnight. I realise that I was awoken from my sleep by a loud uproar across the city. I looked out of the window and on the street in front of me, in the darkness I saw a large procession of people singing and dancing in unison, moving in the direction of the palace. *I heard after I woke up in the morning that the procession was of the new king himself surrounded by supporters as he walked the four miles to the palace. So I inadvertently stumbled into a royal coronation in real life.*

Day's end tomorrow should see us back in Kampala. (It didn't, and it was not until two weeks later that I made it to Murchison).

Okay, so I woke in the middle of the night to type this. As I said, I did not want the thoughts to fade away. I have to go back to sleep now, tomorrow promises to be an even busier day, after which I shall have more to report. 

Postcript: I posted this contemporaneously on Facebook at the time, and then thought to share it again here on the blog.

Murchison Falls National Park, The Victoria Nile (Side note)

The Victoria Nile

At this point the Victoria Nile having flowed from Lake Victoria through Lake Kyoga and squeezed through the Murchison Falls (also known as Kabalega Falls), then flows onwards to Lake Albert approxiately 32 kilometres (20 miles) downriver. It then emerges as the Albert Nile when it flows out of the northern tip of Lake Albert as it travels north towards South Sudan. The Albert Nile and the Victoria Nile are part of the White Nile system.

I have now seen the rivers Nile, Niger, Congo and Zambezi up close. As children we learnt a song titled "The Rivers of Africa", a song that named the continent's main rivers—Nile, Niger, Senegal, Congo, Orange, Limpopo, Zambezi. I have also seen the Benue, Gambia, Volta, Chobe, Tana and Mara, the latter two in Kenya. 

As an aside, vertigo has become a recurring problem as I advance in age. It was apparent on this bridge again, just as it had been on the Kazungula Bridge over the Zambezi in Botswana last year. Vertigo is that false sensation that you or your surrounding environment is spinning, whirling, or moving when you are actually still. I almost lost my balance just from looking down at the river from on top of the bridge. 🙃

Murchison Falls National Park (Side note)

I captured this (and a few other shots) with my phone camera while seated in the car.

The Ugandan kob is a subspecies of the kob, and it is one of the most common species of antelope in Murchison. The coat of arms of Uganda features a Ugandan kob alongside a grey crowned crane.

At first glance, the Ugandan kob may be mistaken for the impala, but it is more heavily built. An average male weighs 94kg whilst an average female weighs 63kg.

In Murchison Falls National Park, lions prey on the plentiful supply of Ugandan kobs. We saw many of them, their unique, orangey colour stood out in the brush, even when just resting under a tree in the distance. 

We didn't see any large predators such as hyenas or any of the big cats, but I did explain to my friend that where there are a large number of prey animals, there must be large numbers of predators as well. We did see a herd of giraffes though, Rothschild's giraffes with their coats glowing, reflecting the soft sunlight, but they were too distant to capture properly on camera, although not for want of trying. We also saw a herd of elephants, African Savannah elephants, a family group, but also from a distance; and water buffalo mucking about in a mud pool. There were numerous impala too, and gazelles, and all manner of birds. 

The most striking feature for me, however, were the Borassus palm trees also known as palmyra palms that dominate the open savannah landscapes of the park's northern sector. The landscape's beauty was truly extraordinary, I had seen nothing like it before.

The Weight of the Closed Suitcase

The suitcase sits half-packed on the edge of the bed, a physical boundary between two entirely different states of existence. Outside the window, the sun is still warm, casting long, golden afternoon shadows across a landscape that has spent the last one month feeling effortless and slow. Inside the room, however, the psychological climate has already shifted. The holiday is not yet officially over, yet the mind has quietly abandoned the present, slipping ahead down the highway, past the airport gates, and straight into the grey, uncompromising machinery of everyday life.

There is a distinct, melancholic weight to this mental transition. During a holiday, time loses its sharp edges. Days are measured not by alarms or deadlines, but by the heat of the midday sun, the rhythm of your friends' moods, or the casual drift of an unplanned afternoon. Yet, as the final evening approaches, a subtle cognitive gravity takes over. The brain begins its defensive rehearsal for reality, pulling up unread email queues, doctor's appointments, and the domestic chores that have been left to gather dust in quiet defiance. The washing machine at home broke down before I made my escape, now I'm going to have to confront the reality of dealing with that problem the moment I return. Escapism is valid only for so long after all. 

Compounding this re-entry is the looming shadow of the season left behind—or rather, the season waiting ahead. To return from warmth and ease to the onset of winter, is a double displacement. It is the psychological shock of trading open horizons for sealed windows and the abrupt decent of pitch dark four-o'clock afternoons; the vibrant textures of travel for the muffled, monochromatic silence of cold months. The impending winter feels less like a natural change in the weather and more like a closing trapdoor. The mind projects forward into the chill, bracing itself for heavy coats, scraped windscreens, and the general hibernation of the human spirit.

And yet, this bittersweet ache is perhaps what gives a holiday its value in the first place. If leisure stretched out indefinitely without contrast, it would eventually lose its lustre; it is the impending return to the mundane that casts such a vivid, hyper-saturated glow over the final hours of escape. Standing in the quiet room with the zip half-pulled, one realises that the resistance to going back is proof of having been fully present.

The mundane tasks at home—the laundry, the mail, the early alarms—will inevitably be absorbed and conquered, just as they always are. For tonight, however, the mind lingers in the threshold, holding onto the warmth of the sun just a moment longer before turning towards the cold. 

Murchison Falls

A visit to Uganda’s Murchison Falls National Park is an unforgettable journey into the heart of wild East Africa. Located in northwestern Uganda about 300 kilometres from Kampala, the 3,840-square-kilometre reserve is Uganda’s largest and oldest national park, offering a dramatic mix of sweeping savannahs, palm-dotted plains, and the mighty Victoria Nile.

The adventure begins long before you enter the park gates. Driving northwest from Kampala, the road passes through changing Ugandan landscapes—bustling small towns, green banana plantations. In my head I was travelling from Buganda to Bunyoro, two of Uganda's oldest and most influential traditional kingdoms. As you approach Masindi that served as a royal capital or stronghold for past kings of Bunyoro like Omukama Kabalega during the 19th century, and descend the Bunyoro escarpment, the air grows warm and smells of sun-baked earth and wild grass. The sheer scale of the park hits you immediately as you cross into the sprawling savannah.

The climax of the trip is the waterfall itself. Here, the entire Victoria Nile forces its way through a narrow rock gap just seven metres wide and plunges 43 metres down into the "Devil’s Cauldron". The roar is deafening, shaking the ground beneath your feet and throwing a cool, permanent rainbow mist into the air. Hiking to the top of the falls allows you to feel the raw, untamed energy of the planet's most powerful waterfall.

Leaving Murchison Falls leaves a lasting impression—a rare place where the rhythm of wild Africa continues largely untouched.

 

Generational Dehumanisation

Generations of systemic dehumanisation during colonialism and apartheid continue to profoundly impact the behaviours, psychological well-being, and social dynamics of Black South Africans today. While South Africa transitioned to democracy more than three decades ago, sociologists, psychologists, and historians emphasise that the legacy of treating Black citizens as "sub-human" left deep, intergenerational scars.

Apartheid was a system maintained through state-sanctioned physical and psychological violence. When communities are stripped of basic human rights, dignity, and economic mobility over generations, violence can become normalised as a survival or coping mechanism. In modern townships (dikas), generational dehumanisation and a lack of economic opportunities directly feed into youth vulnerability to gang violence and crime.

A tragic behavioural byproduct of long-term oppression is horizontal violence—where marginalised groups direct their frustration towards other marginalised groups rather than the structures that oppressed them. In South Africa, this manifests as xenophobia and "black-on-black racism". Dehumanising language once used by white authorities is sometimes repurposed against migrants from other African countries, who are scapegoated for persistent socioeconomic struggles like unemployment.

A Quiet Covenant

For a long-distance couple living in separate lands and in a relationship forbidden by law, the decision to commit anyway is an act of quiet defiance. It is an acknowledgment that true marriage has never belonged to the registrar’s desk or the stamp of a bureaucrat; it is a living, breathing promise forged soul-to-soul.

Society often mistakes the shell for the substance. We treat the ceremony, the marriage certificate, and the public declaration as the origin of a bond, as if a piece of paper suddenly infuses two separate lives with meaning. Yet, legal recognition is a convenience of the modern state. For those separated by thousands of miles, the absence of a legal framework strips away all the superficiality. There is only the naked weight of a choice: "I choose you, across every mile, despite every obstacle or restriction".

This kind of commitment transforms distance from a barrier into a crucible. It requires an extraordinary act of faith to bind your future to someone you might only hold in your arms for a few weeks out of the year—and to do so knowing that the law of the land refuses to see you. Yet, that very invisibility can deepen the internal reality of the bond. 

To love across forbidden borders is to understand that freedom is not always granted from the top down; sometimes, it is practiced in private. The couple who commits in spite of the law redefines legitimacy; they strip marriage down to its elemental truth: an unwavering pledge of loyalty, and shared destiny. 

While the world may demand a certificate to quantify a relationship, the human heart knows a deeper arithmetic. Distance may test the endurance of the flesh, and hostile laws may threaten the sanction of the state, but a real marriage lives where the rules cannot reach—in the quiet, stubborn certainty that two people belong to each other.

A Profound Privilege

Stepping into the role of a mentor is a blessing and a profound privilege that allows you to pass on wisdom, build confidence, and help others unlock potential they may not yet see in themselves.

Transitioning from a learner to a guide creates a powerful cycle of growth where teaching reinforces your own understanding. 

I hope to be able to help those I mentor set realistic milestones while supporting them through both setbacks and breakthroughs, and offering them constructive truth with empathy and respect.

Good mentors do not build followers; they cultivate confident future leaders who can think for themselves.

The 17-year-old just got into Medical School so he received a congratulatory gift from me, and a pep talk. I've taken on the challenge of guiding him through his journey, to the best of my ability.

Still on my East Africa tour.

A Polite, Deliberate and Respectful Communication Style

The Kalenjin people of East Africa, primarily living in Kenya's Rift Valley, are widely recognised for their polite, deliberate, and respectful communication style. In Kalenjin culture, speaking gently and avoiding unnecessary loudness or aggression is deeply tied to traditional values of humility, self-control, and respect for elders and the community. 

This soft-spoken nature is often observed during social gatherings, traditional dispute resolutions, and everyday interactions, where active listening and maintaining harmony are highly prioritised.

I observed this softspoken nature and its impact, independent of having it confirmed to me after I had brought it up while expressing my observation in a conversation. I found the softspoken nature striking, coming from the background that I come from — softspoken is NOT what Nigerians (of all ethnicities) do. 

I appreciated it, seeing it as a better alternative to the loud abrasiveness that one has been more exposed to. It is beautiful to watch, even if one does not understand the language. The deliberateness with which conflict is kept at bay and everyday interactions are conducted, and potential conflict situations resolved, all with polite comments and smiles. 

I witnessed first-hand where a potential conflict situation was dissolved instantaneously. This was new to me, but this is just the way things are done here.

The Kindness of Strangers: A Testament to Human Connection

For a brief moment I was lost in Kenya. Then humanity showed up.

There is a unique vulnerability in being completely lost in an unfamiliar place. The world feels larger, colder, and distinctly indifferent to your anxiety. I found myself in this exact state of distress recently, standing at a designated meeting point in a strange location where my friend was supposed to be. When I arrived, the landscape was unfamiliar, my friend was nowhere to be found, and my calls to his phone went completely unanswered. In that moment, isolation settled in heavily. I was an outsider, swallowed by a strange environment, with no clear path forward.

It was during this peak of panic that the true beauty of human nature revealed itself. Two local men, total strangers to me, noticed my visible distress. Instead of walking past or ignoring a foreigner in need, they chose to step into my situation. They approached me not with suspicion, but with genuine concern.

Their assistance went far beyond merely offering directions. From the moment they stayed by my side, their presence became an anchor. They spoke to me with calming words, reassuring me that I was not alone and that we would solve this problem together. In a situation where they owed me nothing, they gave me their time, their patience, and their protection. They walked with me, guided me through the unfamiliar terrain, and actively helped me navigate the area until, at long last, I was reunited with my friend.

This experience left a profound mark on me. It serves as a powerful reminder that beneath the divisions of geography, language, and background, there is a shared thread of humanity that connects us all. These two men did not see a stranger to be ignored; they saw a fellow human being in trouble and chose to act with empathy. Their selflessness turned a terrifying ordeal into a beautiful lesson about grace, community, and the quiet heroes who restore our faith in the world. I will carry their kindness in my heart, a reminder to pay that humanity forward whenever I encounter someone lost in their own storm.

Papa, can I assist you?

It was a large backpack, and heavy. I struggled with it, but the idea had been to put most of the heavy items in it to avoid excess baggage charges. The backpack was carry-on baggage that wasn't checked-in as luggage and is therefore not weighed most of the time. This is a tactic travellers use to get around the checked-in luggage weight limit. The checked-in luggage travels in the cargo hold, the carry-on baggage travels in the passenger cabin with you, usually stowed in the overhead bin. 

So it was a large, heavy backpack, but I was sure I could easily manage the weight climbing up the stairs into the aeroplane. I did not realise that it was obvious to onlookers that I was struggling. Then I heard the voice of the flight attendant standing at the top of the stairs, "Papa, can I assist you?", with her hand held out as it to help me up the last few steps. Now, no stranger has ever called me Papa in my life, so the offer of help to a struggling elderly person that was directed at me hit me hard.

This same flight attendant made the point of offering to help me down the stairs after arrival at our destination. Of course her offer of help was kindly refused, both times, I was too proud in both those moments to accept that I may now be a senior person who sometimes might need the help of others to do mundane, everyday things.

The term for it is Age Epiphany —The sudden, sharp cognitive realisation that you have transitioned into an older age bracket or life stage. It is usually triggered by a specific event, or seeing a photograph of yourself.

So, guys, I guess I am now Papa to all of you.

Note from Kampala

We've just been on a drive around Kampala in the early evening as the sun set, and I was taken aback by just how large this city is. This is my second visit to the city in the space of two years, but it has taken this long for me to fully appreciate the city's true size, how spread out it is, and its magnificence. 

Previously, my knowledge of Kampala was limited to the Central Business District, Entebbe Road, (which is the direction towards where I have my lodgings—I'm lodged in the same place as last time); Masaka Road, Bwaise, the Express road from Entebbe, Namirembe, and not much else really. From the Expressway I always saw the roadsign with arrow pointing towards Mulungu, but we often came off the Expressway at the Kajjansi exit, with Mulungu still further forward; mysterious, out-of-reach. This evening that mystery was unravelled. 

I should start by doffing my hat to the architects profession of Kampala. They are doing an amazing job. I'm still picking up pieces of my jaw that dropped to the floor from how awestruck I was just from seeing such dazzling architecture as I did, driving down this road; homes styled and built to such stunning effect, accentuated by a hilly landscape that makes for structures located on a higher elevation at the rear being just as visible as those at the front. It was like a mural of stunning architectural magnificence presented to my visual senses that left me totally stunned, and utterly dumbfounded that I knew nothing about this at all before now. And this was just the beginning, as we drove down this Expressway towards Mulungu. 

For the duration of the drive until we reached Mulungu I remained in shock for having no idea that I actually knew so little about this city that I like, one that I have often described as one of my favourite cities. 

It was calming to later on stand on the shoreline in Mulungu in the fading light of the dusk, an anticlimax to the earlier surge of emotion. I came away from the lake with a large, deep-fried Tilapia fish to console myself.

Sempaya Hot Springs

The entry fee to visit tourist locations in this country is determined by various factors, one of which is nationality. I did qualify for the "rest of Africa" category but I had no documentary evidence in my possession when purchasing the entry ticket, that I was not an American pretending to be an African. So the man said, "Now speak like a Nigerian let me hear". So I said, "Oga, you sef, na wa, which one you dey.." Then everyone burst out laughing, including the man himself. 

Okay, so I got my ticket as "the rest of Africa", but it was still five times more expensive than the "East African national" ticket.

Sempaya Hot Springs are striking geothermal features located in Semuliki National Park in the Bundibugyo District of western Uganda.

Female Spring (Nyasimbi): Features a boiling geyser that shoots water over 100°C about 2 meters into the air. Visitors often use the extreme heat to boil eggs and plantains.

Male Spring (Biteete): A calmer, wider pool about 12 meters across surrounded by swamp vegetation and palm trees.

Cultural Significance: Held sacred by the indigenous Bamaga clan, who believe their ancestors live beneath the springs and perform annual rituals there. The shrine where these indigenous people perform their traditional rites and rituals has been preserved right next to the hot springs.

Semuliki National Park, a 220-square kilometres protected lowland tropical rainforest located in the Bundibugyo District of western Uganda, is the only lowland tropical rainforest in East Africa, serving as an eastern extension of the vast Congo Basin's Ituri Forest. It is one of the richest areas of floral and faunal biodiversity in Africa, with bird and butterfly species being especially diverse. The park is managed by the Uganda Wildlife Authority.

The area of Semuliki National Park is a distinct ecosystem within the larger Albertine Rift ecosystem. Most of the plant and animal species in the park are also found in the Congo Basin forests, with many of these species reaching the eastern limit of their range in Semuliki National Park.

The Science: The water at the Sempaya Hot Springs boils at such extreme temperatures—up to 103°C (217°F)—because of the intense geothermal forces hidden beneath the Semuliki Valley.

The scientific mechanism behind why this water boils involves several key geological factors.

1. High-Pressure Underground Heating

Rainwater and river runoff from the nearby Rwenzori Mountains seep deep into the earth's crust through porous rock and deep fractures. As the water travels kilometres downwards, it approaches incredibly hot rocks near the earth's mantle.

Because the water is trapped deep underground beneath a heavy column of water and rock, it is subjected to immense pressure. This pressure acts like a natural pressure cooker, allowing the water to become "superheated" far past its normal surface boiling point without turning into steam.

2. Deep Fault Lines of the East African Rift

The Sempaya Hot Springs are located right inside the Western branch of the East African Rift System. In this region, the earth's tectonic plates are slowly pulling apart, thinning the crust and creating deep fractures and fault lines. These faults act as open pathways that allow the superheated water to rise rapidly back to the surface.

3. The "Flash" Effect at the Surface

As the superheated water rapidly ascends through the fissures, the surrounding physical pressure drops. When it finally nears the surface, the sudden drop in pressure causes the superheated water to violently "flash" into actual steam and boiling water. This is why the female spring (Nyansimbi) forcefully spurts a geyser of boiling water up to 2 meters into the air with a constant bubbling and sizzling sound.

4. Mineral Elevation of the Boiling Point

Pure water at sea level boils at exactly 100°C. However, Sempaya's waters are heavily saturated with dissolved minerals and salts (like sodium chloride and sulfur) leached from deep subterranean rocks. These dissolved minerals physically elevate the boiling point of the fluid, which is why temperatures at the vent can consistently register slightly above normal at 103°C.

Impact on the Human Population: The forests in the park are of great socio-economic importance to the human communities that live near the park. The local people practise subsistence agriculture and use the park's forests to supplement their livelihoods. Some of the products they obtain from the forests include fruits and vegetables, herbal medicines, and construction materials. The local population is increasing at a rate of 3.4 percent per year. The high population density and declining agricultural productivity combined with an unavailability of alternative sources of income means the local population is dependent on the park's resources. The forest also plays an important cultural and spiritual role in local people. The forests are also the home of approximately 100 Great Lakes Twa people, an indigenous community who still largely live as hunter-gatherers. Tourism provides the Batwa people with additional income.

Note: The Great Lakes Twa, also known as Batwa (singular Mutwa), Abatwa or Ge-Sera, are a Bantu speaking group native to the African Great Lakes region on the border of Central Africa and East Africa. As an indigenous pygmy people, the Twa are generally assumed to be the oldest surviving population of the Great Lakes region. Current populations of Great Lakes Twa people live in the states of Rwanda, Burundi, Uganda and the eastern portion of the Democratic Republic of Congo. In 2000, they numbered approximately 80,000 people, making them a significant minority group in these countries.

Past practices of the managing authorities that excluded the local people created resentment among them. This reduced the effectiveness of conservation practices and contributed to the occurrence of illegal activities. Since the 1990s, the Ugandan Wildlife Authority has involved the local communities in park planning.

She was the park ranger assigned to be our guide

Why Black Man Dey Suffer, Fela Kuti

Why Black Man Dey Suffer is a relatively early chapter in the Fela discography, originally recorded in 1971. Put to tape with early band Afrika 70 and drummer/Afro-beat enthusiast Ginger Baker.

Africans' historical and contemporary oppression and suffering is a common theme in Fela's music. In this track Kuti advises Africans to unite. 

On YouTube here

Lifeline Across Continents

The aviation link between Europe and the African continent is far more than a routine commercial network; it is a historical lifeline that has shaped geopolitical and economic relationships for over a century. For anyone boarding a modern Brussels Airlines flight bound for Central Africa or sub-Saharan Africa in general, this connection instantly transforms from an abstract corporate operation into a deeply personal experience of hospitality. Stepping off my recent flight from Brussels to Bujumbura, the overwhelming takeaway was clear: the service was comfortably among the finest, if not the very best, ever experienced on a journey to the continent. This world-class onboard environment is not an accident. Rather, it is the modern reflection of a century-long institutional legacy and a testament to the airline's vital structural role in African trade, logistics, and community connectivity.

The deep-rooted history of this connection spans more than one hundred years, inherited from the legacy of Belgium’s former national carrier, Sabena. On February 12, 1925, three Belgian aviators completed the first historic flight from Brussels to Léopoldville (now Kinshasa), an arduous 51-day trek across the Sahara. By 1935, Sabena had launched regular commercial passenger services, establishing a permanent aerial bridge to Central Africa. Following Sabena's closure in 2002, SN Brussels Airlines was formed to preserve these vital routes, later becoming the Brussels Airlines known today. Now a key pillar of the Lufthansa Group, the carrier draws upon nearly a century of specialised operational knowledge via its dedicated African Competence Centre.

This century of experience directly translates into the passenger cabin, distinguishing Brussels Airlines from peers who often treat African routes as secondary priorities. On the flight to Bujumbura, this dedication manifests in a meticulous attention to detail and genuine warmth. The onboard dining experience immediately stands out as a highlight, featuring thoughtfully curated meals that rival premium restaurant standards, complete with authentic Belgian touches that elevate the entire journey. This culinary excellence is perfectly complemented by the interactions with the cabin crew, whose professionalism is defined by an authentic, unhurried attentiveness. Rather than delivering mechanical service, the crew frequently navigate multiple languages and cultural nuances with ease, anticipating passenger needs with a level of care that transforms a long-haul journey over the Sahara into a welcoming and profoundly respectful experience.

Beyond exceptional hospitality, the airline delivers profound economic impacts by serving "niche markets" that are frequently underserved by other major European legacy carriers—such as Bujumbura (Burundi), Freetown (Sierra Leone), and Monrovia (Liberia). By maintaining consistent schedules, Brussels Airlines provides an indispensable link for Visiting Friends and Relatives (VFR) traffic. This supports diaspora communities, facilitating the seamless flow of human capital, skills, and financial remittances back to home countries, which forms a cornerstone of local macroeconomic stability.

Furthermore, Brussels Airlines acts as a critical engine for trade and logistics through its robust cargo operations. Utilising the bellyhold capacity of its widebody Airbus A330 fleet, the airline moves millions of kilograms of freight annually. Southbound flights deliver high-value European manufactured goods and life-saving pharmaceuticals, pulling directly from Brussels Airport’s status as a leading global pharmaceutical hub to reinforce local healthcare networks. Conversely, northbound flights transport fresh agricultural produce, flowers, and fish from African markets to European consumers, injecting vital foreign exchange into local economies and supporting thousands of agricultural jobs.

The true value of this service extends past pure economic metrics into the realm of humanitarian resilience. The airline's operational commitment was profoundly demonstrated during the 2014 West African Ebola outbreak. While almost all other international carriers suspended operations to Sierra Leone, Guinea, and Liberia out of risk aversion, Brussels Airlines continued its regular flights. This decision provided a literal lifeline, allowing the United Nations, the World Health Organisation, and global aid workers to fly in essential medical personnel and emergency supplies.

Ultimately, Brussels Airlines represents far more than standard commercial aviation; it is a historical institution and an economic prerequisite for regional development. The world-class service experienced on the flight to Bujumbura is simply the modern, human face of a century-old commitment. By bridging isolated markets, facilitating high-stakes pharmaceutical and agricultural trade, and treating its passengers with unmatched hospitality, the airline serves as a vital, irreplaceable custodian of Euro-African relations.

This was the best Premium Economy experience flying to Africa I have ever had. It was far better even than the one Business Class experience on Air France that I have been privileged to enjoy. I did not feel that I was taken for granted as I did flying Ethiopian, Kenya Airways, and especially Egypt Air. I did not feel like just a number as with Turkish Airlines. 

This is not an advertisement. These are personal reflections, accolades that Brussels Airlines truly deserves. In my humble opinion they are the best airline flying direct between Europe and Sub-Saharan Africa at the present time. 

The Afrobeat Mind

To grow up with the music of Fela Anikulapo Kuti is to have one’s childhood measured not in standard time, but in thirty-minute grooves. In the house of my youth, Fela’s music was as omnipresent as the air we breathed. It was the background texture to Saturday morning chores, the chaotic energy of family gatherings, and the low hum of car rides through bustling streets. Long before I understood the weight of his lyrics or the terrifying bravery of his activism, Fela’s Afrobeat was the sonic architecture of my early world. As the years have passed, those childhood frequencies have done more than linger; they have settled permanently into the music repertoire of my mind, serving as a baseline for how I interpret rhythm, politics, and the world itself.

In childhood, music is felt before it is analysed. My earliest memories of Fela’s work are defined by the sheer visceral power of his arrangements. Songs like "Water No Get Enemy" and "Expensive Shit" did not just play; they took over the room. To a young child, the long, winding instrumental introductions—pioneered alongside his legendary drummer Tony Allen—felt like suspenseful stories unfolding in real time. Waiting with bated breath through ten or fifteen minutes of interlocking jazz horns, hypnotic basslines, and scratching guitars, knowing that eventually, Fela’s commanding voice would cut through the groove. His use of Pidgin English felt familiar yet larger than life, a street-level poetry that turned complex political realities into unforgettable, chantable choruses.

As I grew older, the soundtrack of my childhood underwent a profound transformation. The songs I once danced to mindlessly began to reveal their teeth. I realised that the music echoing through our home was not just entertainment; it was a historical encyclopaedia of resistance. Tracks like "Zombie," with its biting critique of blind military obedience, and "Beasts of No Nation" became lessons in courage. I knew of the heavy price Fela paid for his outspokenness—stories of the raids on his Kalakuta Republic commune were on the news; his numerous imprisonments, and the tragic loss of his mother, Funmilayo Ransome-Kuti. The joy of the music became permanently intertwined with a burgeoning socio-political consciousness. Fela taught me, without ever giving a formal lecture, that art is a weapon for liberation and that compromise in the face of injustice is a conceptual failure.

Today, though my physical surroundings have changed and decades have passed, Fela's catalogue remains the permanent rhythm section of my internal world. Whenever I encounter chaos, the driving brass section of "Confusion" or "Overtake Don Overtake Overtake" echoes in my thoughts, offering a strange kind of clarity. When I observe societal apathy or political theatre, lyrics written in the 1970s and 1980s flash through my mind with prophetic urgency. The music has given me an internalised standard for artistic integrity; it has made me impatient with art that refuses to say anything meaningful.

Ultimately, Fela Kuti’s music did not just accompany my youth—it shaped my intellectual and emotional anatomy. It taught my ears to hunt for the complex polyrhythms beneath simple surfaces and taught my heart to revere fearless authenticity. The soundtrack of my childhood has become the philosophy of my adulthood, an eternal loop playing in the back of my mind, reminding me exactly who I am and where the rhythm comes from.

Rhythms of the Rift: A Cultural Journey Through Burundi, Uganda, and Kenya" — My Upcoming East Africa Tour

When travellers imagine East Africa, their minds often drift to the sweeping savannahs of the Serengeti or the dramatic wildebeest migrations of the Maasai Mara. Yet, the true heartbeat of the region does not reside in its megafauna, but in its people. A journey tracing the crescent from Burundi, through Uganda, and into Kenya offers a profound exploration of human resilience, artistry, and community. By deliberately stepping away from the safari jeep and into the markets, kingdoms, and villages, one uncovers a tapestry woven from ancient traditions and dynamic modern realities.

The journey begins in Burundi, a small, mountainous nation nestled in the Great Lakes region. Often bypassed by mainstream tourism, Burundi offers an incredibly raw and intimate window into Central-East African life. The defining characteristic of Burundian culture is its profound relationship with rhythm, best embodied by the Royal Drummers of Gishora. In Burundian tradition, the drum (ingoma) is not merely a musical instrument; it is a sacred vessel representing fertility, regeneration, and the ancient monarchy. To witness the drummers perform is to experience a masterclass in collective energy. The performers leap, dance, and shout in perfect synchronicity around a central drum, their faces etched with pride. Beyond the performance, daily life along the shores of Lake Tanganyika revolves around communal agriculture and fishing. In the capital of Gitega and the bustling streets of Bujumbura, the lifestyle is defined by the umuganda—a spirit of communal labour—and the warmth of shared meals featuring fresh lake fish and cassava bread, offering a gentle, rhythmic introduction to the region's hospitality.

Travelling north into Uganda, the landscape shifts, and the cultural complexity deepens. Known historically as a crossroads of Bantu, Nilotic, and Central Sudanic peoples, Uganda’s identity is anchored by its surviving traditional kingdoms. In Kampala, the capital city, the majestic Buganda Kingdom takes centre stage. Visiting the Mengo Palace and the historic parliament (Bulange) reveals how centuries-old monarchies seamlessly coexist with modern administrative governance. The Baganda people maintain a lifestyle deeply rooted in etiquette, respect, and a love for culinary heritage. A staple of daily life here is matooke (steamed green bananas), meticulously prepared by wrapping the fruit in banana leaves and steaming it for hours over a wood fire—a communal culinary ritual shared across generations. 

The final leg of the tour crosses into Kenya, a nation where hyper-modernity meets deeply entrenched ancestral lifestyles. In Nairobi, the vibrant tech and art hub of the continent, the lifestyle is fast-paced, creative, and cosmopolitan. The city’s markets, like the Maasai Market, act as living galleries showcasing the intricate beadwork, wood carvings, and khanga textiles that define East African fashion and identity. However, to understand Kenya's cultural diversity, one must venture toward the coast and the northern rangelands. Along the Indian Ocean, the Swahili culture thrives in places like Lamu and Mombasa. Here, centuries of trade between Africa, Arabia, and Asia have birthed a distinct lifestyle characterised by narrow stone alleys, carved wooden doors, the aromatic scents of spiced pilau, and a relaxed philosophy known as pole pole (slowly, slowly). 

Venture into the lush, high-altitude landscapes of Kenya’s Great Rift Valley, and you encounter the Kalenjin people, a Nilotic ethnic group whose cultural lifestyle is deeply intertwined with the geography of the ridges. Historically pastoralists and skilled agro-pastoralists, the Kalenjin possess a rich social structure governed by age-sets (murenet) and traditional rites of passage that emphasise physical endurance, mental fortitude, and deep respect for ancestral wisdom. In contemporary global culture, this heritage of resilience has manifested in an extraordinary way: the Kalenjin are world-renowned as the "running tribe," producing a staggering number of the world’s elite long-distance marathon champions. This athletic dominance is structurally supported by a lifestyle centered around high-altitude living, a diet rich in traditional staples like ugali and fermented milk (mursik), and an ingrained community ethos of quiet determination. Visiting a Kalenjin homestead offers an intimate glimpse into a community that seamlessly balances global sporting excellence with a fierce dedication to preserving their language, oral histories, and pastoral roots. 

Focusing an East African tour on its people reveals a region that is far more than a backdrop for wildlife photography. Starting from the sacred drumbeats of Burundi, moving through the historical kingdoms and culinary traditions of Uganda, and concluding amidst the coastal Swahili rhythms and pastoral endurance of Kenya, this journey highlights the true essence of travel: human connection. It reminds us that the ultimate beauty of East Africa lies in the shared laughter in a crowded market, the pride of a traditional dance, and the enduring warmth of its inhabitants.

On democracy in the United States and the chances of its collapse

The chances of democracy failing can be evaluated through public perception and the specific structural vulnerabilities cited by experts.

64% of Americans believe U.S. democracy is in danger of failing, according to a June 2026 Reuters/Ipsos Poll. High public anxiety reflects deep partisan polarisation, though different sides blame different causes.

Concentration of power in the executive branch and non-compliance with judicial rulings. The primary mechanism of modern democratic decline is gradual legal and structural erosion by elected leaders, rather than a military coup. 

The "chances" of complete failure are mitigated by resilient checks. Independent federal courts continue to regularly block unlawful executive orders. There are also future election cycles that could stem the decline, or perhaps even turn things around.

Legal scholars generally emphasise that this decline is not inevitable or permanent. While the risk of moving toward an "illiberal democracy"—similar to developments seen in nations like Hungary under former Prime Minister Viktor Orban—is real, the presence of active public pushback, independent courts, and upcoming decentralised election cycles mean the system retains the capacity to correct itself.

I would like to be as optimistic as some of these said legal scholars are, but I cannot be. The events of January 6, 2021 hold me back in my thinking. I think what happened on that date, together with the presence today of heavily armed federal government agents on the streets under the pretext of immigration enforcement, provide for a foreboding outlook, which is more realistic than a mere armchair optimism premised on what was in the past normal or reasonable to expect.

These are unprecedented times, outcomes going forward are likely to be unprecedented also. I think the United States is well on its way to losing its democracy, and that this backsliding by the world's leading democracy will impact negatively on democracies around the world, and especially on the rule of law. 

Basically, the Russians can be said to have won. To destabilise, polarise, and weaken democracies from within by eroding trust in democratic institutions was always the primary, foundational goal of Russian Intelligence. 

Beyond the Binary

The Dahomey Amazons were an all-female military regiment of the Kingdom of Dahomey, which existed from the 17th to the late 19th century in what is now modern-day Benin. The Amazons were initially formed as a palace guard, but they soon became an important part of Dahomey’s military and political power. The colonisers saw this as a form of moral degradation that needed to be eradicated. 

Colonial powers enforced conformity through several interrelated mechanisms.

Colonial governments introduced legal codes that strictly criminalised non-normative genders and sexualities. In British colonies, laws introduced the concept of "unnatural offences," effectively outlawing behaviours and identities that had previously been integrated into local cultures. Christian missionary schools played a central role in re-engineering African social structures. Missionaries taught a strict, divinely sanctioned gender binary: men were domestic authorities and breadwinners, while women were relegated to submissive domesticity. Indigenous identities like the mugawe (gender-fluid priests among the Meru of Kenya) were demonised as witchcraft, whereas, prior to the colonial interventions, in cultures like the Igbo, Nandi, and Nuer, women who assumed male social roles, economic responsibilities, or lineage duties, could legally marry other women and act as social fathers or husbands.

Colonial administrations restructured local economies by dealing exclusively with male heads of households for land ownership, labour recruitment, and tax collection. This bureaucratic imposition stripped "female husbands" and gender-diverse individuals of their institutionalised authority, forcing communities to conform to European nuclear family models to survive economically.

The contemporary consequence of this colonial intervention is a profound historical irony. Today, many African nation-states maintain the laws inherited from their former colonial occupiers, often defending them as a defence of "traditional African values." In reality, intolerance toward gender fluidity is one of the most enduring legacies of European imperialism. By recovering the history of pre-colonial Africa, it becomes clear that gender diversity is not a modern Western import, but an ancient, indigenous African reality. The erasure of this fluidity did not civilise the continent; rather, it impoverished its rich tapestry of social, spiritual, and human expression.

The Dahomey Amazons were an all-female military regiment of the Kingdom of Dahomey, which existed from the 17th to the late 19th century in what is now modern-day Benin. The Amazons were initially formed as a palace guard, but they soon became an important part of Dahomey’s military and political power.

Visiting Botswana 9 (Side notes)

I was waiting for the driver, and then this new friend of mine came round to keep me company. My friend likes chicken, I've been feeding him some scraps.

Oh, by the way, we came upon a whole herd of elephants as we approached Kazungula last evening, and even before that, the van we were travelling in had had to halt its progress when a bull elephant stepped into the middle of the road. And this happened just a couple of hundred metres from the next village, so the much talked about conflict between wildlife and humans showed up in stark relief right before our eyes.