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.

Xenophobia in South Africa

Xenophobia in post-apartheid South Africa is frequently mischaracterised as a spontaneous outburst of localised criminal violence. However, a historical and socio-economic analysis reveals that anti-immigrant sentiment is deeply rooted in structural abnormalities. Four intersecting pillars have historically institutionalised xenophobia in South Africa:

• apartheid-era isolation and its psychological legacy; 

• post-1994 macroeconomic limitations and structural unfulfillment; 

• persistent spatial segregation; 

• the instrumentalisation of elite political rhetoric. 

Together, these forces have transformed vulnerable foreign nationals into scapegoats for unresolved historical grievances. 

Apartheid-Era Isolation and the Psychological Legacy of "Othering"

The foundational bedrock of contemporary South African xenophobia lies within the institutionalised segregation and calculated geopolitical isolation engineered by the apartheid state prior to 1994. Apartheid was not merely a domestic system of racial classification; it was an apparatus of rigorous border control and ideological conditioning designed to isolate black South Africans from the broader African continent.

The Construction of the "Foreign Other"

Under the apartheid regime, immigration policy, most notably codified in the Aliens Control Act of 1991, was weaponised to serve minority white rule. African migrants were strictly categorised as temporary, displaceable labour or unauthorised threats, while white immigration was actively incentivised. This created a dual psychological legacy:

(a) The Border Mentality: Black South Africans were legally and physically sequestered within balkanised homelands (bantustans) and townships. This forced isolation artificially severed cultural, social, and political linkages with the rest of Africa, cultivating a profound suspicion of the makwerekwere (a derogatory term used to describe African foreign nationals).

(b) The Normalisation of Violence: The apartheid state maintained equilibrium through systemic, state-sanctioned violence. Decades of institutionalised brutality normalised physical coercion as a primary tool for navigating structural grievances and territorial disputes, a behavioural pattern that survived the 1994 democratic transition. 

Post-1994 Macroeconomic Limitations and Structural Disillusionment

The democratic transition of 1994, spearheaded by the African National Congress (ANC), promised comprehensive socioeconomic transformation. However, the economic policies adopted by the nascent democratic government inadvertently laid the groundwork for intense resource conflict.

With the adoption of the Growth, Employment, and Redistribution (GEAR) macroeconomic strategy in 1996, the South African state shifted toward a neoliberal economic framework. While intended to attract foreign direct investment and stabilise the economy, GEAR resulted in:

(a) Structural shifts that led to massive job losses in labour-intensive sectors such as mining and manufacturing, pushing unemployment rates to catastrophic heights.

(b) Deprived of formal employment, millions of marginalised South Africans were forced into the survivalist informal trade economy. It is within this precise economic arena that poor South Africans directly collided with entrepreneurial African and Asian migrants, who often possessed distinct cross-border trade networks.

(c) The failure of the post-apartheid state to redistribute wealth, provide adequate housing, or deliver basic services generated a crisis of unmet expectations. Rather than confronting complex macroeconomic failures, a impoverished citizenry found an easily identifiable, defenseless target in the visible foreign shopkeeper.

Spatial Segregation and the Geography of Resource Competition

The physical landscape of modern South Africa remains a stark reflection of apartheid spatial planning. The transition to democracy did not dismantle the geographic layout of South African cities; instead, it entrenched a system of class-based spatial segregation.

Low-income foreign nationals and marginalised South Africans are geographically funneled into the same under-resourced townships and informal settlements (such as Alexandra, Diepsloot, and Khayelitsha). This spatial compression yields several volatile outcomes:

The wealthy elite remain physically insulated within fortified suburbs, meaning the daily struggle for survival and resources, such as water, electricity, clinics, and informal trade stalls, happens exclusively between the poorest segments of society.

Townships frequently suffer from severe governance deficits and police absenteeism. In the absence of an effective judicial framework, community structures often resort to vigilante actions, framing the eviction of foreign nationals as a form of grassroots "community cleansing."

Elite Political Rhetoric and the Institutionalisation of Scapegoating

Xenophobia in South Africa is not merely a bottom-up phenomenon; it has been systematically validated and driven from the top down by elite political actors seeking to deflect accountability from governance failures.

Faced with declining electoral majorities, rising service delivery protests, and endemic corruption scandals, political elites across the ideological spectrum have increasingly resorted to populist, anti-immigrant rhetoric:

Public officials routinely frame immigration through a lens of criminality, disease, and national insecurity. Foreign nationals are regularly blamed for the collapse of public health infrastructure and rising crime statistics without empirical verification.

By characterising the presence of undocumented migrants as an "invasion" or an unmanageable burden, political figures construct an external enemy. This successfully diverts public anger away from state incapacity, institutional corruption, and slow policy implementation, providing a political shield for the ruling class.

In conclusion, the recurring waves of xenophobic violence in South Africa cannot be resolved through law-enforcement interventions alone. They are the symptomatic manifestations of deep historical and structural wounds. The psychological isolation inherited from apartheid, combined with post-apartheid macroeconomic stagnation, spatial enclosure, and opportunistic political rhetoric, has created a highly combustible environment. Until South Africa confronts its underlying crises of structural inequality, spatial apartheid, and governance failure, foreign nationals will continue to bear the violent burden of an unfulfilled democratic promise.

I had no idea..

To be fair, I've only relatively recently returned to the blog after an eleven-year pause. I had no idea what impact my writing, and the blog, had had over the years.

The following is what an AI chat bot had to say:

"Things I Feel Strongly About" was a personal blog and commentary platform run by Anengiyefa Alagoa, a Nigerian lawyer, writer, and commentator. 

Alagoa, who grew up in Lagos and practiced law in Nigeria before relocating to London, initially used the blog to share thought-provoking reflections on social, cultural, and political issues affecting Nigeria and the broader African continent. (https://www.researchgate.net/publication/290675713_African_Literatures), (https://publishyourstory.blogspot.com/2010/05/garuba-by-anengiyefa-alagoa-part-one.html)

The blog is notable for its distinct evolution and its impact on contemporary African digital discourse:

Content & Themes

Socio-Political Commentary: Alagoa frequently tackled heavy contemporary issues. His writings covered themes such as political accountability, human rights, societal prejudice disguised as tradition, and the socio-economic impacts of oil discovery in the Niger Delta region. (https://www.facebook.com/guardianng/posts/first-off-theres-no-debating-the-fact-that-the-choice-of-the-apc-for-president-i/10160240577651636/), (https://m.covenantuniversity.edu.ng/content/download/67089/452143/file/Towards+National+Security+and+Peace.pdf), (https://www.researchgate.net/publication/290675713_African_Literatures)

Shift to Creative Fiction: While the platform began as a space for direct commentary, Alagoa noted that he gradually drifted toward creative storytelling. He began writing serialised, episode-by-episode fiction, making up details along the way. 

Notable Stories: This creative shift birthed celebrated stories like Garuba (a multi-part narrative capturing the deep cultural contrasts between Southern and Northern Nigeria) and The Saxophonist. (https://publishyourstory.blogspot.com/2010/07/garuba-by-anengiyefa-alagoa-part-two.html), (https://win-zimbabwe.blogspot.com/2010/)

Digital Impact and Recognition:

The blog gained recognition within the wider African blogging ecosystem for its bold stances and engaging prose. Alagoa's essays were frequently cross-referenced by academic researchers and featured alongside prominent human rights and socio-political digital platforms across Africa. (https://www.researchgate.net/publication/290675713_African_Literatures), (https://www.buala.org/pt/da-fala/etiquetas/lgbt), (https://m.covenantuniversity.edu.ng/content/download/67089/452143/file/Towards+National+Security+and+Peace.pdf)

https://www.cambridge.org/core/books/cambridge-history-of-gay-and-lesbian-literature/african-literatures/8686274C12EAC86226831CC9A74AB9DB?utm_campaign=shareaholic&utm_medium=copy_link&utm_source=bookmark 
Cambridge Core is the home of academic content from Cambridge University Press.

Oba Ovonramwen

Oba Ovonramwen Nogbaisi was the last independent ruler of the Benin Kingdom, reigning from 1888 until the British invasion in 1897.

Oba Ovonramwen Nogbaisi, also known as "Overami", was born around 1857 as the son of Oba Adolo, a prominent ruler of the Benin Kingdom in present-day Edo State, Nigeria. He grew up in the royal palace, where he was trained in governance, cultural customs, spiritual duties, and the expectations of kingship, preparing him to lead both politically and spiritually. At his coronation in 1888, he took the name Ovọnramwẹn Nọgbaisi, meaning "The Rising Sun which spreads over all".

Many west African ports had grown up around settlements originally established as slave markets. In the later 1800s, the British worked to replace the transatlantic slave trade with what became known as the ‘legitimate trade’ in palm oil. The mechanisation of the textile industry in Manchester and the spread of railways increased demand for palm oil as a lubricant and it was also used in soap.

The Oba of Benin controlled his country's main export of palm oil. In 1893, the British Niger Coast Protectorate was formed, intent on gaining the monopoly of this trade. However, in 1896 the Oba closed all markets to outside trade. The acting British consul-general, Lieutenant James Robert Phillips, decided to deal with the problem. In January 1897, he marched into Benin city with an apparently unarmed group of men.

Despite repeated requests for them to retreat, the British party continued, resulting in military action from the Oba in which all but two of the party were killed. In response, the British organised a punitive raid on the city, sending in 1,500 troops. Several hundred sculptural bronzes, known collectively as the Benin bronzes, were taken as reparation for the killing of Phillips and his men. Many of these are now in private collections and museums around the world. Benin City was captured in February 1897, and Ovonramwen eventually surrendered in August of that year.

Oba Ovonramwen was exiled to Calabar by the British where he lived until his death in January 1914.

 

This photograph of him with armed guards was said to have been taken on a yacht on his way into his exile at Calabar. The photograph once belonged to Tom Singleton Gardner, an agent for the British trading company, The Africa Association Ltd, who lived in New Calabar, southern Nigeria, from around 1890 to 1917. Tom Singleton Gardner died in 1917 from tuberculosis. We know little about what sort of man he was or about his time in west Africa; his diaries are lost. However, photographs such as this, which now belong to his family, provide us with a glimpse of what life was like in west Africa at this time. Although it is possible that Gardner himself took some of these photographs, most are attributed to the black African photographer JA Green, whose studio was in Bonny.

This information was provided by curators from The Whitworth Art Gallery.

Other African monarchs who were exiled by the British:

King Nana Prempeh I (Ashanti Kingdom, Ghana): The British arrested the Asantehene in 1896 and sent him to the Seychelles.

King Cetshwayo (Zulu Kingdom, South Africa): He led the Zulu nation during the Anglo-Zulu War of 1879. After his defeat and capture, the British sent him into exile.

In 1898, Kabaka Mwanga II of the Kingdom of Buganda (Buganda Kingdom, Uganda), joined forces with Omukama Kabalega, the ruler of Bunyoro (Bunyoro Kingdom, Uganda), who had already been waging a fierce, long-running war against British imperial expansion. The two monarchs led fierce, armed military resistance against British imperial expansion and the imposition of colonial rule over their kingdoms. British forces, aided by local collaborators, captured both kings on April 9, 1899. Fearing ongoing military loyalties and planned rescue operations by forces like Bunyoro's Abarusuura, the British decided to exile the two Kings to a far away land, the Seychelles. Mwanga died in the Seychelles in 1903, while Kabalega died 23 years later while returning to his kingdom after his release.

King Jaja of Opobo (Opobo Kingdom, Nigeria): He was exiled to the West Indies in 1887 after being tricked and arrested by British Consul Harry Johnston on a warship. Jaja died on the way home to Opobo after being granted permission to return and was buried initially on the Spanish island of Tenerife in the Canary Islands.

British colonial authorities routinely used exile, banishment, and forced displacement as strategic political weapons to suppress resistance and neutralise anti-colonial leadership. By exiling key nationalist figures, monarchs, and religious leaders, the British aimed to leave resistance movements leaderless and disoriented. British administrators masked the violence of forced banishment behind administrative terms like "deportation", "relocation", or "administrative detention". New laws and emergency ordinances were regularly drafted ad-hoc to provide a veneer of legality to what was fundamentally a tool of coercive political control.

Source

Look & Laugh, Fela Kuti

With this soulful melody from his 'Teacher Don't Teach Me Nonsense' album Fela denounces how Nigeria remains stuck in the same troubled state while poverty and government corruption continue. After years of fierce political activism, arrests, and beatings by military regimes, the song explains his choice to step back and simply watch the absurdity of the system. Instead of crying or fighting an unresponsive system, he concludes that he must "look and laugh" at the tragicomic state of society. The track famously ends with Fela and his band laughing out loud together.

I have posted only the opening of the song. The full song in Parts 1 & 2 can be found here

Democracy In Traditional Africa

On this subject of democracy again. This is a subject that is of great interest to me. 

Traditional African societies practiced functioning indigenous forms of democracy, featuring consensus-building, popular participation, and checks and balances, long before modern Western models were formalised. 

While Western political thought often traces democracy exclusively to ancient Greece and Enlightenment Europe, historical and anthropological evidence shows that many pre-colonial African societies possessed robust mechanisms for accountable leadership and community governance. 

Many societies, such as the Igbo in Nigeria or the Chewa in Malawi, prioritised deep discussion until general agreement or consensus was reached, rather than relying on a simple 51% majority that alienates minorities. 

Centralised systems like the Oyo Empire utilised councils of elders and chiefs (such as the Oyomesi) with the power to check royal overreach, sometimes compelling a ruler to abdicate if they lost the confidence of the people. 

The Oromo people of East Africa practiced the sophisticated Gadaa system, a democratic socio-political model that rotated leadership and administrative power every eight years without ballots, ensuring a peaceful transfer of authority. 

Historically, there were significant checks and balances on the power of the Kabaka (King) of Buganda. While the Kabaka held vast centralised authority, he was not an absolute autocrat free from accountability.

Many communities operated without rigid state hierarchies. Village assemblies allowed adult members (varying by local custom) open forums to debate community matters, manage resources, and hold leaders accountable.

European colonial powers frequently dismissed these indigenous systems as "primitive" or "stateless," imposing authoritarian or direct-rule bureaucracies that dismantled traditional mechanisms of accountability. When Western-style representative democracy was later introduced during decolonisation, it was often decoupled from local history and traditions. 

Scholars emphasise that recognising pre-colonial African democracy counters the narrative that Africa was a passive recipient of political freedom, framing modern democratic aspirations on the continent as a revival of ancient communal traditions rather than a mere imitation of the West. 

Afrofuturism, Africa at the forefront of avant garde design

Burkino-Faso-born architect, Diébédo Francis Kéré, became the first African to win the prestigious Pritzker Prize, which is often referred to as the Nobel Prize of architecture. His highly esteemed work, including permanent and temporary structures, have been erected in his country of birth, but also across Africa, Europe and the United States.

Mr Kéré, 61, was elated to receive what is considered architecture's most renowned award, telling the BBC he was "very happy, very proud. It was a huge surprise."

Diébédo Francis Kéré is a respected authority in the field of architecture. He worked as a lecturer at his alma mater Technical University of Berlin, teaching how to design buildings ecological and socially adequate to their environment. In the summer of 2012 Kéré lectured at the University of Wisconsin in Milwaukee, and in autumn 2012 he was a visiting professor at Harvard. In February 2013 he began teaching at the Accademia di Architettura di Mendrisio. In 2017 Kéré took over the newly created professorship for Architectural design and Participation at the Technical University of Munich. He was a visiting professor at the Yale School of Architecture. In 2021 Kéré took a position as guest professor at the Bauhaus University in Weimar, Germany.

He is the Principal & Founder of Kéré Architecture, leading this internationally renowned, Berlin-based architectural firm which he founded in 2005. The studio specialises in socially-engaged, climate-responsive, and sustainable design across multiple continents. 

He is a Professor of Architectural Design and Participation at the Technical University of Munich (TUM), where he he holds a permanent professorship and has been teaching and leading research into participatory building methods. 

Kèré is also the President & Founder of the Kéré Foundation. He directs this non-profit organisation (originally Schulbausteine für Gando) dedicated to implementing sustainable public infrastructure, healthcare, and educational facilities in marginalised communities, specifically in his home country of Burkina Faso. 

He is the Director of the Tenkodogo Training Centre where he oversees an expanded architectural training and research hub in Burkina Faso, focusing on teaching global craftspeople and architects how to build energy-efficient structures using local, vernacular materials.

He is one of National Geographic's 2026 Changemakers. 

Some of his active projects include:

•The Benin National Assembly building (under construction).

•The Las Vegas Museum of Art in downtown Las Vegas (designed in collaboration with SOM).

•The Ineza Clinic in rural Burundi.

•The newly completed Goethe-Institut in Dakar, Senegal.

The story of West African architecture is being rewritten on the global stage, and for a fellow West African, there is no greater beacon of this transformation than Diébédo Francis Kéré. His rise to the pinnacle of global architecture is more than a personal triumph; it is a profound cultural validation. His work serves as a masterclass in how to honour our roots while shaping the future. For an aspiring creative from the same soil, Kéré is not just an inspiration—he is a blueprint for how we can redefine our continent's identity through design. Seeing his work teaches me that our heritage is not a limitation; it is our greatest asset. 

Kéré’s philosophy redefines the very purpose of an architect from an isolated artist to a community collaborator. In many West African cultures, community and collectivism—the spirit of Ubuntu or Kapital—define daily life. Kéré seamlessly weaves this cultural fabric into his building process. He does not just deliver a blueprint; he invites the community to gather, learn, and build together. By training local men and women in advanced brickmaking and construction techniques, he ensures that the process of creation leaves the community richer in skill and pride. This teaches us that architecture is not merely about erecting beautiful objects; it is about creating spatial dignity and fostering social equity.

Diébédo Francis Kéré inspires me because he represents a bridge between what was, what is, and what can be. He has shown me that as West Africans, we have a duty to create spaces that breathe with our climate, speak our cultural languages, and respect our economic realities. He has paved the way, proving that our stories, our materials, and our communal values are worthy of world-class celebration.

NIGERIA: The Giant and Heartbeat of a Continent | 1 Hour Full Documentary

 By Africa Revealed 

Things I Feel Strongly About: Rumba

Things I Feel Strongly About: Rumba: Congolese rumba, also known as African rumba, is a dance music genre originating from the Republic of the Congo and the Democratic Republic ...

Travel vlogging today

I was concerned about the current trends in travel vlogging, and wondered how the desires of the more thoughtful person in search of travel stories might be fulfilled. So I proposed the following to an AI chat bot:-

"There's not much intellectuality in the travel vlogging that fills the internet. Much of this kind of vlogging is limited to scenes and images, not necessarily the deeper, more meaningful stories that a thoughtful person might be hoping to see and hear. Discuss."

Then I received this response:

"You have pointed out a very real and visible shift in how we consume travel media. Much of the travel vlogging that dominates the internet today prioritises visual spectacle over intellectual or cultural depth, transforming what used to be a medium for storytelling into a fast-paced gallery of beautiful, but often hollow, imagery. Here is a breakdown of why travel vlogging has leaned away from "intellectuality".

The economics of modern internet platforms heavily favour short-form, high-stimulation content. Referred to as "the Attention Economy", platforms like TikTok, Instagram Reels, and YouTube Shorts reward creators for hooking a viewer in the first two seconds. A stunning drone shot of a cliffside in Amalfi or an aesthetic slow-motion clip of a cafe is instantly digestible. A deep dive into the socio-economic history of that same Italian village requires time that the algorithm rarely rewards.Then there is the rise of "vibe" over substance. Travel content has increasingly shifted from travel journalism to lifestyle marketing. The focus is often less about the destination itself and more about how the vlogger looks and feels in that destination. The location becomes a mere backdrop for personal branding.

The internet hasn't completely killed intellectual travel storytelling; rather, the dominant platforms have buried it beneath an avalanche of highly aesthetic, easily monetisable lifestyle content. The "thoughtful person" can still find deeply meaningful stories, but it now requires active curation rather than relying on what the algorithm serves up on the front page."

When I am telling a story, I aspire to tell the story in the manner of Alan Whicker of old, and more recently Michael Palin. Even though those men were at the centre of the stories they told from around the world, the stories were never about themselves personally. You watched their storytelling and came away with having learned so much. It was real travel journalism. I try to do the same through my own preferred medium of expression, which is writing. The purpose, in my humble opinion, should be, through one's journalistic efforts, to capture the essence of the place that one is visiting.

Nowadays, though, it seems to be more about lifestyle than about travel.

PS: Donald Alan Whicker (2 August 1921 – 12 July 2013) was a journalist and television presenter and broadcaster. His career spanned almost 60 years, during which time he presented the documentary television programme Whicker's World for over 30 years. I used to watch him avidly when I was growing up, as he took us around the world.

Things I Feel Strongly About: Water No Get Enemy

Things I Feel Strongly About: Water No Get Enemy: You absolutely must listen to Shakara too.. .

Yellow Fever, Fela Kuti

This hit song by Fela Kuti from 1976.

Yellow Fever, the term is used as a satirical metaphor to criticise the popular and harmful practice of skin bleaching among African women. Fela framed the artificial lightening of dark skin using chemical creams as a form of sickness. He compared it to a fever, singing that while an "original" fever (like jaundice fever or malaria fever) is a natural illness that the body can fight off, skin bleaching is a self-inflicted, artificial disease. 

Beyond physical health risks, Fela used the term to attack a post-colonial inferiority complex. He viewed the obsession with lighter, "Caucasoid" skin tones as a sign of mental colonisation and a rejection of natural African identity.

The phrase "Yellow Fever" was originally a local nickname given to traffic wardens in Nigeria because of the bright yellow shirts they wore. Fela borrowed the term and redirected it at people who bleached their skin.

In truth, yellow fever, is, in fact, a serious viral disease spread by the bites of infected mosquitoes in tropical and subtropical regions of Africa and South America. 

Cotonou

I watched the dust of Cotonou settle onto my shoes, realising how strange it felt to be an outsider in a place that looked exactly like home. As an African travelling across my own continent, crossing a border doesn't mean entering a new world; it means entering a mirror that has been slightly tilted. Back in Lagos, the cacophony is loud, the soundscape is always of busy traffic, loud car horns, and raised voices, but here, there is hardly a noise, with the Atlantic humidity wrapping around you like a heavy, familiar cloth, as if you are constantly in the pleasant Lagos city district of Victoria Island wherever in Cotonou you are.

Walking through the Dantokpa Market I didn't feel the sharp detachment of a foreign tourist. Instead, I felt a quiet frustration—the sensation of recognising everything and recognising nothing at all, all at once. The rhythm of the women bargaining, the vocals of Beninese local music spilling from speakers were familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time; and the aroma of roasting plantains was entirely intimate, but I could not speak the local Fon and Egun languages, or French, fluently enough to blend in.

My friend and I went to the city’s port. There were newly imported used cars from Europe for sale, and my friend was interested in replacing his car. The ambience was relaxed, nothing like the hurried helter-skelter of Lagos, where everyone seems to be dashing around at a frenzied pace. It was in Cotonou that I heard Zouk music for the first time, this French Caribbean music genre pioneered by the French Antillean band Kassav' in the early 1980s. In Cotonou, in the Republic of Benin, the word "chill" took on a new meaning for me.

Stranded between the comfort of shared identity and the isolation of being a stranger, I found a strange kind of peace. I didn't need to explain myself here. The land understood my bones, even if the city didn't know my name.

My Africa

"No matter where my feet walk or how many oceans I cross, the rhythm of the red earth stays in my chest; my heart remains anchored beneath the vast African sky."

It's like a homecoming for me whenever, or wherever I set foot on the continent. The feeling is visceral, a strong automatic reaction that comes from deep emotion. I visit a country or a part of the continent I have never been before, and I immediately identify with it. 

I'm usually self effacing, modesty and humility are qualities that were inculcated in me from my upbringing, and I'm grateful for it, but in saying this, without bragging, I have, in fact, travelled around a bit, and I still intend to do quite a bit more travelling for as long as I'm able. Travelling to new places is one of my favourite things to do. But nowhere else among the myriad places I have been to outside of Africa — in South America, the Middle East or wherever else,  have I had that strong feeling, that powerful emotional reaction that Africa gives me. Africa itself is quite diverse, but the feeling is the same whether in Kano, Nigeria or in Kampala, Uganda. 

Geography can map the physical coordinates of a person’s body, but it can never chart the boundaries of the soul. For those who carry the dust of the African continent in their bones, displacement is merely physical. You can cross vast oceans, adapt to the frost of northern winters, and learn to navigate the grid-locked streets of foreign metropolises, yet the internal compass never shifts. It remains unyielding, always pointing back to the place where your story began. This connection is not a fleeting sense of nostalgia; it is a permanent anchor, a quiet and powerful gravity that pulls at you across thousands of miles of open water.

To live away from the continent is to exist in a state of beautiful duality. On the outside, your feet walk through new landscapes, learning the rhythms of different cultures and the cadence of foreign tongues. You build a life, you progress, and you survive. But beneath the surface, a different pulse dictates your days. It is the memory of the red earth—rich, warm, and heavy with history. That vibrant soil leaves an indelible stain on the spirit, a reminder of a land that doesn't just sustain life, but demands to be felt. It is a rhythm that beats in tandem with your own heart, a steady drumbeat of identity that grows louder in moments of silence.

Ultimately, home is not defined by a roof or a postcode; it is defined by the sky that holds your memories. The African sky possesses a unique, sweeping vastness that seems to swallow the horizon whole, offering a sense of clarity and scale that stays with you forever. No matter how many oceans you put between yourself and that horizon, the sky follows you in your mind’s eye. It becomes a sanctuary you can retreat to when the world feels too small or too cold. Your heart remains anchored there, safely kept beneath that endless blue expanse, ensuring that no matter how far you wander, you are never truly lost.

"My heart is in Africa" means having a deep, emotional, and spiritual connection to the African continent, even when you are far away. It is a deep emotional attachment to the continent that I have felt for all of my life. 

No matter where my feet may tread,

On distant paths or foreign loam,

Or how many endless oceans spread

Between my shadow and my home,

The steady pulse, the sacred hum,

Of ancient, sun-drenched, heavy clay,

Beats in my chest like a quiet drum

That miles can never wash away.

Let city lights or cold seas rise,

Let new horizons claim my eye—

My heart remains forever bound,

Beneath the vast, unmoving sky.

It is not democracy but rather, military dictatorship that is alien to Africa

Traditional African societies had deeply rooted systems of order, law, and governance long before European colonialism.

Large empires like Mali, Songhai, and centralised kingdoms like the Kingdom of Benin, and the Kingdom of Buganda maintained sophisticated administrative structures, courts, taxation, and military organisation.

Decentralised and Consensus-Based Societies: Many other societies (such as the Igbo or Tiv) operated without single monarchs, using councils of elders, age-grades, and community assemblies to manage disputes and maintain social harmony through consensus.

Checks and Balances: Power was frequently shared between political rulers, religious authorities, and clan heads to prevent tyranny and ensure accountability to the community.

Many pre-colonial African kingdoms used formal systems of checks and balances to prevent kings from becoming absolute rulers.

The Oyo Empire (in modern-day Nigeria) had one of the strongest systems of checks and balances in history.

The Oyo Mesi: This was a council of seven state leaders. They chose the king, called the Alaafin.

The Empty Calabash: If the king abused his power, the council gave him an empty calabash (a dried gourd) or a parrot's egg. This meant he had lost the right to rule and must commit suicide.

The Ogboni Society: This religious group of elders had to approve the council's decision to remove a king. This stopped the council from staging unfair political takeovers.

Military Limits: The head military commander was legally banned from ever entering the capital city so he could not use his army to seize the throne.

The Kingdom of Kongo also divided power between the king and his advisers.

Royal Council: The king ruled with the help of 12 wise advisers chosen for life.

Power to Depose: If the king broke the rules or failed to lead well, these advisers had the power to remove him from the throne.

In the Ashanti Empire the most direct political check was the process of destoolment—the formal deposition of a king. If an Asantehene became tyrannical, corrupt, or physically incapacitated, the council and the citizens could remove him.

The Ashanti Empire (Asante) featured a highly sophisticated constitutional monarchy where power was distributed between the central king, regional chiefs, and powerful queen mothers. 

Here is how the Ashanti system of checks and balances functioned to prevent total rule by a single individual:

The Role of the Queen Mother (Asantehemaa)Kingmaker: The Asantehemaa held the supreme power to nominate the candidate for the position of King (Asantehene). She served as the ultimate adviser to the king and was the only person who could publicly scold or veto him if he veered from traditional law. She maintained her own court, separate from the king's, to hear domestic, lineage, and civil disputes.

The Asantehene could not pass laws, declare war, or make major state decisions without the unanimous consent of the Asanteman Council, which was made up of the paramount chiefs (Amanhene) of the various Ashanti states.

Citizens' Rights: Commoners could voice their grievances through youth associations (Asafo). The Asafo were traditional military organisations made up of the common people (youngmen).

Grounds for Removal: Valid reasons for destoolment included financial corruption, ignoring the council, or displaying cowardice in battle. Several Ashanti kings were successfully destooled throughout history for failing to meet these high standards.

Removal from Office: If an Asantehene or any chief violated the sacred oaths of office, engaged in corruption, or became tyrannical, the council and the people had the right to "de-stool" (impeach) them. In Ashanti culture, the stool represents the soul of the nation and political authority. When a ruler was de-stooled, they were physically separated from the stool, stripping them of all power.

The most prominent political check on the Zulu monarch was the Ibhandla, a grand council made up of hereditary chiefs (izikhulu), senior elders, and wise advisers.

Consensus-Based Rule: While the Inkosi held ultimate executive power, he was traditionally expected to govern by consensus. He could not make major national decisions—such as declaring war or shifting territorial boundaries—without consulting the Ibhandla.

The Voice of the People: Because the chiefs on the council represented the various clans that made up the kingdom, ignoring their counsel risked fracturing national unity and sparking civil war.

This list is by no means exhaustive. It is not democracy, but rather military dictatorship that is completely alien to Africa. 

"Blogger and African historian"?

My name appears somewhere in this article in this Canadian magazine, where I am referred to as a "Blogger and African historian" when quoting something I had written. I don't know when I attained this credential conferred on me by this author.

Nevertheless, although I'm hardly a scholar, if an "African historian" is one who focuses on removing Eurocentric biases and challenging colonial narratives that portrayed Africa as having no history before European arrival, then maybe I have inadvertently earned myself this designation. 

Warrior Women of West Africa