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. 

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 and expressed 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 by which conflict is kept out the picture 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 that's 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.

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. 

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.

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.

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

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 

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 the Beninese local music spilling from speakers were familiar yet unfamiliar at the same time; 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. 

The Ingoma

The centuries-old Burundi drumming tradition centres on the ingoma (sacred royal drums). Performed by groups in a semicircle, it combines synchronised drumming, heroic poetry, and athletic dancing. Designated as a UNESCO Intangible Cultural Heritage, it remains a powerful symbol of Burundian identity.

The Significance of the Ingoma

In pre-colonial times, drums were the sonic emblem of royal authority. They were reserved exclusively for royal ceremonies, coronations, and to welcome important visitors, with certain drums viewed as sacred state artifacts. Today, the tradition is not just a musical performance; it represents peace, unity, and ancestral heritage.

The Performance

A traditional performance involves at least a dozen (always an odd number) of heavy ingoma arranged in a semicircle around a central drum. The drummers balance the heavy drums on their heads as they walk onto the stage, singing and playing. Several drummers hold a continuous rhythm, while others dance acrobatically and play at the same time. The dancers may be accompanied by members carrying ornamental spears and shields.

Modern Regulations and Heritage

Traditionally, the skill and profession of drumming were passed down from father to son, primarily within specific drum sanctuaries such as the one in Gishora. However, the tradition has faced modern challenges. The Burundian government has strictly regulated performances and appearances at international events to protect the sacred nature of the drums.

Strict Presidential Decrees

As the drums grew popular globally, the Burundian government stepped in to prevent the commercialisation of their sacred heritage. A 2017 presidential decree officially banned women from playing the royal drums. The law imposes a fine of roughly $270 USD on any group that allows a woman to drum. The drums can now only be played at official state ceremonies. Playing the ingoma at private parties, weddings, or cultural festivals without government permission is strictly illegal.

International Fame & Musical Influence

The Royal Drummers of Burundi became global icons in the late 20th century. Their powerful rhythms directly shaped modern Western music. They began touring internationally in the 1960s, captivating audiences with their intense physical energy.

The Gishora Drum Sanctuary

If you ever travel to Burundi, Gishora is the heart of this living history. Situated on a hilltop near the town of Gitega (the new capital).

Inside the Gishora Sanctuary & The Rituals of the Abatimbo

The Gishora Drum Sanctuary is not just a museum or a performance stage; it is an active spiritual compound managed by the Abatimbo—a lineage of ritualists descended from ancient royal court leaders.

The Guardianship of Silent Spirits: The Abatimbo protect two highly revered, ancient drums that are never allowed to be beaten. They are named Ruciteme ("the one for whom we clear the forest") and Murimirwa ("the one for whom we cultivate"). They represent the spirits of past kings and the fertility of the nation's soil.

The Ritual Architecture: The sanctuary is built like a traditional pre-colonial royal palace compound (urugo), surrounded by a woven bamboo fence. The drums are housed inside specialised straw huts that function as shrines.

Sowing and Harvest Ceremonies: Historically, the Abatimbo performed the Muganuro (the festival of the sorghum sowing). Before the king could eat the first harvest, the Abatimbo spent days performing purification rituals and specific rhythm sequences on the Ingendanyi (the "retinue" or active performance drums) to bless the national agriculture.

The Living Lineage: Today, local boys are initiated into the Abatimbo lineage from childhood. They are taught that drumming is an act of spiritual endurance, requiring them to learn epic historical poetry, precise combat-style choreography, and the specific sonic patterns passed down for centuries.