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. 🙃

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 Quiet Covenant

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

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

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

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

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

A 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.

Papa, can I assist you?

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

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

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

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

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

Lifeline Across Continents

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Afrobeat Mind

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.

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.

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.

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.

"Blogger and African historian"?

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

However, 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

Grok said this

According to Grok: The X post shares a personal blog entry reflecting on the author's solo 1992 trip to Rio de Janeiro, capturing the thrill of first-time experiences like flying across the Atlantic from Nigeria and navigating a non-English-speaking city amid Carnival preparations.

It emphasises Afro-Atlantic cultural connections, such as Yoruba religious influences in Brazilian Candomblé and the mesmerising Capoeira performances, blending historical slave trade legacies with vibrant street life in favelas and beaches like Copacabana.

The narrative highlights transformative encounters, including an impromptu friendship with a local capoeirista despite language barriers, evoking lasting nostalgia and a sense of leaving "a part of me behind" in Rio after two frenetic weeks.

On the Mangroves of the Niger Delta

Key Facts About the Niger Delta Mangroves

It covers roughly 6,000 to 7,000 square kilometers (around 60% of Nigeria's total mangrove areas). It is the single largest mangrove ecosystem on the African continent. It is heavily impacted by decades of industrial logging, invasive species, and extensive oil and gas spills.

The flora of the Niger Delta is dominated by red, white, and black mangrove trees, alongside the invasive Nypa palm, while its wildlife includes specialised species such as mudskippers, West African manatees, Sclater's guenons, and fiddler crabs.

There are many environmental threats to the mangrove forests in the Niger Delta.

Oil extraction is the largest threat to Nigeria's mangrove forests. The oil-rich Niger Delta produces up to two million barrels of crude oil a day, which has placed Nigeria as the 9th oil producing country in the world. Such extensive oil extraction has come at great environmental and social cost. Nigeria's Federal Ministry of Environment has estimated that since 1958, 13 million barrels of oil have been spilled during extraction processes. 

Activities such as oil drilling, spillage, dredging of canals, and the construction of housing for oil workers pose substantial threats to the survival and effective functioning of the mangrove ecosystem. Oil spills and leakages have inflicted significant damage on Nigeria's mangrove areas, affecting not only the mangroves themselves but also the fishing economy and overall water quality.

Another threat to the mangroves is infrastructure development. This stands as a primary factor driving mangrove deforestation in the Niger Delta region of Nigeria. In recent times, particularly with the establishment of the Niger Delta Development Commission (NDDC) after extensive years of advocating against the marginalisation of this region (where Nigeria's primary crude oil reserves are located), endeavours to enhance infrastructure have been initiated. However, these initiatives occasionally lead to mangrove destruction. Land reclamation for residential and public infrastructure construction represents a significant danger to the mangrove ecosystem. 

Massive fish farming operations constitute a different significant factor contributing to the deforestation and degradation of mangroves in the region. An illustrative instance is evident in Buguma, Rivers State, where ONIDA, an Israeli company, engages in extensive fish farming. The establishment of this fish farm, boasting over forty ponds, resulted in the devastation and filling of a substantial area of the mangrove forest, crucial for the livelihoods of the local population. The primary motivation for situating the farm near the mangrove is to ensure a consistent supply of brackish (salty) water necessary for cultivating the targeted fish species, particularly the Barramundi, which is cultivated and imported from Australia. However, the overall contributions of such endeavours to the rural economy, considering the importation of nearly all farm necessities, including fish feed from Israel or Australia, raise significant questions.  

Nypa fruticans (Nipa palm) – an invasive alien species, is another major threat to the mangrove ecosystem in the Niger Delta. The species, which was introduced in Nigeria for the control of riverbank erosion has become a big menace to the mangrove ecosystem. The deforestation and degradation of the mangroves for firewood gathering, the construction of navigational canals, villages, and the activities of oil companies, encourage their replacement by this fast colonizer (Nypa fruticans) which does not provide the enormous ecological services provided by mangroves.

Also, improper waste disposal is an additional contributor to mangrove degradation in the Niger Delta. Instances of constructing public toilets that discharge waste directly into the mangroves and disposing of waste in their vicinity have become prevalent in the area.

As with most problems Nigeria currently faces, inadequate foresight planning and the country's large and ever increasing population rank as major contributing factors. 

The Niger Delta region is my ancestral homeland.

 

Nypa fruticans, commonly known as the nipa palm

The species is native to the Andaman Islands, Australia (Northern Territory and Queensland), Bangladesh, Bismarck Archipelago, Indonesia, Cambodia, Caroline Islands, China (Hainan), India, Java, Lesser Sunda Islands, Malaysia, Moluccas, Myanmar, Nansei-shoto, New Guinea, Nicobar Islands, Philippines, Solomon Islands, Sri Lanka, Sulawesi, Sumatra, Thailand and Vietnam where it lives, sinking its roots in the mud, in mainly brackish waters along the coasts, lagoons and estuaries, flooded by sea water only for a short time, not surviving if permanently submerged. By the beginning of the 20th century, it has been introduced in Nigeria where it has rapidly diffused up to Cameroon becoming an invasive species and in some cases a pest.

Rio de Janeiro 2

Rio de Janeiro is one of the most spectacular cities in the world, certainly THE most spectacular city I've ever been to, and the one with the most dramatic landscapes. Visiting this city is one of those unforgettable memories that remain with you forever. Especially for me, because it was my first ever independent foreign trip, one that I did all by myself as a youngster in my 20's then; having to navigate the language barrier, then react and adapt to the new and the unfamiliar. The experience was thrilling in the extreme, and is probably from where my curiosity and love for adventure were born.

This mountain is the Corcovado, and the large sculpture on top of the mountain is known as Cristo Redentor, or Christ the Redeemer. It took nine years to complete, between 1922 - 1931. It is an Art Deco-style sculpture, of Jesus Christ with open arms in a cross shape, 38 metres (124ft) high, which is equivalent to a 13-storey building. The total weight of the statue is approximately 1145 tons, of which 30 tons correspond only the head. It is huge. 

The hands and head are the only parts of Christ the Redeemer that weren’t built in Brazil. They were shaped in Paris. The statue’s body is made entirely of soapstone, cut into triangles, glued by hand in a fabric and applied in the structure made of reinforced concrete. The monument is made to withstand winds of up to 250 km per hour. 

I actually walked up to the foot of this sculpture, and took the obligatory tourist photos. The views of the city from the viewing platform at the foot of the statue are breathtaking. I reached the top of  the mountain by taxi, there's a road that winds its way up the mountain, although the last few hundred feet of the climb must be completed by foot. This, even if one had arrived at the top of the mountain by way of the funicular train, the alternative and more popular method of reaching this mountain top. 

My taxi driver took me up there, waited for me, and brought me back down. Then he charged the hell out of me, I was after all a foreign tourist who spoke English. But I didn't mind paying for what seemed to me like a once in a lifetime experience. Also, the driver had a living to make, so..

This statue is one of the New 7 Wonders of the World.

Kilimanjaro

Last year, flying south from Nairobi to Johannesburg, I was desperate to capture an aerial view shot of this great mountain. In a straight line, the distance from Nairobi to Mount Kilimanjaro is 206 kilometres (106 miles). I had seen photos and videos of the mountain shot from airplane windows, and I had hoped that I too would join this club. But when my turn came, it was not to be. The weather condition on that day was hazy, visibility was poor. Also, it may well have been that the flight plan did not take us anywhere near the mountain at all. I had on a previous flight out of Nairobi to Amsterdam caught a prolonged glimpse of Mount Kenya, in the distance, in the early morning light, silhouetted against the rising sun as we headed north. It was somewhat disheartening then not to have seen Kilimanjaro, and it is to compensate for this that I am doing this writing. 

The highest mountain in Africa, and the highest free-standing mountain above sea level in the world, at 5,895 m (19,341 ft) above sea level and 4,900 m (16,100 ft) above its plateau base, Mount Kilimanjaro  is also the highest mountain in the Eastern Hemisphere and the fourth most prominent peak on Earth.

Mountain height is measured as the height above sea level to the summit. Modern tools like GPS and satellite imagery allow for precise measurements, replacing older methods. Also, though altitude rankings are the most common, mountains are sometimes ranked by "prominence," which measures height relative to surrounding terrain. Kilimanjaro is exceptional in prominence as the world's tallest freestanding mountain, soaring from the plains with no surrounding mountain range. In Africa, Kilimanjaro is unmatched in height. It rises significantly above Mount Kenya: 5,199 m (17,057 ft), and Mount Stanley (Uganda) 5,109 m (16,763 feet). Kilimanjaro's dominance has made it an enduring symbol of Africa's natural beauty.

Much of the readily available literature about this mountain is composed of scientific reports, measurements and findings, together with promotional material for adventure tourism. What I choose to focus on though, is the mountain's cultural significance.

The mountain and its surrounding forests were designated a game reserve in the early part of the 20th century. In 1973 Mount Kilimanjaro National Park was established to protect the mountain above the tree line as well as the six forest corridors that extend downslope through the montane forest belt. The park was designated a UNESCO World Heritage site in 1987.

Kilimanjaro carries a significance that goes well beyond its grandeur. For local communities, it is a mountain of legend, of spirituality, and a mountain of national pride. It is one of Africa's most culturally important landmarks. For the Chagga people, who live on the fertile lower slopes of Kilimanjaro, the mountain is more than a backdrop to daily life—it is a sacred presence. Traditional stories portray Kilimanjaro as a spiritual guardian, a place inhabited by ancestral spirits and gods. Rainfall from the mountain’s glaciers and streams nourishes the fields below, giving life to the banana plantations and coffee farms that sustain the community. This link between the mountain and survival has reinforced its role as a symbol of abundance and protection.

"Kilimanjaro features prominently in East African folklore. Some tales describe it as a place of forbidden fire guarded by spirits, while others tell of great hunters and warriors whose souls rest upon its slopes. For centuries, the mountain’s snow and ice also inspired awe and mystery, as it seemed impossible to reconcile with its equatorial location. These stories were passed down through generations, weaving Kilimanjaro into the region’s cultural identity.

For Tanzania as a whole, Kilimanjaro is a powerful emblem of national unity and pride. It appears on the country’s coat of arms, banknotes, and tourism campaigns, representing endurance and strength. During the fight for independence, Kilimanjaro became a symbol of freedom and aspiration. In 1961, when Tanganyika (now Tanzania) gained independence, the new national flag was hoisted at the mountain’s summit—a gesture that forever tied Kilimanjaro to the country’s journey toward self-determination.

Kilimanjaro’s cultural significance is as towering as its physical presence. For the Chagga people, it is sacred ground and a source of life. For Tanzania, it is a symbol of independence, pride, and resilience. For the world, it is an enduring cultural icon celebrated in stories, art, and personal journeys. To climb or even gaze upon Kilimanjaro is to encounter not just a mountain, but a living emblem of human spiritual  and cultural identity." Global Trekking Expeditions