Ugandan folk musician and dancer, Seby Ntege and his Ngoma arts band invited me to tour across, Devon, south west England in February 2010. The audiences were not only receptive but brought family members to enjoy. Seby Ntege is passionate about keeping traditional African music alive accompanied by dancer and musician, Hassan Kayemba and John Raymond M, on bass, who also produced this clip. Here, we are performing Ntwara Mata, a popular Ugandan song with me on drums and percussion.
Showing posts with label East Africa. Show all posts
Showing posts with label East Africa. Show all posts
Sunday, 18 April 2010
Sunday, 28 June 2009
HOTEL MNARANI ZANZIBAR
Unique East African solace
There are various ways to describe a place.
Different people see places, differently.
So my views about Hotel Mnarani in the Nungwi area of Zanzibar might not match yours, dear reader.
Having such an honest perspective in mind, could be the reason why you find differing views on the hotel’s website. By allowing contrasting feedback, Mnarani’s management have sought objectivity; a compliment, in my opinion. Some clients describe Mnarani as being too quiet and laid back for younger people. Some see it as paradise. Some do not like the food.
Some love the food.
That is honesty.
Mnarani is about heights and peaks and fresh air.
The hotel’s name stems from Mnara which in Kiswahili means tower, steeple, minaret, lighthouse; so standing from certain elevated parts of the premise you see the 70 feet (21.3 meters) Lighthouse built by Chance & Brothers in 1888. Since 1926 the Lighthouse has been flashing automatically every five seconds to guide ships entering from all over the world.
Mnarani is 37 miles (60 kilometres approximately) from Zanzibar, subsequently it is situated amongst polite, unassuming villagers; the hotel’s info warns that the local population is Muslim: “Tourism is a new phenomenon in the life of these people.”
Females are warned not to wonder around in bikinis; respect is the chief vibe here, therefore.
Village cows crossing road, majestically, near hotel.
I only have gracious words to say about very humble local villagers and staff. Take Kidawa. She tells me this tavern is a great sojourn for newly weds, honeymooners, romantics. To prove the point she goes out fetches clusters of mixed flowers and for almost 30 minutes decorates my bed.
“Doesn’t this tire, you?” I wonder.
“Not at all. It is God’s pleasure,” she says sweeping, working and clearing the mess away, easily, afterwards.
Another interesting conversation is with Sadat Mbarak who has been here for a couple of years.
A perfect gentleman, Mbarak says of visitors: “People who come here are quiet. They go to bed at 9 p.m.”
Surely, that might be early; especially if you are a party animal.
Animals?
“There are loads of green snakes around,” Nassoro Ali, the equally hardworking hotel director explains to me lightly (while my insides tremble, slightly), “But I always tell the workers not to kill them. We regard them as harmless.”
Nature is abundant. Green colour, vegetation and trees (Coconuts, Mangoes, Shokishoki (Rambutan fruit) flowers: Frangi Pani (below), Hibiscus, Bougainvillea, Roses.
With so much green and nature you would expect mosquitoes to roam freely and menacingly but the hotel has managed to reduce them by getting rid of lurking ponds or disinfecting them. So I find my short stay at Mnarani pleasant; there is no need to use my allocated mosquito net.
For tourists, activities are abundant: Finish sauna, Snorkelling trips, Boat trips, Kayaking (single $10; double 30), Scuba diving, Wind surfing, beauty : Henna for $5;
And massage (divided into $10 for half hour; $30 an hour, respectively).
Mnarani has a small library in the internet room. It is the first time I have been in an East African hotel and encountered novels and books; this sends a good message.Reading should be part of holidays and pleasure, not just work, study or college...
Both staff and director have great enthusiasm for nature.
Makame, Mohammed and Juma -all staff-members don matching T-shirts with "Dont be a Tourist-be a local in Zanzibar-" labels on them.
I am encouraged to swim (both sea and swimming pool are perfectly clean) and advised when best to do it (the ocean tides can be very strong); I am also coaxed to go at interesting locations of the hotel. Even when we sit down (on that late May) night watching the televisedBarcelona versus Manchester United Champions League Final, the seaside nearby keeps applauding. One last word about Mnarani Hotel.
According to Nassoro it all began in 1996 and is still expanding. While i was here, lots of construction was going on...
Need more details?
Visit http://www.lighthousezanzibar.com/.
There are various ways to describe a place.
Different people see places, differently.
So my views about Hotel Mnarani in the Nungwi area of Zanzibar might not match yours, dear reader.
Having such an honest perspective in mind, could be the reason why you find differing views on the hotel’s website. By allowing contrasting feedback, Mnarani’s management have sought objectivity; a compliment, in my opinion. Some clients describe Mnarani as being too quiet and laid back for younger people. Some see it as paradise. Some do not like the food.
Some love the food.
That is honesty.
Mnarani is about heights and peaks and fresh air.
The hotel’s name stems from Mnara which in Kiswahili means tower, steeple, minaret, lighthouse; so standing from certain elevated parts of the premise you see the 70 feet (21.3 meters) Lighthouse built by Chance & Brothers in 1888. Since 1926 the Lighthouse has been flashing automatically every five seconds to guide ships entering from all over the world.
Mnarani is 37 miles (60 kilometres approximately) from Zanzibar, subsequently it is situated amongst polite, unassuming villagers; the hotel’s info warns that the local population is Muslim: “Tourism is a new phenomenon in the life of these people.”
Females are warned not to wonder around in bikinis; respect is the chief vibe here, therefore.
Village cows crossing road, majestically, near hotel.
I only have gracious words to say about very humble local villagers and staff. Take Kidawa. She tells me this tavern is a great sojourn for newly weds, honeymooners, romantics. To prove the point she goes out fetches clusters of mixed flowers and for almost 30 minutes decorates my bed.
“Doesn’t this tire, you?” I wonder.
“Not at all. It is God’s pleasure,” she says sweeping, working and clearing the mess away, easily, afterwards.
Another interesting conversation is with Sadat Mbarak who has been here for a couple of years.
A perfect gentleman, Mbarak says of visitors: “People who come here are quiet. They go to bed at 9 p.m.”
Surely, that might be early; especially if you are a party animal.
Animals?
“There are loads of green snakes around,” Nassoro Ali, the equally hardworking hotel director explains to me lightly (while my insides tremble, slightly), “But I always tell the workers not to kill them. We regard them as harmless.”
Nature is abundant. Green colour, vegetation and trees (Coconuts, Mangoes, Shokishoki (Rambutan fruit) flowers: Frangi Pani (below), Hibiscus, Bougainvillea, Roses.
With so much green and nature you would expect mosquitoes to roam freely and menacingly but the hotel has managed to reduce them by getting rid of lurking ponds or disinfecting them. So I find my short stay at Mnarani pleasant; there is no need to use my allocated mosquito net.
For tourists, activities are abundant: Finish sauna, Snorkelling trips, Boat trips, Kayaking (single $10; double 30), Scuba diving, Wind surfing, beauty : Henna for $5;
And massage (divided into $10 for half hour; $30 an hour, respectively).
Mnarani has a small library in the internet room. It is the first time I have been in an East African hotel and encountered novels and books; this sends a good message.Reading should be part of holidays and pleasure, not just work, study or college...
Both staff and director have great enthusiasm for nature.
Makame, Mohammed and Juma -all staff-members don matching T-shirts with "Dont be a Tourist-be a local in Zanzibar-" labels on them.
I am encouraged to swim (both sea and swimming pool are perfectly clean) and advised when best to do it (the ocean tides can be very strong); I am also coaxed to go at interesting locations of the hotel. Even when we sit down (on that late May) night watching the televisedBarcelona versus Manchester United Champions League Final, the seaside nearby keeps applauding. One last word about Mnarani Hotel.
According to Nassoro it all began in 1996 and is still expanding. While i was here, lots of construction was going on...
Need more details?
Visit http://www.lighthousezanzibar.com/.
Sunday, 23 November 2008
MIKE SIKAWA-tribute and obituary
...If I was to choose key words to describe the late BBC Tanzanian journalist Mike Sikawa would be: brave, original, genuine, intelligent and opinionated. He danced his own tune and throughout his life followed his own cause.
Typical Mike Mike at the peak of his youth, 1982( Pic courtesy of Che Mponda Blog)
I knew him as a teenager and during those days (and even years later as we worked in Dar es Salaam) he loved music and his most favourite song by African American singer, Johnny Nash
: I Can See Clearly Now, perhaps mostly described his attitude to life:
“I can see clearly, the rain is gone now;
Is gonna be a bright, bright, sunshine day.”
Johnny Nash
During last years our correspondence was a few emails regarding his column “Letter from Johannesburg” written in This Day for which I had high regard. We were school mates at Ilboru Secondary Schoolin Arusha. Though ahead of me, hardly friends yet, we were both beneficiaries of the wonderful literature classes by Mama Victoria Chitepo (wife of the assassinated Zimbabwe exiled leader Herbert Chitepo) during the promising opening of the 1970 decade; she (and Ilboru School in general) was one of the early inspiration for many of us some who became leaders like former Prime Minister Frederick Sumaye; current Director of National Security, Mr. Rashid Othman and managerial executive Mr. Daniel Mshana
Although Mike could be confrontational and argumentative I never once saw or heard him getting into a physical fight; he was a peaceful man whose passion for truth and information was expressed through the pen and free speech.
Growing in the era of Ujamaa
and Mwalimu Nyerere where self expression was stifled and the paranoia of secret services loomed large, Mike would stroll through storm, rain and sun, unafraid to speak out. Whereas Ilboru proved an almost silent, sullen experience for the tall, lanky Meru born teenager at Mzumbe Secondary in Morogoro he blossomed. Again we were school mates, he still in front of me.
Mzumbe Secondary, today regarded as the topmost school in Tanzania.
By now he was constantly talking of his new found first serious love: Helen T. who he glorified and endeared with romantic letters and poems.
For me leaving the familiar surroundings of northern Tanzania to almost semi-arid conditions at the rough ragged Mzumbe boarding school in 1973 was catastrophic. And Mike Sikawa (alongside other Ilboru colleagues) became a kind of elder brother guiding me along. By this time I had found (beside my cravings to be a writer) the guitar and Mike Sikawa was leading singer of Earthquakes one of our school bands at Mzumbe. With South African born exile, Tabiso “Tabs” Leshoai they taught me the science of performance. In those days the great music maestro Mbarakah Mwinyishehe would come play free of charge at our dining hall and Mike would already show his aptitude for communication and fearlessness by chatting and teasing the national star, while we cowered in the background. Mbarakah Mwinyishehe then at the height of his powers would let us use his instruments during breaks and my very first musical concert, with Mike on lead vocals, (the Micky Jagger
and Tabu Ley
of our band) was that night.
Musician Mbaraka Mwinshehe who was to die in a car accident in 1979 in action. Photo courtesy of Bongo Celebrity Blog
Watched by cheering and admiring females from Kilakala Secondary School (our beloved sweethearts) I forgot what we had rehearsed and embarrassed the band. Later Mike followed me in the dormitory: “that was absolutely shit” he charged, point blank. Leshoai the musical director and solo guitarist coached: “Freddy we don’t go on stage to show off but to play music.”
These guys were my true peers and although they did not pursue a musical career, thanks to that incident, I am the disciplined musician I am today.
And Sikawa, Leshoai, Earthquakes was not just about music. They loved the truth: speaking out against injustice.
During the said 1971-73 period, the world was in intense transformation. President Richard Nixon was getting clobbered by the Watergate scandal, dreaded Vietnam War was at its epic end, the Black Panthers challenged racism in America; the CIA toppled the government of democratically elected government of Salvador Allende in Chile. In Africa, at their most ferocity, the liberation movements in Mozambique, Angola, Zimbabwe, South Africa worked from Dar es Salaam.
On the educational front, Professor Walter Rodney : released "How Europe Underdeveloped Africa" changing the way African history was taught and regarded across the world.
Late Professor Walter Rodney of Guyana, lived and taught history in Tanzania in the 1970's.
Locally, industrial and school strikes (like what we are undergoing through now) were frequent. The new clause from TANU’s guidelines allowed workers to challenge and question bad leadership. For students this hunger for freedom and truth was as fashionable as hip-hop, hoods and hanging trousers are today.
Mzumbe was a tough school. Absent teachers, pathetic food, bullying and homosexual rape amongst pupils; we were fed up. Mike Sikawa and Tabiso Leshoai became part of The Rebel Cause leading riots that climaxed in the police (FFU) coming in; frog marching us back to classes. It ended with 150 of us being suspended. Three months later after a public humiliation by the Government we were pardoned and returned to school; the ring leaders were chucked out for good. One of them was, Mike Sikawa.
This was a crucial moment in the life of the once soft spoken, goody, goody country boy from the green highlands of Njiro, Meru.
The metamorphosis of Mike Sikawa fired up the day he was refused entry back to school, in 1973. Whereas he could be part of the Earthquakes band, centre of school debate, prancing about and teasing the likes of great musician Mbarakah Mwinyishehe or joking with the French language teacher from Senegal; he was suddenly alone. I would meet him during holidays, very angry, intense, focussed. Bright as he was his chance to join University had been quashed. His college, he declared, simply, shall be Life.
Public service and genuine leadership were amongst many issues Mike Sikawa tackled in his writings...
As means, it was to journalism he turned…
The early 1970’s were times of talented thoughtful press critics: Kenyan Philip Ochieng and Jenerali Ulimwengu
had powerful opinion columns in the then Daily News (The Standard) and Nationalist (English version of Uhuru). In the sports page Tommy Sithole (Zimbabwe born) rumbled on. At the head were the editors of the day, former President Benjamin Mkapa (boss when Mike Sikawa joined Daily News); brilliant photographer the late Vincent Urio,Ndimara Tegambwage, Ulli Mwambulukutu, Costa Kumalija and the arts column (Up the Stage) of Frank Mzirai.
One of Mike's memorable and disntinct early news stories was a much talked about debate between Kenyan scholar Professor Ali Mazrui
and Professor Walter Rodney at the University of Dar es Salaam in mid 70’s.
These were days before Wilson Kaigarula, Danford Mpumilwa, Hamidu Bisanga, Leila Sheikh,
and the satirist Adam Lusekelo. Mike Sikawa proved his mettle immediately. His first weekly column: “Roving Reporter” fitted his unique talent, trying exposing corruption, bureaucracy and inefficiency.
He was equally a great listener to foe and friend alike.
Around 1983 for example I recall being at a Kilimanjaro Hotel reception in Dar es Salaam with various government and diplomatic heavyweights. We were chatting and one Minister said something to Mike regarding his critical articles and what the role of a journalist should be. Mike took it on the chin, quietly, his typical sharp eyes with that I Don’t Believe You Sir, glint; saying nothing…
Dr. Asha-Rose Migiro, paid tribute.
By the 1980’s he was a senior reporter and getting the best scoops. We were mesmerised at the way he managed to get a lengthy interview with President Kenneth Kaunda of Zambia. It is no surprise that UN Deputy Secretary General, Dr. Asha Rose Migiro ( who sent a heartfelt tribute) would be tracked by Sikawa in Lesotho
, for an early reaction after her nomination, twenty six years later.
I always felt Mike Sikawa (and my generation in general) was greatly affected by the economic hardships especially after the war against Ugandan dictator Idi Amin
in 1979. Different people react to situations, differently. It was at the height of early creative powers that Mike started drinking heavily almost becoming a nuisance. I may say (without proper medical justification, though) that might have stirred his diabetes which was to eventually kill him. He was a very sensitive fellow affected not only by personal things but social ills as well. I felt his frustration was seeing the continent going nowhere and him unable to change things, instantly.
However, he did not lose his touch with humanity.
He was especially cordial to women and once said: “When you speak to women it puts them off staring at their chests or legs; look at their faces.”
In 1992 I met Mike Sikawa in London. He had transformed a great deal. No longer drinking, sober, studying journalism at Cardiff, Wales; working forBBC
; mentally still razor sharp, weakened with diabetes.
I visited him in South London where he expressed annoyance with the two faced nature of local prejudice:
“I cannot stand the hidden hypocritical racism in this country; I would rather it was more open like Germany or red neck America”…
He was now a born again Christian and would not allow using bad language. Despite his illness he read a film script I had drafted saying it was not good enough; years later I could see his point.
Soon he left for home.
Conclusively the BBC became his torch from Dar es Salaam, Johannesburg or Arusha where his final steps were as hobbled and strained as his life. Many have spoken or written about his simple straightforward writing style. It is sad that he did not take many photographs. I knew he was quite modest about that and regarded it as showing off : one of his other qualities...
This Day should, as a tribute, turn his brilliant essays into a book.
Young people and students of journalism would learn a lot about the ABC of writing from him.
May His Soul Rest in Peace, Amen.
Mike Sikawa born Meru, Arusha, October 1953
Died Meru, Arusha, 18th November, 2008
Typical Mike Mike at the peak of his youth, 1982( Pic courtesy of Che Mponda Blog)
I knew him as a teenager and during those days (and even years later as we worked in Dar es Salaam) he loved music and his most favourite song by African American singer, Johnny Nash
: I Can See Clearly Now, perhaps mostly described his attitude to life:
“I can see clearly, the rain is gone now;
Is gonna be a bright, bright, sunshine day.”
Johnny Nash
During last years our correspondence was a few emails regarding his column “Letter from Johannesburg” written in This Day for which I had high regard. We were school mates at Ilboru Secondary Schoolin Arusha. Though ahead of me, hardly friends yet, we were both beneficiaries of the wonderful literature classes by Mama Victoria Chitepo (wife of the assassinated Zimbabwe exiled leader Herbert Chitepo) during the promising opening of the 1970 decade; she (and Ilboru School in general) was one of the early inspiration for many of us some who became leaders like former Prime Minister Frederick Sumaye; current Director of National Security, Mr. Rashid Othman and managerial executive Mr. Daniel Mshana
Although Mike could be confrontational and argumentative I never once saw or heard him getting into a physical fight; he was a peaceful man whose passion for truth and information was expressed through the pen and free speech.
Growing in the era of Ujamaa
and Mwalimu Nyerere where self expression was stifled and the paranoia of secret services loomed large, Mike would stroll through storm, rain and sun, unafraid to speak out. Whereas Ilboru proved an almost silent, sullen experience for the tall, lanky Meru born teenager at Mzumbe Secondary in Morogoro he blossomed. Again we were school mates, he still in front of me.
Mzumbe Secondary, today regarded as the topmost school in Tanzania.
By now he was constantly talking of his new found first serious love: Helen T. who he glorified and endeared with romantic letters and poems.
For me leaving the familiar surroundings of northern Tanzania to almost semi-arid conditions at the rough ragged Mzumbe boarding school in 1973 was catastrophic. And Mike Sikawa (alongside other Ilboru colleagues) became a kind of elder brother guiding me along. By this time I had found (beside my cravings to be a writer) the guitar and Mike Sikawa was leading singer of Earthquakes one of our school bands at Mzumbe. With South African born exile, Tabiso “Tabs” Leshoai they taught me the science of performance. In those days the great music maestro Mbarakah Mwinyishehe would come play free of charge at our dining hall and Mike would already show his aptitude for communication and fearlessness by chatting and teasing the national star, while we cowered in the background. Mbarakah Mwinyishehe then at the height of his powers would let us use his instruments during breaks and my very first musical concert, with Mike on lead vocals, (the Micky Jagger
and Tabu Ley
of our band) was that night.
Musician Mbaraka Mwinshehe who was to die in a car accident in 1979 in action. Photo courtesy of Bongo Celebrity Blog
Watched by cheering and admiring females from Kilakala Secondary School (our beloved sweethearts) I forgot what we had rehearsed and embarrassed the band. Later Mike followed me in the dormitory: “that was absolutely shit” he charged, point blank. Leshoai the musical director and solo guitarist coached: “Freddy we don’t go on stage to show off but to play music.”
These guys were my true peers and although they did not pursue a musical career, thanks to that incident, I am the disciplined musician I am today.
And Sikawa, Leshoai, Earthquakes was not just about music. They loved the truth: speaking out against injustice.
During the said 1971-73 period, the world was in intense transformation. President Richard Nixon was getting clobbered by the Watergate scandal, dreaded Vietnam War was at its epic end, the Black Panthers challenged racism in America; the CIA toppled the government of democratically elected government of Salvador Allende in Chile. In Africa, at their most ferocity, the liberation movements in Mozambique, Angola, Zimbabwe, South Africa worked from Dar es Salaam.
On the educational front, Professor Walter Rodney : released "How Europe Underdeveloped Africa" changing the way African history was taught and regarded across the world.
Late Professor Walter Rodney of Guyana, lived and taught history in Tanzania in the 1970's.
Locally, industrial and school strikes (like what we are undergoing through now) were frequent. The new clause from TANU’s guidelines allowed workers to challenge and question bad leadership. For students this hunger for freedom and truth was as fashionable as hip-hop, hoods and hanging trousers are today.
Mzumbe was a tough school. Absent teachers, pathetic food, bullying and homosexual rape amongst pupils; we were fed up. Mike Sikawa and Tabiso Leshoai became part of The Rebel Cause leading riots that climaxed in the police (FFU) coming in; frog marching us back to classes. It ended with 150 of us being suspended. Three months later after a public humiliation by the Government we were pardoned and returned to school; the ring leaders were chucked out for good. One of them was, Mike Sikawa.
This was a crucial moment in the life of the once soft spoken, goody, goody country boy from the green highlands of Njiro, Meru.
The metamorphosis of Mike Sikawa fired up the day he was refused entry back to school, in 1973. Whereas he could be part of the Earthquakes band, centre of school debate, prancing about and teasing the likes of great musician Mbarakah Mwinyishehe or joking with the French language teacher from Senegal; he was suddenly alone. I would meet him during holidays, very angry, intense, focussed. Bright as he was his chance to join University had been quashed. His college, he declared, simply, shall be Life.
Public service and genuine leadership were amongst many issues Mike Sikawa tackled in his writings...
As means, it was to journalism he turned…
The early 1970’s were times of talented thoughtful press critics: Kenyan Philip Ochieng and Jenerali Ulimwengu
had powerful opinion columns in the then Daily News (The Standard) and Nationalist (English version of Uhuru). In the sports page Tommy Sithole (Zimbabwe born) rumbled on. At the head were the editors of the day, former President Benjamin Mkapa (boss when Mike Sikawa joined Daily News); brilliant photographer the late Vincent Urio,Ndimara Tegambwage, Ulli Mwambulukutu, Costa Kumalija and the arts column (Up the Stage) of Frank Mzirai.
One of Mike's memorable and disntinct early news stories was a much talked about debate between Kenyan scholar Professor Ali Mazrui
and Professor Walter Rodney at the University of Dar es Salaam in mid 70’s.
These were days before Wilson Kaigarula, Danford Mpumilwa, Hamidu Bisanga, Leila Sheikh,
and the satirist Adam Lusekelo. Mike Sikawa proved his mettle immediately. His first weekly column: “Roving Reporter” fitted his unique talent, trying exposing corruption, bureaucracy and inefficiency.
He was equally a great listener to foe and friend alike.
Around 1983 for example I recall being at a Kilimanjaro Hotel reception in Dar es Salaam with various government and diplomatic heavyweights. We were chatting and one Minister said something to Mike regarding his critical articles and what the role of a journalist should be. Mike took it on the chin, quietly, his typical sharp eyes with that I Don’t Believe You Sir, glint; saying nothing…
Dr. Asha-Rose Migiro, paid tribute.
By the 1980’s he was a senior reporter and getting the best scoops. We were mesmerised at the way he managed to get a lengthy interview with President Kenneth Kaunda of Zambia. It is no surprise that UN Deputy Secretary General, Dr. Asha Rose Migiro ( who sent a heartfelt tribute) would be tracked by Sikawa in Lesotho
, for an early reaction after her nomination, twenty six years later.
I always felt Mike Sikawa (and my generation in general) was greatly affected by the economic hardships especially after the war against Ugandan dictator Idi Amin
in 1979. Different people react to situations, differently. It was at the height of early creative powers that Mike started drinking heavily almost becoming a nuisance. I may say (without proper medical justification, though) that might have stirred his diabetes which was to eventually kill him. He was a very sensitive fellow affected not only by personal things but social ills as well. I felt his frustration was seeing the continent going nowhere and him unable to change things, instantly.
However, he did not lose his touch with humanity.
He was especially cordial to women and once said: “When you speak to women it puts them off staring at their chests or legs; look at their faces.”
In 1992 I met Mike Sikawa in London. He had transformed a great deal. No longer drinking, sober, studying journalism at Cardiff, Wales; working forBBC
; mentally still razor sharp, weakened with diabetes.
I visited him in South London where he expressed annoyance with the two faced nature of local prejudice:
“I cannot stand the hidden hypocritical racism in this country; I would rather it was more open like Germany or red neck America”…
He was now a born again Christian and would not allow using bad language. Despite his illness he read a film script I had drafted saying it was not good enough; years later I could see his point.
Soon he left for home.
Conclusively the BBC became his torch from Dar es Salaam, Johannesburg or Arusha where his final steps were as hobbled and strained as his life. Many have spoken or written about his simple straightforward writing style. It is sad that he did not take many photographs. I knew he was quite modest about that and regarded it as showing off : one of his other qualities...
This Day should, as a tribute, turn his brilliant essays into a book.
Young people and students of journalism would learn a lot about the ABC of writing from him.
May His Soul Rest in Peace, Amen.
Mike Sikawa born Meru, Arusha, October 1953
Died Meru, Arusha, 18th November, 2008
Sunday, 22 June 2008
FROM THE BOILING PAN INTO THE FIRE...
This month (of June) the respected broadcaster and writer Darcus Howe, impressed me with a short piece regarding teenage murders in his London’s The Voice, column (“Vex in the City”).
Giving an example of his recent holiday in the Caribbean he broadens the subject by citing youth killings in Trinidad, Barbados and Jamaica. As he returns to the UK headlines scream the same chilling problem(29 murderers so far in 6 months). YOUTH MURDERS ARE A GLOBAL PROBLEM, he reminds us.
“The Caribbean, Latin America and Africa have produced a mass of young men who have taken to killing each other like ducks to water…They are casualties of an increasingly globalised world that offers them nothing but a disconnection from values of the generation that preceded them.”
In other words values that we of past generations learnt (and still, luckily upheld) are out of reach with this feuding, green generation. Of course throughout history young men have had fights. But this is different. Children are scared. Parents are worried...in the old days there was honour, kids used fists; you defeat me, i accept; today it is about cemeteries. No winners.
Bad vibes. Full stop.
But what are the values that Darcus Howe is talking about?
Humility, respect, good manners; which youngsters learn via respective parents, religion, school and community education.
Today the young see (and have) more possibilities, opportunities and information yet lack stability (broken families); broken politics and role models some who are themselves, broken celebrities. Celebrities with ragged egos, drug addict entertainers, arrogant entertainers some so stupid that they happily pass their rubbish to these eager hero worshipping youngsters.
Remember the young fella with a hood, hanging pants and a sulk playing his loud music on his mobile phone in the bus which irritates you but you (impontently) cannot do anything? Not because you are scared of him (a baby) but of the law, the consequences of, lack of citizen's power, common sense...
One such "hanging pants" confessed to me. When he listens to rap music it (sometimes) makes him feel like ripping someone’s head off. In other words: Inspired Aggression. Negative Energy. Some of today's Pop Music has become substitute to that essential basic education. For good manners, good behaviour, etiquette, respect.
And hence.
You stare at me, I stab you.
You give me bad looks, I stab you and END your life.
You step on my foot, I KILL you.
That is one story.
The other is Aserma Dawitt.
A promising 15 year old school girl from Eritrea, in East Africa, killed in London beginning of June. Arsema was living with her mother and two siblings, having fled the fires of war in her homeland to find solace, peace, education and a possible future in Europe, but met her death in a lift of her flat(pictured above). Arsema was a remarkable student who went to church, devotedly. Ironically, it was in the same church that she met her 21 year old, killer who became obsessed with her.
The mother of the deceased criticised the police for not protecting her victim after informing them of the threats.
There are thousands stories to tell.
Loads.
Wednesday, 16 April 2008
JOYS AND WETNESS OF LONDON MARATHON 2008
Variety of humanity, is the phrase one could describe April 13th, 2008.
A Sunday that was cold, foggy, wet yet so full of heat, passion, frenzy and attitude. We should learn NOT to judge life by weather but, spirit.
Runners of all sizes, manners and age.
FRIENDLY AND HELPFUL STEWARDS...
Now and then I would see a face I knew, yet so slow was I (in glee ) that the straggling runner would be gone. Take Sofia. I hadn't seen her for ages and before i knew (this is Sofia) she was off...oh shit. Too late. Cheer, watch, or take photos? The other hidden, mini marathon.
A day called people...
THESE MASSAGE GIVING VOLUNTEERS FROMALZHEIMER SOCIETY OFFERED FREE SERVICES TO THE RUNNERS.
Funnily...
One of my main intentions was to cheer and photograph the Maasai Warriors who had been all over the news for days, yet failed. As soon as the Sextet appeared chanting and doing their small Morani step dances,
I was spell bound, screeching and screaming like a maniac, forgetting I had a camera. By the time I remembered, my hands were shaking like a hungry rattle snake and they, like Sofia, were gone. Doing a marathon is not easy, I tell you.
KENYANS : SAMMY, BRENDA, DENNIS, WINNIE, KENTE(who also raps), EDWIN. PROUDLY WITH THEIR FLAG AFTER WITNESSING MARTIN LEL WINNING THE MARATHON AGAIN THIS YEAR.
Yes.
I grew up amongst the Maasais and being shit "scared" of them in Arusha, north Tanzania. They had a reputation for short tempers. Once I witnessed a fight between a Maasai and a Hehe (another warrior tribe who had fiercely fought the Germans during colonisation under Chief Mkwawa
in 1890’s in South Tanzania). We all circled them watching, stupefied expecting kilograms of blood, to be honest. In the ensuing scuffle and battle, the Maasai was so angry and swooning that he was drama in itself. Guess what ? There was no fight; as we ended up laughing at the unfinalised, spectacle. From that day in early 1970's, I concluded like any impressionable boy, that Maasai were better at killing lions more than foolish boxing.
CHARITY FOR CHILDREN WITH LEUKEMIA...
The London Marathon presented humanity at best.
RICHARD ALL THE WAY FROM BOLIVIA
TAKING VIDEOS...
The cheering voices of especially ladies, friends urging and egging friends and family members on, people with disabilities, those who had lost energy but kept trekking mouths open, knees almost sagging and breaking, all manner of artistic and trapeze clowns, happy ones, sad ones, old and young; middle aged; black, white, brown; athletic or frail, all here in multi-layers, en masse.
RUNNER GRAHAM MAIRS, FROM MANCHESTER.
SNAP OF HIM AND MYSELF BY HIS WIFE. HAPPY TO HAVE FINISHED RACE IN ONE PIECE.
It was especially great to see the onlookers tagging in the rain, watching the runners running in (and against) the rain.
DAY OF FEET , WATER, PANTING AND UMBRELLAS.
I recalled when I used to run long distance; the feelings that go thru you: wanting to give up, in pain, fighting and enjoying at the same time. At times you swear you shall never do it again; somehow, like a career sinner, you return.
To life...
A Sunday that was cold, foggy, wet yet so full of heat, passion, frenzy and attitude. We should learn NOT to judge life by weather but, spirit.
Runners of all sizes, manners and age.
FRIENDLY AND HELPFUL STEWARDS...
Now and then I would see a face I knew, yet so slow was I (in glee ) that the straggling runner would be gone. Take Sofia. I hadn't seen her for ages and before i knew (this is Sofia) she was off...oh shit. Too late. Cheer, watch, or take photos? The other hidden, mini marathon.
A day called people...
THESE MASSAGE GIVING VOLUNTEERS FROMALZHEIMER SOCIETY OFFERED FREE SERVICES TO THE RUNNERS.
Funnily...
One of my main intentions was to cheer and photograph the Maasai Warriors who had been all over the news for days, yet failed. As soon as the Sextet appeared chanting and doing their small Morani step dances,
I was spell bound, screeching and screaming like a maniac, forgetting I had a camera. By the time I remembered, my hands were shaking like a hungry rattle snake and they, like Sofia, were gone. Doing a marathon is not easy, I tell you.
KENYANS : SAMMY, BRENDA, DENNIS, WINNIE, KENTE(who also raps), EDWIN. PROUDLY WITH THEIR FLAG AFTER WITNESSING MARTIN LEL WINNING THE MARATHON AGAIN THIS YEAR.
Yes.
I grew up amongst the Maasais and being shit "scared" of them in Arusha, north Tanzania. They had a reputation for short tempers. Once I witnessed a fight between a Maasai and a Hehe (another warrior tribe who had fiercely fought the Germans during colonisation under Chief Mkwawa
in 1890’s in South Tanzania). We all circled them watching, stupefied expecting kilograms of blood, to be honest. In the ensuing scuffle and battle, the Maasai was so angry and swooning that he was drama in itself. Guess what ? There was no fight; as we ended up laughing at the unfinalised, spectacle. From that day in early 1970's, I concluded like any impressionable boy, that Maasai were better at killing lions more than foolish boxing.
CHARITY FOR CHILDREN WITH LEUKEMIA...
The London Marathon presented humanity at best.
RICHARD ALL THE WAY FROM BOLIVIA
TAKING VIDEOS...
The cheering voices of especially ladies, friends urging and egging friends and family members on, people with disabilities, those who had lost energy but kept trekking mouths open, knees almost sagging and breaking, all manner of artistic and trapeze clowns, happy ones, sad ones, old and young; middle aged; black, white, brown; athletic or frail, all here in multi-layers, en masse.
RUNNER GRAHAM MAIRS, FROM MANCHESTER.
SNAP OF HIM AND MYSELF BY HIS WIFE. HAPPY TO HAVE FINISHED RACE IN ONE PIECE.
It was especially great to see the onlookers tagging in the rain, watching the runners running in (and against) the rain.
DAY OF FEET , WATER, PANTING AND UMBRELLAS.
I recalled when I used to run long distance; the feelings that go thru you: wanting to give up, in pain, fighting and enjoying at the same time. At times you swear you shall never do it again; somehow, like a career sinner, you return.
To life...
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