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African blogosphere hits the mainstream press…

First, the Nigerian blogosphere was recently featured in the mainstream press. And the Washington Post featured Sudanese rebels who are running their rebellions via blogs. Then Thinker and other Kenyan bloggers get profiled in the Standard (with proper attribution and all!) courtesy of this post.

AOB: Mtaa FM.

27 comments to African blogosphere hits the mainstream press…

  • Ms K

    TUPO!!!

    Its amazing how blogging is growing. You know I read an article on Ethiopia today that used a blog as one of its sources, for a hard news story. Clearly blogging is becoming a mainstream medium in its own right.

  • Or, people are finally realizing what we who grew up in Kenya under VOK always knew: Mama Ciru down the street has the “real” scoop.

    Blogging: Mama Ciru meets New Technology.

  • When Jesus said the rejected stones will be come the cornerstone (or something like that) this is what he meant. Originality is found in the blogosphere adn certainly the Kenyan blogosphere

  • Osas

    *Sigh*
    Alas.

  • Osas

    Theere were earlier collisions between mainstream press and blogosphere: like the Clay Muganda Incident. converning “M”‘s blog. Some people learned their lesson there – hopefully.

    Ahiiiii, if you ever thought that Kenyan public servants were arrogant and smuck (Bunge, right?), try dealing with Kenyan newspaper editors and some journalists. Pomposity coupled with ignorance coupled with the most blatant irrepentance. Quis custodiet ipsos custodes ?

  • Osas

    “covering”, I meant. Sorry !

  • I am relatively new to this form of communication but it seems most interesting. My name is Joe Pollitt and I run a series of websites that focus on contemporary Africa. Firstly about the writers of Africa | http://www.outspoken.co.uk and secondly African Painters | http://www.africanpainters.com.

    I’m interested in hearing or reading the views and struggles of those in the countries of Africa. To speak out on issues that concern the contemporary and deal very sensitively with how African individuals would like to be regarded by the outside world or the wider world. Prime Minister Tony Blair has a rather dated view of Africa and thinks as a Victorian rather than a modern leader.

    There is an interesting group of artists working in Kenya on various projects – africancolours.net and they will be exhibiting in the RaMoMA in Nairobi sometime this month. Look out for a Peterson Waweru, Thom Ogongo and Michael Soi. Those are my favourites. If you have a chance to see the work I would love hear your comments.

    So much can be done in Kenya. My personal exeperience of Kenya was terrible. I arrived in 1998 in the Daniel Arab Moi era. When I arrived it was the rainy season and the city was in floods. March if I remember. I read in the paper the next day that 12 people died in the floods. If that had happened in London there would have been a public enquiry but Nairobi just let it all wash over….I was working for an advertising agency called Oglivy and Mather…but only for a very short time. My visa was the problem….you can only have 6 whites to a company and I was number 7….. I thought I would find more work with other agencies and met up with a rather hateful character called Charles Owino….He told me he would assist in helping me aquire a proper work permit through Nya House….He coned me out of thousands of pounds. He must have seen me coming.

    I stayed for a while with Mama Roach in Parklands, opposite the Agha Khan Hospital. I was even there when the bomb went off. I saw all the bodies arrive in the trucks. Blood dripping from the lorries and saw how everybody was so extremely strong and determind. I was so proud of what I witnessed. So proud and yet so sad. I remember vividly the photos posted up on the walls. Everybody checking on their loved ones and the sadness that followed. I visited the site the very next day. It really makes your blood boil. The American Embassy had one window slightly cracked….what a terrible waste.

    After I lost all my money I ended up staying in Dandora, Phase 3 with the Maina’s who took pity on me. The things I saw and the stories I was told. At the time a Minister had been robbed by a 12-15 year old boy. So the police came to Phase 2, lined up the boys that matched that description and shot them dead. These sorts of events happened all the time.

    I trust the Kenya I remember is a distance memory. I now want to focus on the contemporary life of Kenya.

  • There is more to this story but I dare not write it. I wonder who is reading this. Hell, who cares…..

    So I ended up in Dandora with the Maina’s. Thank them if you know them. Gerald Maina, he used to work for the City Council. Thank him, his wife and their daughter Koi.

    What I left out from the above extract is that I was marched to the Central Police Station and ended up spending 6 weeks in the Remand Prison just outside the city. It was a night I took out the daughter Koi. I have fallen in love with her truely, madly deeply. We were floating down River Road. It was were the Matatu’s park just off Moi Avenue, were robbers live and the Police stand in the shadows egging the whole process on. It was there that I met them. Two men, large comfortably dressed men. One leans over to me his face as black as coal and quietly whispers in my ear, “Hey..kissss..hey…Muzungu….I’m going to rape your girlfriend!!” and pushes his head back with a satisfied smile.

    I looked over to his friend who was now to my right and frowned and said, “Did you hear that man…your friend? Did you hear what he just said? Tell me, does he kiss his mother with that mouth?”

    It only took a moment for the penny to drop and hey presto. The fight was on. Well can you imagine. Come on just imagine. A Muzungu down on the ground…well everybody want a peice of me… it was like the world cup and who could kick hardest. I’m still suprised I’m alive. You should of finished me off…the two men. The two revolting men were Policemen. I should of known.

    I was marched to the Central Police Station and of course I was in no state to speak. I could sleep lying down so I fell asleep on my feet. One shoe policy in the cells. Tell me what is that about? The toilets are so unhygeneic you end up wearing piss and shit on your feet. The Police Officer on duty that night took exception to my pale face and I beaten again with a plastic whip and pushed in a cell with the Chokora. The duty sargent was convinced they would harm me but how could they. They all knew me!!

    Being surrounded with so many children and plenty of dirty glued jumpers. The children and their clothes acted as a painkiller. Please thank them for me when you see them.

    In
    So the time passed and really I should have left the country but being stubborn and broke I felt ashamed to return home to England with nothing in the bank. I’m sure many of you understand that feeling. So I thought it could work out somehow, some way. Koi and I opened a butcher’s shop in Dandora. This was really just a ploy to ensure that the family was comfortably fed day to day. The shop wasn’t enough to survive so we used to wake up early to travel to KiKomba Market and buy secondhand ties and levi jeans. We brought them back home and paid the ladies to clean and iron them, then we asked the street kids, the chokora’s, to package the ties in plastic and make them like new to sell in the city. The ties cost a penny, the washing cost a penny and the boys cost a penny. We gave all the ties to the young boys to sell in the financial district for 10 pennies and while the boys were out selling, Koi was setting up her market store with the jeans. She was running late it was already past seven.

    Every night I would look at my pennies and think this is just too hard. Life here is just too hard but I wanted to stay

  • There is more to this story but I dare not write it. I wonder who is reading this. Hell, who cares…..

    So I ended up in Dandora with the Maina’s. Thank them if you know them. Gerald Maina, he used to work for the City Council. Thank him, his wife and their daughter Koi.

    What I left out from the above extract is that I was marched to the Central Police Station and ended up spending 6 weeks in the Remand Prison just outside the city. It was a night I took out the daughter Koi. I have fallen in love with her truely, madly deeply. We were floating down River Road. It was were the Matatu’s park just off Moi Avenue, were robbers live and the Police stand in the shadows egging the whole process on. It was there that I met them. Two men, large comfortably dressed men. One to my left leant over to me, his face as black as coal and quietly whispers in my ear, “Hey..kissss..hey…Muzungu….I’m going to rape your girlfriend!!” and pushes his head back with a toothy satisfied smile.

    I looked over to his friend who was now to my right and frowned and said, “Did you hear that man…your friend? Did you hear what he just said? Tell me, does he kiss his mother with that mouth?”

    It only took a moment for the penny to drop and hey presto. The fight was on. Well can you imagine. Come on just imagine. A Muzungu down on the ground just off Moi Avenue…what a dream. Well everybody wanted a peice of me… it was like the world cup had started early and a competition had started -who could kick hardest. I’m still suprised I’m alive. You couldn’t finished me off…the two men. The two revolting men were Policemen. I should of known. Kidogo. Kitti-kidogo excuse my spelling….something small….give me something small.

    I was marched to the Central Police Station and of course I was in no state to speak. I couldn’t sleep lying down so I fell asleep on my feet. One shoe policy in the cells. Tell me what is that about? The toilets are so unhygeneic you end up wearing piss and shit on your feet or foot should say.

    The Police Officer on duty that night took exception to my pale face and I was beaten again with a thin black plastic whip and pushed in a cell with the Chokora. The duty seargent was convinced they would harm me but how could they? They all knew me!!

    Being surrounded with so many children and plenty of dirty glued jumpers. The children and their clothes acted as a painkiller. Please thank them for me when you see them. They gave me strength when I had none.

    So in the morning I went to see the OCS on the third floor. I couldn’t see that well as a Policeman had smashed my glassed and broken my nose the night before. I calmly explained that there had been a mistake made and I was happy to leave without bringing charges….well, that just made them angry. All the big men in the big house started showing me their big guns. It didn’t bother me as I was virtually blind. So I told the men, these men of honour. These men you trust to keep your city safe…”If you are to shoot me it would only be fare to allow me to see the whites of your eyes. Please come closer.”

    They laughed and I explained that a mistake had been made and let us think nothing more of it and headed for the door.

    I had a Policeman on every corner of my body. They ripped my clothes and the sound made them all the more excited. I was kicked down the concrete stairs..that’s right all of them…until I arrived at the ground, three flights below.

    It is in this place and at this time that I knew I would meet my maker. A voice came from deep inside me and said, “Stop, put him down!” Wow..I didn’t believe in God before Kenya. Thanks for showing me and helping me to believe in his existance. You will thank the Policemen in the Central Station for me….wont you?

    To cut a long story short. I went to Prison. No charges just not willing to pay a bribe. The time spent in prison was most interesting. I saw a child beaten to death by the guards. Cell Block C, 120 people in a room with no beds just your shoes as pillows. Limited light and water.

    So the time passed and really I should have left the country but being stubborn and broke I felt ashamed to return home to England with nothing in the bank. I’m sure many of you understand that feeling. And of course there was the fact that the courts wouldn’t give me my passport..well not until I had paid the right bribe. I was not to leave the country for a whole entire year.

    So I foolishly thought it could work out somehow, some way. Koi and I opened a butcher’s shop in Dandora. This was really just a ploy to ensure that the family was comfortably fed day to day. The shop wasn’t enough to survive so we used to wake up early to travel to KiKomba Market and buy secondhand ties and levi jeans. We brought them back home and paid the ladies to clean and iron them, then we asked the street kids, the chokora’s, to package the ties in plastic and make them like new to sell in the city. The ties cost a penny, the washing cost a penny and the boys cost a penny. We gave all the ties to the young boys to sell in the financial district for 10 pennies and while the boys were out selling, Koi was setting up her market store with the jeans. She was running late it was already past seven.

    Every night I would look at my pennies and think this is just too hard. Life here is just too hard but I couldn’t leave the country because the Maina’s had put up their plot as a bond for my release. I couldn’t leave for a year!!

    I must visit again. I really must.

  • Hi Outspoken,

    when were you at Mama Roaches? I was there in 1988, I sadly heard that she had died and Steven was still there taking care of the dogs.

    Lee

  • Lee nyhus, you really know them, jesus tell me, what about Koi? i heard she was to have a baby when i left. and what about baba her first son? it’s a pity about Mama Roaches.. thanks for the information. i appreciate

  • I think this is the beginning of the African blogosphere experience. I hope it is not a fad which will pass soon

  • Cathy Gordon

    Hi Lee,

    I am so sad about Mama Roach. I knew when I left in 1993 I would probably never see her again. Is Steven really still there? I have searched “Lonely Planet” to find out if she was by some miracle alive and I could go back and stay there with her. When I could find no information written about her, I suspected her children had sold the place to Ahga Khan for a parking lot. I know they used to make her offers all the time. She had no intention of selling. Whatever you know about her and the great place she provided for travelers, I would be happy to learn. I intend to go back this summer and so hope to find it there as I left it 15 years ago. Anyone with info please write.
    Cathy

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