MAPUTO! MAPUTO!

Why? For the sentimentality
When? December to March
How much? Cheaper than you’d think

There are very few cities I’ve been to as charming or as bewitching as Maputo. For me the cities allure comes from the fact that it’s so foreign and so chic. For instance nobody understands a word of English, instead Portuguese punctuates the air every so often as if to reinforce that you are indeed abroad and cosmopolitan. Afternoons are spent on Maputos expansive sidewalks lunching decadently for hours on end. And then comes people-watching, the people of Maputo are indeed pretty to look at, much prettier than the people of Nairobi. Much.

Sometime in Mid-February when the Summer was particularly brutal, a group of friends and I decided to skip across the border for a weekend in Maputo – one long boozy road trip. So we swapped the oppressively dry heat of South Africa for the sweaty stickiness of Maputo. And what a trip it was.

As the Parental Figure I the group I was left to make the arrangements, they simply turned up and asked “How much?” We decided to rough it out a backpackers, Maputo’s most famous, Fatima’s Place. Now, anyone who has been to the Iberian Peninsula or any of their subsequent colonies will know that they had a love of grids. Maputo is no exception. The town proper has no official CBD instead they have long, wide avenues intersected by numerous streets that run perpendicular to them resulting in a grid layout. And in a serendipitous twist in Urban Planning most services are located on these streets – within comfortable walking distance.. Rather than being chaotic, this all works out well and the Kenyan in me gaped at how properties (even single houses) had no fences and that people parked their cars on the street without consequence. Fatima’s is located on such a street, the revolutionarily named Ave Mao Tse Tung.

Due to years of civil war and a flirtation with communism, Maputo looks like what you’d think Cuba looks like. Yes, the Latin American vibe is pretty strong down there. The Portuguese abandoned their colony overnight and almost immediately it fell into chaos. In fact a writer in the Mail & Guardian compared the city to an aging Hollywood actress. A fair maiden who was once at her prime, now slowly fading into obscurity but every now and then a glimmer of her glamour is apparent. A trip to Maputo is not without nostalgia and one can only help but wonder what it looked like way back when.

In terms of costs, the place is relatively cheap, I mean we’re still in Africa. The local currency is the Metical however SA Rand, US Dollars, the Pound Sterling and the Euro are widely accepted. Word of caution however, the exchange rate used by most of these fine establishments is inflated at best and barbarous at worst. What we did was travel with a limited amount of Rand and the rest we withdrew from ATMs -which by the way are right in the street!- the beauty of the ATM system is that you get the attractive inter-bank exchange rate that the Forex people could never dream of giving you, that is if you don’t mind paying Visa’s ludicrous fees at Kshs. 250 a pop.

Anyway we made it to Maputo alive and rolled in (by bus of course) in the late evening. We quickly found cabs and were swiftly whisked of to Fatima’s. the accommodations were adequate and we quickly concluded that it was value for money. The bathrooms are clean and the showers hot, always wear shoes though. Due to Maputo’s tropical heat, no beddings are provided, they do however, provide a mosquito net and a couple of fans to blow hot air in your face. Sleeping with the windows open is suicidal (if your European) but okay if you’re Kenyan since we all walk around with the damned parasites in our blood anyway. Like most backpackers, Fatima’s has a communal kitchen with an assortment of dubious flatware and crockery, and a leaky fridge. If you don’t have the money consider the self-catered option and remember to label your goods like a 5 year old child in kindergarten.

We however walked to all our meals. Up Mao Tse Tung (and the street is very long) was a bakery/ café/ supermarket that happened to serve mediocre pizza at near throw away prices (250 Mets) + they had a Terrific Tuesday offer going on. The waitress (or is it waitron) didn’t speak a word of English so we spoke in broken Spanish. Later on settling the bill turned into a sonofabitch! The thing I like most about Maputo is its walkabilty and the fact that cabs don’t cost an arm, a leg and testicle. We went out to Maputo’s premier club, Coconuts on Ujamaa Road (Av Julius Nyerere) that sits right on the beach. Swimming in the ocean –in Maputo- might cause one to turn a violent shade of green so don’t. Much like in Latin America, the Mozambicans were celebrating Carnaval that night, one last hurrah before Lent. All the beautiful bodies in town turned up and were in costume (think Halloween). Later on stage was a fashion show, headlined by drag queens wearing sequined bikinis. It was definitely weird in a cool kinda way.

If instead you just want to chill out head to the ultra-cool Dolce Vita on the other end of Av Julius Nyerere. The lounge spills out onto the pavement and is a good place to catch overpriced, luminous aperitifs or a late supper. Across the road is Mundos, another famous eatery that server decent but similarly over priced food. But our all time favourite restaurant was Mimo’s on Av Olol Palme. It’s one of those Italian style family restaurants that serve reasonable portions of food and attractive prices and much better than the bakery we ate at earlier. Never leave Maputo without over-indulging in their terrific sea food, Mozambican prawns are world renown and cheap. KFC is also a viable option.

But by far the most enjoyable aspect for me was soaking in the architecture. As I said earlier the Portuguese adopted a rather mixed-sue approach to urban zoning. Most people in the city proper live in towering blocks of flats with entrances directly on the pavement. The address system appears to be quite logical and people get their mail delivered to their doors rather than the post office. All these things add to Maputo’s unique cosmopolitan vibe. A place where wine is served at a Kenchic type joint(we eventually fell into poverty you see) and olive oil comes with your chips. A place where families walk in the evenings to the park and supper is at 10. A city where people greet others (even strangers) with kisses on the cheek. A particular favourite building is the CFM, Maputo’s main railway station designed by Alexandre Eiffel. Also check out the Museum of Art and the Natural History Museum.

Many buildings in the city were left unfinished after the Portugese left – they burned the plans in vexation but there is definitely a promising construction boom. Already, Maputo has an impressive toll road into town. Tower blocks and cranes now dot the landscape. Though it is not nearly on the same scale as its steroid weaned, petro-dollars fuelled cousin on the Atlantic, Luanda, Maputo has tried equally hard to shake of its civil war image, and its working. Today the streets are littered with designer shops, trendy ice cream bars and a bewildering choice of restaurants, some of them even good and like an aging diva, Maputo won’t go out without a fight, like Madonna. Yes, exactly like Madonna.

We Stayed at Fatima’s Place.
Ave Mao Tse Tung 1317-1321
Email: fatimas@tvcabo.co.mz
Website: mozambiquebackpackers.com
Accommodation at Fatima’s is a numbers game. The more the people in your party the cheaper it gets. Prices thus vary from R100 – R150 per night (subject to change). It’s imperative that you book before travelling because the place fills up fast. Accommodation ranges from single rooms to 12 person dorms. None are en suite.

All nationalities require visa to visit Mozambique. These can be applied for in advance from the High Commission in Nairobi or at the port of entry for a nominal fee.

Note: Many fine establishments exclude VAT and service charge from the prices on display. Be wary of this and always ask, it can lead to severe embarrassment, that of the Chonga Viazi variety.

Caution must always be taken when walking at night. Stick to the main Avenues, walk in groups and always consul the locals. It is especially forbidden to attempt walking to Coconuts unless you are very drunk and very broke. If in doubt hail a cab.

Friday Night TKO

After two dull and absolutely unbearable weeks comes Friday, and here's how the boys and I are going to celebrate.

And yes, that is a suitecase and yes those are two ka-quaters of our barely legal pre-changaa spirits, Kenya Cane. I was in such a hurry before I left home I completely forgot to buy a couple of mzingas so the airport trip included an early morning stop at Nakumatt. God bless their 24 hour Capitalist Philosophy, to bad they didn't have the One liter bottles.

In other news, notice the comparative size of the Castle Largers.

Enjoy your weekend.

Sounds

• Zombie – Fela Kuti
• Tears in Heaven – Eric Clapton
• Viva Nigeria – Fela Ransome Kuti
• I’ve Seen it All – Kesivan and The Lights
• Lonely Woman/ India – Kesivan and The Lights
• The Hurricane Of Silence Was The Author Of My Tears - Carlo Mombelli And The Prisoners Of Strange
• Monday Morning in Lagos – Fela Kuti
• Requiem - Carlo Mombelli And The Prisoners Of Strange
• Shake Daddy Shake – Eula Cooper
• Potter’s Field – Alice Swoboda
• Do What You Gotta Do – Nina Simone
• Almost Persuaded – Etta James
• Maria Elena – Los Indios Trabajos
• Rien Ne Va Plus – Funk Factory
• Mandela – Abdullah Ibrahim

Obviously Fela ‘Formerly Ransome’ Anikulapo Kuti needs no introduction to anyone born before 1990. His music was as controversial as his politics and his innumerable wives. His music –christened afrobeat- was like the man, gutsy, loud and definitely had a giant set of balls. Viva Nigeria is from the 69’ LA Session – perhaps a testament to his more conservative, left of centre political inklings before Nigeria melted into a series of turbulent coups and before he changed his name. Later, as grief and disillusion gripped him the songs took on an angrier more threatening tone but one idea remained pure and unadulterated - Viva Nigeria, Viva Africa!

Potter’s Field is a fairly recent obsession. It was recorded in the early 70s by Alice Swoboda. It was neither successful nor critically acclaimed, and Swoboda quickly fell into the musical underground. For one thing it was difficult to class the sound, it was part folk song, part country western and some soul thrown in for good measure. The song is morbid, depressing and a tad self-deprecating but every note echoes with truth and a sincerity that can not be feigned nor denied. Her voice rings clear and deep above the whimsical and nostalgic guitar riff that mask homelessness, despair and damnation to a paupers grave. Nothing else matters “Coz the city is going to bury me in Potter’s Field”.

I coupled this with Eric Clapton’s equally haunting and melancholic Tears in Heaven written after the death of his infant son. It tells of a father’s loss and the fact that he never got to really know his son which causes him to ask rather tragically and with immeasurable grief of a parent “Would you know my name, if I saw you in heaven?”

On a lighter note. Recently I’ve become quite the jazz aficionado. Again is Kesivan and The Lights, the experimental but cool Carlo Mombelli And The Prisoners Of Strange and the legendary Abdullah Ibrahim all of whom are from my backyard, The Cape.

On CDFs...

Launching Our Community Development Fund

It was announced in the Daily Times, the New Nigerian,

the television, the radio and other acclaimed megaphones.

Today we launch our Community Development Fund

to complete the project the Government abandoned from start

for lack of funds; the Treasury looted overnight

by those elected to generate national wealth.

Dancers are back again from their holes, gyrating

in front of the Chairman and the Chief Launcher, millionaires.

The booths are painted bright in national colours.

In those days as dancer twisted themselves out of breath

to the applause of the Governor and his vast entourage,

we laid foundation stones with party blocks that dissolved

with return of Honourable Guests to the capital –

the budget allocation went with the civic reception.

There was no attempt to build what would outlive the builders,

and this disregard for afterlife was unfortunate for us

Christians and Muslims; heaven could not be gained here.

Today, as before, there are dancers to excite the chiefs

to pledge millions of naira to build their egos.

Always before new lords that rise with the fall of old patrons,

the dancers live eternally digging the ground that swallows

the Very Impotent Personalities. And after this launching,

the proceedings, the names of donors, will be announced

in the Daily Times, the New Nigerian and other acclaimed

megaphones.

Tanure Ojaide

This was one of those poems I studied in school years ago, you know the one that came from one of those ubiquitous potry anthologies with an obvious title like Modern Poetry for the African Child or Wole Soyinka's Clever Use of Satire -The Simplified Commonwealth Edition.

Anyway, now that Promulgation Fever is over maybe we can settle in to the task of Nation Building and finally put an end to any parallels between Nigeria's Organised Chaos and Kenya's Fuck-it-all philosophy. Ojaide's wry observations are none the less witty and broadly applicable.

A Rasin In The Sun

A Dream Deferred

What happens to a dream deferred?
Does it dry up
Like a raisin in the sun?
Or fester like a sore--
And then run?
Does it stink like rotten meat?
Or crust and sugar over--
like a syrupy sweet?
Maybe it just sags
like a heavy load.
Or does it explode?

Langston Hughes

A leading figure in the Harlem Renaissance, Hughes' celebrated poem gave title to the 20th Century's most famous and poignant portrayal of the black American experience, Lorraine Hansberry's critically acclaimed A Rasin In The Sun.

In light of the last Friday's Promulgation, I to dedicate Hughes' words to those who fought bravely and valiantly for our right to self-determine our destiny and to the 1,500 that died at the hands of our collective rapaciousness and ignorance.

May we never forget those who came before us, may their sacrifice be forever etched in our minds, may we never cease to dream.

Papa Was On Rolling Stone

Following their two Emmy nods on Sunday -including Outstanding Drama Series-, Mad Men takes on Rolling Stone in it's October issue under the title MAD MEN: Inside The Best Show on TV. All photographs are by the talented James Minchin II.

The show's protagonist, Don Draper played by Jon Hamm is flanked (from left) by the lovely Elisabeth Moss, January Jones and Christina Hendricks


An elegant juxtaposition of fiction and reality, the casual present and the elegant but not so distant past.


In character: The perennially dapper Don Draper


And we're rolling...


Ice Queen: The beautiful yet austere Betty (Draper) Francis


The delightfully voluptuous and irresistible Joan Harris neé Holloway

Credit: © 2010 Rolling Stone

The first Season of Mad Men airs on KTN on Tuesday nights at 10.05

Mannenberg Is Where It's Happening

Mannenberg is perhaps one of the most politically charged songs in the history of the South African Struggle. The song came to Abdullah Ibrahim then known as Dollar Brand almost serendipitously one day after Cape Town's District Six had been razed to the ground. What I like about this song is that it first and foremost defined the Cape Jazz sound and secondly it was political and subversive in a way very few songs at the time were. It's melody is pleasant and nostalgic - almost easy listening but it's the title that got South African's of all shades really riled up. From the townships of Meadow lands and Mannenberg to the Umkhoto we Sizwe training camps in Tanzania and Zimbabwe Mannenberg's tune rang clear and true reminding them of what they had lost, asserting a future that was pendant on their actions - a future that was now in their hands, Mannenberg was where it all begun.

Ad Men

I've been gearing up to write a huge piece on Mad Men for a while now. Words (at least mine) cannot do the show justice. Mad Men is the greatest show currently on TV bar none. The show was conceived by Matthew Wiener whilst still a writer on the most critically acclaimed and most commercially successful show ever, The Sopranos - until now.

Mad Men has done for men what Sex and the City did for women. For one thing men all over the world are dressing better -and smoking is cool again-. Men in the 60s or at least the men of Mad Men are always impeccably dressed, ties to the office with pocket squares, tie bars and hats are their staple. The women wear pencil skirts to work and -for the women of leisure- dresses influenced by Christian Dior's New Look. Nobody looked as stylish as they did during that era. It is easy to get lost in the show's near perfect facade but underneath lurks politics, personal struggles and triumphs and stereotypes that ultimately makes Mad Men a human story - the chronicle of a decade!

Wiener and his crew have worked hard to create the most stylish show on television. The props and sets are as immaculate, the clothes sophisticated and chic and the script tight and carefully measured , everything is hinted, nothing is stated implicitly which is lovely. Finally television for grownups who like to dress up!

Mad Men is undoubtedly a television show about men, for men but the women can hold their ground even in the lascivious and chauvinistic confines of a New York ad agency (and the American 60s). So here's my salute to Ms. January Jones and Christina Hendricks, the Power Women behind their Mad Men.

January and Christina for GQ. The world's most stylish magazine meets the sexiest women on television.

Credit: © 2009 GQ.com

Credit: © 2010 GQ-magazine.co.uk

Say Cheese

Credit: © 2010 THE STINGO

Jim Chuchu kindly allowed me to put up some of the work hid did on THE STINGO. Of course he did not do all this alone so kudos to the art directors/ stylists/ makeup artist and fashion designers working on the project.

Kuweni Serious

Kuweni serious is a movement that brought together a bunch of concerned people for a peaceful Referendum. It urges Kenyan's to think critically and objectively about our future. Here is their most recent video, its moving, personal and relevant. Again Jim ChuChu had a hand in producing the clip.





Kuweni Serious: http://www.kuweniserious.org/

The Stingo

Well it's been a while since I last blogged. Apologies to all 4 of my followers. I came across this fairly artistic and experimental web magazine called Stingo. Jim Chuchu collaborates and is the one who takes all the lovely photos. I have come to understand that Jim is perhaps Kenya's premier graphic arts guru. He's also one third of Just a Band (the one who makes the cool videos).

Incidentally I'm personally acquainted with a member of the crew and a couple of models. I now feel both jealous/ inferior and immensely proud of these talented youth.

Here's the link: http://www.thestingo.com/

And the clothes aren't bad either. Some of it is locally produced. I say BUY BUY BUY!

In other news, Tamaku cut me to the chase when he published this. I read the article only, partly shocked, partly amused and partly well angry. Whilst reading it I got that disconcerting feeling one gets when reading yellow journalism like say The Standard and for a long time I did think I was reading The Standard - but I wasn't.

Like many Kenyans I tend to trust the relative subjectivity (and solemnity) of The Nation and equate this to The Truth. Things however, have changed and for the worst. Tamaku made a fairly exhaustive analysis with the article's intrinsic wrongness with his trademark half ironic, half wry sense of justice and for that we thank God for people like him. Dorothy Kweyu and her ilk are a dying breed maybe she needs to read Stingo to realise this. Times are changing and the youth of tomorrow, lesbian or otherwise are finding thier voice - and it's filled with colour!

More disturbing still is the method of behavioral correction employed by these religious therapists. In the West at least, homosexuality is not a mental disorder and can threfrore not be treated clinically. The Church seems to think otherwise. Dark time for Kenya's minority groups? Or does our shiny new constitution offer refuge? The future is most certainly uncertain but if there irs one thing the minorities are not is silent.

Sounds

These Arms of Mine – Otis Redding

Dust My Broom – Fleetwood Mac

(Sittin’ On) The Dock Of The Bay – Otis Redding

Me And Bobby McGee – Janis Joplin

Skeleton – BLK JKS

What’s Going On – Marvin Gaye

Say A Little Prayer – Aretha Franklin

Dedication (Daddy Trane, Brother Shorter) – Kesivan And The Lights

Eclipse – Babbu

It’s A Family Affair – Sly & The Family Stone

Otis Redding was the go to guy when slow melancholic soul ballads were what one was looking for. He died unceremoniously in a plane crash in 1967 before his magnum opus (Sittin’ On) The Dock Of The Bay was released and therefore like many artists (including Janis Jolpin) he gained unprecedented posthumous fame. Both the songs in the playlist are easy listening numbers and like many of the songs I listen to are nostalgic, tinged with sadness and much like Mr. Redding, a tad fleeting as if on a journey to the heavens.

Now ask any South African who is the country’s premier drama and you’re more likely than not to hear “Kesivan Naidoo!” He is undoubtedly the country’s undisputed King of Jazz Percussion. I have followed his career informally whilst a friend of mine – a Turk follows him excessively so I have pretty good idea of his career. In person he is a rather unassuming albeit large Indian guy with a cheeky glint in his eyes. In front of a drama kit he is a monster. Mad Genius is what I call him but yet there is a method to his madness. Friends of mine who are play the drums find his particular tempo and technique otherworldly. He plays with the style and grace of a Superman, at some point during the many gigs I saw him in you couldn’t even see his arms move, it was all a blur! Above are two lovely songs from two of his innumerable bands Babbu and Kesivan And The Lights. His other band the experimental Restless Natives are not bad either. They all play jazz of course. Not bad for a twenty something year old* Cape Town native.

*Real age unknown, though most would agree that he’s barely touched 30.

With God On Our Side

Recently I took a trip with my friend Tony. It wasn’t just the two of us but I didn’t care for the crowd I was travelling with. Now somewhere during the trip Tony went from Agnostic Libertine to Religious Fanatic and has been the same ever since. Now first thing first, Tony is a Muslim albeit not a very serious one. A lot of people who know him find this fairly hard to believe because he is a serial flirt and notorious womaniser and he drinks like an Irishman.

Of course all this changed during the trip, the town we visited was awash with Pretty Young Things and endless distractions so somewhere among all this sin and debauchery he suddenly had an epiphany, realised the error of his ways and decide to become good as the Quran clearly states. For some reason I felt uneasy with this sudden change of heart (and the fact that he was close to flogging himself in penance) so I decided to pick a fight with him.

For one thing Tony can be a cocky, sanctimonious ass – like most religious fanatics and worst of all a hypocrite (all Muslims are like this according to him). Here is a boy who really doesn’t mind getting head from a willing female but would never return the favour because of his machismo (if I was a girl I’d be pissed!) he clearly partakes of other ‘vices’ but sees nothing wrong with judging and condemning others. I was brought up in a faintly Christian background and I have a superficial understanding of the bible but I know one of the most important teachings is to love others – unconditionally. Another is to never ever judge another human being. Jesus was a genius and he’s teachings are profoundly simple. Tony obviously disagreed with me. He told me my worldview like Jesus’ was simplistic, unrealistic and narrow (I’m a humanist you see). Islam unlike Christianity is not a religion but rather a way of life. It is therefore full of complex rules governing the most mundane aspects of human life. I said God has bigger things to think about than minute, insignificant details like whether a woman’s hair is covered. He said the converse is true.

This went on and on for a long time. Each of us getting more and more agitated by the minute. His problem appears to stem from the felling that he is disrespecting his parents by being who he is. “Muslims” He said “are supposed to be better than everyone else”. I told but your human and you make mistakes. According to him that was another one of my simplistic arguments. He said that Muslim parents often don’t want to know what their kids are up to because they are supposed to be perfect. A good Muslim child obeys their parents and questions nothing. He obviously had failed at this and he was trying to redeem himself. “Even if it means lying to your parents about who you were.” He said yes. Apparently God could forgive his lies because he did it in the interest of his parent’s wellbeing.

Islam it seems is a religion of keeping up appearances rather than seeking truth. According to Tony that is. I told he should be a Christian since he wasn’t making a good case for himself or his religion. Since it was late I had to leave but I was unsatisfied with the outcome of the debate because it seems that Tony was debasing himself or his character in favour of an idealised persona and ideology. At some point I told him that he would be the kind of person who would throw out his own daughter if she fell pregnant. He didn’t deny it because in God’s eyes that’s the right thing to do. I guess that’s where our two religions diverge. Christina’s are obligated to forgive and love unconditionally. Muslims I seems condemn and enact punishment on any transgressors. I asked him if he thought this was right. He told me it didn’t matter as long as he had God on his side.

Obviously the both of us have made gross omissions in our pseudo-theocratic debates and that readers should forgive this especially since the both of us are not theologians of any description but rather disillusioned youths.

Watu Wengine Wana Tabia Mbaya:

When Tabia Mbaya burst on the scene it was perhaps K-South’s most seminal and maybe even sentimental number of their debut album Nairobbery. It had all the frills of The Great Kenyan Number; a catchy hook and chorus, gorgeous background vocals that invoked the 90s, musical arrangement that betrayed the self-conscious New Sound of the early decade and at its heart was a humorous yet pensive thesis; poignant yet self-evident; a social commentary that was and still is original, authentic and Kenyan. A song for the ages and one I play over and over again.

Now music is no longer made the way it was or rather people do not listen to music the way they did. The same could be said for a lot of things in Kenyan popular culture. There’s no more 5 Alive but then Sauti Sol burst on the scene with impeccable timing. Now somebody should tell them enough with the concerts, I know all your songs by heart! Yes, definitely. Kenyan writers are still in a sort of limbo, a slowly creeping glaucoma that is disappointing and disconcerting. I was about fourteen when I read Meja Mwangi’s Going Down River Road. It was lying conspicuously around the house and had materialised apparently from nowhere and once I was done reading it vanished just like that. Meja’s work painted the dreary urban landscape of the 70s Nairobi. And just like that I found Kenyan literature; rude and unapologetic. None of that Government Issue set-book crap but real literature. But where are they now? Sure the African Writers Series collapsed but what happened to Kenyan readers? Of course some may point to Kwani? But I have a long-standing grudge with them; the work published in the journal is of adequate quality, some read like my Standard Eight compositions full of obtuse and tedious metaphors; products of an education system that has failed so badly it will take generations to undo its engrained impunity. Some however are brilliant, edgy and groundbreaking but those are rare and fleeting like a good Kenyan MP or food security. The point is there is no Kenyan for the Booker, Orange Prize, Commonwealth Writers Prize, or even recent winners of The Caine Prize. Lets not talk about the Nobel Prize

In my opinion there was a time when Kenyan adverts were something; memorable, well scripted, beautifully shot and creative. In the 90s we all remember the famous add for Knorr soups “…Light up the stove…” I forget the of the jingle I could then of course there were the KQ adds with the jungu man pulling a typical English face and spitting out “Keniiia Airways?!” to the rather smug looking young fellow (now a radio personality) or in the early noughties the unforgettable Tuzo add “The cow has refused!” and then there was the liberal sprinkling of Tusker adds that fostered greater patriotism then the new constitution or the famous Smirnoff ad with the leggy and sensually enchanting Joy Mboya even the trust ads had their own particular glamour (Sema Nami!). But these days we have thirty-second ads with ludicrous scripting and abominable acting for everything from rice to soap. Admen in Nairobi get away with monstrous ad contacts while delivering shoddy pieces of copy or television ads.

It’s a shame. Some say that you can measure a nations health by its culture. If that is true we’re doing terribly. Nobody goes to the theatre anymore and our artists languish in perpetual poverty unless they are fortunate enough to be blessed with a sympathetic European audience, yes you Sauti Sol. Meanwhile MPs raise salaries.

I hope one day all this changes but until then I’ll relive the past in all its shimmering glory as I wonder just how we lost the good old days but then again they never existed...

Look, Think, Stay Alive!

A pre Club Kiboko Jimmy Gathu - a song that both teaches and entertains!