The Artificial Construct of Keeping It Real

Wannabe. Oreo. Coconut. Fake. All of these contumelies will be familiar to anyone who, at some point, has been accused of "acting white." It could be something as simple as preferring heavy metal over hip-hop, or having the "wrong" accent. Whether warranted or not, the insult serves to put the recipient on notice that their behaviour has been interpreted as a form of cultural betrayal. While the situation may be more familiar to black people in the West, the accusation is not limited by geography. Even in Kenya, where we do not suffer the social disadvantages of being a minority, and where the effects of colonial racism have arguably been less devastating than the United States, it is still possible to face the charge of somehow letting the side down through one's behaviour.

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Kenya's Rihannas

This Valentine's weekend is probably one R&B star Rihanna would prefer to forget.

Stephanie Migot spares a thought for Kenya's Rihannas.

Spring was coming, spring is coming?

Insect bites/mosquito stings on bare skin, butterflies crawling out of their cocoons, birds chirping. Sun shining, blue skies. Clear nights. The scent of mowed lawns, wet earth after a short bout of rain. The scent of manure (eeew); the smell of spring – achoo! Hay fever.

Spring was coming, spring is coming.

Read more here.

private thoughts of a public man...

Poet Mike Kwambo pulls the strings on our series on K-Street otherwise, called Nairobi's Red Light District. This poem could as well be meant for performance. Read on.

Re-branding Kenya Music Festival!

I recently happened across a KBC programme on past Kenya National Music Festival Competitions. Suddenly, it dawned on me that little had been done to market and showcase the diverse richness of Kenyan culture.

Read Collins Mbalo proposal here.

Rooted in Language

L. Akitelek Papakemus writes on her loss of language, and the consequential loss of culture.

Cut off from their tongue, the secrets of my forefathers are forever lost on me and I remain but the distant echo of a glorious beginning. Though my voice resonates with the timbre of new music there is falsehood in my tongue and I feel myself fettered and reduced to a slave as my master mocks my novel creation.

Read more here.