#owaahh

[owaahh]

I don't know who took this photo, but I have seen fewer images so full of color and life. These are members of Ballet Kamba Cua, a dance group in Paraguay at the forefront of reviving the Kamba communities of the heart of South America. Yes. There are two different groups in Paraguay called the Kamba (Cua and Kokue). They arrived as freed-slaves-turned-mercenaries in the army of ousted Uruguayan hero Jose Artigas in 1820. Paraguay gave them a home, and they've survived to this day. Are they Kamba from Kenya? It's possible. Very. That was the period around which the slave trade had finally found profitability in getting slaves from the EA coast. By 1792, slavers were shipping human cargo to Rio, and other parts of South America. So yes, it's possible Artigas' 250 soldiers were Akamba from what is now Kenya, who kept their name. (or Kamba from Congo-Brazaville, Uganda, Tanzania, or Ethiopia 0_o). The other theory is that in Guarani, the local language in Paraguay, the word Kamba comes from "Campamento," a derogatory word for "black people" like "Negro" in English. What's not in doubt is that they had been slaves from Africa. Today, they are simply "The Kamba of Paraguay." They are so few that few Paraguayans even know they exist, 200 years after they got there. Read the whole story on the blog, link in bio. #Owaahh #Kamba #Kenya #blog

[themagunga]

The Whitecap Man

#NEWPOST The Whitecap Man | by @Owaahh

Many years ago in the roaring 60s, two men built an unlikely friendship. Every night, the story goes, they would leave work and meet up for a pint, and everything else that comes with the inner freedoms darkness provokes.  Fagia dunia, their friends called it. Because when it came to the party life, the appreciation of the divine gifts of beer and beauty, they were unmatched. But they were as…

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[amycvdh]

In 1999, Japan redesigned its flag (via Owaahh on twitter)

[themagunga]

Because Of Geography [part 3]

#BecauseOfGeography [part 3]: Why I Don’t Vote | by @Owaahh

IT IS NOT ALWAYS APATHY

There is a joke that has been doing the rounds lately. In it, a thief is caught in the act and the gathering crowd prepares to lynch him. At some point, he has a stroke of genius and yells “I’ve registered as a voter.” The crowd lets him go, and postpones his beating to September, after the election.

I’ve only voted once in my life. In 2010, I queued from 5am to about 9am…

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[owaahh]

Between these two sizes of Waragi (100ml and 750ml), there are more than 4 other sizes, and at least one is in two different packages. Talk about flooding the market (Uganda is trying to get rid of sachets, so manufacturers are getting clever). . There's something odd about Uganda, and the history of this fine drink. For many years, Uganda has been Africa's drunkest country (and in 2004, the world's #1 drinking country by alcohol per capita), or at least in its top 3, often beating even Nigeria. But in a week partially spent away from posh hotels, I only saw one properly drunk guy. Someone told me that escalates on weekends, but I suspect I didn't go where people down this drink in all its six sizes and still take a boda boda home. . Waragi is a fine gin that carries with it the history of Uganda, which should tell you it's not to be trifled with. It was used to fortify war troops, at least in its original home made form, during Uganda's many skirmishes. Drunk soldiers might not shoot straight, but they'll be less afraid on the war front, so the adage goes. It actually says so right there in the name "Waragi" which comes from "war gin." That that name was first formalised by the government's distiller in 1965 should tell you all you need to know about Uganda, and this drink. . Also, one of these things isn't like the others. We'll talk about it when the statute of limitations lapses, because extradition is a thing. 😂😂 #Owaahhtravelogue #Kampala #Owaahh #Traveltuesday #Waragi

[owaahh]

Today, as I was going to the coffee shop, I stopped by a convenience store to buy a pen. Then I noticed the lady behind the counter struggling to see the cover of this book, so I held it out for her. It turns out she's PCEA, and she knows this man. It was a fleeting moment, but it sort of fit into what I feel about this book. First, and I believe I've said this in several reviews, Kenyan memoirs are barely readable. They tend to drone on and on, just a random string of short unrelated stories that tell us nothing. So I held out on reading this book, which is in fact @potentash7's signed copy. It's an easy read. It's not Trevor Noah easy, but you can tell it was a work of love. It's slow, and patient, but most importantly, it's raw. Raw is what autobiographies should be. They should be stories about pain, anger, disgust, rebellion, forgiveness. Such rawness that you at times cringe. But because the man was a clergyman, you oft get redemption. Gatu was a soldier, a journalist, a community mobilised, and eventually a clergyman for half a decade. He's now in his 90s but the kind of detail in this story isn't from just memory. You can tell he's kept meticulous notes throughout his life, of almost everything. This book is a history of the man as much as it is a history of the PCEA as Central Province's foremost church. It's a story of a rather unusual, unhealthy relationship between church and state. Of clergymen, often, finding themselves at a disadvantage because of this relationship. It's a history of a man who lost his gun in World War II and was jailed after a court martial, and who often seems to have had an unbroken string of luck whenever he was in trouble. You get alot of "my detractors" and "my critics" in later chapters, and there are points you could flip through the history and intrigues of the PCEA top echelons without missing a story of the man. He talks about losing his wife, but little about losing his sons (one to an accident, the other to exile), and even less about his adopted kids. Still, there's a rawness to this book that's refreshing. When I was done I got my old man a copy from @magungabooks #Owaahhreviews #Books #Owaahh

[owaahh]

I wouldn't have made a good hunter. In fact, if my score today is anything to go by, I probably wouldn't have lived to see my teens. I have an aim so bad that I think at some point the instructor was worried I would arrow myself (I know arrow isn't a verb...yet). But archery is a stupid sport anyway. Why do they put that net behind there if you aren't meant to shoot at it, too? You know, originally, at the Olympics, the targets were live pigeons which I guess weren't very alive after. Unless it was a 1900 version of me shooting, then they'ld all live. It's also the only sport women were allowed to participate in at the 1904 Olympics. That doesn't make much sense though does it? How do you discriminate against an entire gender and then go ahead and let them participate in the only sport that involves actual weapons? I don't know why we still need bow and arrow skills when we have so many finer weapons you don't have to aim to hit something. If I was a stronger man, I would post an image of my score card here. But you don't need such negativity. #Serenaexperience #Owaahhtravelogue #Owaahh #Tembeakenya #Archery #Lakeelementaita

[owaahh]

At the bottom of this hill is a small river, now a stream really, called Gitau. I don't know if it was named after someone, but what it represented for 8 years was the one place we went to get water to wash our classes. Going there, every Friday afternoon, was a thrill. Why walk down the hill when you can sit on your jerrican and slide all the way down? In retrospect we placed our balls (mostly, the girls cleaned, the boys fetched) in mortal danger, but mostly we just went back to school with bruises and stories. That, and cracked containers leaking all the way back. It all looks so small now, the hill, the river. The entire place. There's a boy in the frame, in khaki and blue. He'll keep growing, and to him, the hill, the river, the past, will keep getting smaller and smaller. #throwback #TBT #ThrowbackThursday #Owaahh #Kenya #Childhood