The Conversation – Africa – Page 21

December 31, 2025

Kenya’s ‘night running’: how a rural ritual with links to witchcraft became an urban staple

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Maureen Amimo, Lecturer, Maasai Mara University

In parts of Kenya, Uganda and Tanzania, it is not uncommon to hear of individuals who run naked at night. They cause trouble and instil fear in the neighbourhood. They throw stones on rooftops, make animal noises, bang on windows and doors, and chase night travellers.

In Kenya, the practice is called night running, or night dancing in parts of Tanzania and Uganda. It is claimed to be a form of spiritual possession in the communities where it is rampant.

Night runners are largely left to their own devices, but there is a sense of stigma attached to the practice.

I am a cultural studies researcher and wanted to explore how night running is seen in popular culture through fictionalised print media narratives or other appropriations. I set out to study the concept of night running as practised in rural communities in western Kenya, as well as its adoption in cities.

I conducted interviews with informants from Kisumu and Vihiga counties in western Kenya to examine the ritual and its marginal taboo position. The ritual exists on the margins because it’s a practice deemed unacceptable in public. I also examined Kenyan newspaper archives between 1990 and 2020 to trace the transformation of public discourse around night running. These articles and letters to the editor acted as a repository of understanding by Kenyans from different regions about night running.

I found that in the 1990s, newspapers reporting on night running largely exposed the ritual and its perceived links to witchcraft. Most of the reports captured the violence meted out on suspected night runners, or reflected on cases of night runners causing havoc.

These references to either night running or witchcraft appeared as hard news and in letters to the editor. They illustrated heightened stigma. In one letter to the editor published on 20 February 1993 in Kenya’s oldest newspaper, The Standard, a reader observes

the decision to burn alive the wizards and witchcrafts as reported by the daily newspapers in Kisii district was an action long overdue … I find it difficult to condone their action and say that was a job well done. Wizards have done worse and have retarded developments.

In the post-2000 period, a column titled The Night Runner in The Standard offered a direct modification of the idea of night running. The columnist, Tony Mochama, assumed the persona of a night runner as an alter ego to document his night adventures in the capital, Nairobi. Each week, the column documented different activities, from watching soccer matches to attending parties and official events.

The column co-opted the public’s memory regarding the ritual figure of the night runner. Mochama invoked the night runner as his lens for seeing Nairobi by night. This column, therefore, offered a collective re-imagination. Readers were asked to re-imagine night running as a strategy of seeing, travelling and documenting the city of Nairobi by night.

I found that the inference in the column was that the night is a significant time-space that carries extensive activity and culture. The column presented the night runner as someone who disrupts the logical and accepted order of how to operate at night.

For instance, instead of taking the night as the time of rest, the contemporary night runner works, travels the city and explores its leisure zones.

By describing a night runner as someone who moves against the grain, Mochama turned night running into a metaphor for life in the city after dark. This view enabled his audience to look beyond the stigmatised ritual and imagine its usefulness as a signal for different forms of nightlife.

The contradictions

My study found that Mochama’s articles and others within the popular culture section of newspapers created space for forays into fictional and surreal tales of night running.

These narratives explored the ritual form of night running as defined by the veil of darkness – but also its contradictions in an over-illuminated city space.

The night runner, therefore, captures the anxieties of cityness embodied in the tensions of non-belonging, especially regarding social norms. This is in relation to subjects that exist outside acceptable social norms that dictate the night as a time of rest and sleep. The narratives also raised the complexities of taboo and family in the city, where boundaries are blurred because of the freedoms of urban life.

In Mochoma’s column, readers laugh at the antics of this night runner, who is an extrapolation of a rural ritual into the city. But they are also forced to recognise the uneasy kinship ties unveiled in urban living. The night runner, in this form, is seen to overcome the unknowability of the city and instead forces an introspective inquiry into human beings as creatures with secret and uncanny habits.

The popular night runner is thus a subject that has “four eyes”. This is defined by anthropologists Filip de Boeck and Marie-Francoise Plissart as a person with a heightened sense of sight to see beyond the obvious, to see the shadows, the supernatural that is part of the nocturnal city.

The urban night runner sees the underbelly of the city in the invisible networks that thrive in dingy bars and backstreets. Here, prostitutes, street families and the police create uneasy alliances. In this regard, to night run in the city is to run the night, to rule over the city and its moods.

This reimagination created space for alternative ideas of night running that are less taboo. Mochama’s column, which ran from 2006 to 2012, indicates a sustained national audience for these forms of night running narratives.

Why it matters

My study found that night running as understood in modern times is a duality: the ritual of persons running naked at night and causing havoc, and a symbol of navigating the nocturnal city against the grain.

The rise in popular imaginaries of night running has enabled a public re-contemplation that has perhaps removed stigma from the taboo act. This is seen in the way people playfully use the term to reference night time activities, such as working or leisure. And in the way columnists inject humour and imagination into its references in their narratives.

These competing narratives on night running operate side by side in the public milieu through the media: the earlier ritual practice, the fictionalised narratives, and the co-opted modern appropriations.

It is no wonder that a supposed group of night runners in Homa Bay, another county in western Kenya, publicly demanded that the government allow for the registration and recognition of their union in 2023. And earlier in 2019, the BBC ran a documentary, Meet the Night Runners.

Maureen Amimo is an Andrew Mellon African Urbanities postdoctoral fellow at Makerere University and teaches African literature at Maasai Mara University, Kenya.

– ref. Kenya’s ‘night running’: how a rural ritual with links to witchcraft became an urban staple – https://theconversation.com/kenyas-night-running-how-a-rural-ritual-with-links-to-witchcraft-became-an-urban-staple-267333

December 29, 2025

Choosing a career? In a fast-changing job market, listen to your inner self – counsellor

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Kobus Maree, Professor of Educational Psychology, University of Pretoria

The world of work today, in the 21st century, is far more unpredictable than it was in the 20th century. Jobs come and go, roles change constantly, and automation and digital disruption are the only constants. Many young people will one day do jobs that don’t yet exist or did not exist a few years ago. Change is the new normal.

In this world, career counselling focuses on navigating repeated transitions and developing resilience. It is about employability and designing meaningful work-lives – not about finding a single “job for life”. It recognises that economic activity is part of wider social realities.

At its heart is the search for a sense of purpose.

As a career counsellor and academic, I’ve been through decades of innovation, research, and practice in South Africa and beyond. I have found that the work of US counselling psychologist Mark Savickas offers a useful way to understand how people build successful and purpose-filled careers in changing times.

His career construction theory says that rather than trying to “match” people to the “right” environment, counsellors should see their clients as authors of their own careers, constantly trying to create meaning, clarify their career-life themes, and adapt to an unpredictable world.

In simple terms, this means in practice that career decisions are not just about skills or interests, but about how we make sense of our lives. They are about our values and how we adapt when the world shifts.

In my own work I emphasise that career counselling should draw on people’s “stories” (how they understand themselves) as well as their “scores” (information about them). This is why I developed instruments that blend qualitative and quantitative approaches to exploring a person’s interests.

I also think career counselling should be grounded in context – the world each person lives in. For example, in South Africa, young people face multiple career-life transitions, limited opportunities and systemic constraints, such as uneven and restricted access to quality education and schooling, lack of employment opportunities, and insufficient career counselling support. My work in this South African context emphasises (personal) agency, (career) adaptability, purpose, and hope.

This goes beyond “what job suits you best”, into a richer, narrative-based process. Clients recount their career-life story, identify “crossroads”, reflect on their values and purpose, and design their next career-life chapters. Essentially, this approach helps them listen to themselves – to their memories, dreams, prospects, values, and emerging self- and career identities – and construct a story that really matters to the self and others.

I also believe that career counsellors should try to help people deal with their disappointments, sadness and pain, and empower them to heal others and themselves.

Tips for career builders

Adaptability is a central theme in current career theory. It has four dimensions:

concern (about the future)
control (over your destiny)
curiosity (exploring possibilities)
confidence (in your capacity to act).

When you develop these capacities, you are better equipped to manage career-life transitions, redesign your career appropriately and promptly, and achieve a meaningful work-life balance.

I have found that in practice it’s helpful to:

reflect on key “turning points” in your career-life and earliest memories
integrate self-understanding with awareness of what’s happening in an industry, technology and the economy
draw on “stories” (subjective information about yourself) and “scores” (objective data)
develop a sense of mission (what the job means for you personally) and vision (your contribution to society, not just your job title).

I invite you to reflect deeply on your story, identify the key moments that shaped you, clarify your values, and decide what contribution you want to make. Then (re-)design your way forward, step by step, one transition at a time.

If it’s possible, a gap year can be a good time to do this reflection, learn new skills and develop qualities in yourself, like adaptability.

One of the best pieces of advice for school leavers I’ve ever seen was this: “Get yourself a passport and travel the world.”

How a counsellor can help

One of the key tenets of my work is the belief that career counselling should be beneficial not only to individuals but also to groups of people. It should promote the ideals of social justice, decent work, and the meaningful contribution of all people to society.

For me, the role of practitioners is not to advise others but to enable them to listen to their inner selves.

To put it another way: in a world of uncertainty, purpose becomes a compass; a North Star. It gives direction. By helping you find the threads that hold your life together and your unique career story, a counsellor helps you take control of your career-life in changing contexts.

There’s also a shift of emphasis in career counselling towards promoting the sustainability of societies and environments on which all livelihoods are dependent.

Career counselling is more vital than ever – not a luxury. It’s not about providing answers but about helping people become adaptive, reflective, resilient and hopeful.

Kobus Maree does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. Choosing a career? In a fast-changing job market, listen to your inner self – counsellor – https://theconversation.com/choosing-a-career-in-a-fast-changing-job-market-listen-to-your-inner-self-counsellor-268920

December 26, 2025

Apongo was a rebel leader in Jamaica – a diary entry sheds light on his west African origins

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Devin Leigh, Lecturer, Global Studies, University of California, Berkeley

For over three centuries, between 1526 and 1866, at least 10.5 million Africans were forcibly trafficked to the Americas in the transatlantic slave trade. Over half of them (with known places of departure) left from a 3,000km stretch of the west African coast between what are today Senegal and Gabon.

Scholars trying to uncover the lives of these diasporic Africans are forced to work with historical records produced by their European and American enslavers. These writers mostly ignored Africans’ individual identities. They gave them western names and wrote about them as products belonging to a set of supposedly distinct “ethnic” brands.

Now, however, the curious biography of an 18th-century Jamaican rebel confounds this inherited language. The rebel in question is Apongo, also known as Wager. His biography is a 134-word handwritten passage in the diary of an 18th-century enslaver named Thomas Thistlewood.

As a historian of the Atlantic World in the 1700s, I use the life stories and archives of British enslavers to better understand these times.

My recent study uses Thistlewood’s biography of Apongo as a window into the origins of enslaved west Africans, particularly those from what are today the nations of Ghana and Benin.

Apongo’s story offers an opportunity to better understand the complexities of west African identity and to put a more human face on those enslaved.

Who was Apongo, aka Wager?

Like many enslaved Africans, Apongo had two names. Unfortunately, neither of them completely unlocks his backstory. “Apongo” is probably the rendering of his African name into English script according to how it sounded to his enslavers’ ears. “Wager” is a name Apongo was given by his white “master”. It had nothing to do with his African origins. In fact, it was the name of his enslaver’s ship.

Thistlewood was an English migrant to Jamaica who thought of himself as a gentleman scholar. According to one of his diary entries, Apongo led an extraordinary life defined by twists of fate. He was the prince of a west African state that paid tribute to a larger kingdom called “Dorme”. After subjugating the peoples around him, the king of Dorme seems to have sent Apongo on a diplomatic mission to Cape Coast Castle in what is today Ghana. At the time it was the headquarters of Great Britain’s trading operations on the African coast.

While there, Apongo was apparently surprised, enslaved, and trafficked to Jamaica. At the time, Jamaica was the British Empire’s most profitable colony. This was due to its sugar plantation complex based on racial slavery.

Once in Jamaica, Apongo reunited with the governor he had visited at Cape Coast. He tried to obtain his freedom but, after failing for a number of years, led and died in an uprising called Tacky’s Revolt.

Unfolding over 18 months from 1760 and named after another one of its leaders, Tacky’s Revolt left 60 Whites and over 500 Blacks dead. Another 500 Blacks were deported from the island. It was arguably the largest slave insurrection in the British Empire before the 19th century.

The mystery in the diary

To appreciate why Thistlewood’s diary entry is so valuable, we must know something about the lack of biographical information on enslaved Africans. Almost all came from societies with oral rather than literary traditions. They were then almost universally prohibited from learning to read and write by their European and American “masters”.

Enslavers almost never recorded enslaved people’s birth names. Instead, they gave them numbers for the transatlantic passage and westernised names after they arrived. Rather than recording the specific places they came from, they lumped them together into groups based on broad zones of provenance. For example, the British tended to call Africans who came from today’s Ghana “Coromatees”. Those from today’s Republic of Benin were known as “Popo”. So, despite being just one paragraph long, Thistlewood’s diary entry on Apongo is among the most detailed biographical sketches historians have of a diasporic African in the 1700s.

But it also contains a mystery. The word Thistlewood used to describe Apongo’s origins, “Dorme” or perhaps “Dome”, is unfamiliar. Since 1989, when historian Douglas Hall first wrote about Apongo, scholars have assumed it was a reference to Dahomey. This was a militarised west African kingdom in the southern part of today’s Benin.

Yet scholars never defended that assumption. Recently, it was called into question by historian Vincent Brown in Tacky’s Revolt, the first book-length study of the slave uprising Apongo helped lead. Enslaved people from what is today Ghana have a well-documented history of leading slave revolts in the Americas, particularly in British Jamaica. Brown suggested that it made more sense if “Dorme” referred to an unidentified state in that region.

Now, in my study, I have built on this work to make two related arguments. Uncovering three contemporary texts that use variant spellings of the word “Dorme” to refer to Dahomey, I argue that Thistlewood’s term was, indeed, a contemporary word for “Dahomey” in 18th-century Jamaica and that Dahomey was almost certainly the kingdom he had in mind. Moreover, I demonstrate that it was both possible and reasonable for a diplomatic mission to have taken place between Dahomey and Cape Coast in Apongo’s time. In fact, such a mission actually did take place in 1779, when King Kpengla of Dahomey sent one of his linguists to Cape Coast as an emissary.

But none of this resolves the central question. The evidence of “Coromantee” involvement in Tacky’s Revolt and other Jamaican slave rebellions – including the presence of Ghanaian names among rebels and the statements of historians at the time – is overwhelming. Additionally, although Africans from Dahomey made the trip to Cape Coast Castle during the 18th century, visitors from states in today’s Ghana were certainly much more common.

Ultimately, to argue that Apongo had origins in Dahomey, one must explain how a subject of that kingdom came to be a general in a rebellion largely characterised by Ghanaian leadership.

A question of origins

What are we to make of Apongo’s origins? One answer is that Thistlewood was wrong. Apongo was “Coromantee” and we should think of him as Ghanaian. Thistlewood merely associated him with Dahomey because that was the militarised African kingdom best known to Europeans at the time.

Another possibility is that Thistlewood was correct. Apongo was “Popo” and so we should write about him as Beninese. Thistlewood simply relayed a fact of Apongo’s life and was unconcerned with questions that now preoccupy us, such as how Apongo came to lead a rebellion that appears characterised by “Coromantee” leadership.

A third answer is that Apongo’s identity was more complex than this inherited “ethnic” language allows. Perhaps he was someone who traversed and was fluent in the cultural and political worlds of both Ghana and Benin. If that’s the case, then perhaps his story reminds us that at least these two adjacent regions were not as distinct as early-modern writers claimed and later colonial and national borders supposed.

The search for Apongo is just a small part of historians’ larger, ongoing, and collaborative work to recreate the lives of Africans taken in the transatlantic slave trade.

While asking these questions requires us to work with sources written by enslavers, we do so in the hope that we can ultimately see beyond them. Our reward is better understanding how Africans’ forgotten perspectives shaped the history of our world.

Devin Leigh does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. Apongo was a rebel leader in Jamaica – a diary entry sheds light on his west African origins – https://theconversation.com/apongo-was-a-rebel-leader-in-jamaica-a-diary-entry-sheds-light-on-his-west-african-origins-268014

December 25, 2025

Looted African belongings must be returned: is it repatriation or restitution? The words we use matter

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Victoria Gibbon, Professor in Biological Anthropology, Division of Clinical Anatomy and Biological Anthropology, University of Cape Town

Museums and universities around the world hold vast collections of cultural artefacts, artworks, objectified belongings and even ancestral remains. Many were not freely given but taken during colonial times, through force, manipulation, theft or violence. For decades, they have sat in storerooms and display cases, classified into categories like anthropology, natural history or ethnology, separated from the people and communities to whom they once belonged.

In recent years, there has been growing recognition that these collections carry painful legacies.

Calls for their return have become part of a global conversation about decolonisation, justice and healing. In 2018 French president Emmanuel Macron produced a report which called for a new ethics of humanity, setting off a new willingness to return African artworks and material culture. But African calls for restitution were made at least five decades earlier following former president of the Democratic Republic of the Congo Mobutu Sese Seko’s address to the UN.

In all these engagements, two words are often used: repatriation and restitution.

At first glance they may seem to mean the same thing, and both involve the return of something. But as South African scholars, working in the fields of history, museum studies and human biology, we argue that the difference between these terms is not just semantic. The choice of word reflects deeper politics of justice, recognition and repair.

In our recent article we explained how we see this difference, and why the work of restitution restores people’s power over their future, and gives them a sense of agency. We argue that, for its part, repatriation has come to represent something less concerned with community restoration and has more to do with an administrative and logistical exercise.

We argue that, unlike repatriation, restitution speaks directly to justice.

Repatriation: the language of return

The word repatriation comes from the Latin patria, meaning “fatherland”. Traditionally, it refers to the return of a person or their remains to their country of origin. Governments often use this term for the logistical and legal transfer of people, artworks, or ancestral remains across national borders.

In countries that were settled by colonisers, like the US, Canada, Australia and New Zealand, repatriation has become the dominant language. This is partly due to specific laws and frameworks. In the US, for example, the Native American Graves Protection and Repatriation Act requires museums to return human remains and cultural items to Indigenous communities in a proactive manner.

In New Zealand, the national museum Te Papa plays a central role in repatriating Māori and Moriori ancestral remains from overseas institutions before returning them to local communities. In Australia, the choice of repatriation by activists, communities and scholars also sought strategically to draw a connection with the return of the remains of fallen soldiers.

In these contexts, repatriation is often framed as a process of giving back. States or museums take the lead, and communities receive.

Some Indigenous scholars and activists have challenged this framing, pointing out its patriarchal and statist overtones. They have introduced the concept of “rematriation”, signalling a return to “Mother Earth” rooted in Indigenous feminist perspectives, spirituality and community balance.

In South Africa, too, the term repatriation has been used, especially when the state arranged for the return of remains from abroad, as in the case of the return of Sarah Baartman from France.

Baartman was a 19th century Khoe (Indigenous South African) woman put on display in freak shows in Europe. Her body was later dissected by scientists within the realm of racial science and made to enter the systems of collecting and exhibition at the Musée de l’Homme in Paris. After being turned into an international symbol of the oppression of black women, Baartman also became a focus of claims for return made by Khoe and other activists and social movements in South Africa.

Repatriation has also been used for the return of the remains of ex-combatants and other patriots.

But unease began to grow. Was this language adequate for the deep work of justice and healing that communities were calling for? Or was it more concerned with national prestige than with community restoration?

Restitution: politics of justice beyond the transaction

Restitution is about returning something to its rightful owner, not simply as a transfer of property, but as an act of recognition, repair and healing.

Restitution is not just an event, like handing over an artefact in a ceremony. It is a process, time-consuming, emotional, and often painful. It involves research into how items were acquired, conversations with descendant communities, and decisions about how to care for or honour what has been returned. It recognises that the belongings taken were not just curiosities or objects, but were tied to community, and to language, ceremony and identity.

In many cases, ancestral remains were classified and objectified as human remains and specimens, stripping them of their humanity. Restitution, by contrast, restores them as ancestors with dignity and agency.

Restitutionary work: healing and reconnection

Our research uses the phrase “restitutionary work” to describe the labour involved. This work goes far beyond diplomacy, logistics and transport. It includes:

Acknowledgment of injustice: Recognising that items were wrongly taken, whether through violence, coercion, or theft.
De-objectification: Treating ancestral remains and cultural belongings not as human remains and museum objects but as ancestors or cultural treasures.
Community involvement: Ensuring that descendant groups and local communities decide what happens after return, in conversation with museums and national governments.
Healing processes: Creating spaces for mourning, ceremony and closure.
New futures: Seeing restitution not just as recovering the past but as opening pathways for cultural renewal and social justice.

For example, South Africa’s land restitution programme has shown that restitution is not simply about restoring what once was. It is about creating conditions for justice today and possibilities for tomorrow.

Similarly, cultural restitution is less about putting things “back where they came from” and more about empowering communities to reconnect with their heritage in ways that matter today.

Why words matter

The distinction between repatriation and restitution is not academic nitpicking. Words shape power. If return is framed as repatriation, the emphasis is often on the giver, the returner, in the form of the state or museum, granting something back. If it is framed as restitution, the emphasis shifts to the claimant, to the community asserting rights and demanding justice.

Restitution is not about recovering a lost past. That past cannot be restored exactly as it was. Instead, it is about creating new futures built on justice, dignity and respect. For communities around the world still living with the legacies of colonial dispossession, that distinction matters deeply.

Victoria Gibbon receives funding from the South African National Research Foundation. Opinions expressed and conclusions arrived at are those of the authors and not necessarily attributed to the NRF.

Ciraj Rassool receives funding from the Volkswagen Foundation, and has previously received funding from the Andrew W. Mellon Foundation and the Open Society Foundations. Opinions expressed and conclusions arrived at are those of the authors.

– ref. Looted African belongings must be returned: is it repatriation or restitution? The words we use matter – https://theconversation.com/looted-african-belongings-must-be-returned-is-it-repatriation-or-restitution-the-words-we-use-matter-268710

December 23, 2025

When kids move overseas: why visits are so rare for South Africa’s emigrant families

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Sulette Ferreira, Transnational Family Specialist and Researcher, University of Johannesburg

More than one million South Africans, about 1.6% of the country’s population of 63 million, currently live overseas. Emigration is never a solitary event or a purely economic decision. When one person leaves, an entire network of relationships is reshaped. This means that parents, grandparents, siblings and friends are left behind, making it challenging to maintain close bonds across continents.

Despite vast geographical distances and the challenges of differing time zones, the enduring parent–child bond motivates families to seek meaningful ways to stay connected. Among the most powerful of these are transnational visits. For those who can travel, these visits serve as an emotional and relational lifeline: they allow parents to step into their adult children’s newly formed worlds, observe their daily routines, and build or maintain bonds with grandchildren born or raised abroad.

Although families stay connected through technology, parents emphasise that virtual contact cannot replace the desire for in-person connection. Yet this longing is often unmet. For many families, visiting is a deeply felt desire rather than a realistic possibility.

In a recent research paper I examined barriers to transnational visits from South African parents to their emigrant children. It intentionally centres on the experiences of parents travelling abroad, rather than on return visits to South Africa.

In total, 37 participants took part. They were South African citizens from a range of racial, cultural and religious backgrounds. They were between 50 and 85 years old. They were fluent in English and were parents of adult child(ren) who had emigrated and lived abroad for at least one year.

Most participants were women. Their children had emigrated to a range of countries, including Australia, New Zealand, the UK and the US. This aligns with global trends of South African emigration to English-speaking, economically developed countries.

The research uncovered the intertwined financial, emotional, physical, relational, and bureaucratic complexities that shape whether, how, and how often these visits take place.

Why visits matter

For transnational families, visits allow parents and children to revive and nurture attachments. They complement virtual interactions, video calls, instant messages and social media.

For parents, visiting their children’s homes bridges the gap between imagined spaces created through video calls and the lived realities of those environments. These experiences foster deeper emotional connections, enabling families to share closeness, engage in mutual care, and observe unspoken cues such as body language and tone, elements foundational to sustaining relationships.

Despite their importance, the rarity of transnational visits emerged clearly from participants’ narratives. While a small number of parents in the study were able to visit annually or every couple of years, this was the exception rather than the norm. For most, visits were rare events.

Although nearly all parents longed to visit more frequently, the majority had visited only once and several had never visited at all. Those who had visited spoke about long gaps between visits and the uncertainty of when or whether a next visit would ever be possible. This absence amplifies the loneliness experienced and leaves parents feeling increasingly “out of sync” with their children’s lives, at times even “irrelevant”.

Three main challenges

Parents consistently expressed a desire to visit more often. Yet this longing was constrained by the realities of their circumstances. Three major challenges emerged across the qualitative interviews.

Financial constraints: This was the most significant barrier, often preventing parents from realising their desire to visit their emigrant children. Air travel from South Africa to destinations such as Australia, New Zealand, Canada and the US is expensive. The South African rand’s weak exchange rate against strong currencies turns even modest flights into luxury purchases.

Retirees living on fixed incomes often find themselves caught between safeguarding their financial stability and meeting the deep emotional need to reconnect with their children and grandchildren.

It is terribly expensive. If I now had to, I would scratch the money out from somewhere and I can afford it, but I need to look after myself as well. Even if you have money, you don’t spend your money on something that is really absurd, like the price of air tickets at this stage is completely absurd.

Hidden expenses can also make visits even more challenging. Visa application fees, compulsory health insurance and medical examinations quickly add up.

Logistical strain: The geographical distance between South Africa and the popular emigration destinations such as Australia, the United States and New Zealand presents significant obstacles. For many elderly parents, long-haul travel is physically and mentally demanding.

As one participant shared:

The trip to America … there’s a lot of jet lag, and it’s not an easy trip to make. You know, if your kids are in Europe or England, there’s no time delay, no jet lag or anything like that.

Chronic illnesses, mobility limitations and fatigue make these journeys even more challenging. For some parents, the physical toll makes travel unmanageable or medically inadvisible.

Practical considerations, especially how long to stay, long enough to make the trip worthwhile but not too long to disrupt routines, add another layer of complexity. These decisions make planning a visit both logistically and emotionally taxing.

The emotional weight of saying goodbye: Every visit carries an inevitable ending. With no certainty about when, or if, the next visit will happen, each departure feels like a potential final farewell, especially for older parents. The joy of togetherness becomes tinged with the dread of parting, a heaviness that grows as the end of the visit approaches. For many, the farewell at the end of a visit is one of the most emotionally difficult moments.

As a grandmother describes:

And then a big factor is the sadness with the goodbye and for weeks after that you still struggle and can’t get back on track properly. For me, it gets more intense every time.

Some parents avoid visiting altogether because the emotional cost of departure outweighs the joy of being together.

Longing for presence

Many transnational parents must face the reality that limited financial, physical, or emotional resources will restrict the number of visits they can undertake in their lifetime. While digital communication helps families stay connected across borders, parents emphasised that virtual contact cannot recreate the intimacy that grows from in-person visits: the shared routines, playful moments and physical closeness.

Visits matter because they offer what digital technologies cannot fully provide: presence.

Sulette Ferreira does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. When kids move overseas: why visits are so rare for South Africa’s emigrant families – https://theconversation.com/when-kids-move-overseas-why-visits-are-so-rare-for-south-africas-emigrant-families-270509

December 19, 2025

Revolutionary rap: Nigerian star Falz has kept protest music alive

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Paul Onanuga, Lecturer, Federal University, Oye Ekiti

Nigerian rapper, actor and social media star Falz released his sixth studio album, The Feast, in 2025.

Few Nigerian popular musicians have shown as much versatility and staying power as the man behind the #ElloBae and #WehDoneSir social media trends. For over a decade now, Falz has been marrying musical skills and social activism with digital savvy and comedy.

His rise to global prominence was solidified with his 2018 song This is Nigeria. But it began in 2014 with Marry Me off his debut album Wazup Guy.

As a young artist known for his video skits, he created an online challenge ahead of releasing the song Ello Bae (Hello Babe). In it he tries to romance a woman who appreciates him and his ambition, but is looking for a man with money. It remains a common hashtag when TikTokers post about love and money.

In 2017 he released Wehdone Sir (Well Done, Sir), a witty takedown of people with fake glamour lifestyles. #WehDoneSir is still used on social media to satirise pretentious individuals.

Falz would become known for his unique blend of hip-hop and Afropop, but what really made him stand out was his skill at infusing humour into his socially conscious, often revolutionary, songs.

It’s often argued that Falz is a natural heir to Fela Anikulapo-Kuti. He was the Nigerian music legend and activist who helped create the Afrobeat movement (a precursor to today’s Afrobeats).

Like Fela, Falz packs his music with playfulness and satire while also stirring public consciousness with activist lyrics. Both call for action against the oppressive political class. In 2020, when young Nigerians took to the streets to demand an end to police corruption, Fela and Falz were both part of the inventory of #EndSARS protest songs.

As a scholar of Nigerian hip-hop, I have published papers on Fela and Falz and how they have shaped protest music that responds to social challenges in Nigeria.

So, who is Falz, and how has he spread his message – and come to be the political voice of his generation, as Fela was to his?

Who is Falz?

Falz (real name Folarin Falana) was born in 1990 in Mushin, Lagos. He is the son of a respected human rights lawyer and activist father, Femi Falana, and lawyer mother, Funmi Falana. In fact, his father was Fela’s lawyer, defending him against charges brought by the state.

Falz also qualified as a lawyer, but chose instead to pursue his interests in music and acting. These multiple skills feed into his productions on diverse levels. Beyond his songs, he is also very active on Instagram and Tik-Tok, where he establishes trends, especially around his songs and films.

His character in Ello Bae, for instance, struggles with English, using big formal words in unexpected ways, finding comedy in his faux Yoruba inflections. It would be a trademark of the #ElloBaeChallenge and would enjoy renewed public attention when Falz was cast in the TV series Jenifa’s Diary playing a similar character.

In 2016, Falz won best new international act at the BET Awards in the US. Numerous other awards would follow. His albums have received commercial and critical success. His roles in movies have further solidified his status as a multitalented entertainer.

Activism

Falz does not shy away from living the talk. He took part in the 2020 #EndSARS protests and his work repeatedly tries to steer the government towards addressing socio-economic challenges.

Soon after the protests, he released Moral Instruction. On the album, the track Johnny depicts the everyday experiences of Nigerians. This is Nigeria, a localised version of US rapper Childish Gambino’s This is America, depicts Nigeria as a country struggling with corruption, lawlessness and social injustice. A stark contrast to its potential. The video reflects a breakdown in law and order, corrupt officials, and the struggles of young people facing limited opportunities and resorting to crime.

Falz has used his platform as a celebrity and his background as a lawyer to call for social justice and for young people to make a difference.

Fela and Falz

There have been a number of pretend heirs to Fela’s throne of musical consciousness. Many of these have either not lived up to the hype or have fizzled out.

However, many popular Nigerian artists leverage Fela’s ethos through sampling his beats and lyrics. This is evident in Falz’s musicography too.

My study on the lyrical and thematic connections between Fela and Falz songs compares a number of tracks. Fela’s No Agreement and Falz’s Talk, for example, both draw attention to social inequality and systemic challenges in Nigeria.

Fela’s song was produced in the context of a military regime while Falz’s was within a democratic dispensation. But both speak of a crisis of leadership in Nigeria, as is the case in many postcolonial societies. What particularly links Fela and Falz is that both are unrelenting in their revolutionary struggles and determination to ensure an equitable Nigerian society.

Religious leaders are not spared criticism. Echoing Fela’s Coffin for Head of State (1980), Falz’s Amen (2019) points to the deceptive practices and complicity of religious leaders in poor political leadership and endemic poverty. Both critique the double standards that have become normal in the country.

Falz’s Follow Follow (2019) addresses current realities in Nigerian society – a lack of personal conviction and independent thought and the mindless following of social media trends. Integrating lyrics from Fela’s Zombie (1976), the song is about asserting one’s identity. It also rehashes Fela’s Follow Follow, mocking those who allow themselves to be led blindly by others.

To make sure his advocacy resonates, Falz co-opts his listeners through a call-and-response strategy. A phrase is sung and the next phrase answers it. This way, along with catchy lyrics, the audience become active participants.

This also echoes the traditional Yoruba chant-and-refrain rendition used by musicians, poets and bards to engage their audience. Its possible nod to the indigenous is also at the heart of his faux Yoruba accent, a style that downplays his prestigious upbringing and connects him to ordinary people, much like Pidgin did for Fela.

But echoes of Fela don’t in any way take away from the creative force of Falz’s work. Rather they reinforce his critique of how the postcolonial Nigerian state has failed to live up to its promise.

Into the future

While Fela was unrepentantly anticolonial, Falz is sublimely hybridised. His mixture of talents and views creates a pulsating pan-African consciousness that’s able to exist in a global contemporary world view.

His lyrics and videography are aimed at the masses – especially young people – who have the most to gain from positive social change. In this way Falz can be said to represent a generational conscience. He uses his empowering songs to motivate his fans to take their destinies in their own hands.

Paul Onanuga does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. Revolutionary rap: Nigerian star Falz has kept protest music alive – https://theconversation.com/revolutionary-rap-nigerian-star-falz-has-kept-protest-music-alive-266529

December 18, 2025

Marriage and migration: what happens when men return to the family home in Botswana

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Unaludo Sechele, Research Fellow, University of the Free State

The history of labour migration in Botswana can be linked to the discovery of gold and diamonds in South Africa in the late 19th century. South Africa needed cheap labour, and men from neighbouring territories were pulled into the workforce as unskilled or semi-skilled workers in mines, factories, kitchens and farms.

Mine recruitment agencies like the Native Recruiting Corporation and the Witwatersrand Native Labour Association began expanding recruitment networks in Botswana in the 1930s.

Men in Botswana – a British protectorate and largely rural economy at the time – were open to labour migration for several reasons. They had to pay taxes to the colonial administration, and for that they needed cash. Some needed to pay traditional bride price in cattle, acquire ploughs for agricultural production, or educate their children. Drought pushed some farmers to look for other work.

So men were forced leave their families and migrate to work in South Africa or Southern Rhodesia (today’s Zimbabwe). They would return home only about once a year. This left women as primary caregivers in their families, in a society with a patriarchal culture, where men are normally in charge. As a Tswana phrase puts it: “Mosadi ke ngwana wa monna – A woman is a man’s child.”

Families experienced a variety of challenges and changes as a result, and their responses to the circumstances varied. Previous studies have examined the effects of men’s absence, but there hasn’t been much historical research on the impact on women and families of their return. As a women’s historian I was interested in this aspect.

I interviewed 33 rural women in Botswana’s north-east and central disricts whose husbands had been away between 1970 and 2015 to ask them how this had affected them. From what they told me, it became apparent that most marriages did not work out for the best.

Their stories and perspectives add to what’s known about the economic and social impact of labour migration in the southern African region.

Labour migration and the disruption of families

Previous research has found that labour migration damaged families in the countries that provided workers. The tightly knit cooperative, social and economic unit became economically dependent on migrants’ income. Although it improved people’s lives economically, labour migration separated husbands and wives for long periods.

In Tswana society, marriage is typically seen as a husband and wife living together to raise children and make decisions. However, for women married to migrant workers, the situation was quite different. They spent much time apart; they only spent time together when the husband came home to visit, was on leave, or was between jobs.

It also shifted women’s social and economic status – and traditional gender roles. Even though the absent husband retained power over strategic family decisions, male migration improved the position of women, who became, in practice, heads of the house.

However, miners returned home when retired, retrenched or injured. Many also came back to Botswana following Botswana’s independence in 1966 and the discovery of diamonds in the country in 1967.

According to national censuses, the number of people living abroad decreased from 45,735 in 1971 to 38,606 in 1991 and 28,210 in 2001.

As these miners returned home, they removed their wives from critical aspects of running the household and reclaimed their roles as heads of families.

The return of husbands

My research aimed to analyse the redistribution of responsibilities and power dynamics between husbands and wives when migrants returned to Botswana.

The interviews with women revealed a range of outcomes. Three cases illustrate them. (I have changed the names to protect identities.)

Conflict

According to Julia Keneetswe, her husband’s return and attempt to reassert authority caused conflicts. Keneetswe provided a brief background of her marriage and the type of parent her husband was when he was working in the mines. She claimed that her husband’s contract was terminated because of violence. She stated that after his return, he was a violent man who nearly killed her.

Keneetswe said:

My husband was already at the mines when we got married. He would not come home even for the Christmas holidays or support the children. Since he came home after being fired for fighting with a colleague at the mine, there hasn’t been any peace. This man is extremely violent … He is also a useless drunkard, but I can’t leave him because where will I go, so I will just stay here and mind my own business while he takes care of his.

It is important to highlight that most women did not simply sit back and wait for their husbands to return; instead, they empowered themselves in various ways.

Independence

For example, Mary Mojadi had progressed to become head of department at the primary school where she was teaching. As a result of the differences they had when her husband returned, she opted to leave the marriage since she was not only educated and aware of her rights but also was financially stable and had the means to start a new life by herself.

Similarly, Kelebogile Sejo told me she had been on the village development committee for several years, a position that garnered her respect in the community. Although she was not the one who initiated the divorce, she did not oppose it because she had proved to herself over the years that she could build a life for herself and her children without depending on her husband.

Reunion

Not all reunions ended in fights and divorce. Beta Mojela’s experience was different. She said that when her husband left for the mines, she was left with nothing but uncultivated land. She took it upon herself to start a horticultural business, which became successful. When her husband retired, he returned home to an up-and-running business, and they continued working together to grow the business.

Conclusion

My research looked at labour migration from Botswana through a feminist lens. It noted that migration was a challenge to the patriarchal nature of Tswana society – the belief that men ought to be the head of the family.

Some women who had spent significant time without husbands failed to adjust to life in the shadow of their husbands when they returned. Miscommunication and a lack of compromise led to conflicts in some marriages. But there were cases in which the couples reunited.

The return of husbands did not have the same results or reception for different families. Nonetheless, these circumstances allowed some women to evolve as heads of families and become more independent.

Unaludo Sechele received funding from American Council of Learned Societies- African Humanities Program. She is affiliated with University of the Free State- International Studies Group.

– ref. Marriage and migration: what happens when men return to the family home in Botswana – https://theconversation.com/marriage-and-migration-what-happens-when-men-return-to-the-family-home-in-botswana-270403

December 17, 2025

How to make sure water is safe to drink: four practical tips

Source: The Conversation – Africa – By Jo Barnes, Senior Lecturer Emeritus, Stellenbosch University

Water is a vital resource. Life on earth, as we know it, is impossible without access to safe drinking water. Concerns over declining quality and consistency of municipal drinking water supplied to consumers have been increasing over a long time.

In South Africa, widespread problems with the availability and quality of drinking water across urban areas have been well documented and have often given rise to protests.

For example, there have been service delivery protests in the eThekwini municipality, an important port city, amid power and water outages as well as in Johannesburg, the country’s economic centre.

There are many types of contaminants that can threaten the safety and quality of drinking water. The major water pollutants are disease-causing organisms (pathogens) and toxic chemicals.

Drinking water means more than the relatively small amount used for direct drinking. Water used for brushing teeth, washing food, washing hands (particularly when handling babies or young children) and washing tableware used while eating should receive priority when clean, safe water is scarce.

As a researcher working for decades on water issues, health and water and water quality, I can offer some suggestions about how people can purify their water and deal with water interruptions.

It’s not possible for the general public to purify all the water supplied to them every day using home-based methods. It is simply too expensive and laborious. So, the advice below concentrates on the situations when disasters or emergencies force residents to temporarily purify drinking water for themselves and their families.

Making water safe to drink

A simple filter: If the only available water has not been purified by any official system, pour the water through a sieve lined with one or more layers of paper towel or a dishcloth. When the “filter” becomes clogged, replace it with a clean layer. Do not reuse the soiled dishcloth without thoroughly washing it in hot water and soap and drying it in the sunlight.

Boiling: Bring the filtered water to a rolling boil for at least 3 minutes. Boiling the filtered water will get rid of the disease-causing organisms. It won’t remove any harmful chemicals that may be present, but may reduce the concentration of some of them.

Bleach Add a teaspoon of unscented household bleach (5 millilitres of a 3.5% sodium hypochlorite solution) to 25 litres of water for the treatment of drinking water. Mix well, cover the container and let the water stand for at least two hours before using it.

This should disinfect most of the disease-causing organisms and make the water much safer to use. Important: do not use any cleaning solution containing bleach that also includes other soaps or cleaning compounds. Use only unscented chlorinated household bleach.

Solar disinfection of water: Nicknamed SODIS, it can be used to disinfect water by killing disease-causing organisms using sunlight. Fill glass (preferable) or plastic bottles with contaminated water and place them in direct sunlight for at least six hours on a sunny day or up to two days if the weather is overcast. The heat and the ultraviolet radiation from the sun disinfect the water by killing most of the disease-causing organisms.

A problem that’s growing

The quality of water being delivered to South African residents continues to deteriorate. This is due to ageing or broken infrastructure, inadequate water and sewage treatment, poorly trained staff and extensive, uncontrolled sources of pollution.

The Blue Drop Report of 2023 is the newest official data from the Department of Water and Sanitation. If found that only 26 water supply systems achieved a Blue Drop score of around 95%. This was down from 44 water supply systems that achieved this distinction in 2014. Countrywide, 29% of water supply systems were identified as being in a critical state.

The nongovernmental organisation AfriForum tested the municipal drinking water quality of 210 towns and cities across South Africa in 2024 (17 locations more than in 2023).

The tests indicated that 87% of municipal drinking water was safe for human consumption and met the minimum requirements. This represents a nine percentage point decrease from the 96% that was indicated as safe in the previous year.

Water quality is not the only aspect of water provision that affects the health and safety of citizens. Water availability is crucial for hygiene and safe living standards. For years, some parts of the country have been experiencing widespread water outages due to a combination of climate change-induced droughts, ageing and under-maintained infrastructure, population growth and poor management. There have been frequent and prolonged disruptions, particularly in the Johannesburg area.

This forced municipalities to implement water shedding, water throttling and water rationing. Water shedding typically occurs when the demand for water exceeds the available supply, forcing authorities to ration water. This can mean scheduled water outages, reduced water pressure, or even complete cuts in supply in certain areas for a specific period of time. Water throttling refers to reduced water pressure to decrease water use, while water rationing means only having a certain amount of water available per day or week.

A new report from the Department of Water and Sanitation warns that the provinces of Gauteng and the Western Cape in particular are set to face increasing water scarcity due to rising populations driven by in-migration.

Jo Barnes does not work for, consult, own shares in or receive funding from any company or organisation that would benefit from this article, and has disclosed no relevant affiliations beyond their academic appointment.

– ref. How to make sure water is safe to drink: four practical tips – https://theconversation.com/how-to-make-sure-water-is-safe-to-drink-four-practical-tips-268713

December 16, 2025

Internet shutdowns are increasing dramatically in Africa – a new book explains why

Source: The Conversation – Africa (2) – By Tony Roberts, Digital Research Fellow, Institute of Development Studies

Between 2016 and 2024 there were 193 internet shutdowns imposed in 41 African countries. This form of social control is a growing trend in the continent, according to a new open access source book. It has provided the first-ever comparative analysis of how and why African states use blackouts – written by African researchers.

The book, co-edited by digital rights activist and internet shutdown specialist Felicia Anthonio and digital researcher Tony Roberts, offers 11 in-depth case studies of state-sponsored shutdowns. We asked five questions about it.

How do you define an internet shutdown and why do they happen?

Put simply, an internet shutdown is an intentional disruption of online or mobile communications. They’re usually ordered by the state and implemented by private companies, internet service providers or mobile phone companies, or a combination of those.

The book argues that internet shutdowns are not legal, necessary or proportional in accordance with international human rights law. Shutdowns intentionally prevent the free flow of information and communication. They disrupt online social, economic and political life. So, each internet shutdown typically violates the fundamental human rights of millions of citizens. This includes their rights to freedom of expression, trade and commerce, democratic debate and civic participation online.

Our research looked at case studies from 11 countries between 2016 and 2024. It reveals these shutdowns are timed to coincide with elections or peaceful protests in order to repress political opposition and prevent online reporting.

In Senegal five politically motivated shutdowns in just three years transformed the country’s digital landscape. It cut off citizens’ access to online work, education and healthcare information.

The Uganda chapter shows how the government imposed social media shutdowns during the election. They were fearful of dissenting voices online including that of musician and politician Bobi Wine.

In Ethiopia internet shutdowns are timed to coincide with opposition protests and to prevent live coverage of state violent repression.

In Zimbabwe the government cut off the internet in 2019 to quell anti-government demonstrations.

It should be a concern that regimes are imposing these digital authoritarian practices with increasing frequency and with impunity.

What are the big trends?

The report warns that internet shutdowns are being used to retain power through authoritarian controls. Across Africa, governments are normalising their use to suppress dissent, quell protests and manipulate electoral outcomes.

These blackouts are growing in scale and frequency from a total of 14 shutdowns in 2016 to 28 shutdowns in 2024. There have been devastating consequences in an ever-more digitally connected world.

Internet shutdowns have also increased in sophistication. Partial shutdowns can target specific provinces or websites, so that opposition areas can be cut off. In recent years foreign states, military regimes and warring parties have also resorted to the use of internet shutdown as a weapon of war. This was done by targeting and destroying telecommunications infrastructure.

Ethiopia has experienced the most internet shutdowns in Africa – 30 in the last 10 years. They’ve become a go-to tactic of the state in their attempt to silence dissent in the Oromo and Amhara regions. Shutdowns are timed to coincide with state crackdowns on protests or with military actions – preventing live reporting of human rights violations. Ethiopia is a clear example of how internet shutdowns both reflect and amplify existing political and ethnic power interests.

Zimbabwe is one of many examples in the book of the colonial roots of shutdowns. The first media shutdowns in Zimbabwe were imposed by the British, who closed newspapers to silence calls for political independence. After liberation, the new government used its own authoritarian control over the media to disseminate disinformation and curtail opposition calls for justice and full democracy.

Towards the end of former president Robert Mugabe’s rule, the government imposed a variety of nationwide internet shutdowns. It also throttled the speed of the mobile internet, degrading the service enough to significantly disrupt opposition expression and organisation.

Sudan has experienced 21 internet shutdowns in the last decade. These have increased in recent years as the political and military action has intensified. Intentional online disruption has been consistently deployed by the state during protests and periods of political unrest, particularly in response to resistance movements and civil uprisings during the ongoing conflict.

Has there been effective resistance to shutdowns?

Activists resist by using virtual private network software (VPNs) to disguise their location. Or by using satellite connections not controlled by the government and foreign SIM-cards. They also mobilise offline protests despite violent repression.

Nigeria has not suffered the same volume of internet shutdowns as Sudan or Ethiopia. This is partly because civil society is stronger and is able to mount a more robust response in the face of state disruption of the right to free expression. When an internet shutdown has been imposed in Nigeria, the state has not enjoyed the same impunity as the government in Zimbabwe or elsewhere.

When Nigerians were unable to work online or participate in the online social and political life of the community, they took decisive action by acting collectively. They selectively litigated against the government. This led to the courts ruling that the internet shutdown was not lawful, necessary or proportionate. The government was forced to lift the ban.

How has 2025 fared when it comes to shutdowns?

We have seen both positive and negative trends in 2025. The total number of internet shutdowns across the continent continues to grow. The increasing ability of regimes to narrowly target shutdowns on specific areas is of great concern as it allows the state to punish opposition areas while privileging others.

On the positive side, we have seen resistance rise: both in terms of the use of circumvention technologies but also in the emerging ability of civil society organisations to stand up to repressive governments.

What must happen to prevent shutdowns?

The right to work, freedom of expression and association, and the right to access education are fundamental human rights both offline and online. African governments are signatories to both the Universal Convention on Human Rights and to the Africa Union Charter on Human and People’s Rights. Yet, politicians in power too often ignore these commitments to preserve their personal hold on power.

In some African countries citizens are now exercising their own power to hold governments to account but this is easier in countries that have strong civil society, independent courts and relatively free media. Even where this is not the case the constitutional court is an option for raising objections when the state curtails fundamental freedoms.

And while it is states that order internet shutdowns, it is private mobile and internet companies that implement them. Private companies have obligations to promote and protect human rights. If companies agreed collectively not to contribute to rights violations and refused to impose internet shutdowns, it would be a great leap forward in ending this authoritarian practice.

Tony Roberts receives funding from the Open Society Fund.

– ref. Internet shutdowns are increasing dramatically in Africa – a new book explains why – https://theconversation.com/internet-shutdowns-are-increasing-dramatically-in-africa-a-new-book-explains-why-271222

December 15, 2025

Uganda election: Museveni will win, but the landscape has changed since his last victory

Source: The Conversation – Africa (2) – By Luke Melchiorre, Assistant Professor of Political Science, Marist College

On the eve of Uganda’s 2021 presidential election, it was clear that regardless of how Ugandans voted, the incumbent, Yoweri Museveni, would most likely be declared the winner. Amid mounting repression, accusations of vote rigging, and an internet blackout, that is exactly what transpired. Museveni was declared the winner for his sixth consecutive term in office.

Five years on, that prediction could just as easily and accurately be applied to the 15 January 2026 vote. This should not be taken as evidence that national politics in Uganda have remained static. Far from it.

It is true that state repression has remained a constant since the 2021 polls. Museveni’s main opponent continues to be a youthful, charismatic political outsider. But the landscape of opposition politics has shifted significantly along with speculation about 81-year-old Museveni’s potential successor.

Moreover, recent elections in Mozambique and Tanzania offer a pointed political lesson. Though an oppressive and entrenched ruling party can virtually assure its electoral triumph at the polls, it does not mean that everything after the election will go to its plan.

As a researcher of democracy and its discontents in African politics (with a particular focus on east Africa), I have followed the Ugandan case closely over the last six years. In this article, I will elaborate on the four key sources of continuity and change which mark the country’s politics heading into the upcoming election.

Bobi Wine remains the face of opposition

Robert Kyagulanyi entered the political scene in 2017 as an independent candidate in a parliamentary by-election, which he won by a landslide. Better known by his stage name, Bobi Wine, the 43-year-old popular musician-turned-presidential candidate has defied the predictions of friends and foes alike to become the undisputed face of Uganda’s political opposition.

In my academic research, I have documented his remarkable political rise and ideological evolution.

In an era of African politics marked by growing intergenerational tensions, Bobi Wine has been able to mobilise the younger generation in opposition to almost four decades of Museveni’s rule.

His captivating narrative: rising from humble origins in a ghetto of Kamwookya to a life of pop stardom and political defiance. This has made him a global icon, attracting attention in the West, as the subject of an Oscar-nominated documentary and Spotify podcast.

Since 2017, he has carved a national political reputation in Uganda. Notably, he:

led protests against the constitutional amendment that lifted presidential age limits, allowing Museveni to run again in 2021
mobilised against a new social media tax that would limit (young) people’s access to social media debates
led his party, the National Unity Platform (NUP), to a strong showing in the 2021 election.

With 57 seats in parliament, National Unity Platform became the country’s official opposition party. It won impressive support in traditional ruling party strongholds.

The party’s massive rallies and Bobi Wine’s recent attempts to build bridges across ethno-regional divides suggest that the National Unity Platform is still the country’s best hope of toppling Museveni at the polls.

But the opposition faces the ruling party’s continued use of violence to manipulate the election. This makes it difficult to know how the National Unity Platform might perform in a free and fair election. More troubling, the incumbent’s iron grip on the Ugandan military makes it nearly impossible to imagine a peaceful transfer of power.

State repression persists

As Bobi Wine’s popularity has risen, so has state violence against his movement. Nationwide protests against his arrest in November 2020 led to police killings of at least 54 people.

Bobi Wine’s political stance has also come at a great cost to himself. He has been arrested, tortured, shot in the leg, and survived multiple assassination attempts.

In the run-up to the 2026 election, prominent the National Unity Platform members remain in detention and have been tortured. In November 2024, opposition veteran Kizza Besigye was renditioned from Nairobi and has since been held in a maximum security prison.

Bobi Wine has likened the campaign trail to “a war”. Video footage recently captured police and defence force soldiers beating National Unity Platform security personnel.

The severity of the violence has led the United Nations High Commissioner for Human Rights to warn of a “deepening crackdown on Uganda’s opposition” and urge the Museveni regime to “cease … such repressive tactics”.

Museveni’s manoeuvrings

The Museveni regime has effectively coopted key political opponents, infiltrated opposition parties, and sowed the seeds of distrust and division among and within them.

In July 2022, the Democratic Party (DP) leader Norbert Mao was appointed as Museveni’s new justice minister. Mao once bragged that he could “never be bought”. Subsequently, the Democratic Party – Uganda’s second oldest political party – entered into a formal cooperation agreement with the ruling National Resistance Movement.

Meanwhile, Besigye has left the Forum for Democratic Change (FDC) after accusing fellow party leaders of accepting “dirty money” from State House.

Even National Unity Platform “isn’t really safe from Museveni’s infiltration”. In early 2024, a high-ranking leader, Mathias Mpuuga, left the party, amid allegations of corruption and wrongdoing during his tenure as leader of the opposition. Mpuuga subsequently started a new party, the Democratic Front. He has since publicly criticised his former party leader.

Breeding internal suspicion and division undermines the opposition’s ability to mount a united front against the incumbent.

The rise of Muhoozi

The 2026 elections raise political questions about the fate of Uganda post-Museveni. In the last five years, speculation has centred on the Ugandan president’s eldest son, Gen Muhoozi Kainerugaba.

There is a widely held belief that Museveni is grooming his son, the current defence force chief, to be his presidential successor.

The constitution prohibits serving members of this institution from running for political office. Yet Muhoozi has made his own ambitions for political power clear.

Uncharacteristic of a decorated military officer, Muhoozi is given to erratic and at times shocking public outbursts. He also constantly stokes controversy.

But Museveni appears to continue to lay the groundwork for his son’s political ascendance. A cabinet reshuffle in March 2024, and more recent party elections, phased out “the old guard” in favour of Muhoozi loyalists. This suggests that the influence and power of Museveni’s son is growing.

As political scholar Kristof Titeca recently noted, the National Resistance Movement’s electoral victory in January is certain. But the politics of “succession are not”.

Paying close attention to the fortunes of Muhoozi loyalists on key party committees and within Museveni’s new cabinet after the election, perhaps the Ugandan president’s last, will reveal much about the fate of the Muhoozi project. And the political future of Uganda more broadly.

Luke Melchiorre receives funding from NORHED-II.

– ref. Uganda election: Museveni will win, but the landscape has changed since his last victory – https://theconversation.com/uganda-election-museveni-will-win-but-the-landscape-has-changed-since-his-last-victory-271535