Greetings, friends:
I would say “Happy New Year,” but that window has closed with the quiet confidence of a resolution we didn’t keep past January. I would also apologize for the silence, but the truth is, we’ve been exactly where we needed to be: in the thick of building something with you, for you, and alongside you at the Africa Media Festival.
And what a gathering it was.
There’s something about AMF that refuses to be reduced to a program lineup or a speaker list. It lives in the in-between moments: the laughter that spills between panels, the flags raised not just in pride but in recognition, the quiet exhale at the wellness station, the unplanned choreography of dancing in the rain. That’s the thing we’re always trying to build at Baraza: ecosystems of connection and imagination. Brief, beautiful proof that community, when nurtured intentionally, can feel like home. (The irony of saying this during my first newsletter of the year is not lost on me)
If you were there, you know.
If you weren’t… let’s just say your absence was felt, but so was your FOMO.
Next year marks our fifth edition – a milestone that feels less like a celebration of longevity and more like a checkpoint in a much longer journey. A moment to ask: what does it mean to keep gathering, meaningfully, in a world that keeps fragmenting? We’re already thinking about it. Let’s figure it out together.
In the weeks since, like many of you, I’ve been watching the world unfold in real time, particularly the war on Iran. If you’ve been paying attention, you’ll notice it’s not just the events themselves, but the performance of them. The declarations. The superlatives. The reversals. The contradictions dressed up as strategy. One moment, victory is announced. The next, threats of “boots on the ground” are made. Then, diplomacy is suggested, before other countries are asked to join in the efforts. It’s disorienting, until you realize: this is the environment. Not an anomaly, a feature.
We are living in an age where information doesn’t just move fast, it shapeshifts. Where narrative is almost a bigger battleground than geography. Between breaking news, social media spin, state propaganda, and algorithmic amplification, clarity becomes a moving target. We’re not just trying to understand what’s happening, we’re trying to understand which version of what’s happening we’re being shown. The ambiguity is not accidental, it’s structural.
Closer home in Kenya, something quieter (but no less significant) has been unfolding. The “Niko Kadi” wave has been one of the more encouraging civic signals in a while. Young Kenyans are mobilizing each other, not through institutions, but through culture, social media and peer pressure. Through language that feels owned, not imposed. Over 200,000 new voter registrations is no small feat. It’s proof that apathy isn’t permanent; it just needs the right spark.
But, as with all things that gain momentum, it didn’t take long for the noise to arrive.
Attempts to co-opt the message.
To redirect the energy.
To turn a civic tool into a political instrument.
I recently spoke to a young activist who had been deeply involved, and you could hear the frustration. The sense that something organic was being diluted in real time. But here’s the thing, and maybe this is the part we don’t say out loud enough:
The mission was never the hashtag.
The mission was the shift from disengagement to participation. From silence to action. In that regard, the work is already happening. The registrations are real. The consciousness is building. The momentum, even when redirected, already spurred an awakening and still carries traces of its original intent. Sometimes we get so caught up defending the form that we forget the function.
And maybe that’s the thread connecting all of this.
From global geopolitics to local civic action, one thing remains constant: the noise is not going anywhere. If anything, it’s getting louder. More sophisticated. More convincing. But the goal was never to wait for silence.
The work—your work—is to remain clear in your intention despite it.
Not everyone is called to fight the noise. Some are. Some will build careers, platforms, even identities around dissecting it, challenging it, or trying to quiet it (laughs in Wamunyoro). But not all of us are assigned that role.
Some of us are called to build.
To organize.
To create.
To move things forward quietly, consistently, and sometimes, stubbornly.
And that requires a different discipline: the ability to focus.
To put on metaphorical (or very real) headphones and continue the work. To resist the pull of every distraction masquerading as urgency. To remember what you started, and why.
As we step into the Easter weekend (a season that, at its core, is about renewal and purpose) consider this a gentle nudge:
Do your part.
Not the loudest part, not the most visible part, your part. The one that aligns with what you’ve been called to do. The one that, if left undone, leaves a gap only you can fill because if there’s anything we’re learning, over and over again, it’s that the world doesn’t get better because the noise disappears. It gets better because, despite the noise, the work continues.
See you on the other side of it.
In the meantime, here’s:
What I’m Reading:I can feel you rolling your eyes as I suggest this, but the book Pep Guardiola: Another Way of Winning: The Biography is more than just prime footballing lore. It’s a masterclass into doing things differently, sticking to where you want to go, managing so many different talented people and knowing when it’s time to move on.
What I’m Watching: Strip Law on Netflix. Against my better judgement, the writing on this show is gold.
What I’m Listening to: Anna Deavere Smith: Four American Characters. This 19-year old TED Talk always amazes me because it is the most literal embodiment of empathy. You’ll see why.
My best,
Martie Mtange
Curator | Baraza Media Lab