Poems by Mwas Mahugu

MAN

Can a Man live like this?

Everyday of his life and strife

Breathe a -dew, which dries with sunrise

A death which resurrect on a new day

A leaf that shine, its youth pale

They say it is a Sea. Now I see

We sail with hope

When the sea is calm or rough

Yes we Love, moan, groan, we laugh

Yes we cry, we try, and last we die

Trod on Earth protected by heaven

Don’t worry my Cinderella

As they talk to god Bacchus

Tasted fruit is sweet, not eaten sweeter

Later she will create a crater of betrayal

But are he is loyal, she is royal.

Happiness (april 2006)

Happiness is not a land far away

It is like a hand you see everyday

Paradise of eternity

A price per dice to enter the city

Kings and slave strive, why? Ask the almighty

Eyes dusty to see the soul

That’s why we receive, bowls of ignorance

Wars

It is a thin hem on a garment

Yet strong.

Like a vein transporting blood

But never wrong

Amidst of flood, the life jacket

Amidst of death, the life jacket

To protect, we just need to project,

Our inner eyes, away from illusion, yes passion

Happy land is perfect nation

.

It is 2 A.m

Nothing looks the same

All I can do is just whisper her name

Can’t shout my voice is lame

Nothing but darkness, stuck ness in her web

Though the stars try to shine from far

And moon lends a hand

An attempt to light up my soul

Still I have to wait till dawn, on the lawn, alone

For the Sun coz she is my sunshine

I stepped on a landmine

I can’t move my foot, lest it blows

The damage all mine

Like a greedy businessman

I dug the mine

Found the Diamonds,

Like a poor man I beg

Who will tell her she is the almond

I need to break,

For miles

My heart has trekked

With my lips

Many i have pecked

But nothing can compare

To my alter ego

She is an eagle, when she flies

Can someone tell her she is guilty?

But am ready to grant her amnesty.

Twenty New Poems

Love & Hate — Conformity & Rebellion — Innocence & Experience

By Mwangi Mahugu

I. LOVE & HATE

1. SHE IS THE FIRE

She is the fire

I keep running to

Already burnt, still I return

Fool or faithful, who can tell

Love is a well

You drink, you drown

You swear you’ll leave this town

But the well is home

The burning is home

Even the scar is home

I hate what she does

I love who she is

Between those two truths

I live

2. BEAUTIFUL ENEMY

You wore your smile like a weapon

Shot me at close range

No bullet, no blood

Just this wound that won’t arrange

Its edges properly

Doctor says heal

Heart says feel

I say both of you are liars

Hate is love that’s been betrayed

Love is hate that hasn’t been paid

The debt between us

Compound interest

Neither of us settled it

3. SAME RIVER

I loved you like a river loves the sea

Rushing, no asking, just to be

Together in the blue immensity

Then the sea swallowed me whole

And the river ceased to be a river

Just salt

Just depth

Just silence where the current was

Now I hate with the same force

Same current, different course

Same river, wrong shore

4. SWEET POISON

Tasted fruit is sweet, not eaten sweeter

That was your gospel

You served it on a golden plate

I ate, and ate, and ate

Until I was full of you

Until you were inside every cell

They say poison and medicine

Come in the same bottle

Only the dose decides

You were the dose

I miscounted

5. MIDNIGHT ARITHMETIC

At 3 a.m. I count the reasons

Love: seven

Hate: seven

The mathematics of us

Balanced and brutal

Add your laugh: plus one

Add your silence: minus two

Subtract the night you chose him

The sum keeps changing

The answer stays the same

Equal

Equally loved

Equally ruined

6. MARKET PRICE

They say love is free

Tell that to the man

Who paid with his sleep

His pride, his peace

His calendar of hope

Tell that to the woman

Who gave her years like coins

Into a machine that gave nothing back

Hate is the receipt

Love never gave us

Proof we paid

7. CITY LOVE

This city taught me to love fast

And forget faster

Monday: her name in my mouth like music

Friday: her name in my mouth like ash

We love between traffic jams and power cuts

Between M-Pesa alerts and rent day

Between WhatsApp ticks and silence

This city has no time for soft love

Only the burning kind

Only the kind that leaves a scar

And a story

— • —

II. CONFORMITY & REBELLION

8. MASK

They gave me a uniform at birth

Name, tribe, religion, address

Said: this is who you are

Wear it well

I wore it

Wore it until the seams cut

Until my breathing changed

Until I could not remember

The face beneath the face

Now they call me rebel

For taking off what they put on

For asking: who dressed me?

And why?

9. THE QUEUE

Stand in line

They said

Your turn will come

I stood

Twenty years of standing

The line moved nowhere

Only those who stepped out

Got anywhere

They call it jumping the queue

I call it finding the door

The queue was never for us

It was to keep us occupied

While they used the back entrance

10. DIGITAL MASK

Wear the mask they said

Eight hours

Plug yourself in

See the world through our lens

But whose world?

Whose lens?

Whose frequency

Is filling my skull?

I unplugged

They called it darkness

I called it mine

The silence was the loudest thing

I’d heard in years

11. SON OF THE SOIL

My grandfather cleared the forest

Axe and fire, foot by foot

Built something from nothing

They called it progress

My father built the corporation

Glass and code, deal by deal

Built something from everything

They called it progress

I am standing here

At the edge of what they built

Asking what was here before

They call it rebellion

I call it remembering

12. GOAT PATH

They built the highway

Wide and smooth and fast

Told us: this is the only road

But the old goat path still runs

Underneath the tarmac

Underneath the city

The goats remember

Even if we forgot

Rebellion is not burning the highway

It is remembering the path

It is walking it in the dark

Until the feet remember

13. PRODIGAL SON SPEAKS

Father you sent me to the best school

I came back asking the wrong questions

This is what education does

When it works

You wanted a son who would carry the empire

I carry the doubt that built it

You wanted hands to sign papers

Mine keep opening to give away

The prodigal returned

But not to inherit

To ask: what did we lose

To gain all this?

— • —

III. INNOCENCE & EXPERIENCE

14. FOURTEEN

At fourteen I saw the warriors

Glossy and swift at the forest’s edge

My spirit ran before my feet

My father pulled me back

At fourteen I thought glory

Was a thing you could chase

A column of spears in the morning light

A direction you could run toward

Now I know

Glory is what finds you

When you stop running

When you stand still long enough

To see what is already yours

15. THE FIRST LIE

They told me the world was fair

I believed them

That was the first wound

They told me work hard, succeed

I worked

That was the second wound

Now I tell my children nothing

That I cannot prove

And they call me a pessimist

I call it experience

The tax innocence pays

At the border of the real world

16. BABU’S PIGEONS

When you are old enough

You feed the pigeons

Not because they need you

But because you need them

The young man needs the war

The board meeting, the battle, the win

The old man needs the birds

The tortoise, the pool, the reed

Innocence believes it needs the world

Experience knows

The world needs about ten minutes a day

And the rest is yours

17. SCHOOL OF HARD

Nobody graduates from this school

You only accumulate the marks

Invisible on the body

Visible in the eyes

The child does not know it exists

The young man thinks he can pass

The old man knows

The curriculum never ends

But the lessons get cleaner

The older you are

Pain teaches faster than joy

But joy teaches deeper

18. FIRST RAINS

First rain falls on everyone equally

The child runs out to catch it

The adult runs in to avoid it

Somewhere between those two

We lost something

The exact morning we stopped

Running into the rain

Innocence is not ignorance

It is courage

The courage to get wet

On purpose

19. WHAT THE MOUNTAIN KNOWS

Kirinyaga watched the warriors

Watched the strangers

Watched the corporations rise

Watched the satellites orbit

The mountain said nothing

The mountain is neither innocent nor experienced

It is simply old

Old enough to know

That every storm passes

Every empire fades

Every generation believes

It is the first to discover fire

It is never the first

20. JOIN THEM OR RUN

Babu said: join them or run

I am fifty and I still don’t know

Which one he meant

Join them: carry what they built

Walk inside the walls they raised

Speak the language of the new world

Paddle hard beneath the surface

Appear calm on top

Run: find the old goat path

Under the tarmac, under the city

Where the feet remember

Before the schools forgot

Or—

Stand still at the window

Watch the old man feed the birds

And understand at last

That ‘join them or run’

Was never a command

It was a question

Only you could answer

And only time would grade

Amani and Upendo-by Mwas mahugu

 

https://jaladaafrica.org/2018/10/29/amani-and-upendo-by-mwas-mahugu/

Chief is right. I feel it in my soul each time one of you fails to stand up to fight and whisper the words, all energy is interconnected,” she said. “I, Imani and all my fellow namesakes put all our faith on this material day of the Golden Beam Ritual towards the end of the evil demon”.

A lovely sensation, sweet as nectar, filled the entire meeting as warrior Upendo gracefully took the stage. There were hundreds of insect sized robots, each one equipped for tele presence, broadcasting the ceremony so that all warriors could see what the priests saw and heard.

“The scattering of our people affects the heart’s equilibrium,” said Upendo. “The way to find unity is to take a step towards love to speak the words whispered by our priest in secrecy that wove the fabric of our being. Unity is born when love and peace are our core, connecting all people. We will manifest oneness.”

“May our priest guide my beloved Upendo as we shine the Golden Beam. Today we not only beam the ray, but we fire golden robots into the galaxy,” chief Amani said. “These monitored Golden Beam capsule robots will modernize our galaxy exploration. We will restore the order that the drunk priest caused and we will develop more advanced technology so that the chaos of Saturn will never return,” he finished.

“I Upendo with the love shield, and Chief Amani with his peace shield, powered by all our namesakes and guided by Imani the faith bearer with the blessings of all our Priests and Priestesses present, fiiiiiree kaboom kaboom.”

All the priests and priestess spoke in unison as one being:

“Peace through unity. Unity through trust. Trust through honesty. Honesty through compassion. Compassion through understanding. Understanding through freedom. Freedom guided by Love and Peace.”

Mangandula Join them or Run

 The Mangandula

By Mwangi Mahugu

The clothes hung on the washing lines strung between balconies. Power cables dissected the streets and sub-alleys of the neighbour hood like a vast spider’s web. Every former exhibition stall and corner duka was shuttered — the small traders had been pushed out long ago. Business, as the common man had once known it, was dead.

By eleven in the morning the streets and alleyways were deserted. Since the abolition of the micro-economy and the rise of multinational corporations, nobody ran a small business anymore. Residents worked in large-scale supermarkets, wholesalers, distribution centres, factories, or the Government — or they found their living inside the vast extortion cartels that operated in the shadows.

A short drive across several intersections brought one to Kajificheni Drive. The road was serene and immaculate, patrolled at every turn by private armed soldiers. It had to be. Kajificheni Drive was home to the city’s business elite — a clique of shrewd, formidable men who had once looted the Konza City dream and turned the wreckage into thriving digital companies that made Kajificheni famous across East Africa, across the continent, and across the world.

Today the city’s top figures were gathering for a development meeting called by the chairman of Mangasoft Corporation, Mr. Mangandula, at his company headquarters on the Drive.

* * *

There was tension at the breakfast table that morning.

Babu — Mangandula Senior, founder and patriarch — sat at the head of the table, white-haired and white-moustached, his broad shoulders still carrying the authority of a man who had built an empire with his bare hands. He was seventy-four years old, and not a day of retirement had crossed his mind.

His son, Mangandula — the current chairman of Mangasoft — had received word that the old man was quietly gathering signatures, assembling a petition to have him removed from the board. Mangandula Junior had heard it from a trusted source inside the company: his own father was scheming to dethrone him.

“My son,” Babu said, setting down his cup and rising slowly from the table, “I am proud of you. But there comes a time in every man’s life when he must decide. If you can’t beat them, join them — or run.”

He took his walking stick from the back of his chair and left the dining room without another word, leaving Mangandula Junior sitting with his three children — Pacha, Dhahabu, and Almasi.

* * *

Babu stepped out into the early morning sunshine and settled himself on the garden lawn. This was his ritual, the part of the day that belonged only to him.

He had collected leopard tortoises since his youth; there were seven of them now, slow and ancient, wandering across the grass like small armoured philosophers. Around the garden pool he had planted papyrus reeds, and at around ten o’clock each morning he would walk to the goose pen and open the gate. Hundreds of geese would come streaming out, some waddling, others lifting into the air and gliding past his head toward the pool.

The sight never failed to move him. It reminded him of a piece of art he had seen fifty-six years ago at the Maasai Market — a painting of a swan, serene on the surface, feet churning furiously beneath the water. The inscription below had read: “The secret of success is being calm and peaceful on the outside, while beneath paddling like hell.” He had bought the painting on the spot. It had hung in his office for three decades.

That had been just around the time the great India arose to global prominence. He had been a young man then, hungry and restless, certain the world was his to build.

After an hour with the geese, he would move on to the pigeon loft. Neighbours across Kajificheni Drive could set their clocks by it: when the doves descended on the acacias inside the Mangasoft villa, it was nearly noon. The sweet sound of weaverbirds and pigeons filled the garden, and something in Babu’s chest always vibrated with a quiet, uncomplicated joy.

Perfect love, he had always said, was his mantra. Passion for development had been the pillar of Kajificheni’s founding generation. But the table had turned. Jealousy, envy, and greed now defined the city’s business elite. He could not understand the gradual corruption of the human spirit — the way that lust for money and power had broken so many families, including, now, his own.

He had retreated inward. He sought solitude more and more, and found himself drawn toward what he called the anti-material world — a cleaner, quieter plane of existence. “One has to become thoroughly clean in habit and heart,” he would say, “before one can understand the details of that world.” Only his grandson Dhahabu truly understood him, and it was only to Dhahabu that he said such things aloud.

* * *

Back at the breakfast table, Mangandula turned to his wife.

“Mama Pacha,” he said, “we are having a business meeting with partners and shareholders here at the villa this afternoon.”

Bibi Lulu was an elegant, cultured woman, the daughter of a mining tycoon who ran the Kirinyaga Mines in the highlands of Keenyaga. She had met Mangandula when he was doing business with her three brothers — an irresistible, reckless young man who had swept her off her feet. Now, years later, she sat across from a shadow of that man.

“Baba Pacha,” she said, with a grace that made her words sting all the more, “you hardly have time for us. Your business is your first wife. I am only your mistress. You have become a shadow of your former self.”

“Mama Almasi,” he said, “I work hard to provide. Everything I do, I do for this family. You are my joy. My inspiration.”

“You do not even remember our children’s birthdays,” she replied. “You do not remember mine.”

Pacha, their eldest son, pushed back his chair to leave.

“Pacha,” his father said, “where are you going?”

“To the garden, Baba. To talk to Babu.”

“He has his visual remote tablet. Use the smart screen and call him. And put your digital mask on — have you not read the Government directive?”

The directive required all citizens to wear the digital mask for at least eight hours a day. It was, officially, a protection against e-smog radiation — but it was also a multi-function interface, a gateway to the full digital spectrum: real-time global connection, the Digital Tube, interactive overlays. The mask was an innovation by Timbuktu Technologies, a more advanced successor to the Digital Chair that Mangasoft had pioneered. Mangandula maintained, bitterly, that Timbuktu had stolen the blueprints from his laboratory.

Dhahabu, the second son, had never worn the mask and refused to start. He was a man of God in an age when all churches and temples had been closed for a decade, when the Government had declared the Gospel anti-developmental and banned it outright. None of that had stopped him.

His father looked at him across the table with a mixture of frustration and reluctant admiration.

“My son,” Mangandula said, “I sent you to the finest digital university on this continent. And you came back a rebel. Without the mask, ninety percent of the world’s progress passes you by every single second. You are a stranger to your own generation. Come back, prodigal son. Stop this.”

“Father,” Dhahabu said quietly, “repent. God will judge the world.”

“I think,” Mangandula replied, “it may be the other way around.”

“Enough,” said Bibi Lulu. “Both of you.”

Dhahabu rose from his chair. When he spoke, it was with the calm, unhurried conviction of a man who had made peace with being misunderstood.

“We planted the digital seeds, and now the branches have reached the sky. We once had villages across this continent — places where communal life was the natural order of things. Now the village has become global, full of opportunity and full of chaos, spinning out of control. The world sits on our shoulders. But where did our African village go?

“We chase dreams. We reach for the heights of development. But we are cold in our bones even as the winds of progress blow across our faces. We drift from spiritual living toward the worship of flesh. Souls search for love in virtual spaces, clicking endlessly for companionship while ignoring the neighbour at the next door. Ladies wait for miracles from online strangers. Thousands of searching hearts, scrolling and clicking, while real human beings — warm, present, flawed — sit unnoticed beside them.

“I have not been left behind by planetary dynamics. I see the tectonic plates shifting beneath us — the earth’s surface in the throes of a slow, ceaseless ballet. Our earth is alive. And God is alive.”

He sat down. The family was used to him. Nobody argued.

* * *

Mangandula straightened his jacket and allowed himself a rare moment of private satisfaction.

At fifty, he had achieved three-quarters of his ambitions. Mangasoft Corporation operated in five countries. More than five thousand people drew their salaries from his company. His biotech products and digital innovations were ahead of every competitor on the continent. Through the giant smart screen on his office wall, he could monitor every corner of the Mangasoft towers, which shared a compound with the family villa. He had built all of this. It was an extraordinary thing.

The company secretary appeared in the doorway — a signal that the partners and shareholders had arrived. Mangandula rose, crossed the compound, and entered the Mangasoft boardroom in a matter of minutes. Four giant screens on the walls showed the faces of partners joining via video conference from other cities, other countries. He went straight to the point.

“The world has changed in ways none of us could have fully anticipated,” he said, taking the grand chair at the head of the table. “Digital systems are now overtaking natural systems in every measurable dimension. This is precisely the moment to act. I ask you to listen carefully to everything that follows, because after today, the world as we have known it will not be the same again. Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Mangasoft.”

The Managing Director, Mr. Gathanga, rose to speak.

“Our research projects are at the threshold of something extraordinary — nothing less than the ability to intervene in the earth’s own engine systems. The instability we see across the West and Asia — the earthquakes, the droughts, the nuclear catastrophes, the cascading diseases — these are the consequences of two centuries of industrial damage to the ozone layer, compounded by heavy mineral extraction. We have developed software capable of mapping and stabilising the earth’s thermal and energy flows. We are asking you, our partners, to invest with Mangasoft. The returns will be extraordinary. The West and Asia need our technology desperately — and they know it.”

At the far end of the boardroom, Almasi listened in silence. She was the youngest of Mangandula’s children and, by several accounts, the most gifted. She had built a company called Soul Book — a soul networking platform described by its users as a hundred generations beyond the social media networks of the early twenty-first century. Through specially designed cybernetic chairs, a user could sit, meditate, and allow their consciousness to enter a shared digital realm where millions of other souls were already gathering. The platform had taken the world by storm.

Her father introduced her to the room with visible pride.

“Ladies and gentlemen, my daughter takes after me in every way that matters. She has built something extraordinary, and it is part of what we are offering today. Please welcome Almasi Mangandula.”

The boardroom filled with applause. Almasi walked to the podium. She let the room settle before she spoke.

“Ladies and gentlemen, partners, shareholders — I am deeply humbled by your continued support of Mangasoft, a company my grandfather built from nothing, fifty years ago. We have made Kajificheni a digital hub known to the world. We have enriched millions of lives. Giant enterprises have grown from our innovations. I am proud of all of it.

“But I will not invite a single one of you to invest in Soul Book today. Not unless my father agrees — right now, in this room — to deliver our thermal stabilisation technology as aid to the countries that need it most. The citizens of the West and Asia are at risk. Their governments cannot afford our pricing. Their people certainly cannot. The rich, as always, will find a way. It is the millions of ordinary people who will be left to suffer.

“I will not put profit before lives. I am sorry, Father, but I will not.”

She returned to her seat. There was a brief, uncertain scattering of applause. People glanced at one another and said nothing.

Mangandula smiled — a practiced, polished smile that gave nothing away — and welcomed Pacha to the podium.

“I will not pretend to be popular in this room,” Pacha said, stepping forward. “I don’t require it. I am here to say what needs to be said. I fully support my sister’s position. Lives come before profit. That is not a radical idea. It is the only idea that makes sense.

“As the appointed head of the Africa Union Digital Space Exploration Agency, I have taken the decision to suspend all commercial space shuttle operations in our territory. The debris from decommissioned space stations has been sold to recycling operators. The metals will be repurposed. This is not sabotage — it is responsible governance. We do not need to conquer outer space. We need to restore this one.”

“But my brother,” Almasi interrupted from her seat, her voice carrying a careful edge, “your company was the one that purchased the scrap metals from the decommissioned stations. Shall we call that governance — or business as usual?”

Pacha ignored her and moved to the smart screen, where he began his own pitch: insect-sized teleoperated robots capable of space navigation, monitored by human operators sitting in cybernetic chairs on the ground; personal space exploration opened to ordinary citizens through affordable decoders. The boardroom, despite itself, leaned in.

But even as he spoke, Pacha returned to the point that refused to leave him.

“I am afraid,” he said at last, “of what happens if the profit motive is allowed to delay the restoration of the natural systems. The West and Asia’s crisis is our crisis too. Let us give them the thermal soft-system technology as aid. Let history record that when the world needed us, Africa led with its conscience.”

* * *

During the coffee break, Mangandula stood alone at the window of the third floor.

Below him, in the garden, Babu was feeding the pigeons.

The old man stood on the stone bridge between the main house and the Mangasoft towers, tossing seed with the same slow, deliberate generosity he brought to everything. Hundreds of birds descended through the acacia branches. The sound drifted up, faint and sweet, through the glass.

A thin film of sweat sat on Mangandula’s face. If only he had made time for his family — real time, not meals eaten in a hurry, not conversations scheduled between meetings. If only he had listened to his father years ago, this rebellion would have happened around a dinner table, in private, where it belonged. Instead it had happened here, in his own boardroom, in front of fifty partners and shareholders.

He had built Mangasoft into one of the greatest corporations on the continent. He had provided for everyone he loved. He had given his children the finest education, the finest opportunities, the finest tools the digital age could offer. And his children had turned around and used those tools to dismantle everything he was trying to build.

One hand in his trouser pocket, he watched the old man below.

Babu moved slowly along the bridge, pausing at the edge to gaze up at the tower. His expression, from three floors up, was impossible to read. He seemed to be speaking to the building, or to himself, or to the water flowing beneath the bridge toward the garden pool.

“It is gone with the wind,” Babu had said once, watching a river. “Just like this water flowing to the pool, and then evaporating — gone. Never to be seen again in the same form.” Mangandula had not understood it then. He was beginning to understand it now.

He turned from the window and straightened his jacket.

When the partners and shareholders returned from their coffee break, he would address the room. He would find a way through this — he always did. He was his father’s son.

But after the meeting, he decided, he would go down to the garden. He would sit with Babu among the pigeons. He would listen, properly, for the first time in a long time. There were things the old man had been trying to tell him for years, and he had been too busy, too certain, too ambitious to hear them.

The words Babu had said at breakfast that morning rang through him again, quiet and insistent as a bell.

“If you can’t beat them, join them — or run.”

Mangandula stood at the window a moment longer, watching his father scatter seed among the birds.

Then he turned and walked back into the room.

NDIO HII U.K.O.O F.LA.N.I Album

Ndio Hii

Upendo kote Ole Wenu Ombeni Funzo La  Aliye Tuumba Na Njia Iwepo U.K.O.O.F.L.A.N.I album

Mbichi ya ukooflani inagonga streets so na pia kwa ma stream channel kadhaa ,wasanii wali take journey Toka Mombasa na Nairobi na ku team up na legendary producer wao cheese &brain Hadi Wanene Entertainment in Dar Tizi

Gwiji Nguchi p ambaye ni foundation ya squad  1996 ali chapia ShengTown " maisha ni safari na mziki ni maisha so hii album ni journey Yetu na ku connect na mafans na pia ujumbe ni ule ule "Upendo kote wa tuki spread peace na ku guide ma generation 

Kosa uchekwe ka wee ni fan wa Conscious Hip hop,  launch on April 17, 2026. Pale Kanairo kwa gardens za Alliance Francaise 

Date: April 17, 2026

Venue: Alliance Française, Nairobi

Time: Doors Zina open at 4:00 PM; performanances kutoka 7:00 PM

Ticko ziko Available kwa mneti TikoHub, na early bird ticko ni Thao za gate ni 1,500 

KAA ready KWA ALBUM MPYA YA UKOO FLANI "NDIO HII "

Ndio Hii album Iko na 15 songs na itashika mamillenial na genz na kuwapatia mziki mnene ulio ends shule

Kikosi mzima kwenye Beat Sharama, Cannibal, Labalaa,Fujo Makele,P.op,A Lai k ,chizzan brain  Nguchi P,Canibal Shatta  na Guru gang wako Frontline. kikosi Full na  pia featuring ma emcee wapya wa Ki mix Boompap hip-hop reggae, Afrobeat, na  experimental rhythms. 

Producers kwa mix ni 

Chizan Brain: Lead Sound Engineer.

Goncha Beat: Music Producer.

Sam the Great: Recording Engineer.

DJ Choka: na DJ BOB: wako behind wheel of steel's 

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KARIBU - Rotka, Moroko Kalahari, Blak Odhiambo

shengtownkenya: The Ukooflani Mau Mau Reunion -New album 2018

shengtownkenya: The Ukooflani Mau Mau Reunion -New album 2018: Ukooflanimaumau acronym (Upendo Kote Ole wenu Ombeni Funzo La  Aliye tuumba na Njia iwepo)are back with  a bang-the 24 members collective w...

The Ukooflani Mau Mau Reunion -New album 2018

Ukooflanimaumau acronym (Upendo Kote Ole wenu Ombeni Funzo La  Aliye tuumba na Njia iwepo)are back with  a bang-the 24 members collective whose members are mainly from Mombasa , Nairobi  and Diaspora spoke to Shengtown about their comeback at BMG Music Empire in Nairobi Donholm-

This is their third debut album, by 24 members since  their  first major collabo album - kilio cha haki an international album comprising 52 artist done in 2004,-
http://https://youtu.be/hLMRTTmeaF8-Dandora Burning  done in 2005.

Over the years the sub groups & individual artist  have done  several mix tapes &albums
The group said coming together is strategic  since almost all the emcee are in strategic positions of power for a major come back-

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Ukooflanimaumau took the streets by storm with their streetwise social conscious music ,with club Smashers  from 2000 to late 2010 and grew to become the  biggest art movement in East Africa ,with affiliates in Arusha through Watengwa,Kikosi cha Mizinga from Dar  and Luga flow army from Kampala,
The  mainly deadlocked social conscious emcees have embarked on a mission to bring back the Boom Bap Rap music that promote love and socials conscious to the industry.
they told Shengtown  they can't seat and watch as media pumps music corrupting the morals and fabric  of the society ,Sharama told shengtown "ni mambo na kuwapiga Mbao"http://https://youtu.be/YciH08F3-HI he insisted we never broke up! those were hate mongers  spreading division, our Ukooflani Mombasa collective has ever been united -and we are going to put Kenya on international map again ".,http://https://youtu.be/DP7TsSme03Q

BMG empire admin could accommodate all the members at go and Emcees will come in groups till the album is complete.

France based grongi told Shengtown he traveled from Paris where he based to cordinate the project ,Mc kah  returned to Country Guchi p and P.o.P Traveled from Mombasa,the  streamed  from different parts of the country for this maiden project.
Maumau the Hip Hop city krew members  present were Agano&Laabala (wakambawawili)kitu sewer(mashifta)Oteraw(kalamashaka)Grongi,Mc Kah and Don Gas fyatu.

Mombasa Krew Kaya Hip Hop Krew Were represent by Guru Gang,P.O.P, Sharama & Lavosti,
 Six footer plus P.o.p.told Shengtown  he is calling members that have recently seen the light from the collective  to know they are more than invited on this album "we need the light here"

Speaking with  Richie Guru Gang who was the chief Chef "We prepared food for  all the members,  before entering the studio-"we are brothers and back in the days we used to eat from the same plate guided by our Upendo kote slogan,we are co-coordinating the project with  G-rongi  from  Mau Mau camp while i handle Ukooflani"

"To all our Ukooflanimaumau fans watch this space" legendary produce Kevin Provoke told Shengtown  "i have  worked with ukooflani maumau from back in the days,i am  Happy to be among  the major Producer.