Sometime in mid-1631, a pirate flotilla left Algiers, one of the main ports on the Barbary Coast. The main ship was a Dutch-built 300-ton man-of-war, armed with about 24 pieces of ordinance. It was crewed by 200 men. The smaller ship was half that size in both weight and crew. The flotilla was commanded by Captain Murat Reis the Younger.
Tagged in: History
The recent #MyDressMyChoice protests in Kenya have rekindled a debate that has plagued Africa since independence in the 1960s. Most African countries gained independence at about the same time two trends were catching on in the West.
At daybreak on November 4th, 1983, a scream cut through the serenity of Kiaga Village in Kirinyaga. The single scream quickly became cries for help, then wailing of what now sounded like a large group of people. What sounded like the cries of pain of a dying woman would lead residents of the small village to a horrific scene that would haunt them forever.
The hot and humid coastal air constricted into the Tangana Lodge’s dimly lit and badly ventilated rooms . The fragrance of purchased romance reigned over the humid evening air in the house of decadence. As the night came to a climax, the sounds of illicit sex, the loud banging on the walls, the rehearsed screams, and the drunken grunts reminded all and sundry that the sailors were in town. In one of those hot rooms, Lucy Kabura lay dying.
Badass has no passport. It has no rules. When badass finds you and hands you a titanium pair of the sac, you cant say no. Badass does not take no for an answer. You don’t choose badass, badass finds you. It asks nothing of you but to go completely berserk and show Death the middle finger. Meet 7 badass heroes from around the globe.
Sometime in late 1952, a series of mysterious deaths occurred at a mission station in Kikuyu, Kenya. First, the victims, a herd of cows, developed large swellings near the forelegs. The swelling then spread over the course of several days, across the chest and abdomen. Then one after the other, the steeds fell and died.
[This piece was originally published on the Medium Blog here.]
I hadn’t planned to spend my entire afternoon like this. At least not at first. I was in town, with a few hours to kill and I knew exactly what I wanted to do with them. I always know, but I never get round to doing it. Instead of window shopping or sitting in a cafe trying to figure out whether the man next to me is just fidgety or is busy masturbating. (This happened once, in Java Capital Centre).
A milkman on his way to make a delivery early one morning in January 1941 chanced upon a car with its headlights on in a ditch near the Nairobi-Ngong road, setting in motion one of the most thrilling unsolved crimes in modern history. In the passenger foot well of the Buick lay a man, an important man.
Or rather, why do they need to?
If you look at the bottom of the back page of any daily, you will find ‘registered at the GPO as a newspaper’ written in small print. It is really not the kind of question that keeps you up at night but it is one of those that need answers.