COVER STORY - BUDGET OF FAITH 2026: How Religion Is Funding Welfare Where Government Falls Short

By Michael Adeboboye - Editor -in-Chief

                      Tinubu

The Federal Government is running a ₦49.7 trillion budget. On the streets, Nigerians are running another one. It is not in the appropriation bill. It has no line item in FAAC. It is funded by tithes, offerings, zakat, sadaqah, and volunteer time. It is administered from altars, minbars, and church food banks. Economists call it civil society. In Nigeria, we call it faith. Food inflation hit 20.31% in July 2026 according to NBS. Rice, garri, onions, and transport have pushed millions to the edge. Government palliatives are slow. But on Sunday, the offering basket is going to welfare. On Friday, the zakat committee is buying bags of rice. On Wednesday, a bishop is paying hospital bills. “Our problems in the country are self-inflicted,” says Cardinal John Onaiyekan in February 2026. “When the nation is bleeding, you cannot expect a polite meeting with the Head of State.” “Religious differences shouldn’t divide us,” says Sheikh AbdullahiBala Lau in August 2026. “Muslims and Christians have equal stakes in Nigeria.” From Abuja to Ekiti, from Ota to Kano, churches, mosques, and African Indigenous Churches have become the last safety net. This is the story of the “Budget of Faith” in 2026. How religion is feeding the nation while the state tries to find its balance. THE TWO BUDGETS On paper, the Federal Government’s 2026 budget is ₦49.7 trillion. In the National Bureau of Statistics report for July 2026, headline inflation is 15.43%. But food inflation is 20.31% year-on-year. Rice, tomatoes, onions, garri and plantain are driving prices. Average 12-month food inflation fell to 16.06%, but prices remain high because of diesel costs, insecurity, and poor roads.    

                        Sultan

On the streets, there is another budget running. It has no FAAC allocation. It is funded by offerings, zakat, sadaqah, tithes, and volunteers. It is run from mosques, churches, shrines, and church-run food banks. “Our problems in the country are self-inflicted. They are self-inflicted because people are selfish, people are dishonest, and people are not wise”, said John Cardinal Onaiyekan on his 82nd birthday in February 2026. “No amount of wealth can compensate for a society filled with anger, poverty, and despair”.    The Catholic Bishops met President Tinubu on July 28, 2026. After the meeting, Cardinal Onaiyekan told ARISE News: “We told him the economy is not helping our poor people; he told us the economy is doing fine”. “When the nation is bleeding, you cannot expect a polite meeting with the Head of State. We had to let him know”.    He was blunt on governance: “After we got over military rule... instead of the democratic dispensation moving us forward, unfortunately, it has been moving us downwards and backward”. On youth: “Many youths are struggling to secure employment, making it difficult for them to take major life decisions, including starting families”. This is the context of the “Budget of Faith” in 2026. As government reforms bite, Nigeria’s religious institutions have become the last safety net. THE 2026 CRY FROM THE ALTAR AND MINBAR The Catholic Moral Voice: Cardinal John Onaiyekan, Archbishop Emeritus of Abuja, has become the most quoted Catholic voice in 2026. His July meeting with Tinubu set the tone. He asked: “Who is thinking about the people? Who is thinking about the poor? Who is thinking about the future?”    In February, he linked moral failure to economic failure. The church in 2026 is not just preaching. Catholic parishes across Abuja, Lagos and the East are running welfare desks, hospital funds, and school feeding. The Pentecostal Action Voice: Bishop David Oyedepo, Founder of Living Faith Church Worldwide, is preaching recovery in 2026. In a May 31, 2026 message, he declared: “Get ready to reclaim everything the enemy has stolen from your life, health, career, business, and family... True covenant recovery doesn't just return what you lost—it brings it back with interest”. Winners’ Chapel theme for 2026 is “Breaking Invisible Barriers”and “dominion in 2026”. On ground, the church runs weekly feeding and grants through its welfare arm in Canaanland and branches. In Ota and 15 other states, food banks distribute rice, garri and cash to widows and unemployed graduates. Oyedepo’s theology directly answers the hardship: if government cannot deliver, the covenant must. The church’s database of 2 million members is used to target the most vulnerable. The Muslim Institutional Voice: The Nigerian Supreme Council for Islamic Affairs NSCIA, led by the Sultan and with Prof. Ishaq Oloyede as Secretary-General, issued a statement in mid-2026: NSCIA “highlighted the harsh economic realities facing millions of Nigerians, citing rising living costs, food inflation and unemployment as major burdens on households across the country”. Their demand: “While acknowledging ongoing government reforms, the Council urged authorities to complement such measures with effective social protection programs and targeted interventions that would cushion the impact on the poorest and most vulnerable citizens”.   

                    Oyedepo

NSCIA also launched the Muslim Care Initiative in 2024 to provide emergency palliatives. In 2026, mosques in Kano, Sokoto, Ilorin and Lagos are still the distribution points. Imams keep records of beneficiaries to avoid duplication. The Muslim Grassroots Voice: Sheikh AbdullahiBala Lau, National Chairman of JIBWIS, spoke on August 14, 2026 at Abuja airport after an international conference: “Religious differences shouldn’t divide us. Muslims and Christians have equal stakes in Nigeria and should live peacefully despite their religious differences”.    During Ramadan 2026 in Yola, he called for nationwide Qunut prayers: “We cannot ignore what is happening in our own country. Communities are being assaulted, families are living in uncertainty, and the situation calls for both spiritual and practical responses”. He urged: “Let our mosques rise in unified prayer... We must ask Allah to protect innocent lives, strengthen our nation and grant wisdom to leaders so that justice and security prevail”.

               Baba Aladura

 At the 2025 Northern Ulamah Summit, Sheikh Lau was a signatory urging government _“to tackle rising inflation, unemployment, and poverty through equitable economic reforms”_. JIBWIS in 2026 runs zakat committees in 30 states, prioritizing orphans, widows and IDPs. VOICES FROM OTHER FAITHS Nigeria is not only Church and Mosque. Baba-Aladura Elder Dr. David Dabaye Lamjose Bob-Manuel, Prelate of the Eternal Sacred Order of the Cherubim and Seraphim Church Worldwide, spoke during their centenary in Abuja in 2025: “Anyone in authority must show compassion to those who elected them, care for them and think of their welfare. It should never be a case of achieving success only to turn into a lord over the people”. C&S runs hospitals, schools, and welfare. In 2026, Baba-Aladura continues to call leaders to govern with “the fear of God”. In Lagos and Oyo, C&S white garment churches operate daily soup kitchens.    Most Rev. Oluwaseun Fagbohun, Presiding Bishop of Old Catholic Apostolic Church Nigeria, launched a humanitarian food bank in Ado Ekiti in 2025 ahead of the 2026 elections. He said: “Adequately meeting the basic needs of the people is key to their making the right decision and acting rightly, even during elections”. The food bank is described as a “solution centre” for counseling, scholarships, health and financial help. “The concept of ‘food’... is symbolic, representing whatever form of help an individual needs”. In 2026, the center serves 400 families monthly. Traditional and African Indigenous Faiths: In Osun, Ogun and Delta, traditional priests in 2026 have revived community granaries. Offerings to orisa are converted to food packs. The message: the gods feed those government forgets. These voices show that welfare in 2026 is not denominational. It is national. WHERE FAITH MEETS THE BUDGET 1. CARDINAL ONAIYEKAN AND INTERFAITH FEEDING In Abuja, Catholic parishes and JIBWIS mosques ran joint food drives in early 2026. Cardinal Onaiyekan’s critique of government set the tone. The response was practical. Parish welfare committees distributed rice and cash. JIBWIS under Sheikh Lau coordinated zakat for widows. Both cited the same problem: supply-driven inflation from diesel, insecurity, and poor roads. BISHOP OYEDEPO’S “COVENANT RECOVERY” Living Faith Church made 2026 the year of “Breaking Invisible Barriers”. The church’s welfare department in 2025-2026 gave scholarships, paid hospital bills, and ran food banks. Oyedepo’s message: recovery with interest. NSCIA + JIBWIS PARTNERSHIP Kano State’s 2026 budget still prioritizes agriculture. But implementation is slow. NSCIA stated food inflation and unemployment are “major burdens”. In Kano Central Mosque, the Muslim Care Initiative runs every Friday. Volunteers pack 50kg bags of rice, millet and vegetable oil. Distribution is done by ward, with lists verified by imams. Sheikh Bala Lau’s JIBWIS network mobilized during Ramadan 2026 to feed 12,000 orphans and widows. His Qunut call was both spiritual and a signal that communities need relief now. The challenge: Insecurity in North West has cut supply routes. Diesel at ₦1,400/litre means transport costs eat 30% of donations. Yet mosques still deliver because they have trust and volunteers. THE FOOD BANK MODEL; Bishop Fagbohun’s food bank in Ado Ekiti is a 2026 prototype. It does not just give garri. It gives “counselling, scholarships, spiritual guidance, and financial, healthcare assistance”. He told residents to make informed choices in the October 2026 governorship. The message: welfare and democracy are linked. The bank serves civil servants owed salaries, students, and artisans. In 6 months, it has handled 2,400 cases. The model is being copied in Ondo and Oyo. The bishop calls it “the church as government’s junior partner”. BUDGIT’S WARNING: Gabriel Okeowo, Country Director BudgIT, warned in 2024 that budget overlap causes “severe budget credibility issues... negatively impacting service delivery in critical social sectors”. In 2026, his point stands. If states give money to FBOs for welfare, it must be tracked. During COVID, BudgIT ran platforms to “monitor the distribution of palliatives to the under-privileged”. That model is needed again for 2026 faith-state partnerships. BudgIT’s data shows that without transparency, faith-based welfare can be politicized. Their recommendation: publish MOUs, beneficiary lists, and audit reports quarterly. THE LAW, THE LIMITS, THE OPPORTUNITY: Section 10: “The Government of the Federation or of a State shall not adopt any religion as State Religion”. Section 38: guarantees freedom of religion and worship. This is why 2026 partnership is not establishment. It is outsourcing of last-mile delivery. States like Lagos, Kaduna and Ekiti now sign MOUs with FBOs to distribute palliatives because government agencies are slow. The Limits: Cardinal Onaiyekan_ warned in February 2026: “You can’t be happy alone”. Wealth without a functioning society is meaningless. He also cautioned against using the pulpit for politics.  Sheikh Bala Lau_ warned against division: “Religious differences shouldn’t divide us”. NSCIA warned against blaming religion for what is really “poverty, climate change, and criminality”.    Bishop Oyedepo’s 2026 message is about individual responsibility, but his church also spends millions on welfare because structures have failed. Critics ask: should churches be doing government’s job? Baba-Aladura Bob-Manuel’s charge is direct: leaders must not “turn into a lord over the people”. Other limits: Capacity: Food banks cannot feed 133 million poor Nigerians. Dependence: Risk of citizens waiting for miracles instead of demanding governance. Fragmentation: No central database. Some people benefit from 3 churches while others get nothing. The Data Behind the Faith: July 2026 NBS: Food inflation 20.31%. Headline 15.43%.  The problem is supply: diesel, insecurity in North West and North Central, poor storage. Fertilizer subsidy removal hit farmers. NSCIA’s 2026 position captures it: reforms are ongoing, but “targeted interventions” are needed for the poorest. The World Bank 2026 Nigeria report says 46% of households skipped meals in Q2 2026. The Opportunity: When government palliatives fail to reach, faith institutions do. Why? Trust. Volunteers. Databases. Speed. From Winners’ welfare to C&S hospitals, to NSCIA’s Muslim Care, to Fagbohun’s food bank — the “Budget of Faith” is decentralized, fast, and accountable to congregations. Faith institutions have 200,000+ places of worship. That’s last-mile infrastructure government doesn’t have. But it cannot replace the state. Cardinal Onaiyekan’s July 2026 meeting with Tinubu was proof: bishops had to go to Aso Villa because the bleeding was national. The opportunity is partnership: government funds, FBOs deliver, CSOs monitor. THE WAY FORWARD 2026: What should 2026 look like? Transparency: Publish all state-FBO welfare partnerships. BudgIT’s COVID model should be revived. Every bag of rice must be tracked. Scale: Support food banks like Fagbohun’s as “solution centers”, not just rice sharing. Add health, skills, and microcredit. Unity: Take Sheikh Bala Lau’s August 2026 call seriously: “Muslims and Christians have equal stakes in Nigeria”. Interfaith welfare committees should be in all 36 states. Policy: Address supply inflation. As NBS July 2026 shows, interest rates alone cannot grow tomatoes. Fix roads, security, and diesel costs. Create a national welfare registry that includes FBO beneficiaries to avoid duplication.    Cardinal Onaiyekan will likely keep asking: “Who is thinking about the poor?”. Bishop Oyedepo will keep preaching “recovery with interest”. Prof. Oloyede will keep demanding “social protection programmes”. Sheikh Lau will keep calling for prayer and peace: “grant wisdom to leaders so that justice and security prevail”. Baba-Aladura Bob-Manuel will keep demanding compassion. Bishop Fagbohun will keep feeding, one person at a time. A SOCIAL CONTRACT REWRITTEN In 2026, Nigeria’s welfare has three legs: Government, Faith, and Community. Government writes the budget. Faith delivers it. Community sustains it. The danger is what BudgIT flagged: without credibility, money disappears. The hope is what the 6 leaders above show: when people are hungry, the church, mosque, and chapel are the first places they go.  As Cardinal Onaiyekan said: “no amount of wealth can compensate for a society filled with anger, poverty, and despair”.    As Sheikh Lau said: we must live together because “we have equal stakes in Nigeria”. The “Budget of Faith” is not a replacement for government. It is a rebuke to it. And in 2026, it is what is keeping millions alive. Until the state finds its balance, the offering basket, the zakat box, and the food bank will remain Nigeria’s most reliable budget line. THE REEDS THAT REFUSE TO BEND: UMHLANGA, CULTURE, AND THE DEBATE OVER KING MSWATI III’S ESWATINI* By Gcwalisile Dlamini, Eswatini Correspondent INTRO: THE REEDS THAT REFUSE TO BEND LUDZIDZINI ROYAL VILLAGE, Eswatini — At 5:00 AM the dust was already rising. Thousands of feet moved as one. Anklets jingled. Reeds taller than the girls who carried them swayed above a sea of red, blue and yellow _sibutfo_. They had walked through the night, some from as far as South Africa, to reach this place. This is Umhlanga — the Reed Dance.    For eight days in late August 2026, Eswatini paused. Schools released students. Roads were rerouted. The national conversation shifted from politics and prices to culture, identity, and the future of tradition.    On the final day, King Mswati III, marking 40 years on the throne, stood before the _Imbali_ — the maidens — and called their energy “the very epitome of our nationhood.” To him and to many here, Umhlanga is discipline, pride, and proof that Swazi customs will not disappear. To critics abroad, it is something else entirely: a monarch’s showcase, a relic of patriarchy, a contradiction in one of Africa’s poorest kingdoms.    But in the arena at Ludzidzini, none of that mattered for a moment. What mattered was the song, the rhythm, and the reeds. They came to present them. And in doing so, they presented themselves — and a nation still arguing about what it means to be Swazi in 2026. WHAT IS UMHLANGA? THE 8 DAYS: Umhlanga is not a one-day dance. It is an 8-day national exercise. Day 1-2: Arrival Maidens gather at Ludzidzini and other royal residences. Registration, health checks, cultural lessons. Day 3: Reed Cutting August 27, 2026. Split by age. Older maidens 16+ went to Mpisi Farm in Mafutseni. They cut the thickest reeds with intact tassels — _tishakato_ — a symbol of purity. Younger maidens 10-15 cut at Masundvwini. Princess Sakhizwe and Indvunaye MbaliBongiwe “Vivane” Hlatjwako opened the exercise. Day 4: The Return Journey August 28. Processions bring reeds back to Ludzidzini. Day 5: Rest and Education August 29. Sessions on personal values, health, education, and SiSwati language. Day 6: Presentation August 30. Reeds presented to the Queen Mother at Ludzidzini to repair her windbreak. Day 7-8: Main Dance Colorful singing and dancing before Their Majesties. Who can join? Only unmarried and childless women. In 2026, up to 40,000 were expected. THE KING’S 2026 MESSAGE This year had extra weight: King Mswati III’s 40 years on the throne. Speaking at the 58th Eswatini International Trade Fair on August 29, Day 5 of Umhlanga, the King hailed “the energy, enthusiasm and love displayed by thousands of Imbali”. “Culture remains at the very epitome of our nationhood as we celebrate our heritage Umhlanga – the Reed Dance”. He thanked communities: “culture begins at home”. He said youth participation gives _“hope that the future is indeed bright”. For the monarchy, Umhlanga 2026 was framed as unity, continuity, and pride. VOICES FROM THE GROUND - “WE LOVE IT” To understand Umhlanga, you must listen to the participants. Nkhosenhle Shabangu, Imbali from Mshingishingini Royal Kraal: “This Umhlanga was a blast”, describing it as “a vibrant display of culture, unity and national pride”.    Mpumi Mdlalose, former participant, now Swaziland Tourism Authority officer: “I know some people think we're forced into it, but we love it. It's showing off your beauty as a woman and as a virgin, but also paying your respect to the Queen Mother”. Meshack Mavuso, South African actor, 7th Umhlanga attendance: Called it “a powerful reminder of the importance of preserving African traditions”_. Tourists: Ofer and Sabrina Azran from Israel: “No words can describe this thing — it’s so colourful, everyone is so welcoming, it’s so happy”. The recurring themes: pride, unity, beauty, respect for the Queen Mother. THE CRITICISM - “PORN AND RAPE FEST” Umhlanga does not happen without controversy. The dance is often framed in international media as “little purpose other than a showcase of virgins, from which sub-Saharan Africa's last absolute monarch can select yet another new bride”. The Communist Party of Swaziland called it King Mswati’s “annual rape fest” and “repulsive display of patriarchy”. General Secretary Kenneth Kunene alleged: “Each year scores of girls disappear from this event never to be heard of again”. Other concerns raised: road accidents, costs on poor households, and the contrast between royal wealth and poverty where “60% of the population live on R30 per day”. Critics also point to the abandoned umcwasho chastity rite as evidence of mixed messaging on HIV and girls’ rights. THE CULTURAL DEFENSE Supporters reject the “forced” narrative. The ceremony is regarded as promoting “discipline, self-respect, good morals and the preservation of Eswatini’s customs”. Key defenses: Voluntary: Numbers of participants have “risen in recent years”. Educational: Day 5 includes sessions on health and values. National identity: Trade Minister said “people admire that we use our culture to market ourselves”. Unity: It “builds solidarity among women from different regions of the kingdom” The King tied it to the future: youth involvement shows culture is _“moving forward”. UMHLANGA AND THE ECONOMY Umhlanga coincides with the Eswatini International Trade Fair. As one official noted, “the trade fair and reed dance take place at the same time, so when businessmen are coming, they can also refresh by watching this explosive colorful cultural cocktail”.    2026 saw traders, transport, and tourism spikes. But critics note the paradox: promoting culture while 63% lived below poverty line as of 2018 data. UMHLANGA IN THE SOCIAL MEDIA AGE 2026 Umhlanga went viral. Photography was allowed on the final two days. Modest dress expected. Online, some praised “celebrating their heritage with pride”. Others reposted old criticism about monarchy and poverty. Eswatini Positive News pushed coverage: “KING HAILS IMBALI’S ENERGY”. TRADITION VS MODERNITY: Umhlanga sits at 3 intersections: 1. Cultural Preservation - For many Emaswati, it anchors language, dance, and respect. “Balancing cultural preservation with modernization… is important”. 2. Gender and Rights - Critics ask: why only girls? Why focus on virginity? Participants answer: “girl-power”. 3. Politics - Eswatini is Africa’s last absolute monarchy. For critics, Umhlanga legitimizes the throne. For supporters, it transcends politics.    As the sun set over Ludzidzini on August 30, the maidens finished dancing. Reeds were stacked. Songs faded. Umhlanga 2026 will be remembered for the scale, the King’s 40-year milestone, and the unchanged debate around it. To supporters, it is proof culture survives. To critics, it is proof power persists. To the Imbali like Nkhosenhle Shabangu, it was simply “a blast” — a week of sisterhood, sweat, and identity.    The reeds are cut every year. They are used, then new ones grow. Maybe that’s the metaphor. Umhlanga bends under criticism, under cameras, under time. But it does not break. The Race for the City of Johannesburg — and What It Means for the South African Economy By Donald Tlaka Johannesburg South Africa With South Africa’s 4 November 2026 local government elections approaching, the contest for the City of Johannesburg is much bigger than a battle for municipal power. It is, in many respects, a contest over the economic direction of South Africa itself. Johannesburg remains the country’s most important economic centre. The City estimates that it contributed roughly 15% of South Africa’s GDP and 44% of Gauteng’s GDP, while its 2026/27 municipal budget stands at R97.1 billion.    Johannesburg is more than a municipality. It is a concentration of the following, Financial services and banking, Corporate headquarters, Retail and commercial activity, Property and construction, Technology and innovation, Transport and logistics, Tourism and hospitality, Small and informal businesses. This means that when Johannesburg works, South Africa benefits; when Johannesburg deteriorates, the economic consequences extend beyond the city’s borders. The city’s infrastructure problems therefore aren’t merely municipal inconveniences. Water interruptions, unreliable electricity, deteriorating roads, inadequate public transport, poor waste management and unsafe commercial districts increase the cost of doing business. The city itself acknowledges an infrastructure backlog of more than R220 billion, while consumer debt owed to the municipality is estimated at R57 billion.    The current political contest involves the ANC, DA, ActionSA, EFF and a growing number of smaller and independent political players. The DA has positioned Helen Zille as its mayoral candidate, ActionSA has Herman Mashaba, while the EFF has nominated Dr Tlaleng Mofokeng. But the more important question is: What economic model will the next administration pursue? Johannesburg needs a government that understands that municipal government is economic infrastructure.    The mayor and council cannot create every job directly. They can, however, determine whether entrepreneurs can operate, whether investors have confidence, whether businesses can access reliable services and whether residents can participate meaningfully in the economy. One of Johannesburg’s greatest economic assets is confidence. Businesses need to know that: Electricity will be available, Water will be reliable, Rates and tariffs will be predictable. Municipal approvals won’t take forever, Roads and public spaces will be maintained. Political instability and repeated changes in leadership undermine this confidence. Recent analysis has identified service delivery, infrastructure, crime and corruption as major issues likely to determine the Johannesburg vote.  This makes the 2026 election partly a referendum on whether Johannesburg can restore institutional credibility.    From a liberal perspective, Johannesburg’s recovery should not be based on the assumption that City Hall must become the primary engine of economic growth. The opposite is closer to the truth. The city’s role should be to create the conditions in which citizens and businesses can create wealth themselves. That means moving from: Government as employer to Government as enabler, And from: Municipal control to Municipal facilitation and from: Political patronage to Professional administration. A successful Johannesburg should make it easier, not harder to start a business, build a house, develop property, employ people and invest capital.    One of the biggest missed opportunities is the city’s informal and small-business economy. Street traders, township businesses, restaurants, mechanics, creatives, construction companies, technology entrepreneurs and professional services firms collectively represent an enormous economic ecosystem. The city’s own planning documents identify economic growth, job creation, poverty reduction, informal-economy support and SMME development as priorities.  The next administration therefore needs to ask: How do we turn Johannesburg into the easiest African city in which to start and grow a business? That would require dramatically reducing unnecessary bureaucracy, improving digital municipal services, creating predictable licensing systems and opening municipal procurement to smaller enterprises.    Economic opportunity remains concentrated in particular parts of the city while millions of people live far from employment opportunities. This creates a vicious cycle: Distance to expensive transport to reduced disposable income to lower productivity to fewer opportunities. Johannesburg therefore needs an economic development strategy that connects townships, inner-city areas, industrial zones and economic centres. Affordable housing close to economic opportunity, reliable public transport and mixed-use development aren’t simply urban-planning issues. They are economic policy.    The most important lesson from Johannesburg’s recent political history is that winning an election does not automatically mean being able to govern effectively. The city has experienced coalition instability, leadership changes and political fragmentation. The 2026 election could once again produce a council in which no party has an outright majority. That raises an important question: Can political parties put together a governing coalition based on a coherent economic programme rather than simply a coalition against another party? South Africa cannot afford another administration whose primary objective is political survival. Johannesburg needs a governing compact around service delivery, infrastructure, financial sustainability, public safety and economic freedom.    The national government has itself recognised the importance of fixing metropolitan service delivery. The 2026 national budget includes R27.7 billion over the medium term for performance-linked reforms in metro electricity, water, sanitation and waste services, with Johannesburg among the metros implementing improvement plans.    The 2026 race for Johannesburg should therefore be about much more than personalities, political parties and who occupies the mayoral office. It should be about what kind of city Johannesburg wants to become. A city where government controls opportunity Or a city where government creates the conditions for opportunity? A city where residents depend on political connections? Or one where institutions, rules and markets work for everyone? A city that manages decline Or one that once again becomes Africa’s premier destination for capital, entrepreneurship, innovation and talent?    The next mayor will inherit a municipality with enormous problems—but also enormous economic potential. With approximately 15% of South Africa’s economic output linked to the city, Johannesburg’s recovery is not merely a Johannesburg project. The race for Johannesburg is, ultimately, a race over South Africa’s economic future. If Johannesburg gets governance right, it can become a powerful demonstration of what economic freedom, capable government, accountable institutions and empowered citizens can achieve. If it gets governance wrong, the consequences will be felt far beyond the boundaries of the City of Gold. C A J International Magazine | September 2026 | Art Amal Ahmed Mostafa: Female Body Becomes a Language of Freedom By Artist & Novelist Abdel Razek Okasha, Darna Museum, Cairo It was, truly, a very happy day at Darna Museum in Cairo—not simply because the Egyptian-American artist Amal Ahmed Mostafa generously donated one of her significant paintings to the museum, but because the occasion brought together what I believe art should always bring together: beauty, dialogue, friendship, memory, and the human desire to create. When I first encountered Amal's work, I immediately felt that it possessed a universal artistic power. It does not depend upon a particular geography or cultural vocabulary to communicate. Its energy reaches beyond borders because the questions it raises—identity, freedom, the body, creativity, resistance, and human presence—belong to us all. The painting reminded me, in spirit, of Frida Kahlo. I do not mean that Amal is imitating Kahlo, nor that the two artists should be compared through superficial similarities of technique or composition. What connects them, for me, is something deeper: the ability to transform personal experience into a universal artistic statement. Kahlo made her own body, pain, identity, and inner world into a visual language understood far beyond Mexico. Amal, in her own way, approaches the female body not as a passive object of observation, but as a presence that declares itself. Her woman is not waiting to be interpreted. She looks back. That direct gaze is important: The female figure occupies the interior space with an unmistakable psychological strength. Her posture, hands, and physical presence create an atmosphere of confidence and confrontation. There is an energy here that I would describe as strength mixed with positive provocation, rebellion, feminine presence, construction, and power. This is not rebellion for rebellion's sake. It is a creative rebellion—the kind that challenges the viewer to reconsider familiar ideas about the female body, artistic representation, and the relationship between the artist and the subject.    The Body as a Visual Declaration: What fascinates me most is that the body in this painting is not merely a form. It is a language - The figure sits within a space resembling a studio, surrounded by the traces of artistic production and everyday existence. Yet the body seems to resist becoming just another element within the composition. It establishes its own territory.    The contrast between the living human figure and the geometric environment around her creates a productive tension. The architecture of the space appears structured and controlled, while the body introduces movement, emotion, vulnerability, and life. This tension is one of the painting's strengths. Color also plays a decisive role. The warm reds and oranges enter into dialogue with blues and greens, creating a chromatic drama that is both emotional and structural. Red seems to move between body, fabric, and surrounding elements like a current of vitality. It carries associations of life, passion, desire, danger, and rebellion. The cooler colors, meanwhile, create distance and contemplation. The painting therefore does not offer us a single emotional temperature. It breathes between warmth and isolation, intimacy and confrontation, movement and stillness. The Echo of Frida Kahlo: Whenever I mention Frida Kahlo in relation to Amal's painting, I want to emphasize that I am speaking of spirit rather than resemblance. Kahlo demonstrated that the personal can become universal when it is expressed with sufficient honesty and artistic conviction. Her body became a site where questions of identity, pain, womanhood, memory, and freedom could meet. Amal's painting carries something of that same conviction. The woman she presents is not constructed for the pleasure of an external gaze. She possesses psychological independence. Her body is not merely being looked at; it is looking, responding, confronting.    This distinction matters - The history of art contains countless representations of women created through the eyes of others. Amal's work shifts that relationship. The woman becomes an active participant in the visual experience. She occupies the frame with awareness. That is where I find the painting's rebellious energy. The Studio Within the Painting Another aspect that deserves attention is the presence of the studio itself. The artistic tools and structural elements in the background—lamps, supports, colors, and geometric forms—do more than establish a setting. They point toward the mysterious world in which art itself is created. The painting seems to ask a deceptively simple question: Who, ultimately, is the subject here? Is it the woman? Is it the artist? Or is it the act of painting itself? This ambiguity gives the work another layer of depth. We move from looking at a woman in a studio to thinking about the relationship between the artist and the subject, between the body and the gaze, and between reality and representation. The studio becomes almost a metaphor for the mind of the artist. Everything inside it appears to participate in the act of creation. From Personal Memory to Universal Art This is where I believe Amal Ahmed Mostafa's work acquires its broader significance. A strong painting does not need to explain itself completely. It needs to open a door. Amal's painting opens several. It speaks about womanhood without reducing the woman to an identity. It speaks about the body without imprisoning the body within physical appearance. It speaks about rebellion without turning rebellion into a slogan. And it speaks about the artist without closing the work inside the artist's biography. That is the difference between an image and a work of art: An image can be seen. A work of art can be entered. A Gift to Darna, and a Gift to Dialogue The donation of this painting to Darna Museum therefore carries significance beyond the physical presence of another artwork on the museum's walls. It is an act of cultural dialogue. Darna becomes, through such gestures, not simply a place where artworks are preserved, but a meeting point where artists, writers, intellectuals, and audiences can encounter one another through creativity. Our gathering—with engineer and intellectual Karim Auf, artist Taha Ashmawy, artist Nour Ashmawy, and others—extended for hours, moving naturally between art, culture, beauty, memory, and life. That atmosphere was perhaps as important as the painting itself. because art needs conversation. It needs friendship. It needs the freedom to provoke questions without immediately providing answers. And this is precisely what Amal's painting does. It celebrates the body, but ultimately speaks about the spirit. It celebrates womanhood, but moves beyond individual identity toward questions of freedom, strength, resistance, creativity, and human dignity.   For me, that is the true measure of its artistic power. A successful painting does not simply ask us to look. It asks us to remain. To question. To feel. To enter into a dialogue with what we see—and perhaps, through what we see, to enter into a dialogue with ourselves. Amal Ahmed Mostafa's gift to Darna Museum is therefore more than a painting placed upon a wall. It is an invitation to dialogue, a testimony to the power of artistic friendship, and a reminder that art can cross geographical and cultural borders without losing its personal voice. That is why I saw this occasion as a genuinely happy day - A day for beauty. A day for art. And, above all, a day in which a personal artistic gesture became part of a larger human conversation. If you want, I can also make this more sophisticated and museum-catalogue-like, with a stronger contemporary-art vocabulary and a more distinctly Abdel Razek Okasha critical voice. CAJ INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE | SEPTEMBER 2026 | MEDIA & TV Cultural Television Programs… A Bridge for Dialogue Among Peoples and Civilizations By: Fatma Elzahraa Hassan, Senior Director, Egyptian Television To draw a historical background that highlights Egypt’s pioneering role in the field of Arab media, I trace it to 1934, when the old Egyptian Broadcasting building was established in Cairo, the same year that government radio broadcasting began. The construction of the Egyptian Radio and Television building, “Maspero,” on the banks of the Nile began in 1959, and it commenced broadcasting during the celebrations of the July Revolution in 1960. This journey confirmed that Egyptian media was never merely a means of transmitting news and information; from its earliest beginnings, it has also been one of the instruments for shaping cultural and artistic awareness and introducing audiences to Egyptian and Arab identity. The Launch of the Nile Specialized Channels On May 31, 1998, the group of Nile Specialized Channels was launched via the Egyptian satellite Nilesat, marking a milestone in Egypt’s long process of media and cultural development. The Nile Cultural Channel was one of the most prominent achievements of this experience. From its establishment, it embraced a mission that went beyond presenting cultural programs, becoming a cultural, civilizational, and human bridge between the past and the present, and between Egyptian culture and cultures around the world. During that period, under the leadership of the distinguished media figure Dr. Gamal El-Shaer, the channel focused on exploring the roots and depths of Arab and world cultures, connecting generations, strengthening attachment to Arab culture, and bringing together the arts and literature of different parts of the world. My Professional Experience in Cultural Media My decision to work at the Nile Cultural Channel as a director, producer, and program researcher was a continuation of a professional career that began in 1990, when I enrolled at the Faculty of Mass Communication at Cairo University. I began my practical experience at Nile International Channel, which broadcast in English and French, and later moved to Nile Drama Channel during the early stages of the specialized-channel system, which began broadcasting in 1997. I subsequently joined the Nile Cultural Channel, where I continue to work to this day. Over a career spanning nearly three decades, I have had the opportunity to engage with diverse media and cultural experiences and to participate in researching, producing, and directing programs that seek to present culture as a space for dialogue and human interaction. “Al-Qafila” — Egypt as Told Through Its Diversity       One of the most prominent experiences embodying this vision was “Al-Qafila” (The Caravan), a documentary program that traveled across Egypt’s different governorates, moving between rural and urban communities, between Bedouin communities and the people of Upper Egypt, and between cities overlooking the Mediterranean and those overlooking the Red Sea.    The objective was not simply to document places or customs, but to explore the similarities and differences within the Egyptian character and reveal the remarkable diversity that exists within a single homeland.    The program presented an image of Egyptians who take pride in their history and civilization while, at the same time, actively and determinedly shaping their present. In this way, the television screen became a space for discovering Egyptian identity and a means of introducing this diversity to viewers both inside and outside Egypt. “The Other” — Television as a Space for Civilizational Communication While “Al-Qafila” began from within Egypt to explore the diversity of Egyptian society, “The Other” turned outward, searching for spaces of cultural and civilizational communication between Egypt and the wider world.    The program ran for nearly two years and was broadcast weekly on Sundays. It focused on introducing cultures and personalities connected to Egypt and exploring points of convergence between the Egyptian experience and those of other peoples. “The Greeks in Alexandria” — A Model of Dialogue Among Civilizations The episode “The Greeks in Alexandria” was among the most prominent episodes of “The Other,” as it offered a practical example of how cultural media can reveal the depth of historical relationships among peoples. The relationship between Egypt and Greece is not a passing one; it extends deep into the historical and civilizational roots of both countries and reflects centuries of interaction and mutual influence between the Egyptian and Greek civilizations. The episode explored the lives of several prominent Greeks who lived in Egypt, including the internationally renowned Greek poet Constantine P. Cavafy. We visited his home in Alexandria’s Raml Station, which has since been transformed into a museum containing many of his unique belongings, including his death mask, recordings featuring his poems set to music, handwritten texts, icons, and a large volume entitled “Guide to Alexandria.” The episode also featured the Greek singer and songwriter Georges Moustaki, who, despite achieving international success, remained deeply attached to his city of Alexandria and to memories of his childhood there. His love for Egypt was demonstrated through a remarkable gesture: in 1992, he donated the proceeds of a concert he performed in Paris to help those affected by the earthquake that struck Cairo that year. Cultural Media: From Documentation to Building Bridges These experiences reveal that a cultural program should not be viewed merely as entertainment or a means of providing knowledge, but rather as a tool for documentation, raising awareness, and promoting dialogue among cultures. When Egyptian viewers become acquainted with others through their history, arts, literature, and personalities, and when viewers elsewhere come to know Egypt through its cultural and human diversity, television ceases to be merely a media outlet and becomes a genuine bridge among peoples and civilizations.    This highlights the importance of cultural programs that do not simply present information, but seek to discover the common human dimension behind differences of language, geography, and history. For culture, at its essence, is the space in which people of different backgrounds can meet, engage in dialogue, and come to know one another. The Russian Presence in Cultural Programs on Egyptian Television The Russian presence—both historically and today—has been tangible and influential in Egyptian television programs in general, and particularly on the Nile Cultural Channel. Russian literature was featured in episodes of “From Another Perspective,” a program that I produced and directed weekly. We explored, studied, and critically analyzed the enduring works of Russian literary masters, including Anton Chekhov and his iconic play “The Cherry Orchard,” Alexander Pushkin, whom we commemorated in a special episode, and Fyodor Dostoevsky, author of some of the most celebrated novels in world literature, most notably “Crime and Punishment” and “The Brothers Karamazov.”    Among the distinguished guests who appeared on these programs devoted to Russian literature and art was a distinguished group of Egyptian academics and critics, foremost among them Dr. Makarem El-Ghamry, Professor of Comparative Russian Literature and Translation, who earned her doctorate from Moscow University in 1973. Throughout her scholarly and translation career, Dr. El-Ghamry made a significant contribution to introducing Arabic readers to broad dimensions of Russian literature and culture. In recognition of her literary achievements, she received one of Russia’s highest honors, the Pushkin Medal, which was awarded to her by Russian President Vladimir Putin in 2019.    Dr. Sherif Gad, Director of Cultural Activities at the Russian Cultural Center in Cairo, known as the Russian House, and Secretary-General of the Egyptian-Russian Friendship Committee, also appeared as a distinguished guest and commentator on our programs addressing Russian creativity and its presence around the world. Dr. Gad studied media at Moscow University, enabling him to combine his knowledge of media with his expertise in Russian culture. His presence on screen represented another compelling example of the creative intersection between media, culture, and people-to-people diplomacy. And since we have spoken of literature and the novel, this triangle must be completed by the seventh art: cinema.    Here, I return in memory to 2008, when the Kazan International Festival of Muslim Cinema held its third edition. Among the participating Egyptian writers and intellectuals was Dr. Ashraf Aboul-Yazid, the renowned poet and novelist, who has followed the festival’s editions for two decades and was recently selected as a member of its jury. Egyptian Cultural Television followed the festival, its seminars, activities, and daily developments, after it became known as the “Golden Minbar,” reflecting the importance of cinema in presenting a different image of peoples and cultures—one that transcends stereotypes and opens new windows for understanding, under the theme “Dialogue of Cultures.”    Participation in such festivals was not merely a passing presence; rather, it was an extension of the role of cultural media in transforming cultural events into spaces for dialogue. A film festival does not present films alone; it also brings together communities of artists, critics, and intellectuals, while enabling the press, radio, and television to convey these encounters to wider audiences. In this way, a local event becomes a cultural message that crosses borders.    The Nile Cultural Channel also witnessed the establishment of the World Organization of Writers (WOW), when its President, poet Margarita Al, appeared on air to announce the signing in Cairo of the protocol establishing the organization, with the participation of creators from 18 countries who had gathered for the Eurasia Literary Festival. From Media Coverage to Cultural Production From this perspective, we can say that cultural media does not merely cover culture; it participates in creating and shaping it. It gives literature, theatre, cinema, visual arts, and music a space within the public consciousness, while creating connections between creators and their audiences, and between national cultures and other cultures. Perhaps this is the deeper meaning of cultural media in our time: to convey the human being before conveying the news; to discover a culture before judging it; and to open a window onto the Other rather than build a wall around ourselves.    The tools of media have changed—from newspapers and magazines to television, digital platforms, and social media—but its fundamental cultural function has not changed: to create knowledge, preserve memory, resist oblivion, and give difference an opportunity to become dialogue. From this perspective, Egyptian cultural media can play an even greater role in cultural diplomacy—not as a substitute for official institutions, but as a parallel form of soft power capable of reaching the hearts and minds of peoples.    Thus, we move from the concept of “media that documents culture” to the broader concept of “media that builds cultural bridges.” I believe this is one of the most important functions of cultural media today, particularly in a world that needs, more than ever, to know the Other—not as a stranger, but as a fellow human being and partner in our shared humanity. Photo comments 1. The author with Dr. Louis Moritinos, Director of the Spanish Cultural Center in Cairo, in a meeting that brought together Egyptian and Spanish culture. 2. The renowned artist SaadArdash during the Studio of Culture, one of the memorable moments of Egypt’s vibrant cultural and artistic life. 3. TV director Fatma El-ahraa, wearing traditional Indonesian attire during, the wedding party of the daughter of the Indonesian Ambassador to Cairo, in 1998—a photograph reflecting the warmth of cultural and human relations between Egypt and Indonesia. 4. With the distinguished writer and traveler Anis Mansour, one of the most prominent figures in Arab literature and journalism, in a memorable encounter from Egypt’s cultural scene. 5. During filming at the Bibliotheca Alexandrina, the magnificent cultural landmark that connects Egypt’s present with its ancient heritage and its openness to the cultures of the world. Malawi's Rare Earths Rush Leaves Communities Behind By Madalitso Wills Kateta Stanley Banda, 27, farms vegetables on a small plot in Phalombe district, southern Malawi. On his radio and public meetings, he has heard about ‘rare earth minerals,’ ‘green energy,’ and ‘millions of dollars’. What he hasn't heard is how any of it will reach his village. “They say this mine will bring jobs and development,” Banda says in Chichewa. “Years are passing and all we hear about is big money. But little is known on how that money will come to the community.” Banda lives on top of what could become Malawi’s first major rare earth mine. And his confusion reflects a tension playing out across the Global South: as the world scrambles for minerals to power electric vehicles and smartphones, can mining deliver development without leaving behind local communities? The Songwe Hill Rare Earth Project sits in Phalombe District, about 90 kilometres from Malawi’s commercial city, Blantyre, near the border with Mozambique.    Rare earths are a group of 17 metals, and despite their name, they are not actually rare, but rather essential. Neodymium and dysprosium make powerful magnets in EV motors and wind turbines. Others go into smartphones, laptops, and defense systems. With global demand projected to triple by 2035, countries and companies are racing to secure supply chains outside China, which currently dominates 70% of global rare earth processing. That is why Songwe Hill matters internationally. The 20-square-kilometer deposit across three traditional chiefdoms is being developed by UK-listed Mkango Resources. In 2023, Malawi’s Environmental Protection Agency approved its impact assessment.    The government says the mine could create 1,200 direct jobs and 10,000 indirect jobs, and generate about $120.6 million annually in taxes and royalties. For Malawi — one of the world’s poorest countries, battling a foreign exchange crisis — that revenue is critical. Mining Minister Thoko Tembo recently called Songwe “one of Malawi’s most promising mining investments.” But three years after the environmental report was approved, many people in Phalombe say they still don’t understand the project. The core documents — the Environmental and Social Impact Assessment and the Mining Development Agreement — are written in English. In rural Malawi, Chichewa is the main language. “The MDA and the ESHIA are in English,” says JostaNamonde of the Songwe Mining Action Group, a local watchdog. “We have been asking that they be translated so people understand what is really at stake.”    Rodger Kumalile Phiri of Art and Global Health Centre Africa (ArtGlo) says consultation was limited to a few local leaders.  “The broader community was left out,” Phiri says. “Even those involved do not have adequate information on what is in the approved ESHIA. That is why some feel that stakeholders were bribed.” Symon Thipa of Ufulu Wathu, a community organization, says families who have farmed this fertile land for generations want basic answers: How much land will be taken? What is the compensation? What are the health and environmental risks?    “The ESHIA was approved, yes. But we do not know what is contained in the report,” Thipa says. “Communities have a right to understand this because the project will directly affect their lives.” The issue touches on a global standard called FPIC — Free, Prior and Informed Consent — which requires companies to fully inform communities before projects affecting their land proceed.    However, Mkango Resources says it followed the rules. In an email, spokesperson Alex Lemon said the company carried out ‘years of stakeholder engagement’ from national level down to village level, including separate meetings for women and vulnerable groups.  “Consultations were held in the appropriate local languages,” Lemon said. “Mkango has a formal grievance system and remains committed to satisfying Malawian laws and regulations, as well as the rigorous international standards required of us.”    Meanwhile, the country's Ombudsman is currently investigating several mining operations over complaints of poor consultation. The stakes are high because of history. At Malawi’s Kayelekera uranium mine, which closed in 2014, jobs and revenue flowed out with little lasting benefit to local communities. Activists do not want a repeat. For Asia and the West, Africa’s minerals are key to meeting climate goals. But for African communities, the green transition can feel like another extractive cycle if they are not included. Namonde says Malawi must do three things to avoid that: translate the ESHIA and MDA into local languages, ensure fair compensation and resettlement, and allow independent monitoring of environmental impacts. Back in Maoni, Banda is not against the mine. He just wants clarity. “If these are our minerals, make us understand how our minerals will benefit us,” he says.    As carmakers in Asia and Europe look to Africa for critical minerals, Songwe Hill is becoming a test case. Can the minerals that power the world’s green future also power development for the people who live above them? For now in Phalombe, that answer is still being translated. CAJ International Magazine | September 2026 | Travels Mongolia… A Homeland of Poetry, Music, and Memory  By Dr. Ashraf Aboul-Yazid — Words and Photography The journey itself seemed to whisper to me that I was not so much crossing distances as passing through layers of history. From Cairo to Ulaanbaatar, the capital of Mongolia, by way of Dubai and Beijing, the journey—lasting nearly two days—was not merely a passage from one city to another, or from one continent to the next. It was a journey through time itself; a journey in which the distant and the familiar stood side by side, where fact embraced legend, and modern cities met the memory of nomads still breathing beneath the vast sky of the steppes. The farther the aircraft carried me from Cairo, the more I felt that I was leaving one age behind to enter another. In Dubai, the desert seemed to have dressed itself in glass and steel. In Beijing, thousands of years of civilization walked side by side with the trains of the future and forests of skyscrapers. Then, as we approached Ulaanbaatar, history appeared to slow its pace, allowing me to listen to the echo of horses’ hooves, to the silence of night and wilderness, and to the stories of tribes preserved by the wind long before they were copied into books. There, in Mongolia, the past does not seem forgotten. It lives in the ger, in traditional dress, in the gallop of horses, in the preparation of food, and in the relationship between human beings, the earth, the sky, and animals. Yet, in the same moment, a Mongolian may step out of the ger or change into modern clothes and return to the contemporary world—to work, a mobile phone, a car, and a schedule of appointments. It is as if two different ages inhabit the same person, not in conflict, but in harmony. The journey was also a passage across the tables of different eras: modern dishes arriving beside foods that carry the memory of a thousand years; a life built around horses, cattle, livestock, and the two-humped camels, alongside another life advancing rapidly toward the rhythms of modern cities. Across the endless steppes, animals were not simply part of the landscape; they were companions in humanity’s history, memory, and existence. Even the sky seemed to participate in the journey. A brilliant sun would open before the eye a horizon of gold, only for thunder to arrive unexpectedly and rain to fall, as though nature had suddenly reclaimed its ancient voice. Nothing was ever entirely fixed. The weather changed as the images of history changed, while the immense sky remained the great page upon which the Mongols had written their earliest stories. Curiously, even driving in Mongolia seemed to carry its own philosophical lesson. Some cars had their steering wheels on the right, others on the left—as if the country were saying: Your direction does not matter as much as your humanity—and your respect for the traffic rules! And so, I did not arrive in Mongolia merely as a visitor discovering a new place. I felt instead that I had arrived in an ancient time that had somehow remained alive. I was traveling toward Ulaanbaatar, yet in truth I was traveling backward: toward the first human being, toward the journey, the tent, the fire, the horse, and the legend; toward that distant moment when humanity first discovered that a road is not simply the distance between two places, but an endless dialogue between the past, the present, and the future. A Journey of the Pen: The 120th Anniversary of the Birth of Poet DashdorjiinNatsagdorj Here, the sun rises five hours before it does in Egypt. The sky over Ulaanbaatar is clear, and the wind is gentle and serene. The capital once founded by nomads has become a stage upon which a great epic is performed. From August 16 to 20, 2026, Mongolia became the setting for an exceptional literary and cultural journey celebrating the 120th anniversary of the birth of DashdorjiinNatsagdorj, one of the foremost founders of modern Mongolian literature. The international celebration bore the evocative title “EkhNutag,” meaning “Homeland.” Its symbolic route began in Ulaanbaatar, the country’s capital, and extended across the steppes, through natural landscapes and historical landmarks, in a journey that evoked both the memory of the poet and the memory of the homeland. The journey was not merely a sequence of ceremonial stops. Rather, it resembled a passage through the geography of Mongolian identity, linking the capital with the steppes, historical monuments, rivers, and places deeply rooted in the cultural memory of the people. In this way, the landscape itself became part of the celebration of literature. The festivities began in Ulaanbaatar, Mongolia’s cultural and intellectual heart. From the capital, participants embarked on their journey dedicated to Natsagdorj and to the ever-renewed meaning of homeland in Mongolian literature. The city served as the starting point for an international gathering of writers, poets, intellectuals, and guests from different countries, united in celebrating a Mongolian literary legacy that has transcended borders and continues to live within cultural and human memory. I presented the participants with the text of the celebrated poet’s poem, “Mongolia, My Motherland,” in both English and Arabic, allowing the poem to be reborn in the language of al-Dad—Arabic—for the very first time. A major part of the celebration included the presentation of three medals: the Medal of the World Union of Mongolian Nomadic Culture and Heritage, the 120th Jubilee Medal of Poet Natsagdorj, presented by the World Organization of Writers, and an official Medal of Honor from the Ministry of Culture, Sports, Tourism and Youth of Mongolia, in recognition of my contributions to culture and the arts and to strengthening bridges of cultural communication. I was also awarded the title and medal of “Distinguished Cultural Worker,” together with a Certificate of Appreciation, in recognition of my contributions to the development of culture and the arts, which were acknowledged by the Mongolian government. This honor, presented to me by the poet and organizer of the invitation, Gerelt-Od Purevjav, President of the World Union of Mongolian Nomadic Culture and Heritage, represents recognition of the importance of cultural work, translation, and literature in building bridges of friendship among peoples—particularly between Egypt and Mongolia. For me, it is also a new responsibility: a call to continue working for cultural dialogue and closer understanding among civilizations. I cherish this Mongolian honor as recognition of a long journey in literature and culture, and as a message of friendship sent from the land of the steppes to the land of the Nile. DunjinBoldog: Entering Historical Memory The next stop was DunjinBoldog, a region closely associated with Mongolia’s historical landscape and national memory. Here, literature encountered history in the heart of Mongolia’s open wilderness. The road itself thus became part of the celebration. Leaving the urban environment behind and moving toward the vast steppes gave the journey a distinctive atmosphere, allowing participants to experience the meaning of “EkhNutag”—the Homeland—not merely as a literary idea, but as a living land and an enduring memory. BayandelgerSoum: The Homeland in the Heart of the Steppes The journey continued toward BayandelgerSoum, where participants encountered the magnificent expanse of the Mongolian steppes. The simplicity of the landscape and its overwhelming natural grandeur offered an ideal setting for reflecting upon Natsagdorj’s contribution to Mongolian poetry and cultural consciousness. The open horizon, the silence of the countryside, and the enduring connection between generations all gave the celebration a special meaning. Here, the homeland was no longer simply a word within a poem. It became a living landscape in which memory, humanity, and history converged. Baganuur: Between Heritage and Modernity The journey then reached the Baganuur District, another important stop along this cultural route. The movement from the capital toward Mongolia’s eastern regions revealed the broad vision behind the celebration and its desire to take literature beyond the conventional walls of conference halls and reconnect it with people and place. The journey also reflected one of the essential characteristics of Natsagdorj’s legacy: the ability of literature to connect the individual with society, history, and the wider world. Khentii Province — TsenkhermandalSoum: Approaching the Historical Heart From Baganuur, the journey continued toward Khentii Province, reaching TsenkhermandalSoum. This region carries a profound sense of Mongolia’s historical and cultural roots. As we ventured deeper into the countryside, the celebration began to resemble a literary pilgrimage. Poetry moved beyond the halls of cities and into the landscapes that had helped shape Mongolian consciousness over the centuries. The journey thus became a dialogue between the written word and the land, between literature and the landscapes that had nurtured the nation’s collective memory. KherleniinKhodoo Aral: A Journey into the Soul of Mongolia The final destination was KherleniinKhodoo Aral, surrounded by some of Mongolia’s most captivating natural scenery. The river, the endless grasslands, and the distant mountains formed a powerful visual and symbolic conclusion to a celebration centered on the idea of homeland. Here, the meaning of “EkhNutag” reached its deepest symbolic dimension. The homeland is both geography and memory, belonging and history, land and language. The journey demonstrated how the legacy of a poet can remain alive when it is connected to the places, people, and traditions that inspired him. Sengür Stream… When Nature Celebrates the Birth of Temüjin During my journey through Mongolia, our steps led us to a place whose memory contained more than geography—a place connected to the story of the boy Temüjin, who would later become one of the most famous figures in world history: Genghis Khan. Here, amid the vast steppes, mountains, and waters, history does not appear to be a closed book. It is a living trace that the visitor can touch in the earth, contemplate in the movement of the river, and rediscover through poetry. Our destination was Sengür Stream, a place associated with the memory of Temüjin’s birth. Here, Mongolian memory celebrates water as a witness to beginnings. In the culture of the steppes, rivers and streams are not merely elements of nature; they are lifelines, pathways of memory, and markers along the routes traveled by generations. The poet and musician placed his poem upon a stone monument, from which the covering was ceremonially removed. Then the singing and music began. I held the Mongolian flag as it fluttered in the wind, which seemed to celebrate with us the moment when the rain stopped—only to return again after we had finished! I stood before the poem written in celebration of Sengür Stream, where the river is evoked as both a mirror of nature and a repository of history. Its verses portray branching water like a network of thousands of veins flowing between the mountains, while the waters of the Kherlen River reflect the moonlight, giving the landscape a distinctive poetic sanctity. In the poem, Sengür becomes more than a stream. It is a string upon which the Kherlen River plays, allowing the music of poetry to flow. It is also the water of a land from which the ancestors departed, while their memory remained behind, and the water of sacred springs gently moving through the blue land of Mongolia. The poem reaches the height of its symbolism when it makes the stream a witness to the pages of history. Its flowing water carries, metaphorically, “lines of gold” within the record of independent Mongolia. It becomes a spring for the people, flowing from the past into the present, as though history itself had taken the form of water that never ceases to run. Perhaps the most beautiful aspect of this place is that the birth of Temüjin is remembered here not merely as the birth of a military leader, but as the beginning of a legend shaped between nature and humanity. Before Temüjin became Genghis Khan, he was a child of the steppes, living beneath an open sky, surrounded by rivers, mountains, horses, and tribes. His character was formed in a world where nature itself was a daily partner in the making of destiny. Standing before this landscape, I found myself reflecting upon the profound relationship between place and legend. Places shaped by memory do not remain neutral geography. They become open texts, where every stone, stream, tree, and plain may carry a chapter from the story of a people. And so, Sengür Stream appeared to me like a page of water from the book of Mongolian history. Here begins the first thread of the story of a child who would change the face of Asia and the world, while the water continues to flow, indifferent to the passing of centuries. A river does not remember in the way human beings remember. Yet in its continuous movement, it carries the metaphor of time itself: water moves on, generations succeed one another, and the legend remains. My visit to this place was like standing at the meeting point of three different ages: the age of Temüjin the child; the age of Genghis Khan, who became a legend before whose monuments people bow in reverence; and the age of contemporary Mongolia, which returns to its past through poetry, memory, and the celebration of place. In the presence of Sengür Stream, I realized once again that traveling through Mongolia is not merely a journey across geography. It is a journey into the deep layers of history—a history whose waters are still flowing, whose poems are still being written, and whose steppes continue to preserve their secrets for those who arrive with the heart of a traveler and the eyes of a poet. At Every Stop: Books, Letters, and the Poetry of the Mongolian Script At every place where we stopped, there was an opportunity to exchange books. My poet friend and English translator, Ganbold, presented me with one of his publications, in which he translated stories by Gabriel GarcíaMárquez. To the Arabic eye, the Mongolian script seems like a living trace of rain—tiny droplets suspended upon an invisible thread, falling from the sky before settling gently upon the page. There is something of cascading water in its vertical extension, the tenderness of a branch touched by a drop in its curves, and the rhythm of a mountain stream descending from the heights in the measured regularity of its signs. It is as though the writer does not draw words, but simply allows the rain to write in its own language. The letters follow one another quietly, connected as though by a thread of water and air. The page appears almost like a curtain of translucent drops that have just fallen from a distant cloud. Perhaps its beauty lies in the fact that it does not merely speak the language; it offers the eye a silent music as well, transforming writing into a landscape. Some of the books were bilingual—Mongolian and English, or Mongolian and Russian. Thus, my suitcase became so full that it seemed to carry a small library, one I preserved for its human value even when reading it was difficult for me. Among the most remarkable books, written in this visually astonishing language, was an anthology of poets, a large-format volume of 656 pages. I was the only African Arab poet included in it, alongside my Syrian poet friend Hani Nadim, the only Arab Asian poet in the anthology. Circumstances related to his work prevented him from accepting the invitation, so I carried his commemorative medal and his copy of the anthology with me, to present them to him when we meet in Moscow a few weeks later. Contemporary Mongolia… Two Parallel Lives Between Memory and Modernity During my journey through Mongolia, I was not searching merely for a place, nor for the vastness of the steppes that seem to have no end, nor simply for traces of the Mongol Empire in its cities and faces. As a traveler and writer, I was trying to read the human being before reading the geography—to see how contemporary Mongolians inhabit two different times, and how effortlessly they move between them, as though the distance between past and present were not centuries, but a single moment. The Mongolia I encountered is not a country living in the past, as someone viewing it from afar might imagine. Nor is it a society that severed its ties with its past when modernity arrived. Rather, it is a social space where different eras coexist, where the past remains present—not as a museum, but as an identity that can be summoned at any moment. Perhaps what impressed me most about the contemporary Mongolian character was the ability to live two parallel lives without experiencing any sharp contradiction between them. In everyday life, the Mongolian is thoroughly modern: wearing urban clothes, using a smartphone, working in institutions, companies, universities, and government offices, driving cars, following the world online, and engaging with the modern economy and the demands of professional and urban life. He is fully part of the twenty-first century. Yet all it takes is a national occasion, a cultural celebration, or a festival for something remarkable to happen. He puts on the deel, the traditional Mongolian garment, and suddenly it seems as though another self has been summoned from within. At that moment, he is not simply putting on a piece of clothing; he is recovering an entire collective memory. The garment becomes a social language that calls forth the ancestors, the steppes, the horses, the nomads, the epics of forebears, the stories of the empire, and symbols accumulated over centuries. What is striking is that this transformation requires no elaborate ritual. A single garment can be enough to move a person from the contemporary world of professional life into another symbolic realm. The office worker becomes a child of the steppes; the intellectual recovers something of the ancient storyteller; the urban young person suddenly finds himself part of a narrative older than the city in which he lives. From a sociological perspective, this behavior can be understood as a form of everyday negotiation between identity and modernity. The Mongolian does not necessarily choose between past and present; rather, he draws upon both to construct his sense of self. Modernity provides the tools with which to live and work, while historical memory provides a sense of belonging and meaning. And here lies, in my view, one of the most distinctive features of the Mongolian character that I encountered during the journey: the past is not the opposite of modernity, but one of its symbolic components. It is a character capable of moving from the office to the traditional ger, from the smartphone screen to a folk song, from an official meeting to a celebration led by horses, wrestlers, and archers, without ever feeling that he has abandoned himself. This, I believe, explains the powerful presence of traditional symbols in contemporary Mongolian public life. Heritage is not revived merely so that people may remember what once was; it is revived so that they may declare who they are now. Thus, traditional dress, horses, music, and popular festivals are not merely folkloric spectacles for tourists. They are instruments through which collective memory is reproduced and identity continually redefined, in a society that has moved rapidly from a nomadic way of life to the modern state, and from the open steppes to the capital and urban society. In Ulaanbaatar especially, the paradox becomes even more visible. A crowded modern city of towers, institutions, cafés, screens, smartphones, and cars—and amid all of it, traditional dress appears as though quietly declaring that modernity has not erased the steppes from memory. Perhaps the opposite is true: the stronger the presence of the modern world, the greater the need to summon one’s roots. This is what made my journey to Mongolia transcend the ordinary meaning of geographical travel. I moved from place to place, but at the same time I was moving through layers of time. In the contemporary Mongolian, I saw a fascinating balance between the identity of the modern citizen and that of the child of the steppes. He does not live in his past all the time, but he knows how to summon it at the right moment. He does not abandon his modernity when he puts on the garments of his ancestors, nor does he abandon his ancestors when he returns to contemporary dress and goes to work. And so I came to understand that the contemporary Mongolian lives two parallel lives: an everyday life governed by work, the city, and technology, and a symbolic life inhabited by memory, legend, and ancestors. Between these two lives there is no rupture, but an open door through which a person may pass whenever he chooses. Perhaps this ability to bring different eras together was one of the most beautiful lessons I carried home from Mongolia: that modernity does not necessarily mean forgetting who we once were, and that honoring the past does not mean ceasing to create the future. For when a traveler leaves Mongolia, he may carry with him images of steppes, horses, and mountains. But if he listens carefully to the people there, he returns with something deeper: the realization that identity is not a garment we put on once and for all, but an entire world through which we can move between yesterday, today, and tomorrow without losing ourselves. Shamanism in Mongolia: When the Soul Listens to the Sky In Mongolia, the shaman does not appear to belong solely to the past. Rather, shamanism remains a presence within collective memory and the popular imagination, as well as in the profound relationship between human beings and nature. The roots of Mongolian shamanism reach back to distant ages, predating the spread of Buddhism, when nomadic people saw in the sky, mountains, rivers, and steppes spirits and powers worthy of respect and reverence. The shaman, or Böö in the Mongolian tradition, stands as a symbolic intermediary between the visible world and the realm of spirits, employing chants, drums, and traditional rituals on various occasions—as we witnessed during our journey: the lighting of the fire, the offering of sacrifices, the rising fragrance of incense, and the ringing of bells. Among the most enduring symbols of shamanism is the Eternal Blue Sky, which in the Mongolian worldview represents a supreme power, alongside the reverence accorded to nature, mountains, rivers, and sacred places. Fire, too, is regarded as an element of particular spiritual significance, while certain rituals retain their connection to ancestral heritage and to the seeking of protection and blessing. We were accompanied throughout this journey, from beginning to end, by the great shaman ZiranByambadorj. During a journey through Mongolia, it is difficult to separate shamanism from the landscape itself. The vast steppes, the neighing of horses, the clarity of the sky, and the distant mountains all provide this ancient heritage with its living space. Perhaps the distinctive character of Mongolian shamanism lies in the fact that it represents more than ancient religious rituals. It reflects a philosophy of life in which human beings see themselves as part of nature, rather than its masters. That is why some of its symbols have remained alive in contemporary culture—as a living bond between the Mongolian people, their ancestors, their land, and the sky above their homeland. The Mongolian Academic Military Song and Dance Ensemble We visited two places whose names are closely associated with the military. The first was the Mongolian Academic Military Song and Dance Ensemble, under the General Staff of the Mongolian Armed Forces; the second was the Official Ceremonial Horse Training Center. The ensemble is an artistic institution that carries within its performances the memory of a nation, bringing together music, dance, history, and the military spirit. Since ancient times, the Mongolian people have accumulated a rich heritage of customs, traditions, and arts, and generations have passed this legacy from one to another as an essential part of their identity and collective memory. From this wellspring emerged the ensemble, whose history became closely intertwined with the memory of soldiers and warriors—with the songs that inspired courage, the hymns of victory, the rhythms of marching and battle, and the dreams for which they fought: land, independence, and freedom. During our visit to the academy, our military guide and artist, RenchindorjOnorjargal, recounted the history of the ensemble, which was founded in 1932. Since then, December 12 has been observed each year as the anniversary of its establishment. Throughout its history, the ensemble has served as an artistic voice accompanying the armed forces during times of war and liberation. It has also performed for the people, contributed to the nation’s cultural life, and participated in cultural events both within Mongolia and abroad. This artistic contribution did not go unrecognized by the state. The ensemble received the War Merit Medal in 1962, a Government Certificate of Appreciation in 1972, and the Red Banner Medal for Military Merit in 1982. On November 27, 2002, by Government Resolution No. 29, the ensemble was officially granted the name “Academic Military Song and Dance Ensemble,” in recognition of its stature and contribution to the national culture. During my visit, I felt that I was witnessing more than an artistic ensemble. I was approaching Mongolia’s memory as it sang and danced. Every melody carried an echo of the past; every movement revived an image of the warriors; every rhythm connected yesterday with today. It was an experience that confirmed that art can preserve history in ways that books alone cannot. A song can become memory, a dance can become a story, and the stage can become a space where the spirit of the warrior encounters the soul of the poet and artist. At the Official Ceremonial Horse Training Center At the Official Ceremonial Horse Training Center, I learned about some of its responsibilities and its role in managing and developing aspects of the military institution and strengthening its readiness to fulfill its national duties. Strategic planning, the development of military education and training, enhancing the efficiency of leadership, modernizing weapons and equipment systems, and strengthening military security all form part of a broader mission: preserving identity while preparing for the future. It has become a longstanding tradition for the Nine White Banners of the State, accompanied by eight additional banners, to be carried in a ceremonial procession during the Naadam Festival. Mongolia’s State Symbols Law stipulates that the President of Mongolia shall establish the procedures governing these ceremonies. According to the law and established ritual, the national flag is displayed on the southern side of the Government Palace, while the honor guard, wearing their distinctive golden-yellow hats, takes its position—as though time itself had stopped before us. The honor guard stood facing the statue of Genghis Khan. Then, as the solemn strains of military music rose into the air, with its trumpets and drums, the guards emerged through the eastern gate beside the statue of Genghis Khan, carrying the Nine White Banners. The resounding music, its measured rhythm, and the confident, solemn steps of the procession seemed to awaken the spirit and glory of the Mongol ancestors. Leading the procession was the bearer of the State Banner, followed by the principal banner bearer and the ceremonial guard. The horses, prepared for this ritual over months and years, performed their role with remarkable silence and composure. They seemed entirely indifferent to the thunder of the music and the crowds of people, moving forward with steady confidence, without a single unnecessary movement. According to the prescribed tradition, the procession consists of thirty-two horses: two dappled gray horses, eight light chestnut horses, and twenty-two black and dark-brown horses, evoking the colors of the horses associated with Genghis Khan as recorded in history. For these nomadic people, every number carries a meaning. The two dappled gray horses symbolize central power; the eight chestnut horses represent protection and balance; while the twenty-two dark-colored horses symbolize movement and continuity. Led by a single rider, with the horses arranged in rows of three, the procession passes before the Government Palace and then circles it clockwise before continuing in its orderly formation toward Bogd Khan Mountain, along the road stretching across the open steppes. The crowds salute the Nine White Banners as the procession advances amid cheers and celebration. Gradually, the sound of the horses’ hooves rises above the music and the voices of the people, becoming increasingly distinct and powerful until it seems to be no longer merely a sound, but a vibration coursing through the body itself. The State Banner is fashioned from a single original piece, made from the hair of the manes and tails of pure white horses. The hair used must be at least 80 centimeters long, carefully selected from among herds across different regions of Mongolia. The Nine White Banners stand 362 centimeters high, while the circumference of the crown measures 55 centimeters. The eight accompanying banners are each 262 centimeters high, with a crown diameter of 40 centimeters. Their upper sections are crowned with branching steel finials shaped like forks, engraved with exquisite artistic motifs. At the summit of the Nine White Banners appears a flame-shaped ornament resting upon a flower-shaped base. The banner itself is wrapped with a four-section silk ribbon made of white brocade decorated with yellow motifs. From the earliest times to the present day, Mongolians have revered and honored the Nine White Banners as a symbol of the prosperity of the state and the continuity of its existence. The roots of this tradition date back to 1206. Historical records state that the Nine White Banners were first raised when Genghis Khan proclaimed the establishment of the Great Mongol Empire. In Volume 31 of Ethnology, in a study entitled “Some Issues Concerning the Origin and Development of Genghis Khan’s White Banners,” by researcher S. Ulziibayar and others, we read: “The political concept that described all the nations of the earth as ‘the five-colored peoples and the four foreigners,’ and called the ruler who extended his authority over them all ‘the Khan of the Nine Banners,’ had existed for a thousand years. The number of nine white banners, established at the Great Khural in 1206, reflected this tradition, while the color white symbolized the blessing of the power of Heaven. Thus, the Nine White Banners became the banners of the Great Mongol Empire, which flourished under the protection of the Eternal Blue Sky. They were sacred banners made from the white hair of mares and stallions, raised as an oath before the Eternal Blue Sky that their bearer had become ruler of the earth. The ornament above the banner represented a white falcon descending while embracing the sun and the moon, carrying to the Mongols the spirit of Heaven and its sacred blessing—the blessing of the Borjigin lineage beneath the Eternal Blue Sky. The restoration of the ancestors’ banners in their authentic form, those whose power was strengthened by the power of the Eternal Blue Sky and the protection of the Great Sacred Fortune, remains a wish shared by many Mongolians.” When Mongolia adopted its new Constitution in 1992, it declared: “The traditional Nine White Banners of the unified Mongolian state are the revered symbol of the Mongolian state.” With this declaration, the Nine White Banners, which had nearly faded away in the winds of time, returned once more, carrying all their ancient power and majesty. A Literary Journey Beyond Borders The international “EkhNutag” celebration was far more than a program commemorating the 120th anniversary of the birth of Dr. Natsagdorj. It was a cultural journey across Mongolia, following a route that connected Ulaanbaatar, DunjinBoldog, Bayandelger, Baganuur, Tsenkhermandal, and KherleniinKhodoo Aral. The journey gave us the opportunity to discover Mongolia not only through its literature, but also through its nature and historical memory. For Mongolian readers and intellectuals, the celebration reaffirmed the enduring presence of one of the most important literary voices in the country’s history. The road from the capital to the steppes thus became a metaphor for literature itself: a road that crosses borders, generations, and cultures, yet always returns to its source—to the land, to memory, and to the homeland. I cannot leave without mentioning the food. I have no idea how many sheep I ate! Mutton seemed to be sleeping in almost every dish. And I will certainly never forget khorkhog, which is not merely a meat dish, but an experience that captures something of the spirit of traditional Mongolian nomadic life. Khorkhog is usually prepared with mutton or goat meat. Extremely hot stones, heated in a fire, are placed together with the meat inside a tightly sealed container, allowing the meat to cook through the combined effect of heat and steam within an enclosed space. But the secret of khorkhog lies not only in its ingredients; it lies in the ritual surrounding it. Its rich aroma fills the air, while the meat, cooked on the bone, seems to have absorbed the very essence of the marrow, until one imagines that the water, salt, and meat have been transformed into a flavor deeper than the sum of their parts. The hot stones are themselves part of the experience. People of the steppes handle them with confidence, passing them from palm to palm. Yet a visitor must treat them with caution—they are not merely warm stones. Khorkhog retains its own special magic: an aroma that arrives before the taste, a heat that touches the hand, and a flavor carrying the memory of the steppes and the Mongolian people. In celebrating Natsagdorj 120 years after his birth, Mongolia was not merely reclaiming its past. It was affirming that the poetry of the homeland remains a living force—capable of bringing people together, opening new horizons for cultural dialogue, and transforming a journey across the steppes into a shared journey through memory, identity, and the human spirit. Don’t Overload Local Leaders: Reviving Self‑Help and Accountability for Tanzania’s Vision 2050 By MutayobaArbogast TANZANIA.  In a sunlit conference room filled with delegates from across the country, a familiar frustration cut through the polite opening speeches: communities expect too much from their village and ward leaders, then blame the same leaders when services fail to arrive. The message from Action for Democracy and Local Government (ADLG), supported by the Konrad Adenauer Stiftung (KAS), was blunt and urgent, if Tanzania is to reach the ambitions of Vision 2050, citizens must understand what local elected officials can realistically do, stop relying on outside connections as a shortcut, and reawaken the old ethic of self-help that once powered grassroots development. “Every citizen should know exactly what the roles of leaders in local government are,” ADLG co‑director Jimmy Luhende told about 50 workshop participants:civicorganisations, entreprenures, local official,ordinary residents etc on  a two day workshop August 28–29. “Because when we demand too much from them, and then demand them pay through contributions outside regulations, some take that as an advantage to evade their real obligations and accountability.” The two‑day workshop, titled “The Concept of Local Government Administration and its Relationship to the 2050 Development Vision", covered The concept of Local Governance, Understanding the Local  Governance and  the context, and, Measuring and assessing Local Governance  performance, was designed to deepen public understanding of local governance and to equip communities to plan and implement development at the grassroots level A brief institutional history: Konrad Adenauer Stiftung and its ties with Nyerere Part of the workshop’s support came from the Konrad Adenauer Stiftung, a German political foundation named after West Germany’s first post‑war chancellor, Konrad Adenauer (1876–1967). Founded in 1955, the foundation aims to promote democracy, rule of law, and social market economy principles worldwide. Since the Cold War era it has been active across Africa in supporting democratic institutions, civic education and governance reform.During Tanzania’s early post‑independence years, the foundation and its intellectual milieu developed ties with Tanzanian leaders. Konrad Adenauer himself never visited Tanganyika, but the foundation’s work in the region overlapped with a formative period in Tanzania’s history when Julius Kambarage Nyerere (1922–1999) led the country toward independence and pioneered ujamaa — his distinctive vision of African socialism and villagization. Historical records and correspondence show cordial relationships between Western foundations, academic institutions and Nyerere’s government, who welcomed technical cooperation and discussions on governance, development and education. That engagement included people‑to‑people diplomacy and exchanges that fostered long‑term collaboration between Tanzanian institutions and international partners.For KAS, contemporary involvement in Tanzania is part of a broader effort to support democratic governance and local capacity building. At the workshop, DamasNderumaki, KAS project manager, underscored that good local governance is a critical tool for raising living standards, resonating with both the foundation’s mission and Tanzania’s Vision 2050 goals.Clarifying the mandate: What local leaders can, and can’t do. One of the clearest threads running through the workshop was the need to make a practical distinction between expectation and mandate. Village/street chairpersons and ward councillors are front‑line elected officials: they are the closest formal link between citizens and government administration. Their statutory duties typically include representing community interests in council meetings, facilitating service delivery, overseeing local development plans, resolving disputes at the grassroots, and ensuring transparency in local spending. They are responsible for mobilizing citizens for community projects, compiling and presenting local priorities to district councils, and monitoring local public works. But several speakers highlighted the limits of these roles. Jonathan Mkumba, councillor for Nyakato Ward in Ilemela District, reminded participants that responsibility for major infrastructure often lies with sectoral agencies beyond the council’s direct control. Roads classified as trunk or regional routes fall under TANROADS or TARURA, and water systems may be overseen by the Ministry of Water or specialized utilities. “It’s often a pity,” Mkumba said, “that people expect the council to directly manage everything. They should know who to hold accountable, but councils must also follow up to ensure success, even when the primary mandate sits elsewhere.”That dual reality — limited statutory powers combined with an expectation to deliver — fuels a dangerous dynamic: citizens bypassing due process and using personal connections to secure projects, or imposing undue burdens on local leaders who lack the budget or authority. Such practices can weaken public institutions, promote patronage, and erode accountability. From dependency to agency: Reviving self‑help Several workshop participants called for a revival of Tanzania’s self‑help traditions as a practical, immediate way to improve local infrastructure. During the country’s earlier decades, communities routinely organized collective work (harambee‑style mobilizations) to build schools, repair roads, and maintain water systems. Anthony Mtokambali, headmaster of Buhongwa Secondary School in Nyamagana municipality, urged the youth and children to embrace Tanzanian values while being given space to express their opinions — a mix of cultural continuity and civic empowerment he believes is essential for Vision 2050. “It’s a loss that today people won’t stand up to dig or rehabilitate two kilometres of road in their sub‑village, or repair a water tank in their compound,” councillorMkumba said. “They just wait for the government.” Reviving community labor, local fundraising for small‑scale works, and neighborhood oversight mechanisms were presented not as an abdication of government responsibility but as a practical complement to it — a way to accelerate development while reducing pressure on elected leaders.Responsible leadership: Accountability and avoiding conflicts of interest. Workshop facilitators  and other speakers: DrHilali Elisha( Councillor for Nyangu ward in Magu District), cried of some of District Councils robbing Water users board authority by making employment without broad annoucement of vacancies, thus bring in their people, in meandering ways, and he was 'fighting tooth and nail' to stop the bad habit. Sylvester Kakinda ( BS Foundation),GosbertMutta (TDI Organisation) and Lucia Lawrence of Girls Talk Organisation, stressed that elected leaders must not use their positions to create dependency or advance private interests. When citizens insist that leaders secure projects through personal connections or by bypassing formal channels, they create a system where favors override public procedures. Such incentives erode the merit‑based allocation of resources and weaken democratic oversight. Jimmy Luhende proposed practical remedies: first, civic education so voters understand the legal scope of local offices; second, strict transparency in local procurement and project selection; third, clear reporting mechanisms that allow residents to track promises and expenditures. “Participation of all people in local government affairs is necessary to reach the goals of Vision 2050,” Luhende said. “If citizens know the rules and follow them, leaders cannot hide.” Making Vision 2050 local and tangible Tanzania’s Vision 2050 sets bold national targets for economic transformation, social welfare, and technological modernization. But workshop participants stressed that national visions become real only when translated into concrete local projects: all‑weather feeder roads that enable smallholder farmers to access markets, solar or grid electricity to power microenterprises, safe water that prevents disease, and reliable secondary schools that build human capital. NicholausLuhende, a presenter from Youth VOT, emphasized the importance of fully involving community members: from sharing information about meetings, to inviting their opinions and advice on relevant issues, to ensuring they have influence over decisions and adopt responsibility for implementing the resulting resolutions. Other speakers urged councils to become strategic conveners: translating village priorities into actionable proposals, leveraging district technical teams to align projects with sectoral agencies, and fostering public–private cooperation for localized solutions. When agencies like TANROADS or the Ministry of Water are responsible for a project, local leaders still play a vital role — packaging credible proposals, mobilizing counterpart resources, and ensuring community ownership so that infrastructure is maintained. Practical steps suggested at the workshop Civic literacy campaigns: teach residents the mandate and limits of village/street chairpersons and ward councillors.Community action plans: small, costed local plans that prioritize works citizens can co‑finance or maintain.Transparent tracking: publish status updates for proposed projects, budgets and timelines at ward offices.Youth engagement: establish youth councils to involve young people in decision‑making and local monitoring.Partnership mapping: identify which agency (central, regional or local) is responsible for different infrastructure types to avoid misplaced expectations. Voices from the ground The two‑day event featured candid exchanges. Some participants expressed resentment at leaders who solicit informal payments; others pointed to real frustrations when promises go unfulfilled. Yet the tone alternated between critique and constructive problem‑solving — a sign that Tanzania’s democracy is maturing into a space where citizens and officials can negotiate responsibilities rather than fall back on blame. A councilor noted that citizens want results regardless of which arm of government delivers them, and local authorities must follow up when services lie beyond their direct mandate. This implies a hybrid model: local leaders advocating vigorously within formal channels for their constituencies, while communities mobilize directly for feasible local works and demand transparency from every level of government. Conclusion: Shared responsibilities for a shared future The ADLG‑KAS workshop in Mwanza issued a straightforward, powerful challenge: achieving Vision 2050 requires both effective local institutions and active citizens who understand their roles. Village and ward leaders cannot be treated as magic wands. When communities overburden these officials or resort to patronage to secure services, the result is weaker institutions and less equitable development.Instead, participants urged a return to community agency, reviving self‑help, demanding transparency, and holding all levels of government accountable through the correct administrative channels. If Tanzanians can combine this collective action with clear expectations of local leaders’ legal mandates, the foundation will be stronger for the ambitious transformation Vision 2050 promises. CAJ International Magazine | September 2026 | Festival The 20th Gumilyov Festival in 2026 is  a Constellation of  anniversaries by Olga Efimova, a  poet, Deputy President of the Gumilyov Society, Russia For readers of Nikolai Gumilyov, 2026 is marked by several anniversaries. 140 years since the birth of the great Russian poet. 15 years since the Gumilyov Society was established. On August 26, it was 105 years since the death of   the poet. 5 years since the  Museum “Gumilyov House” was opened in Bezhetsk. The Gumilyov Festival held in Bezhetsk on August 21–23 is also the twentieth anniversary . A whole constellation of Gumilyov’s anniversaries shaped the atmosphere of the festival — this year it was especially vibrant. On August 21, a solemn opening of the festival took place in front of the monument to the Gumilyov family. According to a good tradition, the official ceremony was preceded by a poetic microphone: the participants recited Gumilyov’s poems and their own. The opening was accompanied by an exhibition of works by Moscow artists Angelina Pavlova and PlatonPelevinSemyonov titled “Poets of the Silver Age” and by Bezhetsk artist Svetlana Efimova titled “Images of Bezhetsk”. The Bezhetsk Literary and Historical  Museum hosted the Gumilyov Readings, which were notable for their broad thematic range, as specialists from various fields took part in them. Olga Medvedko, the president of the Gumilyov Society and  cultural studies expert, held a presentation of her book “The Gumilyov Society: 2011–2026”. Yuri Shchegolkov, Director of the “Gumilyov House,” summarized the results of five years of work and spoke about the prospects for developing the museum as one of the main attractions in Bezhetsk: it was opened and continues to exist thanks to the efforts and support of enthusiasts. Svetlana Lobanova spoke about the history of a new authentic exhibit — a porcelain ashtray that previously belonged to Nikolai Gumilyov’s father and was donated to the Museum “House of Poets”. Literature teacher Olga Akhmetova from Nizhny Tagil delivered a report on Nikolai Gumilyov’s Egyptian cycle of poems.  SerafimaKireeva, a MA student at Moscow State University presented  an interesting research on the images of bridges  in Gumilyov poetry.  Marina Paskul, a librarian from Nizhny Novgorod region,  spoke on the Okulovkarelated pages of Gumilyov’s life as well as on his war poems. The administration of the Bezhetsk Municipal District, headed by Igor Pavlov, organized a roundtable titled “The Golden Ring: Resources and Brands of Bezhetsk in the System of Interregional Tourist Routes,” where the prospects for developing the  city of Bezhetsk as a tourist center were discussed. The concert by the duo from Tver, Tatyana and Sergey Levin, was a sellout and was named after Gumilyov’s poetic line: “My house is made of stars and songs.” In the evenings, informal meetings were held with readings of poetry. The highlight of this year was the participation of several prose writers in the festival, thanks to which the program “Prose of Life” was put on the schedule of the festival The audience was particularly impressed by the stories of producer and screenwriter EvgenyVesnik  from Moscow, full of sparkling humour, as well as by Yuri Shchegolkov’s piece of writing about the adventures of foreign tourists in Russia. A significant highlight of the festival was the 20th poetic SlepnevskoGradnitsky Youth Meetings (those were the places where the Gumilyov family used to live), which were also held in an anniversary year. They were organized by Galina Kozlovskaya, the director of the “Raspberry Fairy Tale” museum. There  were many  poetic readings, city tours, excursions and othr events that attracted many teenagers and schoolchildren. On August 22, the participants and guests of the festival had the opportunity to visit the Museum “House of Poets” in the village of  Gradnitsy, which is located in the former estate house of the Gumilyov family.  In 1911 Nikolai Gumilyov brought straight from Paris  his young wife, the future great poet Anna Akhmatova, to his parents’ house immediately after their honeymoon. Their son Lev (who later became a well known scientist Lev Gumilyov)  spent his childhood  here. The blue room, which Anna Akhmatova recalled in her poems, is located in this house too. My shadow remained and it pines there, listless,
In that light and blue room, it has settled down,
Past midnight it waits for the guests from the town,
And kisses the small, enameled image.                                      (Translated by Andrey Kneller) Museum director Elena Polevanova gave a tour of the “House of Poets,” impressing the festival participants not only with her stories but also with her profile, which resembled Akhmatova’s. The program for the second day was rich in poetic events: a musical and poetic program by Olga Lukasheva and Sergei Oleinik (Voronezh); performances by participants of the “Poetic Microphone” from various cities; an editing session for the authors of the almanac “Tver Crossroads,” conducted by Viktor Serov and Galina Toropova; and an author’s program by Olga Sinyuk (SergievPosad), who not only read poems but also raised the issue of religious and philosophical lyric poetry as a genre. Candidate of Cultural Studies Lidia Kroshkina (Tver) conducted an indepth reading of one of Nikolai Gumilyov’s poems, ensuring that the participants in the discussion were fully immersed in the meanings of the poetic text. The evening screening of the film “Gumilyov Mysteries” by the young director Alexey Yurgaitis was preceded by a meeting with Bezhetsk young actors, schoolchildren who were members of the film crew. They  shared their firsthand impressions of working on the set, where they discovered the poetry of Nikolai Gumilyov. Sunday, August 23, began with a visit to the old Bezhetsk cemetery, where a memorial service was held at the graves of Nikolai Gumilyov’s mother and sister.  During the turbulent revolutionary time Gumilyov was falsely accused of counter-revolutionary activity and  executed by a firing squad on August 26, 1921, at the age of 35. It is symbolic that a few days before the tragic date, the festival participants were presented with a project about poets who passed away early — “To Leave. To stay. To Live.” Nikolai Mileshkin and Sergei Krinitsyn (Moscow) spoke about several authors, including Anna Gorenko, who adopted the real surname of Akhmatova as her penname.. For all three days, the “Gumilyov House” welcomed guests. The author’s tours by Yuri Shchegolkov and Olga Medvedko attracted the maximum number of participants, which indicates the growing interest of people in everything related to the name of Gumilyov. The festival ended on a vibrant musical note. Poet and legendary rock musician Sergei Kuzin shared his thoughts on the role of visionary experience in creative work and presented several musical ballads. Poets and bard musicians Sergei Oleinik (Voronezh), Vladimir Abdulov (Bezhetsk), and Olga Sinyuk (SergievPosad) delighted the audience with new songs. Thus, three unforgettable days flew by, filled with poetry, music, captivating discussions, book presentations, fascinating excursions, and new discoveries. To conclude the review of the festival events, I would like to quote Olga Medvedko, the president of the Gumilyov Society: “What began in 2007 as youth poetry meetings, initiated by teachers and schoolchildren from the town of Sonkovo, has now turned into a powerful poetic, musical, and scientific event, in which people from 15 cities across Russia took part. The Gumilyov Festival continues to live, work, create, promote the work of Nikolai  Gumilyov, bring people together, create new projects, and inspire the younger generation.” CAJ International Magazine | September 2026 | Music The Golden Voice of Africa: Celebrating the 60th Anniversary the Tunisian Hammamet Festival By Khaled Suleiman — Tunisia July 31 is a very significant date for the International Cultural Centre of Hammamet, one of the most important cultural centres in the Mediterranean. On this day, 62 years ago, Tunisian leader Habib Bourguiba inaugurated the Hammamet Theatre within the centre, in the heart of its enchanting setting amid the Mediterranean forest embracing the edge of the serene, beautiful shore. On this same day, 60 years ago, the Hammamet International Festival was launched. It has become one of the most distinguished festivals of its kind, presenting refined and unique performances that attract a discerning audience. Great artists from various fields have stood on the stage of this theatre, while audiences have listened to the melodies of the legendary violinist Yehudi Menuhin, the great Theodorakis, composer of the music of “Zorba,” and many others. Before the evening performance, during one of the nights of the Hammamet International Festival, Ms. Amina Srarfi, Tunisia’s Minister of Cultural Affairs, inaugurated an exhibition marking the festival’s 60th anniversary. She was joined by Ms. Hana Chouchani, Governor of Nabeul, as well as a number of artists, media professionals and festival guests. The exhibition offered a tangible embodiment of this year’s festival slogan, “A Living Memory,” by revisiting six decades of the archives of this important and distinctive festival. Its archives have been digitised, displayed and presented in a modern format that pays attention to both the visual and audio dimensions. The exhibition also highlighted the birth of Tunisian television 60 years ago and its connection with the festival. The Golden Voice of Africa Ms. Amina Srarfi, together with a number of African ambassadors and festival guests, attended the concert of the Golden Voice of Africa, the “Nightingale of the Manding,” Salif Keita, the founder of Afropop, inspired by the heritage of the Manding people of Mali. Despite the great fame and profound respect that Salif Keita enjoys within the singing and music community, this was the first time that the writer of these lines had the opportunity to meet the great artist face to face, away from any audio or visual media. I am deeply grateful to the Hammamet International Festival for making this encounter possible for admirers of this remarkable artist. Salif Keita apologised to the audience because he would be singing seated on a chair on stage, accompanied by his magnificent band, after doctors had advised him not to stand or dance on stage as he had done in the past. As Salif Keita entered, assisted by members of the Hammamet Theatre staff and one of his band members, I found myself wondering: Would this ageing artist, now 76 years old and requiring assistance to walk slowly, still be able to deliver a performance that would bring joy and enthusiasm to the audience as he once did, as we had seen him do on screens and through modern media? Did he still possess that golden voice that had so often stirred beautiful emotions across Africa and around the world? But with the very first sound that emerged from Salif Keita’s throat, the audience realised that it was about to witness an exceptional concert—one worthy of the distinguished presence of officials and spectators alike. Salif Keita’s voice carried all the melancholy and emotion embodying the suffering and artistic struggle of a long journey spanning eight decades. During that journey, he endured albinism, a condition involving the absence of pigmentation that made his appearance different from that of the dark-skinned community in which he lived. We can only imagine the hardship endured by a child born with albinism into a dark-skinned society eight decades ago. Added to this was his visual impairment, which prevented him from fulfilling his dream of becoming a respected teacher in Djoliba, Mali. He also suffered the rejection of his family, a distinguished and noble family within Manding society, after he chose to pursue a career in the arts—something that was considered a family disgrace at the time. Yet music, to which he devoted his life, never failed him. Instead, it compensated him for all those years of suffering. Salif Keita moved to Bamako, the capital of Mali, where he took his first major steps with the Rail Band. He soon became renowned for the beauty and power of his voice and for drawing upon the heritage of the Manding people and reshaping it in a contemporary form. He then joined Les Ambassadeurs for nine years, moving with the band to Côte d’Ivoire, where his fame grew throughout West Africa. During this period, he released the album Mandjou, which bore the distinctive characteristics of his Manding heritage and immortalised it. After moving to France in the late 1980s, he released his best-known album, Soro, blending rock and blues and thereby expanding his international reputation. His albums gained wider circulation, and he went on to receive major international music awards, including the Moffou Award and the Différence Award. Music, Humanity and the Defence of People with Albinism Salif Keita’s activities did not stop at music and artistic creativity. He used his fame and stature to champion humanitarian causes, raise awareness of the plight of people with albinism and defend their rights. He established an organisation dedicated to protecting people with albinism and combating discrimination against them, and founded a village to care for them. He also dedicated artistic works to their cause, including the album Folon, whose proceeds were devoted to supporting them. In recognition of these efforts, the African Union appointed him a Peace Ambassador, drawing upon his experience in humanitarian work, conflict resolution, the promotion of a culture of tolerance, and the fight against all forms of racial discrimination. Salif Keita was accompanied by an outstanding band of exceptionally skilled musicians, distinguished not only by their remarkable talent but also by their warmth, humour and engaging stage presence. Keita was keen to introduce the musicians to the audience, who thoroughly enjoyed their individual solo performances. He did the same with two promising female singers who joined him during the concert, winning an enthusiastic response from the audience. Salif Keita was determined to leave the stage of the Hammamet Theatre without assistance. He walked slowly, dancing as much as his health permitted, affirming his love of art and his love of life. In doing so, he offered everyone present a powerful lesson: as long as there is still time left in one’s life, one must continue one’s struggle and perseverance despite all difficulties. He left the stage to the band and the two young singers of the coming generation, contributing—even after his departure from the stage—to a new message: the future is coming, and it is undoubtedly promising; life will continue; and the music and heritage of the Manding people will endure through new generations that will carry the torch, preserve their heritage and share it with the world. That is precisely what the two singers and the band did when they invited the audience to sing and dance with them on the stage of the Hammamet Theatre. Everyone became part of a magnificent tableau whose message was clear: humanity has room for everyone through those universal values—truth, goodness and beauty. PERSECUTION OF OPPOSITION PARTIES: A  RETROGRESSION TO DEMOCRACY IN AFRICA At 3:14 PM on a Thursday in Monrovia, former Liberian President George Weah walked through the gates of Monrovia Central Prison. He was not there as a prisoner. He was there to visit his former Vice President, Jewel Howard-Taylor. That image — a former head of state visiting his former deputy behind bars — would have been unthinkable in Liberia 20 years ago. In 2026, it is becoming a familiar scene across Africa. From Monrovia to Harare to Tunis, opposition leaders are being arrested, charged, and detained. Governments call it “the rule of law.” Oppositions call it “political persecution.” Citizens are left wondering: is African democracy moving forward, or sliding back? The case of Jewel Howard-Taylor, alongside similar developments in Zimbabwe and Tunisia this year, offers a troubling answer. LIBERIA: THE US$317 MILLION COCAINE CASE AND “BOGUS” CHARGES: Jewel Howard-Taylor served as Liberia’s Vice President from January 2018 to January 2024 under George Weah. In 2026 she was placed in pretrial detention in connection with the government’s US$317 million cocaine investigation. Prosecutors charged her with drug trafficking, money laundering, unlicensed importation, sale, distribution, transportation of controlled substances, criminal solicitation, facilitation, and conspiracy. She has denied the allegations.    President Joseph Boakai’s administration insists this is about crime, not politics. In a national address, Boakai said the anti-drug campaign targets criminal conduct, not individuals or political parties. But the politics are impossible to separate. Weah returned to Liberia on September 2, 2026 to a massive welcome. Within 24 hours he went to the prison. He called the charges “bogus” and “unacceptable”, and accused the Boakai administration of “tampering with law” and undermining the rule of law. CDC officials went further. Former Finance Minister Samuel Tweah Jr. told supporters the former VP was “in jail illegally” and called the prosecution “politically motivated”.    The government responded by dismissing rumors that Weah himself would be arrested. Information Minister JerolinmekPiah said there was “no plan to arrest the former President”. Whether the case is solid or not, the effect is clear: Liberia’s main opposition party now feels targeted. When a former VP is jailed yesrs after leaving office, it sends a message to every opposition figure: your immunity ends the day you lose power. ZIMBABWE: PRE-ELECTION ARRESTS AND THE CRIMINALIZATION OF DISSENT Zimbabwe has not had a free and fair election since 2008, but 2026 was supposed to be different. With municipal by-elections scheduled for October, the Citizens Coalition for Change, CCC, tried to hold rallies in Harare, Bulawayo, and Mutare in August. They were blocked. Police cited the Maintenance of Peace and Order Act. When CCC leaders proceeded anyway, 14 were arrested for “disorderly conduct.” Among them was the party’s national spokesperson, who spent 11 days in remand before being granted bail on condition he not “address gatherings.” Then came the court cases. In July 2026, prosecutors charged 3 CCC councilors with “insulting the President” after they criticized inflation and fuel shortages on X. The penalty: up to 1 year in prison.    Government lawyers argue these are ordinary criminal matters. But the timing matters. The arrests began 60 days before voting. Opposition candidates report their bank accounts being “reviewed for compliance” and their venues being cancelled at the last minute. Zimbabwe’s 2013 Constitution guarantees freedom of assembly and political rights. In practice, 2026 looks like 2013 again: the law exists on paper, but its application falls hardest on those who challenge ZANU-PF. The result is retrogression. Voters still go to the polls, but with fewer choices, less information, and more fear. TUNISIA: FROM ARAB SPRING TO TARGETED PROSECUTIONS: Ten years ago Tunisia was the success story of the Arab Spring. In 2026 it is the cautionary tale. Since President Kais Saied expanded his powers in 2021, more than 40 opposition figures have faced prosecution. The wave continued this year.   In February 2026, a court sentenced the leader of the National Salvation Front to 8 years for “conspiracy against state security.” In May, 6 members of the Ennahdha party were detained for “money laundering” after receiving foreign funding for a human rights workshop. Most recently, in August 2026, authorities arrested 2 journalists and a lawyer who were defending opposition activists. The charge: “spreading false news.”    Like in Liberia, the government says this is about security and anti-corruption. Like in Zimbabwe, the opposition says it is about eliminating competition. The difference is scale. Tunisia’s parliament is suspended. Political parties cannot meet without permission. And the electoral commission is appointed by the presidency. That is not a democracy with flaws. That is a democracy being dismantled. LAWFARE, NOT WARFARE: Across these 3 cases, a pattern emerges. Governments are not banning opposition parties outright. That would look too authoritarian. Instead they use “lawfare”: Criminal charges: Drug trafficking in Liberia. Insult laws in Zimbabwe. Conspiracy in Tunisia. Administrative pressure: Freezing accounts, denying permits, “compliance reviews.” Narrative control: Labeling opponents as threats to national security, drugs, or stability.    This is smarter than coups. It keeps elections on the calendar. It keeps donors happy. But it hollows out competition.    When George Weah says the charges are “bogus”, and when CDC says Howard-Taylor is jailed “illegally”, they are not just defending one person. They are defending the idea that losing an election should not mean losing your freedom. WHY THIS MATTERS NOW Africa had 23 elections scheduled for 2025-2026. According to the Mo Ibrahim Foundation, 16 of them will be held in countries where opposition parties report “significant restrictions.” Retrogression has costs: Policy: Without real competition, governments have no incentive to fix inflation, jobs, or corruption. Stability: When people believe voting doesn’t matter, they protest, or they don’t vote at all. Legitimacy: Donors and investors lose confidence when courts look political.    The irony is that the charges are often real. Cocaine did enter Liberia. Inflation is real in Zimbabwe. Security threats exist in Tunisia. But selective enforcement is still persecution. If only opposition figures face the full weight of the law, then the law is a weapon. THE TEST FOR 2026: Democracy is not just voting. It is what happens between elections. It is whether an opposition leader can hold a rally, criticize the president, and go home safely. In Monrovia, a former president visits a former VP in prison. In Harare, councillors go to court for a tweet and in Tunis, lawyers are jailed for defending clients. None of these countries have canceled elections. All of them have made it harder to compete in them. That is retrogression. Not a dramatic collapse, but a slow bending. Like reeds, as we wrote about Eswatini’s Umhlanga this September 2026, Edition of CAJ International Magazine - They bend under pressure, under cameras, under time. The question for Africa in 2026 is: will they break? If citizens, courts, and regional bodies like ECOWAS and the AU do not push back, the answer may be yes. And the next former president visiting a former VP in prison will not be news. It will be normal.