I’m a DJ and producer based in Nairobi, Kenya. I’m also a filmmaker. I’m passionate about African culture and politics. And I make a mean chicken biryani, haha.

To answer the first question—yes. Being in the spotlight has kind of allowed me to advocate for the inclusion of more women in DJing, music production, and different spheres of the music industry in Nairobi. There’s recently been more inclusive training opportunities, more interest, and more safe spaces to nurture talent. There are now femme collectives and events that didn’t exist back when I started Sim Sima in 2020. Sirens, Wana Wake, and the Whine Down are great platforms where women can be themselves and express themselves. Strictly Silk made a comeback recently. They have always championed safe spaces for women and non-male identifying artists to perform.

I think it’s interesting to make that connection with the rates of femicide. While there’s more representation of women in my industry and there’s more women pushing through to claim that space for themselves and for their sisters, the number of femicides in Kenya reached an all-time high in 2024. And these issues are not only gendered; they are also exacerbated by political factors, including poverty, trauma, and the decline of the Kenyan economy. All of these factors make women even more vulnerable to gendered violence, whether it stems from domestic abuse or rejecting a catcall.

Obviously, because of these alarming rates of femicide, many women don’t feel safe or free when they go out. You have to be looking out for one another, otherwise you’re taking the risk of being abused after a party or being attacked in the streets, even in a ridesharing service like Uber or Bolt. With all that said, there’s positive changes in our industry. For example, Strictly Silk makes a point of organizing with Uber drivers so that their attendees get home safe, and there’s a sense of traceability and accountability. But there’s no government support or funding for nightlife organizations like this, and that means they often have to choose between the safety of their audience and generating a profit with their events.

On June 25, which was one of the largest days of demonstration, we had just touched down in the United Kingdom. There was definitely some irony to me finding myself in the land of our former colonial masters on that day—it was like a bad joke. The images I was seeing on my phone looked apocalyptic, and I felt like I was on a different planet than the people around me. It was hard for me to get in the zone and enjoy my performances, especially at Glastonbury Festival, one of the biggest festivals in Europe. 

I felt like I wanted to teleport myself into the streets of the CBD [Nairobi’s central business district]; express my own feelings of rage and frustration. Getting the constant updates brought back memories of being in those same streets for Saba Saba Day demonstrations in previous years, when the mobilizations were so much smaller. I also felt a sense of pride in the Kenyan people rising up and speaking out, so I really wanted to fly back home for this historic moment. Again, the irony was that even as a successful touring DJ, playing one of the biggest festivals and being on my third European tour, I had paid so much for flights and visas that I couldn’t afford to move freely. 

Seeing how people turned out in massive numbers was still super inspiring, so we did what we could and supported from where we were. We shared information online to help people who were on the streets and offered bus fare to people who were stranded in town after the protests. We linked up with the diasporic Kenyan community through Mambo Zuri, and we organized a Saba Saba fundraiser event with them in Dalston, London. We sent the proceeds of the night to a fund for those who were injured and the families of those who were killed by the police during the protests. Even from abroad, it felt good to be in solidarity.

I’m a pan-Africanist, so I try to be as up to date as I can by following a few different activists and online media sources. Social media has made a lot of political information more available and visible, and it’s often created a feeling online of shared struggle, like we’re “one nation,” or like “Africa is a country,” lol. The mass protests of last year; from Nigerians denouncing the cost of living and bad governance, to anti-corruption protests in Uganda, to the Maandamano uprising against the recent tax hike in Kenya [and] even the Sahel region, which has now banded together for self-governance and announced a common passport for its member states; seeing all this makes me feel a spirit of unity and of shared goals with my fellow Africans. At the same time, I feel disgust with the current leaders who are capitalizing on this to further their political agendas. Many of them are pulling political stunts while ignoring the fundamental demands of the movements and ignoring the factors that affect the quality of life of their citizens. Gen-Z risked their lives, they were harassed, abused, intimidated, and abducted. A lot of this has influenced my recent music; I think that’s part of why it remains quite dark. I’ve been feeling very removed from my reality, especially with daily updates on the genocides in Palestine and Sudan.

“Land (Black) First” was produced by me, but the lyrics were written by my friend Sisian, a talented singer-songwriter who also holds these topics close to her heart. I’ve been struggling to make music, so I’ve had to sit with myself as an artist and find the language to articulate what’s important to me. I’m still on that journey, and what’s coming out now is glimpses of topics that I want to delve further into, perhaps when I develop more as a songwriter. I do have releases coming out this year; [they are] speaking on my challenges with visas and travel restrictions, speaking on bad governance and misleadership. A lot of it deals with this idea of a “cute apocalypse.” We’re currently living through multiple highly mediatized natural disasters, genocides, displacement of peoples, and increasing inequality. All of this is in your face, every day, constantly being updated. But as an artist, there’s this disconnected expectation that we should keep entertaining, smiling, and being cute! For example, I have to drop a video tonight to announce my next show, and I feel like an apocalypse is happening. And the expectation is like, “OK, but make it cute.” You know?

There was a time where I was much less aware of politics, and now I feel hyperaware. A lot of my material now is about interrogating myself and these events. I learn a lot every day, and as I get further into my political bag, I’d like to make music that actually forces people to reflect, without making them feel too depressed. I want to inspire people so that they can question their own role in this whole apparatus. 

I’m currently in the pre-launching phase of Pass Pass, an advocacy organization, which is led by African creatives and creatives in the diaspora. The goal of Pass Pass is to challenge unfair travel restrictions for African cultural workers and provide them with information and resources to help them through the lengthy, complex, and expensive visa processes they face. We aim to track the visa requirements imposed on us, but, looking inwards, we also want to track the requirements African countries often impose on each other’s citizens. We want to inform people about the lifting of visa requirements, like Ghana has done this year for all African passport holders, recognizing that freedom of movement brings exchange, collaboration, and mutual benefit. We believe that African communities cannot fully thrive economically or culturally within the artificial borders that were demarcated by colonialists, so we want to encourage intra-African travel as much as we want to facilitate movement beyond the continent.