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I grew up in Nyahururu.
After high school, I left Kenya and spent the next decade between the US and Germany, studying, but also becoming a photographer.

Along the way, I fell in love with analog. Film was coming back to life in the West, and I found myself drawn to its tactility and slowness

But every time I came home, I noticed something, film had never really disappeared, it had simply been abandoned. Studios still held the equipment, the negatives etc but most had shifted to digital. The past was sitting quietly, collecting dust.

In December 2024, I walked into Annexi Studio and asked if they had any analog equipment they were not using that I could buy

Beneath broken cameras, were stacks of negatives and prints. Dirty. Stuck together. Some already fading away.

I knew instantly, I had to try and salvage them.

Over the next year, I cleaned and scanned what I could, and still am. Some tore in the process. Moisture had fused them together over time, and separating them meant damage was inevitable.

The more I thought about it the more I embraced the damage. It was evidence of time. Of neglect. Of survival. fragments of a town I have missed for over a decade.

A question stayed with me throughout;

Do I even have the right to show these?

The original photographers ie copyright owners are unknown.

Annexi studio changed hands over the years, different names, different owners, different photographers behind the lens.

So I had to weigh it: copyright vs collective memory.

And I chose memory.

Because across Kenya, and across the continent, there are thousands of archives like this. Post-independence histories, captured on film, now sitting unseen.
If we don’t recover them, who will?

I’m sharing these images not as an owner, but as a custodian, hoping they spark something larger. We need to see ourselves through our own eyes

Big thanks to @aperturefilmlab @fabriziodalvera @jacinthalasz for scanning help. Thanks to @papercafe.nbo for the opportunity to carry this conversation to a wider audience
All these negatives were recovered from Annexi Studio Nyahururu, fka Mars Studio fka Jishinde Ushinde Studios
#pvmondayhome @photovogue

I grew up in Nyahururu.
After high school, I left Kenya and spent the next decade between the US and Germany, studying, but also becoming a photographer.

Along the way, I fell in love with analog. Film was coming back to life in the West, and I found myself drawn to its tactility and slowness

But every time I came home, I noticed something, film had never really disappeared, it had simply been abandoned. Studios still held the equipment, the negatives etc but most had shifted to digital. The past was sitting quietly, collecting dust.

In December 2024, I walked into Annexi Studio and asked if they had any analog equipment they were not using that I could buy

Beneath broken cameras, were stacks of negatives and prints. Dirty. Stuck together. Some already fading away.

I knew instantly, I had to try and salvage them.

Over the next year, I cleaned and scanned what I could, and still am. Some tore in the process. Moisture had fused them together over time, and separating them meant damage was inevitable.

The more I thought about it the more I embraced the damage. It was evidence of time. Of neglect. Of survival. fragments of a town I have missed for over a decade.

A question stayed with me throughout;

Do I even have the right to show these?

The original photographers ie copyright owners are unknown.

Annexi studio changed hands over the years, different names, different owners, different photographers behind the lens.

So I had to weigh it: copyright vs collective memory.

And I chose memory.

Because across Kenya, and across the continent, there are thousands of archives like this. Post-independence histories, captured on film, now sitting unseen.
If we don’t recover them, who will?

I’m sharing these images not as an owner, but as a custodian, hoping they spark something larger. We need to see ourselves through our own eyes

Big thanks to @aperturefilmlab @fabriziodalvera @jacinthalasz for scanning help. Thanks to @papercafe.nbo for the opportunity to carry this conversation to a wider audience
All these negatives were recovered from Annexi Studio Nyahururu, fka Mars Studio fka Jishinde Ushinde Studios
#pvmondayhome @photovogue

I grew up in Nyahururu.
After high school, I left Kenya and spent the next decade between the US and Germany, studying, but also becoming a photographer.

Along the way, I fell in love with analog. Film was coming back to life in the West, and I found myself drawn to its tactility and slowness

But every time I came home, I noticed something, film had never really disappeared, it had simply been abandoned. Studios still held the equipment, the negatives etc but most had shifted to digital. The past was sitting quietly, collecting dust.

In December 2024, I walked into Annexi Studio and asked if they had any analog equipment they were not using that I could buy

Beneath broken cameras, were stacks of negatives and prints. Dirty. Stuck together. Some already fading away.

I knew instantly, I had to try and salvage them.

Over the next year, I cleaned and scanned what I could, and still am. Some tore in the process. Moisture had fused them together over time, and separating them meant damage was inevitable.

The more I thought about it the more I embraced the damage. It was evidence of time. Of neglect. Of survival. fragments of a town I have missed for over a decade.

A question stayed with me throughout;

Do I even have the right to show these?

The original photographers ie copyright owners are unknown.

Annexi studio changed hands over the years, different names, different owners, different photographers behind the lens.

So I had to weigh it: copyright vs collective memory.

And I chose memory.

Because across Kenya, and across the continent, there are thousands of archives like this. Post-independence histories, captured on film, now sitting unseen.
If we don’t recover them, who will?

I’m sharing these images not as an owner, but as a custodian, hoping they spark something larger. We need to see ourselves through our own eyes

Big thanks to @aperturefilmlab @fabriziodalvera @jacinthalasz for scanning help. Thanks to @papercafe.nbo for the opportunity to carry this conversation to a wider audience
All these negatives were recovered from Annexi Studio Nyahururu, fka Mars Studio fka Jishinde Ushinde Studios
#pvmondayhome @photovogue

I grew up in Nyahururu.
After high school, I left Kenya and spent the next decade between the US and Germany, studying, but also becoming a photographer.

Along the way, I fell in love with analog. Film was coming back to life in the West, and I found myself drawn to its tactility and slowness

But every time I came home, I noticed something, film had never really disappeared, it had simply been abandoned. Studios still held the equipment, the negatives etc but most had shifted to digital. The past was sitting quietly, collecting dust.

In December 2024, I walked into Annexi Studio and asked if they had any analog equipment they were not using that I could buy

Beneath broken cameras, were stacks of negatives and prints. Dirty. Stuck together. Some already fading away.

I knew instantly, I had to try and salvage them.

Over the next year, I cleaned and scanned what I could, and still am. Some tore in the process. Moisture had fused them together over time, and separating them meant damage was inevitable.

The more I thought about it the more I embraced the damage. It was evidence of time. Of neglect. Of survival. fragments of a town I have missed for over a decade.

A question stayed with me throughout;

Do I even have the right to show these?

The original photographers ie copyright owners are unknown.

Annexi studio changed hands over the years, different names, different owners, different photographers behind the lens.

So I had to weigh it: copyright vs collective memory.

And I chose memory.

Because across Kenya, and across the continent, there are thousands of archives like this. Post-independence histories, captured on film, now sitting unseen.
If we don’t recover them, who will?

I’m sharing these images not as an owner, but as a custodian, hoping they spark something larger. We need to see ourselves through our own eyes

Big thanks to @aperturefilmlab @fabriziodalvera @jacinthalasz for scanning help. Thanks to @papercafe.nbo for the opportunity to carry this conversation to a wider audience
All these negatives were recovered from Annexi Studio Nyahururu, fka Mars Studio fka Jishinde Ushinde Studios
#pvmondayhome @photovogue

I grew up in Nyahururu.
After high school, I left Kenya and spent the next decade between the US and Germany, studying, but also becoming a photographer.

Along the way, I fell in love with analog. Film was coming back to life in the West, and I found myself drawn to its tactility and slowness

But every time I came home, I noticed something, film had never really disappeared, it had simply been abandoned. Studios still held the equipment, the negatives etc but most had shifted to digital. The past was sitting quietly, collecting dust.

In December 2024, I walked into Annexi Studio and asked if they had any analog equipment they were not using that I could buy

Beneath broken cameras, were stacks of negatives and prints. Dirty. Stuck together. Some already fading away.

I knew instantly, I had to try and salvage them.

Over the next year, I cleaned and scanned what I could, and still am. Some tore in the process. Moisture had fused them together over time, and separating them meant damage was inevitable.

The more I thought about it the more I embraced the damage. It was evidence of time. Of neglect. Of survival. fragments of a town I have missed for over a decade.

A question stayed with me throughout;

Do I even have the right to show these?

The original photographers ie copyright owners are unknown.

Annexi studio changed hands over the years, different names, different owners, different photographers behind the lens.

So I had to weigh it: copyright vs collective memory.

And I chose memory.

Because across Kenya, and across the continent, there are thousands of archives like this. Post-independence histories, captured on film, now sitting unseen.
If we don’t recover them, who will?

I’m sharing these images not as an owner, but as a custodian, hoping they spark something larger. We need to see ourselves through our own eyes

Big thanks to @aperturefilmlab @fabriziodalvera @jacinthalasz for scanning help. Thanks to @papercafe.nbo for the opportunity to carry this conversation to a wider audience
All these negatives were recovered from Annexi Studio Nyahururu, fka Mars Studio fka Jishinde Ushinde Studios
#pvmondayhome @photovogue

I grew up in Nyahururu.
After high school, I left Kenya and spent the next decade between the US and Germany, studying, but also becoming a photographer.

Along the way, I fell in love with analog. Film was coming back to life in the West, and I found myself drawn to its tactility and slowness

But every time I came home, I noticed something, film had never really disappeared, it had simply been abandoned. Studios still held the equipment, the negatives etc but most had shifted to digital. The past was sitting quietly, collecting dust.

In December 2024, I walked into Annexi Studio and asked if they had any analog equipment they were not using that I could buy

Beneath broken cameras, were stacks of negatives and prints. Dirty. Stuck together. Some already fading away.

I knew instantly, I had to try and salvage them.

Over the next year, I cleaned and scanned what I could, and still am. Some tore in the process. Moisture had fused them together over time, and separating them meant damage was inevitable.

The more I thought about it the more I embraced the damage. It was evidence of time. Of neglect. Of survival. fragments of a town I have missed for over a decade.

A question stayed with me throughout;

Do I even have the right to show these?

The original photographers ie copyright owners are unknown.

Annexi studio changed hands over the years, different names, different owners, different photographers behind the lens.

So I had to weigh it: copyright vs collective memory.

And I chose memory.

Because across Kenya, and across the continent, there are thousands of archives like this. Post-independence histories, captured on film, now sitting unseen.
If we don’t recover them, who will?

I’m sharing these images not as an owner, but as a custodian, hoping they spark something larger. We need to see ourselves through our own eyes

Big thanks to @aperturefilmlab @fabriziodalvera @jacinthalasz for scanning help. Thanks to @papercafe.nbo for the opportunity to carry this conversation to a wider audience
All these negatives were recovered from Annexi Studio Nyahururu, fka Mars Studio fka Jishinde Ushinde Studios
#pvmondayhome @photovogue

I grew up in Nyahururu.
After high school, I left Kenya and spent the next decade between the US and Germany, studying, but also becoming a photographer.

Along the way, I fell in love with analog. Film was coming back to life in the West, and I found myself drawn to its tactility and slowness

But every time I came home, I noticed something, film had never really disappeared, it had simply been abandoned. Studios still held the equipment, the negatives etc but most had shifted to digital. The past was sitting quietly, collecting dust.

In December 2024, I walked into Annexi Studio and asked if they had any analog equipment they were not using that I could buy

Beneath broken cameras, were stacks of negatives and prints. Dirty. Stuck together. Some already fading away.

I knew instantly, I had to try and salvage them.

Over the next year, I cleaned and scanned what I could, and still am. Some tore in the process. Moisture had fused them together over time, and separating them meant damage was inevitable.

The more I thought about it the more I embraced the damage. It was evidence of time. Of neglect. Of survival. fragments of a town I have missed for over a decade.

A question stayed with me throughout;

Do I even have the right to show these?

The original photographers ie copyright owners are unknown.

Annexi studio changed hands over the years, different names, different owners, different photographers behind the lens.

So I had to weigh it: copyright vs collective memory.

And I chose memory.

Because across Kenya, and across the continent, there are thousands of archives like this. Post-independence histories, captured on film, now sitting unseen.
If we don’t recover them, who will?

I’m sharing these images not as an owner, but as a custodian, hoping they spark something larger. We need to see ourselves through our own eyes

Big thanks to @aperturefilmlab @fabriziodalvera @jacinthalasz for scanning help. Thanks to @papercafe.nbo for the opportunity to carry this conversation to a wider audience
All these negatives were recovered from Annexi Studio Nyahururu, fka Mars Studio fka Jishinde Ushinde Studios
#pvmondayhome @photovogue

I grew up in Nyahururu.
After high school, I left Kenya and spent the next decade between the US and Germany, studying, but also becoming a photographer.

Along the way, I fell in love with analog. Film was coming back to life in the West, and I found myself drawn to its tactility and slowness

But every time I came home, I noticed something, film had never really disappeared, it had simply been abandoned. Studios still held the equipment, the negatives etc but most had shifted to digital. The past was sitting quietly, collecting dust.

In December 2024, I walked into Annexi Studio and asked if they had any analog equipment they were not using that I could buy

Beneath broken cameras, were stacks of negatives and prints. Dirty. Stuck together. Some already fading away.

I knew instantly, I had to try and salvage them.

Over the next year, I cleaned and scanned what I could, and still am. Some tore in the process. Moisture had fused them together over time, and separating them meant damage was inevitable.

The more I thought about it the more I embraced the damage. It was evidence of time. Of neglect. Of survival. fragments of a town I have missed for over a decade.

A question stayed with me throughout;

Do I even have the right to show these?

The original photographers ie copyright owners are unknown.

Annexi studio changed hands over the years, different names, different owners, different photographers behind the lens.

So I had to weigh it: copyright vs collective memory.

And I chose memory.

Because across Kenya, and across the continent, there are thousands of archives like this. Post-independence histories, captured on film, now sitting unseen.
If we don’t recover them, who will?

I’m sharing these images not as an owner, but as a custodian, hoping they spark something larger. We need to see ourselves through our own eyes

Big thanks to @aperturefilmlab @fabriziodalvera @jacinthalasz for scanning help. Thanks to @papercafe.nbo for the opportunity to carry this conversation to a wider audience
All these negatives were recovered from Annexi Studio Nyahururu, fka Mars Studio fka Jishinde Ushinde Studios
#pvmondayhome @photovogue

I grew up in Nyahururu.
After high school, I left Kenya and spent the next decade between the US and Germany, studying, but also becoming a photographer.

Along the way, I fell in love with analog. Film was coming back to life in the West, and I found myself drawn to its tactility and slowness

But every time I came home, I noticed something, film had never really disappeared, it had simply been abandoned. Studios still held the equipment, the negatives etc but most had shifted to digital. The past was sitting quietly, collecting dust.

In December 2024, I walked into Annexi Studio and asked if they had any analog equipment they were not using that I could buy

Beneath broken cameras, were stacks of negatives and prints. Dirty. Stuck together. Some already fading away.

I knew instantly, I had to try and salvage them.

Over the next year, I cleaned and scanned what I could, and still am. Some tore in the process. Moisture had fused them together over time, and separating them meant damage was inevitable.

The more I thought about it the more I embraced the damage. It was evidence of time. Of neglect. Of survival. fragments of a town I have missed for over a decade.

A question stayed with me throughout;

Do I even have the right to show these?

The original photographers ie copyright owners are unknown.

Annexi studio changed hands over the years, different names, different owners, different photographers behind the lens.

So I had to weigh it: copyright vs collective memory.

And I chose memory.

Because across Kenya, and across the continent, there are thousands of archives like this. Post-independence histories, captured on film, now sitting unseen.
If we don’t recover them, who will?

I’m sharing these images not as an owner, but as a custodian, hoping they spark something larger. We need to see ourselves through our own eyes

Big thanks to @aperturefilmlab @fabriziodalvera @jacinthalasz for scanning help. Thanks to @papercafe.nbo for the opportunity to carry this conversation to a wider audience
All these negatives were recovered from Annexi Studio Nyahururu, fka Mars Studio fka Jishinde Ushinde Studios
#pvmondayhome @photovogue

I grew up in Nyahururu.
After high school, I left Kenya and spent the next decade between the US and Germany, studying, but also becoming a photographer.

Along the way, I fell in love with analog. Film was coming back to life in the West, and I found myself drawn to its tactility and slowness

But every time I came home, I noticed something, film had never really disappeared, it had simply been abandoned. Studios still held the equipment, the negatives etc but most had shifted to digital. The past was sitting quietly, collecting dust.

In December 2024, I walked into Annexi Studio and asked if they had any analog equipment they were not using that I could buy

Beneath broken cameras, were stacks of negatives and prints. Dirty. Stuck together. Some already fading away.

I knew instantly, I had to try and salvage them.

Over the next year, I cleaned and scanned what I could, and still am. Some tore in the process. Moisture had fused them together over time, and separating them meant damage was inevitable.

The more I thought about it the more I embraced the damage. It was evidence of time. Of neglect. Of survival. fragments of a town I have missed for over a decade.

A question stayed with me throughout;

Do I even have the right to show these?

The original photographers ie copyright owners are unknown.

Annexi studio changed hands over the years, different names, different owners, different photographers behind the lens.

So I had to weigh it: copyright vs collective memory.

And I chose memory.

Because across Kenya, and across the continent, there are thousands of archives like this. Post-independence histories, captured on film, now sitting unseen.
If we don’t recover them, who will?

I’m sharing these images not as an owner, but as a custodian, hoping they spark something larger. We need to see ourselves through our own eyes

Big thanks to @aperturefilmlab @fabriziodalvera @jacinthalasz for scanning help. Thanks to @papercafe.nbo for the opportunity to carry this conversation to a wider audience
All these negatives were recovered from Annexi Studio Nyahururu, fka Mars Studio fka Jishinde Ushinde Studios
#pvmondayhome @photovogue

I grew up in Nyahururu.
After high school, I left Kenya and spent the next decade between the US and Germany, studying, but also becoming a photographer.

Along the way, I fell in love with analog. Film was coming back to life in the West, and I found myself drawn to its tactility and slowness

But every time I came home, I noticed something, film had never really disappeared, it had simply been abandoned. Studios still held the equipment, the negatives etc but most had shifted to digital. The past was sitting quietly, collecting dust.

In December 2024, I walked into Annexi Studio and asked if they had any analog equipment they were not using that I could buy

Beneath broken cameras, were stacks of negatives and prints. Dirty. Stuck together. Some already fading away.

I knew instantly, I had to try and salvage them.

Over the next year, I cleaned and scanned what I could, and still am. Some tore in the process. Moisture had fused them together over time, and separating them meant damage was inevitable.

The more I thought about it the more I embraced the damage. It was evidence of time. Of neglect. Of survival. fragments of a town I have missed for over a decade.

A question stayed with me throughout;

Do I even have the right to show these?

The original photographers ie copyright owners are unknown.

Annexi studio changed hands over the years, different names, different owners, different photographers behind the lens.

So I had to weigh it: copyright vs collective memory.

And I chose memory.

Because across Kenya, and across the continent, there are thousands of archives like this. Post-independence histories, captured on film, now sitting unseen.
If we don’t recover them, who will?

I’m sharing these images not as an owner, but as a custodian, hoping they spark something larger. We need to see ourselves through our own eyes

Big thanks to @aperturefilmlab @fabriziodalvera @jacinthalasz for scanning help. Thanks to @papercafe.nbo for the opportunity to carry this conversation to a wider audience
All these negatives were recovered from Annexi Studio Nyahururu, fka Mars Studio fka Jishinde Ushinde Studios
#pvmondayhome @photovogue

I grew up in Nyahururu.
After high school, I left Kenya and spent the next decade between the US and Germany, studying, but also becoming a photographer.

Along the way, I fell in love with analog. Film was coming back to life in the West, and I found myself drawn to its tactility and slowness

But every time I came home, I noticed something, film had never really disappeared, it had simply been abandoned. Studios still held the equipment, the negatives etc but most had shifted to digital. The past was sitting quietly, collecting dust.

In December 2024, I walked into Annexi Studio and asked if they had any analog equipment they were not using that I could buy

Beneath broken cameras, were stacks of negatives and prints. Dirty. Stuck together. Some already fading away.

I knew instantly, I had to try and salvage them.

Over the next year, I cleaned and scanned what I could, and still am. Some tore in the process. Moisture had fused them together over time, and separating them meant damage was inevitable.

The more I thought about it the more I embraced the damage. It was evidence of time. Of neglect. Of survival. fragments of a town I have missed for over a decade.

A question stayed with me throughout;

Do I even have the right to show these?

The original photographers ie copyright owners are unknown.

Annexi studio changed hands over the years, different names, different owners, different photographers behind the lens.

So I had to weigh it: copyright vs collective memory.

And I chose memory.

Because across Kenya, and across the continent, there are thousands of archives like this. Post-independence histories, captured on film, now sitting unseen.
If we don’t recover them, who will?

I’m sharing these images not as an owner, but as a custodian, hoping they spark something larger. We need to see ourselves through our own eyes

Big thanks to @aperturefilmlab @fabriziodalvera @jacinthalasz for scanning help. Thanks to @papercafe.nbo for the opportunity to carry this conversation to a wider audience
All these negatives were recovered from Annexi Studio Nyahururu, fka Mars Studio fka Jishinde Ushinde Studios
#pvmondayhome @photovogue

I grew up in Nyahururu.
After high school, I left Kenya and spent the next decade between the US and Germany, studying, but also becoming a photographer.

Along the way, I fell in love with analog. Film was coming back to life in the West, and I found myself drawn to its tactility and slowness

But every time I came home, I noticed something, film had never really disappeared, it had simply been abandoned. Studios still held the equipment, the negatives etc but most had shifted to digital. The past was sitting quietly, collecting dust.

In December 2024, I walked into Annexi Studio and asked if they had any analog equipment they were not using that I could buy

Beneath broken cameras, were stacks of negatives and prints. Dirty. Stuck together. Some already fading away.

I knew instantly, I had to try and salvage them.

Over the next year, I cleaned and scanned what I could, and still am. Some tore in the process. Moisture had fused them together over time, and separating them meant damage was inevitable.

The more I thought about it the more I embraced the damage. It was evidence of time. Of neglect. Of survival. fragments of a town I have missed for over a decade.

A question stayed with me throughout;

Do I even have the right to show these?

The original photographers ie copyright owners are unknown.

Annexi studio changed hands over the years, different names, different owners, different photographers behind the lens.

So I had to weigh it: copyright vs collective memory.

And I chose memory.

Because across Kenya, and across the continent, there are thousands of archives like this. Post-independence histories, captured on film, now sitting unseen.
If we don’t recover them, who will?

I’m sharing these images not as an owner, but as a custodian, hoping they spark something larger. We need to see ourselves through our own eyes

Big thanks to @aperturefilmlab @fabriziodalvera @jacinthalasz for scanning help. Thanks to @papercafe.nbo for the opportunity to carry this conversation to a wider audience
All these negatives were recovered from Annexi Studio Nyahururu, fka Mars Studio fka Jishinde Ushinde Studios
#pvmondayhome @photovogue

I grew up in Nyahururu.
After high school, I left Kenya and spent the next decade between the US and Germany, studying, but also becoming a photographer.

Along the way, I fell in love with analog. Film was coming back to life in the West, and I found myself drawn to its tactility and slowness

But every time I came home, I noticed something, film had never really disappeared, it had simply been abandoned. Studios still held the equipment, the negatives etc but most had shifted to digital. The past was sitting quietly, collecting dust.

In December 2024, I walked into Annexi Studio and asked if they had any analog equipment they were not using that I could buy

Beneath broken cameras, were stacks of negatives and prints. Dirty. Stuck together. Some already fading away.

I knew instantly, I had to try and salvage them.

Over the next year, I cleaned and scanned what I could, and still am. Some tore in the process. Moisture had fused them together over time, and separating them meant damage was inevitable.

The more I thought about it the more I embraced the damage. It was evidence of time. Of neglect. Of survival. fragments of a town I have missed for over a decade.

A question stayed with me throughout;

Do I even have the right to show these?

The original photographers ie copyright owners are unknown.

Annexi studio changed hands over the years, different names, different owners, different photographers behind the lens.

So I had to weigh it: copyright vs collective memory.

And I chose memory.

Because across Kenya, and across the continent, there are thousands of archives like this. Post-independence histories, captured on film, now sitting unseen.
If we don’t recover them, who will?

I’m sharing these images not as an owner, but as a custodian, hoping they spark something larger. We need to see ourselves through our own eyes

Big thanks to @aperturefilmlab @fabriziodalvera @jacinthalasz for scanning help. Thanks to @papercafe.nbo for the opportunity to carry this conversation to a wider audience
All these negatives were recovered from Annexi Studio Nyahururu, fka Mars Studio fka Jishinde Ushinde Studios
#pvmondayhome @photovogue

I grew up in Nyahururu.
After high school, I left Kenya and spent the next decade between the US and Germany, studying, but also becoming a photographer.

Along the way, I fell in love with analog. Film was coming back to life in the West, and I found myself drawn to its tactility and slowness

But every time I came home, I noticed something, film had never really disappeared, it had simply been abandoned. Studios still held the equipment, the negatives etc but most had shifted to digital. The past was sitting quietly, collecting dust.

In December 2024, I walked into Annexi Studio and asked if they had any analog equipment they were not using that I could buy

Beneath broken cameras, were stacks of negatives and prints. Dirty. Stuck together. Some already fading away.

I knew instantly, I had to try and salvage them.

Over the next year, I cleaned and scanned what I could, and still am. Some tore in the process. Moisture had fused them together over time, and separating them meant damage was inevitable.

The more I thought about it the more I embraced the damage. It was evidence of time. Of neglect. Of survival. fragments of a town I have missed for over a decade.

A question stayed with me throughout;

Do I even have the right to show these?

The original photographers ie copyright owners are unknown.

Annexi studio changed hands over the years, different names, different owners, different photographers behind the lens.

So I had to weigh it: copyright vs collective memory.

And I chose memory.

Because across Kenya, and across the continent, there are thousands of archives like this. Post-independence histories, captured on film, now sitting unseen.
If we don’t recover them, who will?

I’m sharing these images not as an owner, but as a custodian, hoping they spark something larger. We need to see ourselves through our own eyes

Big thanks to @aperturefilmlab @fabriziodalvera @jacinthalasz for scanning help. Thanks to @papercafe.nbo for the opportunity to carry this conversation to a wider audience
All these negatives were recovered from Annexi Studio Nyahururu, fka Mars Studio fka Jishinde Ushinde Studios
#pvmondayhome @photovogue

I grew up in Nyahururu.
After high school, I left Kenya and spent the next decade between the US and Germany, studying, but also becoming a photographer.

Along the way, I fell in love with analog. Film was coming back to life in the West, and I found myself drawn to its tactility and slowness

But every time I came home, I noticed something, film had never really disappeared, it had simply been abandoned. Studios still held the equipment, the negatives etc but most had shifted to digital. The past was sitting quietly, collecting dust.

In December 2024, I walked into Annexi Studio and asked if they had any analog equipment they were not using that I could buy

Beneath broken cameras, were stacks of negatives and prints. Dirty. Stuck together. Some already fading away.

I knew instantly, I had to try and salvage them.

Over the next year, I cleaned and scanned what I could, and still am. Some tore in the process. Moisture had fused them together over time, and separating them meant damage was inevitable.

The more I thought about it the more I embraced the damage. It was evidence of time. Of neglect. Of survival. fragments of a town I have missed for over a decade.

A question stayed with me throughout;

Do I even have the right to show these?

The original photographers ie copyright owners are unknown.

Annexi studio changed hands over the years, different names, different owners, different photographers behind the lens.

So I had to weigh it: copyright vs collective memory.

And I chose memory.

Because across Kenya, and across the continent, there are thousands of archives like this. Post-independence histories, captured on film, now sitting unseen.
If we don’t recover them, who will?

I’m sharing these images not as an owner, but as a custodian, hoping they spark something larger. We need to see ourselves through our own eyes

Big thanks to @aperturefilmlab @fabriziodalvera @jacinthalasz for scanning help. Thanks to @papercafe.nbo for the opportunity to carry this conversation to a wider audience
All these negatives were recovered from Annexi Studio Nyahururu, fka Mars Studio fka Jishinde Ushinde Studios
#pvmondayhome @photovogue

I grew up in Nyahururu.
After high school, I left Kenya and spent the next decade between the US and Germany, studying, but also becoming a photographer.

Along the way, I fell in love with analog. Film was coming back to life in the West, and I found myself drawn to its tactility and slowness

But every time I came home, I noticed something, film had never really disappeared, it had simply been abandoned. Studios still held the equipment, the negatives etc but most had shifted to digital. The past was sitting quietly, collecting dust.

In December 2024, I walked into Annexi Studio and asked if they had any analog equipment they were not using that I could buy

Beneath broken cameras, were stacks of negatives and prints. Dirty. Stuck together. Some already fading away.

I knew instantly, I had to try and salvage them.

Over the next year, I cleaned and scanned what I could, and still am. Some tore in the process. Moisture had fused them together over time, and separating them meant damage was inevitable.

The more I thought about it the more I embraced the damage. It was evidence of time. Of neglect. Of survival. fragments of a town I have missed for over a decade.

A question stayed with me throughout;

Do I even have the right to show these?

The original photographers ie copyright owners are unknown.

Annexi studio changed hands over the years, different names, different owners, different photographers behind the lens.

So I had to weigh it: copyright vs collective memory.

And I chose memory.

Because across Kenya, and across the continent, there are thousands of archives like this. Post-independence histories, captured on film, now sitting unseen.
If we don’t recover them, who will?

I’m sharing these images not as an owner, but as a custodian, hoping they spark something larger. We need to see ourselves through our own eyes

Big thanks to @aperturefilmlab @fabriziodalvera @jacinthalasz for scanning help. Thanks to @papercafe.nbo for the opportunity to carry this conversation to a wider audience
All these negatives were recovered from Annexi Studio Nyahururu, fka Mars Studio fka Jishinde Ushinde Studios
#pvmondayhome @photovogue

I grew up in Nyahururu.
After high school, I left Kenya and spent the next decade between the US and Germany, studying, but also becoming a photographer.

Along the way, I fell in love with analog. Film was coming back to life in the West, and I found myself drawn to its tactility and slowness

But every time I came home, I noticed something, film had never really disappeared, it had simply been abandoned. Studios still held the equipment, the negatives etc but most had shifted to digital. The past was sitting quietly, collecting dust.

In December 2024, I walked into Annexi Studio and asked if they had any analog equipment they were not using that I could buy

Beneath broken cameras, were stacks of negatives and prints. Dirty. Stuck together. Some already fading away.

I knew instantly, I had to try and salvage them.

Over the next year, I cleaned and scanned what I could, and still am. Some tore in the process. Moisture had fused them together over time, and separating them meant damage was inevitable.

The more I thought about it the more I embraced the damage. It was evidence of time. Of neglect. Of survival. fragments of a town I have missed for over a decade.

A question stayed with me throughout;

Do I even have the right to show these?

The original photographers ie copyright owners are unknown.

Annexi studio changed hands over the years, different names, different owners, different photographers behind the lens.

So I had to weigh it: copyright vs collective memory.

And I chose memory.

Because across Kenya, and across the continent, there are thousands of archives like this. Post-independence histories, captured on film, now sitting unseen.
If we don’t recover them, who will?

I’m sharing these images not as an owner, but as a custodian, hoping they spark something larger. We need to see ourselves through our own eyes

Big thanks to @aperturefilmlab @fabriziodalvera @jacinthalasz for scanning help. Thanks to @papercafe.nbo for the opportunity to carry this conversation to a wider audience
All these negatives were recovered from Annexi Studio Nyahururu, fka Mars Studio fka Jishinde Ushinde Studios
#pvmondayhome @photovogue

I grew up in Nyahururu.
After high school, I left Kenya and spent the next decade between the US and Germany, studying, but also becoming a photographer.

Along the way, I fell in love with analog. Film was coming back to life in the West, and I found myself drawn to its tactility and slowness

But every time I came home, I noticed something, film had never really disappeared, it had simply been abandoned. Studios still held the equipment, the negatives etc but most had shifted to digital. The past was sitting quietly, collecting dust.

In December 2024, I walked into Annexi Studio and asked if they had any analog equipment they were not using that I could buy

Beneath broken cameras, were stacks of negatives and prints. Dirty. Stuck together. Some already fading away.

I knew instantly, I had to try and salvage them.

Over the next year, I cleaned and scanned what I could, and still am. Some tore in the process. Moisture had fused them together over time, and separating them meant damage was inevitable.

The more I thought about it the more I embraced the damage. It was evidence of time. Of neglect. Of survival. fragments of a town I have missed for over a decade.

A question stayed with me throughout;

Do I even have the right to show these?

The original photographers ie copyright owners are unknown.

Annexi studio changed hands over the years, different names, different owners, different photographers behind the lens.

So I had to weigh it: copyright vs collective memory.

And I chose memory.

Because across Kenya, and across the continent, there are thousands of archives like this. Post-independence histories, captured on film, now sitting unseen.
If we don’t recover them, who will?

I’m sharing these images not as an owner, but as a custodian, hoping they spark something larger. We need to see ourselves through our own eyes

Big thanks to @aperturefilmlab @fabriziodalvera @jacinthalasz for scanning help. Thanks to @papercafe.nbo for the opportunity to carry this conversation to a wider audience
All these negatives were recovered from Annexi Studio Nyahururu, fka Mars Studio fka Jishinde Ushinde Studios
#pvmondayhome @photovogue

I grew up in Nyahururu.
After high school, I left Kenya and spent the next decade between the US and Germany, studying, but also becoming a photographer.

Along the way, I fell in love with analog. Film was coming back to life in the West, and I found myself drawn to its tactility and slowness

But every time I came home, I noticed something, film had never really disappeared, it had simply been abandoned. Studios still held the equipment, the negatives etc but most had shifted to digital. The past was sitting quietly, collecting dust.

In December 2024, I walked into Annexi Studio and asked if they had any analog equipment they were not using that I could buy

Beneath broken cameras, were stacks of negatives and prints. Dirty. Stuck together. Some already fading away.

I knew instantly, I had to try and salvage them.

Over the next year, I cleaned and scanned what I could, and still am. Some tore in the process. Moisture had fused them together over time, and separating them meant damage was inevitable.

The more I thought about it the more I embraced the damage. It was evidence of time. Of neglect. Of survival. fragments of a town I have missed for over a decade.

A question stayed with me throughout;

Do I even have the right to show these?

The original photographers ie copyright owners are unknown.

Annexi studio changed hands over the years, different names, different owners, different photographers behind the lens.

So I had to weigh it: copyright vs collective memory.

And I chose memory.

Because across Kenya, and across the continent, there are thousands of archives like this. Post-independence histories, captured on film, now sitting unseen.
If we don’t recover them, who will?

I’m sharing these images not as an owner, but as a custodian, hoping they spark something larger. We need to see ourselves through our own eyes

Big thanks to @aperturefilmlab @fabriziodalvera @jacinthalasz for scanning help. Thanks to @papercafe.nbo for the opportunity to carry this conversation to a wider audience
All these negatives were recovered from Annexi Studio Nyahururu, fka Mars Studio fka Jishinde Ushinde Studios
#pvmondayhome @photovogue

Tides that (un)Bind began in 2019 while I was living in the US and has been going on for years afterwards
It’s a personal exploration of identity, geography, and the ocean as an agent of separation and connection.

Leaving Kenya in my late teens inevitably set me on a path of self discovery. In the U.S., I saw how place shapes identity, how it shifts, stretches, and resists definition. Encounters with Africans and diasporic Africans revealed the fragile yet enduring ties to the continent—woven into names, foods, traditions etc. For the first time, I realized how privileged I was to have grown up with a direct connection to my heritage and home, a connection not everyone shares.
This series traces the routes of the Atlantic slave trade, capturing the shared history between Africa and its diaspora. Shot in New York and Accra, on opposite sides of the Atlantic, Tides that (un)Bind creates visual connections by capturing similar motifs along the west coast of Africa and the east coast of North America. In Accra, subjects face the ocean, while in New York, they face inland, reflecting the direction of their ancestors journey. These visual portals, taken over the course of years, explore enduring ties across time and distance.

Now in Germany, I see how Blackness moves across borders, how it transforms yet carries echoes of where it’s been. Tides that (un)Bind is not about defining Africanness or Blackness, but tracing its fluidity—across continents, across histories and across time. It’s an open-ended conversation, always unfolding.

One day, I hope to follow these tides further—to South America, to the Caribbean and other places where echoes of displacement from the motherland still shape the present.

Prints from this series are live. Visit the link in my bio to bring a piece of this journey into your space 💫🖤

Gratitude to @kwekuokatakyie @manigazer @jade_cayne @lyza_bean @ofe.amponsah 🖤🙏🏾

@delphiangallery
#delphianopencall2025
#nownessweekly
#blackhistoryeveryday

Tides that (un)Bind began in 2019 while I was living in the US and has been going on for years afterwards
It’s a personal exploration of identity, geography, and the ocean as an agent of separation and connection.

Leaving Kenya in my late teens inevitably set me on a path of self discovery. In the U.S., I saw how place shapes identity, how it shifts, stretches, and resists definition. Encounters with Africans and diasporic Africans revealed the fragile yet enduring ties to the continent—woven into names, foods, traditions etc. For the first time, I realized how privileged I was to have grown up with a direct connection to my heritage and home, a connection not everyone shares.
This series traces the routes of the Atlantic slave trade, capturing the shared history between Africa and its diaspora. Shot in New York and Accra, on opposite sides of the Atlantic, Tides that (un)Bind creates visual connections by capturing similar motifs along the west coast of Africa and the east coast of North America. In Accra, subjects face the ocean, while in New York, they face inland, reflecting the direction of their ancestors journey. These visual portals, taken over the course of years, explore enduring ties across time and distance.

Now in Germany, I see how Blackness moves across borders, how it transforms yet carries echoes of where it’s been. Tides that (un)Bind is not about defining Africanness or Blackness, but tracing its fluidity—across continents, across histories and across time. It’s an open-ended conversation, always unfolding.

One day, I hope to follow these tides further—to South America, to the Caribbean and other places where echoes of displacement from the motherland still shape the present.

Prints from this series are live. Visit the link in my bio to bring a piece of this journey into your space 💫🖤

Gratitude to @kwekuokatakyie @manigazer @jade_cayne @lyza_bean @ofe.amponsah 🖤🙏🏾

@delphiangallery
#delphianopencall2025
#nownessweekly
#blackhistoryeveryday

Tides that (un)Bind began in 2019 while I was living in the US and has been going on for years afterwards
It’s a personal exploration of identity, geography, and the ocean as an agent of separation and connection.

Leaving Kenya in my late teens inevitably set me on a path of self discovery. In the U.S., I saw how place shapes identity, how it shifts, stretches, and resists definition. Encounters with Africans and diasporic Africans revealed the fragile yet enduring ties to the continent—woven into names, foods, traditions etc. For the first time, I realized how privileged I was to have grown up with a direct connection to my heritage and home, a connection not everyone shares.
This series traces the routes of the Atlantic slave trade, capturing the shared history between Africa and its diaspora. Shot in New York and Accra, on opposite sides of the Atlantic, Tides that (un)Bind creates visual connections by capturing similar motifs along the west coast of Africa and the east coast of North America. In Accra, subjects face the ocean, while in New York, they face inland, reflecting the direction of their ancestors journey. These visual portals, taken over the course of years, explore enduring ties across time and distance.

Now in Germany, I see how Blackness moves across borders, how it transforms yet carries echoes of where it’s been. Tides that (un)Bind is not about defining Africanness or Blackness, but tracing its fluidity—across continents, across histories and across time. It’s an open-ended conversation, always unfolding.

One day, I hope to follow these tides further—to South America, to the Caribbean and other places where echoes of displacement from the motherland still shape the present.

Prints from this series are live. Visit the link in my bio to bring a piece of this journey into your space 💫🖤

Gratitude to @kwekuokatakyie @manigazer @jade_cayne @lyza_bean @ofe.amponsah 🖤🙏🏾

@delphiangallery
#delphianopencall2025
#nownessweekly
#blackhistoryeveryday

Tides that (un)Bind began in 2019 while I was living in the US and has been going on for years afterwards
It’s a personal exploration of identity, geography, and the ocean as an agent of separation and connection.

Leaving Kenya in my late teens inevitably set me on a path of self discovery. In the U.S., I saw how place shapes identity, how it shifts, stretches, and resists definition. Encounters with Africans and diasporic Africans revealed the fragile yet enduring ties to the continent—woven into names, foods, traditions etc. For the first time, I realized how privileged I was to have grown up with a direct connection to my heritage and home, a connection not everyone shares.
This series traces the routes of the Atlantic slave trade, capturing the shared history between Africa and its diaspora. Shot in New York and Accra, on opposite sides of the Atlantic, Tides that (un)Bind creates visual connections by capturing similar motifs along the west coast of Africa and the east coast of North America. In Accra, subjects face the ocean, while in New York, they face inland, reflecting the direction of their ancestors journey. These visual portals, taken over the course of years, explore enduring ties across time and distance.

Now in Germany, I see how Blackness moves across borders, how it transforms yet carries echoes of where it’s been. Tides that (un)Bind is not about defining Africanness or Blackness, but tracing its fluidity—across continents, across histories and across time. It’s an open-ended conversation, always unfolding.

One day, I hope to follow these tides further—to South America, to the Caribbean and other places where echoes of displacement from the motherland still shape the present.

Prints from this series are live. Visit the link in my bio to bring a piece of this journey into your space 💫🖤

Gratitude to @kwekuokatakyie @manigazer @jade_cayne @lyza_bean @ofe.amponsah 🖤🙏🏾

@delphiangallery
#delphianopencall2025
#nownessweekly
#blackhistoryeveryday

Tides that (un)Bind began in 2019 while I was living in the US and has been going on for years afterwards
It’s a personal exploration of identity, geography, and the ocean as an agent of separation and connection.

Leaving Kenya in my late teens inevitably set me on a path of self discovery. In the U.S., I saw how place shapes identity, how it shifts, stretches, and resists definition. Encounters with Africans and diasporic Africans revealed the fragile yet enduring ties to the continent—woven into names, foods, traditions etc. For the first time, I realized how privileged I was to have grown up with a direct connection to my heritage and home, a connection not everyone shares.
This series traces the routes of the Atlantic slave trade, capturing the shared history between Africa and its diaspora. Shot in New York and Accra, on opposite sides of the Atlantic, Tides that (un)Bind creates visual connections by capturing similar motifs along the west coast of Africa and the east coast of North America. In Accra, subjects face the ocean, while in New York, they face inland, reflecting the direction of their ancestors journey. These visual portals, taken over the course of years, explore enduring ties across time and distance.

Now in Germany, I see how Blackness moves across borders, how it transforms yet carries echoes of where it’s been. Tides that (un)Bind is not about defining Africanness or Blackness, but tracing its fluidity—across continents, across histories and across time. It’s an open-ended conversation, always unfolding.

One day, I hope to follow these tides further—to South America, to the Caribbean and other places where echoes of displacement from the motherland still shape the present.

Prints from this series are live. Visit the link in my bio to bring a piece of this journey into your space 💫🖤

Gratitude to @kwekuokatakyie @manigazer @jade_cayne @lyza_bean @ofe.amponsah 🖤🙏🏾

@delphiangallery
#delphianopencall2025
#nownessweekly
#blackhistoryeveryday

Tides that (un)Bind began in 2019 while I was living in the US and has been going on for years afterwards
It’s a personal exploration of identity, geography, and the ocean as an agent of separation and connection.

Leaving Kenya in my late teens inevitably set me on a path of self discovery. In the U.S., I saw how place shapes identity, how it shifts, stretches, and resists definition. Encounters with Africans and diasporic Africans revealed the fragile yet enduring ties to the continent—woven into names, foods, traditions etc. For the first time, I realized how privileged I was to have grown up with a direct connection to my heritage and home, a connection not everyone shares.
This series traces the routes of the Atlantic slave trade, capturing the shared history between Africa and its diaspora. Shot in New York and Accra, on opposite sides of the Atlantic, Tides that (un)Bind creates visual connections by capturing similar motifs along the west coast of Africa and the east coast of North America. In Accra, subjects face the ocean, while in New York, they face inland, reflecting the direction of their ancestors journey. These visual portals, taken over the course of years, explore enduring ties across time and distance.

Now in Germany, I see how Blackness moves across borders, how it transforms yet carries echoes of where it’s been. Tides that (un)Bind is not about defining Africanness or Blackness, but tracing its fluidity—across continents, across histories and across time. It’s an open-ended conversation, always unfolding.

One day, I hope to follow these tides further—to South America, to the Caribbean and other places where echoes of displacement from the motherland still shape the present.

Prints from this series are live. Visit the link in my bio to bring a piece of this journey into your space 💫🖤

Gratitude to @kwekuokatakyie @manigazer @jade_cayne @lyza_bean @ofe.amponsah 🖤🙏🏾

@delphiangallery
#delphianopencall2025
#nownessweekly
#blackhistoryeveryday

Tides that (un)Bind began in 2019 while I was living in the US and has been going on for years afterwards
It’s a personal exploration of identity, geography, and the ocean as an agent of separation and connection.

Leaving Kenya in my late teens inevitably set me on a path of self discovery. In the U.S., I saw how place shapes identity, how it shifts, stretches, and resists definition. Encounters with Africans and diasporic Africans revealed the fragile yet enduring ties to the continent—woven into names, foods, traditions etc. For the first time, I realized how privileged I was to have grown up with a direct connection to my heritage and home, a connection not everyone shares.
This series traces the routes of the Atlantic slave trade, capturing the shared history between Africa and its diaspora. Shot in New York and Accra, on opposite sides of the Atlantic, Tides that (un)Bind creates visual connections by capturing similar motifs along the west coast of Africa and the east coast of North America. In Accra, subjects face the ocean, while in New York, they face inland, reflecting the direction of their ancestors journey. These visual portals, taken over the course of years, explore enduring ties across time and distance.

Now in Germany, I see how Blackness moves across borders, how it transforms yet carries echoes of where it’s been. Tides that (un)Bind is not about defining Africanness or Blackness, but tracing its fluidity—across continents, across histories and across time. It’s an open-ended conversation, always unfolding.

One day, I hope to follow these tides further—to South America, to the Caribbean and other places where echoes of displacement from the motherland still shape the present.

Prints from this series are live. Visit the link in my bio to bring a piece of this journey into your space 💫🖤

Gratitude to @kwekuokatakyie @manigazer @jade_cayne @lyza_bean @ofe.amponsah 🖤🙏🏾

@delphiangallery
#delphianopencall2025
#nownessweekly
#blackhistoryeveryday

Tides that (un)Bind began in 2019 while I was living in the US and has been going on for years afterwards
It’s a personal exploration of identity, geography, and the ocean as an agent of separation and connection.

Leaving Kenya in my late teens inevitably set me on a path of self discovery. In the U.S., I saw how place shapes identity, how it shifts, stretches, and resists definition. Encounters with Africans and diasporic Africans revealed the fragile yet enduring ties to the continent—woven into names, foods, traditions etc. For the first time, I realized how privileged I was to have grown up with a direct connection to my heritage and home, a connection not everyone shares.
This series traces the routes of the Atlantic slave trade, capturing the shared history between Africa and its diaspora. Shot in New York and Accra, on opposite sides of the Atlantic, Tides that (un)Bind creates visual connections by capturing similar motifs along the west coast of Africa and the east coast of North America. In Accra, subjects face the ocean, while in New York, they face inland, reflecting the direction of their ancestors journey. These visual portals, taken over the course of years, explore enduring ties across time and distance.

Now in Germany, I see how Blackness moves across borders, how it transforms yet carries echoes of where it’s been. Tides that (un)Bind is not about defining Africanness or Blackness, but tracing its fluidity—across continents, across histories and across time. It’s an open-ended conversation, always unfolding.

One day, I hope to follow these tides further—to South America, to the Caribbean and other places where echoes of displacement from the motherland still shape the present.

Prints from this series are live. Visit the link in my bio to bring a piece of this journey into your space 💫🖤

Gratitude to @kwekuokatakyie @manigazer @jade_cayne @lyza_bean @ofe.amponsah 🖤🙏🏾

@delphiangallery
#delphianopencall2025
#nownessweekly
#blackhistoryeveryday

Tides that (un)Bind began in 2019 while I was living in the US and has been going on for years afterwards
It’s a personal exploration of identity, geography, and the ocean as an agent of separation and connection.

Leaving Kenya in my late teens inevitably set me on a path of self discovery. In the U.S., I saw how place shapes identity, how it shifts, stretches, and resists definition. Encounters with Africans and diasporic Africans revealed the fragile yet enduring ties to the continent—woven into names, foods, traditions etc. For the first time, I realized how privileged I was to have grown up with a direct connection to my heritage and home, a connection not everyone shares.
This series traces the routes of the Atlantic slave trade, capturing the shared history between Africa and its diaspora. Shot in New York and Accra, on opposite sides of the Atlantic, Tides that (un)Bind creates visual connections by capturing similar motifs along the west coast of Africa and the east coast of North America. In Accra, subjects face the ocean, while in New York, they face inland, reflecting the direction of their ancestors journey. These visual portals, taken over the course of years, explore enduring ties across time and distance.

Now in Germany, I see how Blackness moves across borders, how it transforms yet carries echoes of where it’s been. Tides that (un)Bind is not about defining Africanness or Blackness, but tracing its fluidity—across continents, across histories and across time. It’s an open-ended conversation, always unfolding.

One day, I hope to follow these tides further—to South America, to the Caribbean and other places where echoes of displacement from the motherland still shape the present.

Prints from this series are live. Visit the link in my bio to bring a piece of this journey into your space 💫🖤

Gratitude to @kwekuokatakyie @manigazer @jade_cayne @lyza_bean @ofe.amponsah 🖤🙏🏾

@delphiangallery
#delphianopencall2025
#nownessweekly
#blackhistoryeveryday

Tides that (un)Bind began in 2019 while I was living in the US and has been going on for years afterwards
It’s a personal exploration of identity, geography, and the ocean as an agent of separation and connection.

Leaving Kenya in my late teens inevitably set me on a path of self discovery. In the U.S., I saw how place shapes identity, how it shifts, stretches, and resists definition. Encounters with Africans and diasporic Africans revealed the fragile yet enduring ties to the continent—woven into names, foods, traditions etc. For the first time, I realized how privileged I was to have grown up with a direct connection to my heritage and home, a connection not everyone shares.
This series traces the routes of the Atlantic slave trade, capturing the shared history between Africa and its diaspora. Shot in New York and Accra, on opposite sides of the Atlantic, Tides that (un)Bind creates visual connections by capturing similar motifs along the west coast of Africa and the east coast of North America. In Accra, subjects face the ocean, while in New York, they face inland, reflecting the direction of their ancestors journey. These visual portals, taken over the course of years, explore enduring ties across time and distance.

Now in Germany, I see how Blackness moves across borders, how it transforms yet carries echoes of where it’s been. Tides that (un)Bind is not about defining Africanness or Blackness, but tracing its fluidity—across continents, across histories and across time. It’s an open-ended conversation, always unfolding.

One day, I hope to follow these tides further—to South America, to the Caribbean and other places where echoes of displacement from the motherland still shape the present.

Prints from this series are live. Visit the link in my bio to bring a piece of this journey into your space 💫🖤

Gratitude to @kwekuokatakyie @manigazer @jade_cayne @lyza_bean @ofe.amponsah 🖤🙏🏾

@delphiangallery
#delphianopencall2025
#nownessweekly
#blackhistoryeveryday

Tides that (un)Bind began in 2019 while I was living in the US and has been going on for years afterwards
It’s a personal exploration of identity, geography, and the ocean as an agent of separation and connection.

Leaving Kenya in my late teens inevitably set me on a path of self discovery. In the U.S., I saw how place shapes identity, how it shifts, stretches, and resists definition. Encounters with Africans and diasporic Africans revealed the fragile yet enduring ties to the continent—woven into names, foods, traditions etc. For the first time, I realized how privileged I was to have grown up with a direct connection to my heritage and home, a connection not everyone shares.
This series traces the routes of the Atlantic slave trade, capturing the shared history between Africa and its diaspora. Shot in New York and Accra, on opposite sides of the Atlantic, Tides that (un)Bind creates visual connections by capturing similar motifs along the west coast of Africa and the east coast of North America. In Accra, subjects face the ocean, while in New York, they face inland, reflecting the direction of their ancestors journey. These visual portals, taken over the course of years, explore enduring ties across time and distance.

Now in Germany, I see how Blackness moves across borders, how it transforms yet carries echoes of where it’s been. Tides that (un)Bind is not about defining Africanness or Blackness, but tracing its fluidity—across continents, across histories and across time. It’s an open-ended conversation, always unfolding.

One day, I hope to follow these tides further—to South America, to the Caribbean and other places where echoes of displacement from the motherland still shape the present.

Prints from this series are live. Visit the link in my bio to bring a piece of this journey into your space 💫🖤

Gratitude to @kwekuokatakyie @manigazer @jade_cayne @lyza_bean @ofe.amponsah 🖤🙏🏾

@delphiangallery
#delphianopencall2025
#nownessweekly
#blackhistoryeveryday

Tides that (un)Bind began in 2019 while I was living in the US and has been going on for years afterwards
It’s a personal exploration of identity, geography, and the ocean as an agent of separation and connection.

Leaving Kenya in my late teens inevitably set me on a path of self discovery. In the U.S., I saw how place shapes identity, how it shifts, stretches, and resists definition. Encounters with Africans and diasporic Africans revealed the fragile yet enduring ties to the continent—woven into names, foods, traditions etc. For the first time, I realized how privileged I was to have grown up with a direct connection to my heritage and home, a connection not everyone shares.
This series traces the routes of the Atlantic slave trade, capturing the shared history between Africa and its diaspora. Shot in New York and Accra, on opposite sides of the Atlantic, Tides that (un)Bind creates visual connections by capturing similar motifs along the west coast of Africa and the east coast of North America. In Accra, subjects face the ocean, while in New York, they face inland, reflecting the direction of their ancestors journey. These visual portals, taken over the course of years, explore enduring ties across time and distance.

Now in Germany, I see how Blackness moves across borders, how it transforms yet carries echoes of where it’s been. Tides that (un)Bind is not about defining Africanness or Blackness, but tracing its fluidity—across continents, across histories and across time. It’s an open-ended conversation, always unfolding.

One day, I hope to follow these tides further—to South America, to the Caribbean and other places where echoes of displacement from the motherland still shape the present.

Prints from this series are live. Visit the link in my bio to bring a piece of this journey into your space 💫🖤

Gratitude to @kwekuokatakyie @manigazer @jade_cayne @lyza_bean @ofe.amponsah 🖤🙏🏾

@delphiangallery
#delphianopencall2025
#nownessweekly
#blackhistoryeveryday

Tides that (un)Bind began in 2019 while I was living in the US and has been going on for years afterwards
It’s a personal exploration of identity, geography, and the ocean as an agent of separation and connection.

Leaving Kenya in my late teens inevitably set me on a path of self discovery. In the U.S., I saw how place shapes identity, how it shifts, stretches, and resists definition. Encounters with Africans and diasporic Africans revealed the fragile yet enduring ties to the continent—woven into names, foods, traditions etc. For the first time, I realized how privileged I was to have grown up with a direct connection to my heritage and home, a connection not everyone shares.
This series traces the routes of the Atlantic slave trade, capturing the shared history between Africa and its diaspora. Shot in New York and Accra, on opposite sides of the Atlantic, Tides that (un)Bind creates visual connections by capturing similar motifs along the west coast of Africa and the east coast of North America. In Accra, subjects face the ocean, while in New York, they face inland, reflecting the direction of their ancestors journey. These visual portals, taken over the course of years, explore enduring ties across time and distance.

Now in Germany, I see how Blackness moves across borders, how it transforms yet carries echoes of where it’s been. Tides that (un)Bind is not about defining Africanness or Blackness, but tracing its fluidity—across continents, across histories and across time. It’s an open-ended conversation, always unfolding.

One day, I hope to follow these tides further—to South America, to the Caribbean and other places where echoes of displacement from the motherland still shape the present.

Prints from this series are live. Visit the link in my bio to bring a piece of this journey into your space 💫🖤

Gratitude to @kwekuokatakyie @manigazer @jade_cayne @lyza_bean @ofe.amponsah 🖤🙏🏾

@delphiangallery
#delphianopencall2025
#nownessweekly
#blackhistoryeveryday

Tides that (un)Bind began in 2019 while I was living in the US and has been going on for years afterwards
It’s a personal exploration of identity, geography, and the ocean as an agent of separation and connection.

Leaving Kenya in my late teens inevitably set me on a path of self discovery. In the U.S., I saw how place shapes identity, how it shifts, stretches, and resists definition. Encounters with Africans and diasporic Africans revealed the fragile yet enduring ties to the continent—woven into names, foods, traditions etc. For the first time, I realized how privileged I was to have grown up with a direct connection to my heritage and home, a connection not everyone shares.
This series traces the routes of the Atlantic slave trade, capturing the shared history between Africa and its diaspora. Shot in New York and Accra, on opposite sides of the Atlantic, Tides that (un)Bind creates visual connections by capturing similar motifs along the west coast of Africa and the east coast of North America. In Accra, subjects face the ocean, while in New York, they face inland, reflecting the direction of their ancestors journey. These visual portals, taken over the course of years, explore enduring ties across time and distance.

Now in Germany, I see how Blackness moves across borders, how it transforms yet carries echoes of where it’s been. Tides that (un)Bind is not about defining Africanness or Blackness, but tracing its fluidity—across continents, across histories and across time. It’s an open-ended conversation, always unfolding.

One day, I hope to follow these tides further—to South America, to the Caribbean and other places where echoes of displacement from the motherland still shape the present.

Prints from this series are live. Visit the link in my bio to bring a piece of this journey into your space 💫🖤

Gratitude to @kwekuokatakyie @manigazer @jade_cayne @lyza_bean @ofe.amponsah 🖤🙏🏾

@delphiangallery
#delphianopencall2025
#nownessweekly
#blackhistoryeveryday

Tides that (un)Bind began in 2019 while I was living in the US and has been going on for years afterwards
It’s a personal exploration of identity, geography, and the ocean as an agent of separation and connection.

Leaving Kenya in my late teens inevitably set me on a path of self discovery. In the U.S., I saw how place shapes identity, how it shifts, stretches, and resists definition. Encounters with Africans and diasporic Africans revealed the fragile yet enduring ties to the continent—woven into names, foods, traditions etc. For the first time, I realized how privileged I was to have grown up with a direct connection to my heritage and home, a connection not everyone shares.
This series traces the routes of the Atlantic slave trade, capturing the shared history between Africa and its diaspora. Shot in New York and Accra, on opposite sides of the Atlantic, Tides that (un)Bind creates visual connections by capturing similar motifs along the west coast of Africa and the east coast of North America. In Accra, subjects face the ocean, while in New York, they face inland, reflecting the direction of their ancestors journey. These visual portals, taken over the course of years, explore enduring ties across time and distance.

Now in Germany, I see how Blackness moves across borders, how it transforms yet carries echoes of where it’s been. Tides that (un)Bind is not about defining Africanness or Blackness, but tracing its fluidity—across continents, across histories and across time. It’s an open-ended conversation, always unfolding.

One day, I hope to follow these tides further—to South America, to the Caribbean and other places where echoes of displacement from the motherland still shape the present.

Prints from this series are live. Visit the link in my bio to bring a piece of this journey into your space 💫🖤

Gratitude to @kwekuokatakyie @manigazer @jade_cayne @lyza_bean @ofe.amponsah 🖤🙏🏾

@delphiangallery
#delphianopencall2025
#nownessweekly
#blackhistoryeveryday

Tides that (un)Bind began in 2019 while I was living in the US and has been going on for years afterwards
It’s a personal exploration of identity, geography, and the ocean as an agent of separation and connection.

Leaving Kenya in my late teens inevitably set me on a path of self discovery. In the U.S., I saw how place shapes identity, how it shifts, stretches, and resists definition. Encounters with Africans and diasporic Africans revealed the fragile yet enduring ties to the continent—woven into names, foods, traditions etc. For the first time, I realized how privileged I was to have grown up with a direct connection to my heritage and home, a connection not everyone shares.
This series traces the routes of the Atlantic slave trade, capturing the shared history between Africa and its diaspora. Shot in New York and Accra, on opposite sides of the Atlantic, Tides that (un)Bind creates visual connections by capturing similar motifs along the west coast of Africa and the east coast of North America. In Accra, subjects face the ocean, while in New York, they face inland, reflecting the direction of their ancestors journey. These visual portals, taken over the course of years, explore enduring ties across time and distance.

Now in Germany, I see how Blackness moves across borders, how it transforms yet carries echoes of where it’s been. Tides that (un)Bind is not about defining Africanness or Blackness, but tracing its fluidity—across continents, across histories and across time. It’s an open-ended conversation, always unfolding.

One day, I hope to follow these tides further—to South America, to the Caribbean and other places where echoes of displacement from the motherland still shape the present.

Prints from this series are live. Visit the link in my bio to bring a piece of this journey into your space 💫🖤

Gratitude to @kwekuokatakyie @manigazer @jade_cayne @lyza_bean @ofe.amponsah 🖤🙏🏾

@delphiangallery
#delphianopencall2025
#nownessweekly
#blackhistoryeveryday

Tides that (un)Bind began in 2019 while I was living in the US and has been going on for years afterwards
It’s a personal exploration of identity, geography, and the ocean as an agent of separation and connection.

Leaving Kenya in my late teens inevitably set me on a path of self discovery. In the U.S., I saw how place shapes identity, how it shifts, stretches, and resists definition. Encounters with Africans and diasporic Africans revealed the fragile yet enduring ties to the continent—woven into names, foods, traditions etc. For the first time, I realized how privileged I was to have grown up with a direct connection to my heritage and home, a connection not everyone shares.
This series traces the routes of the Atlantic slave trade, capturing the shared history between Africa and its diaspora. Shot in New York and Accra, on opposite sides of the Atlantic, Tides that (un)Bind creates visual connections by capturing similar motifs along the west coast of Africa and the east coast of North America. In Accra, subjects face the ocean, while in New York, they face inland, reflecting the direction of their ancestors journey. These visual portals, taken over the course of years, explore enduring ties across time and distance.

Now in Germany, I see how Blackness moves across borders, how it transforms yet carries echoes of where it’s been. Tides that (un)Bind is not about defining Africanness or Blackness, but tracing its fluidity—across continents, across histories and across time. It’s an open-ended conversation, always unfolding.

One day, I hope to follow these tides further—to South America, to the Caribbean and other places where echoes of displacement from the motherland still shape the present.

Prints from this series are live. Visit the link in my bio to bring a piece of this journey into your space 💫🖤

Gratitude to @kwekuokatakyie @manigazer @jade_cayne @lyza_bean @ofe.amponsah 🖤🙏🏾

@delphiangallery
#delphianopencall2025
#nownessweekly
#blackhistoryeveryday

Proud to have my work “Home is Far Away” commissioned by @artichoketrust for The Gallery Season 3 in response to the theme “No, but where are you really from?”

Along with the works of 10 other artists, this piece is on display on billboards and digital screens across the UK throughout September.
If you see it when you’re out and about send me a pic

Curated by @bakulpatki

Proud to have my work “Home is Far Away” commissioned by @artichoketrust for The Gallery Season 3 in response to the theme “No, but where are you really from?”

Along with the works of 10 other artists, this piece is on display on billboards and digital screens across the UK throughout September.
If you see it when you’re out and about send me a pic

Curated by @bakulpatki

Proud to have my work “Home is Far Away” commissioned by @artichoketrust for The Gallery Season 3 in response to the theme “No, but where are you really from?”

Along with the works of 10 other artists, this piece is on display on billboards and digital screens across the UK throughout September.
If you see it when you’re out and about send me a pic

Curated by @bakulpatki

Proud to have my work “Home is Far Away” commissioned by @artichoketrust for The Gallery Season 3 in response to the theme “No, but where are you really from?”

Along with the works of 10 other artists, this piece is on display on billboards and digital screens across the UK throughout September.
If you see it when you’re out and about send me a pic

Curated by @bakulpatki

Proud to have my work “Home is Far Away” commissioned by @artichoketrust for The Gallery Season 3 in response to the theme “No, but where are you really from?”

Along with the works of 10 other artists, this piece is on display on billboards and digital screens across the UK throughout September.
If you see it when you’re out and about send me a pic

Curated by @bakulpatki

Proud to have my work “Home is Far Away” commissioned by @artichoketrust for The Gallery Season 3 in response to the theme “No, but where are you really from?”

Along with the works of 10 other artists, this piece is on display on billboards and digital screens across the UK throughout September.
If you see it when you’re out and about send me a pic

Curated by @bakulpatki

Boda boda as witness

These photographs, mostly of other motorbikes were taken while on the back of moving motorbikes, camera in hand

The boda boda becomes more than transport, it becomes a witness of everyday life, different people on different missions

One of the things I miss the most about being home in Kenya

Boda boda as witness

These photographs, mostly of other motorbikes were taken while on the back of moving motorbikes, camera in hand

The boda boda becomes more than transport, it becomes a witness of everyday life, different people on different missions

One of the things I miss the most about being home in Kenya

Boda boda as witness

These photographs, mostly of other motorbikes were taken while on the back of moving motorbikes, camera in hand

The boda boda becomes more than transport, it becomes a witness of everyday life, different people on different missions

One of the things I miss the most about being home in Kenya

Boda boda as witness

These photographs, mostly of other motorbikes were taken while on the back of moving motorbikes, camera in hand

The boda boda becomes more than transport, it becomes a witness of everyday life, different people on different missions

One of the things I miss the most about being home in Kenya

Boda boda as witness

These photographs, mostly of other motorbikes were taken while on the back of moving motorbikes, camera in hand

The boda boda becomes more than transport, it becomes a witness of everyday life, different people on different missions

One of the things I miss the most about being home in Kenya

Boda boda as witness

These photographs, mostly of other motorbikes were taken while on the back of moving motorbikes, camera in hand

The boda boda becomes more than transport, it becomes a witness of everyday life, different people on different missions

One of the things I miss the most about being home in Kenya

Boda boda as witness

These photographs, mostly of other motorbikes were taken while on the back of moving motorbikes, camera in hand

The boda boda becomes more than transport, it becomes a witness of everyday life, different people on different missions

One of the things I miss the most about being home in Kenya

Boda boda as witness

These photographs, mostly of other motorbikes were taken while on the back of moving motorbikes, camera in hand

The boda boda becomes more than transport, it becomes a witness of everyday life, different people on different missions

One of the things I miss the most about being home in Kenya

Boda boda as witness

These photographs, mostly of other motorbikes were taken while on the back of moving motorbikes, camera in hand

The boda boda becomes more than transport, it becomes a witness of everyday life, different people on different missions

One of the things I miss the most about being home in Kenya

Boda boda as witness

These photographs, mostly of other motorbikes were taken while on the back of moving motorbikes, camera in hand

The boda boda becomes more than transport, it becomes a witness of everyday life, different people on different missions

One of the things I miss the most about being home in Kenya

Boda boda as witness

These photographs, mostly of other motorbikes were taken while on the back of moving motorbikes, camera in hand

The boda boda becomes more than transport, it becomes a witness of everyday life, different people on different missions

One of the things I miss the most about being home in Kenya

Boda boda as witness

These photographs, mostly of other motorbikes were taken while on the back of moving motorbikes, camera in hand

The boda boda becomes more than transport, it becomes a witness of everyday life, different people on different missions

One of the things I miss the most about being home in Kenya

Boda boda as witness

These photographs, mostly of other motorbikes were taken while on the back of moving motorbikes, camera in hand

The boda boda becomes more than transport, it becomes a witness of everyday life, different people on different missions

One of the things I miss the most about being home in Kenya

Boda boda as witness

These photographs, mostly of other motorbikes were taken while on the back of moving motorbikes, camera in hand

The boda boda becomes more than transport, it becomes a witness of everyday life, different people on different missions

One of the things I miss the most about being home in Kenya

Boda boda as witness

These photographs, mostly of other motorbikes were taken while on the back of moving motorbikes, camera in hand

The boda boda becomes more than transport, it becomes a witness of everyday life, different people on different missions

One of the things I miss the most about being home in Kenya

Boda boda as witness

These photographs, mostly of other motorbikes were taken while on the back of moving motorbikes, camera in hand

The boda boda becomes more than transport, it becomes a witness of everyday life, different people on different missions

One of the things I miss the most about being home in Kenya

Some photos I took @iamisigo SS26 “Dual Mandate Collection”

Creative director: @bubuogisi
DoP: @tetisulu
Photography/ additional cinematography: @shutterdust
Styling: @odiiyo
Casts: @son_adior @acholyukwan
Casting: @mashariki_models

Some photos I took @iamisigo SS26 “Dual Mandate Collection”

Creative director: @bubuogisi
DoP: @tetisulu
Photography/ additional cinematography: @shutterdust
Styling: @odiiyo
Casts: @son_adior @acholyukwan
Casting: @mashariki_models

Some photos I took @iamisigo SS26 “Dual Mandate Collection”

Creative director: @bubuogisi
DoP: @tetisulu
Photography/ additional cinematography: @shutterdust
Styling: @odiiyo
Casts: @son_adior @acholyukwan
Casting: @mashariki_models

Some photos I took @iamisigo SS26 “Dual Mandate Collection”

Creative director: @bubuogisi
DoP: @tetisulu
Photography/ additional cinematography: @shutterdust
Styling: @odiiyo
Casts: @son_adior @acholyukwan
Casting: @mashariki_models

Some photos I took @iamisigo SS26 “Dual Mandate Collection”

Creative director: @bubuogisi
DoP: @tetisulu
Photography/ additional cinematography: @shutterdust
Styling: @odiiyo
Casts: @son_adior @acholyukwan
Casting: @mashariki_models

Some photos I took @iamisigo SS26 “Dual Mandate Collection”

Creative director: @bubuogisi
DoP: @tetisulu
Photography/ additional cinematography: @shutterdust
Styling: @odiiyo
Casts: @son_adior @acholyukwan
Casting: @mashariki_models

Some photos I took @iamisigo SS26 “Dual Mandate Collection”

Creative director: @bubuogisi
DoP: @tetisulu
Photography/ additional cinematography: @shutterdust
Styling: @odiiyo
Casts: @son_adior @acholyukwan
Casting: @mashariki_models

Some photos I took @iamisigo SS26 “Dual Mandate Collection”

Creative director: @bubuogisi
DoP: @tetisulu
Photography/ additional cinematography: @shutterdust
Styling: @odiiyo
Casts: @son_adior @acholyukwan
Casting: @mashariki_models

Some photos I took @iamisigo SS26 “Dual Mandate Collection”

Creative director: @bubuogisi
DoP: @tetisulu
Photography/ additional cinematography: @shutterdust
Styling: @odiiyo
Casts: @son_adior @acholyukwan
Casting: @mashariki_models

Some photos I took @iamisigo SS26 “Dual Mandate Collection”

Creative director: @bubuogisi
DoP: @tetisulu
Photography/ additional cinematography: @shutterdust
Styling: @odiiyo
Casts: @son_adior @acholyukwan
Casting: @mashariki_models

Recent water

Recent water

Recent water

Recent water

Recent water

Recent water

Recent water

Recent water

Shake a leg, it’s Mist Saturdays! Seasoned selektas @shi_djs , @ngatmaler and @djallyfresh are ready to take you on a deep dive into all-things-house music; all accompanied by visuals from @yesterjoys chief @shutterdust ✨

Let the rhythm, percussion and bass guide your movements 🪩

Tickets in bio - DM for discount code if you or your people need them.

See you there!

Poster by @sikhupi

Before sound becomes music, it begins with hands, tools, and intention.

the Instrument Makers Lab @kilelesummit captured this raw, DIY energy

You had instruments like this drum built from used skateboards @disastrid @karugu666 @bazil.muzik

others like the pararira by @not_really_adam made from matatu horns.

Each piece felt like a direct reflection of its environment from the skate culture on the mall rooftop to Nairobi’s vibrant street life.

As a visual analog artist, I’m drawn to process; to the tactility of making, the feeling of hands shaping something real. That’s exactly what I witnessed there. Hands carving, assembling, tuning. Sound being built from the ground up.

While thinking about how to document this, I kept coming back to one idea: process should document process.

So I chose cyanotype.

Being in Nairobi, it felt right. Cyanotype relies on the sun’s UV rays and here, the sun is abundant, constant, generous. It became a collaborator in the work.

After spending time observing the instruments and how they were made, I began collecting small elements from the space
tools, fragments, materials. I placed them directly onto cyanotype paper, letting the sun do its thing.

What came out of it are these prints, traces of making, impressions of a moment where craft, culture, geography and process all came together.

Track on 1st slide by @kiminaofficial
Hi8 footage by @mwamba.vision

Before sound becomes music, it begins with hands, tools, and intention.

the Instrument Makers Lab @kilelesummit captured this raw, DIY energy

You had instruments like this drum built from used skateboards @disastrid @karugu666 @bazil.muzik

others like the pararira by @not_really_adam made from matatu horns.

Each piece felt like a direct reflection of its environment from the skate culture on the mall rooftop to Nairobi’s vibrant street life.

As a visual analog artist, I’m drawn to process; to the tactility of making, the feeling of hands shaping something real. That’s exactly what I witnessed there. Hands carving, assembling, tuning. Sound being built from the ground up.

While thinking about how to document this, I kept coming back to one idea: process should document process.

So I chose cyanotype.

Being in Nairobi, it felt right. Cyanotype relies on the sun’s UV rays and here, the sun is abundant, constant, generous. It became a collaborator in the work.

After spending time observing the instruments and how they were made, I began collecting small elements from the space
tools, fragments, materials. I placed them directly onto cyanotype paper, letting the sun do its thing.

What came out of it are these prints, traces of making, impressions of a moment where craft, culture, geography and process all came together.

Track on 1st slide by @kiminaofficial
Hi8 footage by @mwamba.vision

Before sound becomes music, it begins with hands, tools, and intention.

the Instrument Makers Lab @kilelesummit captured this raw, DIY energy

You had instruments like this drum built from used skateboards @disastrid @karugu666 @bazil.muzik

others like the pararira by @not_really_adam made from matatu horns.

Each piece felt like a direct reflection of its environment from the skate culture on the mall rooftop to Nairobi’s vibrant street life.

As a visual analog artist, I’m drawn to process; to the tactility of making, the feeling of hands shaping something real. That’s exactly what I witnessed there. Hands carving, assembling, tuning. Sound being built from the ground up.

While thinking about how to document this, I kept coming back to one idea: process should document process.

So I chose cyanotype.

Being in Nairobi, it felt right. Cyanotype relies on the sun’s UV rays and here, the sun is abundant, constant, generous. It became a collaborator in the work.

After spending time observing the instruments and how they were made, I began collecting small elements from the space
tools, fragments, materials. I placed them directly onto cyanotype paper, letting the sun do its thing.

What came out of it are these prints, traces of making, impressions of a moment where craft, culture, geography and process all came together.

Track on 1st slide by @kiminaofficial
Hi8 footage by @mwamba.vision

Before sound becomes music, it begins with hands, tools, and intention.

the Instrument Makers Lab @kilelesummit captured this raw, DIY energy

You had instruments like this drum built from used skateboards @disastrid @karugu666 @bazil.muzik

others like the pararira by @not_really_adam made from matatu horns.

Each piece felt like a direct reflection of its environment from the skate culture on the mall rooftop to Nairobi’s vibrant street life.

As a visual analog artist, I’m drawn to process; to the tactility of making, the feeling of hands shaping something real. That’s exactly what I witnessed there. Hands carving, assembling, tuning. Sound being built from the ground up.

While thinking about how to document this, I kept coming back to one idea: process should document process.

So I chose cyanotype.

Being in Nairobi, it felt right. Cyanotype relies on the sun’s UV rays and here, the sun is abundant, constant, generous. It became a collaborator in the work.

After spending time observing the instruments and how they were made, I began collecting small elements from the space
tools, fragments, materials. I placed them directly onto cyanotype paper, letting the sun do its thing.

What came out of it are these prints, traces of making, impressions of a moment where craft, culture, geography and process all came together.

Track on 1st slide by @kiminaofficial
Hi8 footage by @mwamba.vision

Before sound becomes music, it begins with hands, tools, and intention.

the Instrument Makers Lab @kilelesummit captured this raw, DIY energy

You had instruments like this drum built from used skateboards @disastrid @karugu666 @bazil.muzik

others like the pararira by @not_really_adam made from matatu horns.

Each piece felt like a direct reflection of its environment from the skate culture on the mall rooftop to Nairobi’s vibrant street life.

As a visual analog artist, I’m drawn to process; to the tactility of making, the feeling of hands shaping something real. That’s exactly what I witnessed there. Hands carving, assembling, tuning. Sound being built from the ground up.

While thinking about how to document this, I kept coming back to one idea: process should document process.

So I chose cyanotype.

Being in Nairobi, it felt right. Cyanotype relies on the sun’s UV rays and here, the sun is abundant, constant, generous. It became a collaborator in the work.

After spending time observing the instruments and how they were made, I began collecting small elements from the space
tools, fragments, materials. I placed them directly onto cyanotype paper, letting the sun do its thing.

What came out of it are these prints, traces of making, impressions of a moment where craft, culture, geography and process all came together.

Track on 1st slide by @kiminaofficial
Hi8 footage by @mwamba.vision

Before sound becomes music, it begins with hands, tools, and intention.

the Instrument Makers Lab @kilelesummit captured this raw, DIY energy

You had instruments like this drum built from used skateboards @disastrid @karugu666 @bazil.muzik

others like the pararira by @not_really_adam made from matatu horns.

Each piece felt like a direct reflection of its environment from the skate culture on the mall rooftop to Nairobi’s vibrant street life.

As a visual analog artist, I’m drawn to process; to the tactility of making, the feeling of hands shaping something real. That’s exactly what I witnessed there. Hands carving, assembling, tuning. Sound being built from the ground up.

While thinking about how to document this, I kept coming back to one idea: process should document process.

So I chose cyanotype.

Being in Nairobi, it felt right. Cyanotype relies on the sun’s UV rays and here, the sun is abundant, constant, generous. It became a collaborator in the work.

After spending time observing the instruments and how they were made, I began collecting small elements from the space
tools, fragments, materials. I placed them directly onto cyanotype paper, letting the sun do its thing.

What came out of it are these prints, traces of making, impressions of a moment where craft, culture, geography and process all came together.

Track on 1st slide by @kiminaofficial
Hi8 footage by @mwamba.vision

Before sound becomes music, it begins with hands, tools, and intention.

the Instrument Makers Lab @kilelesummit captured this raw, DIY energy

You had instruments like this drum built from used skateboards @disastrid @karugu666 @bazil.muzik

others like the pararira by @not_really_adam made from matatu horns.

Each piece felt like a direct reflection of its environment from the skate culture on the mall rooftop to Nairobi’s vibrant street life.

As a visual analog artist, I’m drawn to process; to the tactility of making, the feeling of hands shaping something real. That’s exactly what I witnessed there. Hands carving, assembling, tuning. Sound being built from the ground up.

While thinking about how to document this, I kept coming back to one idea: process should document process.

So I chose cyanotype.

Being in Nairobi, it felt right. Cyanotype relies on the sun’s UV rays and here, the sun is abundant, constant, generous. It became a collaborator in the work.

After spending time observing the instruments and how they were made, I began collecting small elements from the space
tools, fragments, materials. I placed them directly onto cyanotype paper, letting the sun do its thing.

What came out of it are these prints, traces of making, impressions of a moment where craft, culture, geography and process all came together.

Track on 1st slide by @kiminaofficial
Hi8 footage by @mwamba.vision

Before sound becomes music, it begins with hands, tools, and intention.

the Instrument Makers Lab @kilelesummit captured this raw, DIY energy

You had instruments like this drum built from used skateboards @disastrid @karugu666 @bazil.muzik

others like the pararira by @not_really_adam made from matatu horns.

Each piece felt like a direct reflection of its environment from the skate culture on the mall rooftop to Nairobi’s vibrant street life.

As a visual analog artist, I’m drawn to process; to the tactility of making, the feeling of hands shaping something real. That’s exactly what I witnessed there. Hands carving, assembling, tuning. Sound being built from the ground up.

While thinking about how to document this, I kept coming back to one idea: process should document process.

So I chose cyanotype.

Being in Nairobi, it felt right. Cyanotype relies on the sun’s UV rays and here, the sun is abundant, constant, generous. It became a collaborator in the work.

After spending time observing the instruments and how they were made, I began collecting small elements from the space
tools, fragments, materials. I placed them directly onto cyanotype paper, letting the sun do its thing.

What came out of it are these prints, traces of making, impressions of a moment where craft, culture, geography and process all came together.

Track on 1st slide by @kiminaofficial
Hi8 footage by @mwamba.vision

Before sound becomes music, it begins with hands, tools, and intention.

the Instrument Makers Lab @kilelesummit captured this raw, DIY energy

You had instruments like this drum built from used skateboards @disastrid @karugu666 @bazil.muzik

others like the pararira by @not_really_adam made from matatu horns.

Each piece felt like a direct reflection of its environment from the skate culture on the mall rooftop to Nairobi’s vibrant street life.

As a visual analog artist, I’m drawn to process; to the tactility of making, the feeling of hands shaping something real. That’s exactly what I witnessed there. Hands carving, assembling, tuning. Sound being built from the ground up.

While thinking about how to document this, I kept coming back to one idea: process should document process.

So I chose cyanotype.

Being in Nairobi, it felt right. Cyanotype relies on the sun’s UV rays and here, the sun is abundant, constant, generous. It became a collaborator in the work.

After spending time observing the instruments and how they were made, I began collecting small elements from the space
tools, fragments, materials. I placed them directly onto cyanotype paper, letting the sun do its thing.

What came out of it are these prints, traces of making, impressions of a moment where craft, culture, geography and process all came together.

Track on 1st slide by @kiminaofficial
Hi8 footage by @mwamba.vision

Before sound becomes music, it begins with hands, tools, and intention.

the Instrument Makers Lab @kilelesummit captured this raw, DIY energy

You had instruments like this drum built from used skateboards @disastrid @karugu666 @bazil.muzik

others like the pararira by @not_really_adam made from matatu horns.

Each piece felt like a direct reflection of its environment from the skate culture on the mall rooftop to Nairobi’s vibrant street life.

As a visual analog artist, I’m drawn to process; to the tactility of making, the feeling of hands shaping something real. That’s exactly what I witnessed there. Hands carving, assembling, tuning. Sound being built from the ground up.

While thinking about how to document this, I kept coming back to one idea: process should document process.

So I chose cyanotype.

Being in Nairobi, it felt right. Cyanotype relies on the sun’s UV rays and here, the sun is abundant, constant, generous. It became a collaborator in the work.

After spending time observing the instruments and how they were made, I began collecting small elements from the space
tools, fragments, materials. I placed them directly onto cyanotype paper, letting the sun do its thing.

What came out of it are these prints, traces of making, impressions of a moment where craft, culture, geography and process all came together.

Track on 1st slide by @kiminaofficial
Hi8 footage by @mwamba.vision

Before sound becomes music, it begins with hands, tools, and intention.

the Instrument Makers Lab @kilelesummit captured this raw, DIY energy

You had instruments like this drum built from used skateboards @disastrid @karugu666 @bazil.muzik

others like the pararira by @not_really_adam made from matatu horns.

Each piece felt like a direct reflection of its environment from the skate culture on the mall rooftop to Nairobi’s vibrant street life.

As a visual analog artist, I’m drawn to process; to the tactility of making, the feeling of hands shaping something real. That’s exactly what I witnessed there. Hands carving, assembling, tuning. Sound being built from the ground up.

While thinking about how to document this, I kept coming back to one idea: process should document process.

So I chose cyanotype.

Being in Nairobi, it felt right. Cyanotype relies on the sun’s UV rays and here, the sun is abundant, constant, generous. It became a collaborator in the work.

After spending time observing the instruments and how they were made, I began collecting small elements from the space
tools, fragments, materials. I placed them directly onto cyanotype paper, letting the sun do its thing.

What came out of it are these prints, traces of making, impressions of a moment where craft, culture, geography and process all came together.

Track on 1st slide by @kiminaofficial
Hi8 footage by @mwamba.vision

Before sound becomes music, it begins with hands, tools, and intention.

the Instrument Makers Lab @kilelesummit captured this raw, DIY energy

You had instruments like this drum built from used skateboards @disastrid @karugu666 @bazil.muzik

others like the pararira by @not_really_adam made from matatu horns.

Each piece felt like a direct reflection of its environment from the skate culture on the mall rooftop to Nairobi’s vibrant street life.

As a visual analog artist, I’m drawn to process; to the tactility of making, the feeling of hands shaping something real. That’s exactly what I witnessed there. Hands carving, assembling, tuning. Sound being built from the ground up.

While thinking about how to document this, I kept coming back to one idea: process should document process.

So I chose cyanotype.

Being in Nairobi, it felt right. Cyanotype relies on the sun’s UV rays and here, the sun is abundant, constant, generous. It became a collaborator in the work.

After spending time observing the instruments and how they were made, I began collecting small elements from the space
tools, fragments, materials. I placed them directly onto cyanotype paper, letting the sun do its thing.

What came out of it are these prints, traces of making, impressions of a moment where craft, culture, geography and process all came together.

Track on 1st slide by @kiminaofficial
Hi8 footage by @mwamba.vision

Alas! Another week is upon us.

This Friday we invite you to listen, to watch and to feel 💢
We will be exploring a wide array of African Electronic sounds ranging from house, batida, to gqom and more!

Setting the vibes in the main room are selektas:

@dj.shock.africa
@avocado.thedj
@nig.wav

And we’re pleased to share a visual experience curated by @shutterdust

Tickets are KSH 800 - Link in biooooooo
Special discount code available on limited tickets - dm if you or someone you know needs it :)

Big love to all who showed up and showed out last weekend. Tunawapenda sana 🫶🏾

Saturday lineup out soon!

Poster by @sikhupi

Yesterjoys.

A return to the inner child.

To the versions of ourselves that still remember how to play.

Mizizi performance @kilelesummit
Still thinking about this performance. Watching the human body move in dialogue with technology was powerful! almost hypnotic

@nkariuki_ @janearnison @berntisak @monrhea_ @labdiofficial

Mizizi performance @kilelesummit
Still thinking about this performance. Watching the human body move in dialogue with technology was powerful! almost hypnotic

@nkariuki_ @janearnison @berntisak @monrhea_ @labdiofficial

Mizizi performance @kilelesummit
Still thinking about this performance. Watching the human body move in dialogue with technology was powerful! almost hypnotic

@nkariuki_ @janearnison @berntisak @monrhea_ @labdiofficial

Mizizi performance @kilelesummit
Still thinking about this performance. Watching the human body move in dialogue with technology was powerful! almost hypnotic

@nkariuki_ @janearnison @berntisak @monrhea_ @labdiofficial

Mizizi performance @kilelesummit
Still thinking about this performance. Watching the human body move in dialogue with technology was powerful! almost hypnotic

@nkariuki_ @janearnison @berntisak @monrhea_ @labdiofficial

Mizizi performance @kilelesummit
Still thinking about this performance. Watching the human body move in dialogue with technology was powerful! almost hypnotic

@nkariuki_ @janearnison @berntisak @monrhea_ @labdiofficial

Mizizi performance @kilelesummit
Still thinking about this performance. Watching the human body move in dialogue with technology was powerful! almost hypnotic

@nkariuki_ @janearnison @berntisak @monrhea_ @labdiofficial

Mizizi performance @kilelesummit
Still thinking about this performance. Watching the human body move in dialogue with technology was powerful! almost hypnotic

@nkariuki_ @janearnison @berntisak @monrhea_ @labdiofficial

Mizizi performance @kilelesummit
Still thinking about this performance. Watching the human body move in dialogue with technology was powerful! almost hypnotic

@nkariuki_ @janearnison @berntisak @monrhea_ @labdiofficial

Mizizi performance @kilelesummit
Still thinking about this performance. Watching the human body move in dialogue with technology was powerful! almost hypnotic

@nkariuki_ @janearnison @berntisak @monrhea_ @labdiofficial

Mizizi performance @kilelesummit
Still thinking about this performance. Watching the human body move in dialogue with technology was powerful! almost hypnotic

@nkariuki_ @janearnison @berntisak @monrhea_ @labdiofficial

Mizizi performance @kilelesummit
Still thinking about this performance. Watching the human body move in dialogue with technology was powerful! almost hypnotic

@nkariuki_ @janearnison @berntisak @monrhea_ @labdiofficial

Mizizi performance @kilelesummit
Still thinking about this performance. Watching the human body move in dialogue with technology was powerful! almost hypnotic

@nkariuki_ @janearnison @berntisak @monrhea_ @labdiofficial

Recent encounters

Come back to this when you need your knives sharpened Nairobi

Recent encounters

Come back to this when you need your knives sharpened Nairobi

Recent encounters

Come back to this when you need your knives sharpened Nairobi

Recent encounters

Come back to this when you need your knives sharpened Nairobi

Recent encounters

Come back to this when you need your knives sharpened Nairobi

Recent encounters

Come back to this when you need your knives sharpened Nairobi

Recent encounters

Come back to this when you need your knives sharpened Nairobi

Recent encounters

Come back to this when you need your knives sharpened Nairobi

Recent encounters

Come back to this when you need your knives sharpened Nairobi

Recent encounters

Come back to this when you need your knives sharpened Nairobi