Benga

I knew the sound well. On lazy Sunday afternoons as I wandered in and out of Dagoretti pubs, chatting with locals and sinking Tuskers, it was the omnipresent soundtrack. Ample bottoms would shake, grins would spread, voices would rise.

It was danceable, singable, and - to the untrained ear (that is, mine) - extremely repetitive. I came to love it. My memories of Nairobi vibrate with its rythyms. Go on, have a taste.