In Oman, descendants of the “other” oceanic African slave trade continue to live in the Ash-Sharqiyah region that hosted the main port.

Centuries on, Al-Mudema (“sailor songs”) musicians continue to sing mostly in Swahili and feature music mixing African rhythms and bagpipes. These descendants are referred to as the Zanzabari (or sometimes locally as Khal people). And they sing the songs of those who were brought forcibly by ship centuries before.

Rather than bagpipes (Qurbah) being appropriated from Scotland or introduced by the British colonizers as is commonly claimed, archaeological records demonstrate that the instrument was first found in the Arabian peninsula region more than two thousand years prior to its appearance in England, predating Jesus Christ by a millennium. The other defining instrumental feature of Al-Mudema music is the blown sea conch shell, an indicator of the music’s ties to the sea.

We headed south along the coast from the capital, crossing the Tropic of Cancer along the way. High desert mountains plunged into the sea and asymmetrical rock islands rose like sphinx laid sideways.

Two different groups— Al Ajial (“generations”) and Al Khair (“imported goods”)— gathered beachside for the recording. Both featured eight core members, all of whom other than the bagpipe and seashell conch (jem) player contributed percussion of some sort, including the majur (a belt that is worn around the waist and made of goat hooves). Fishing boats raced past behind them as they played.

The Qurbah (“bagpipes”) in Oman are sometimes referred to simply as “music pipes,” but both groups proudly proclaimed that they are “bagpipe singers.”

Most of the musicians could trace their ancestry in Oman back over a hundred years before losing the thread. They were multi-generational groups incorporating family members.

Zanzibar was united with Oman to create the Omani Empire from 1696–1856. The history of its slave trade is a significant aspect of Oman’s history. Slaves from the Swahili coast were transported via Zanzibar to Oman, and then onwards from Oman to Persia and throughout the the Middle East.

Oman played a vital role in the trade and hosts arguably the oldest port in the world. For certain, it provided the largest slave trading location in the Arabian Sea. Oman didn’t outlaw slavery officially until 1970. Today, it is against the law to refer to someone as a slave, a prohibition which is taken quite seriously and reportedly enforced. That hardly stops the upper-class, though, from barking with derision and entitlement towards laborers and those of a lower-station.

In the universal minimization and denial of oppressors, many locals claim that their brand of enslavement was “different” and “not as bad.”

The region persists in being dubbed the Middle East, but really it is central. The world’s crossroads— where Africa, Europe, and Asia converge.

Doctor Nativo’s new album BarrioKandela is a manifesto, an ancestral bridge, and a clear stand in a time when the world is burning, wars are multiplying, and people everywhere are asking again who they are and where they’re headed.

A sonic brotherhood between Guatemaya and Mexico, BarrioKandela is a spiritual and cultural alliance, a joining of forces that amplifies revolutionary voices from the ground up: from the barrio, from the roots. It speaks not of borders but of shared territory, living memory, and streets that pulse the same on both sides of the map.

Musically, the album moves freely through cumbia, reggae, mariachi, Afro-native rhythms, and Mesoamerican oral tradition. But beyond genres, what runs through the entire record is a clear intention: to remind us that we are still a people, that we’re still walking together, and that music can still be a tool for collective awareness.

BarrioKandela is here to spark awareness, light the creative fire, and bring together those who still believe music can be bridge, word, and action. In a fractured world, Doctor Nativo invites us to return to our roots so we can move forward together.

On March 20, 2026, BarrioKandela arrives. And the message is clear: the voice of the barrio is still alive and resisting.

Montreal-based Haitian artist Wesli makes a powerful comeback with his seventh career album, Makaya. This 24-track project stands as a work deeply rooted in Haitian identity and the values of resistance,belonging, and connection to the land.

Named after a mountain range in southern Haiti, Makaya pays tribute to the first Maroons, those iconic freedom fighters who helped lead the struggle toward independence. 

Symbolizing an inheritance born from Mother Africa, it evokes the traditions passed down by the Igbo, Congos, Aladas, Nagos, Yorubas, and Dahomés, all deeply anchored in the memory of the Haitian people.

In Kikongo, Makaya means “leaf”, a sacred symbol in ancestral Vodou, associated with healing, purification, and renewal. Despite centuries of colonization and prohibitions, this culture has survived and evolved, still vibrating through songs, rara rhythms, and Vodou rites.

From the electro pulses of Nago Electro and Maloya Yanvalou to the festive rhythms of Blackman Samba and Lanmou ak Konbit Lakay, Wesli celebrates the strength, beauty, and dignity of the Haitian people. 

The journey continues at the heart of tradition with Makaya, Papa Loco, and Mèsi Bondyé, where African roots and vodou drums resonate with powerful intensity, before moving toward the militant afrobeat of Rebel Union and the conscious chants of Rèv
Mwen and Rezistans, true calls for solidarity and resilience. 

By revisiting the Haitian troubadour style through Chacha, Makonay, and Lanmou Nou, Wesli weaves together poetry, humanity, and musical elegance, offering a bridge between past and present, tradition and modernity.

“Through this album, I want to remind the Haitian people and its diaspora that our roots are a light guiding the path toward the future. Our culture is not a burden, but a compass.”