Dar es Salaam — IN 2005, when I first stumbled into what would later be called "blogging", Tanzania was not exactly buzzing with digital excitement.
In fact, let us be honest, most of us had not the faintest idea of what was coming.
I certainly did not. My world was firmly rooted in traditional journalism, shaped by deadlines, print cycles and the reassuring weight of ink on paper.
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It took a journey to Finlandia Hall in Helsinki, Finland, to open that door. I had been sent by 'Daily News' to cover the Helsinki Conference.
A serious affair addressing democratic deficits in global governance and the implementation gaps within the United Nations Millennium Development Goals.
The Tanzanian delegation was led by former President Dr Jakaya Mrisho Kikwete, then Minister for Foreign Affairs, cochairing alongside his Finland counterpart, Erkki Tuomioja. The late Benjamin William Mkapa, who was then President, also graced the proceedings as a keynote speaker.
To a junior scribe, it was heady stuff. But the real story that has prompted me to jot this down, the one that would quietly alter the course of my professional life, did not unfold inside the conference hall. It unfolded in a conversation in the Press centre.
There, amidst policy discussions and diplomatic niceties, I met a fellow Tanzanian journalist based in the United States, Ndesanjo Macha. Naturally, I asked him the standard question: which media house are you representing? His answer was disarmingly simple.
"Myself." I must have looked at him as though he had just announced he was reporting for Mars. He smiled, perhaps recognising that moment, the exact second when one's assumptions begin to wobble.
Then he explained what a blog was. Not with grand speeches, mind you, but with the calm confidence of someone already living in the future. "You can start one," he said. "It's free. All you need is an email address - and something to say."
And just like that, inside that same Finlandia Hall, on 8th September 2005, Michuzi Blog was born. My first post? A simple photograph - two journalists (Macha and I) shaking hands, one unknowingly stepping into a new era. The rest, as they say, is history.
Upon returning home, I threw myself into blogging with the kind of obsession only discovery can inspire. But this was not merely about novelty. There was a gap.
Clear, persistent and somewhat embarrassing. Tanzanians in the diaspora were hungry for home news, and the traditional media, for all its strengths, was not feeding them fast enough.
So, the blog became that bridge to fill the news gap. Day after day, post after post, it connected the motherland to its scattered sons and daughters.
For a time, it felt as though I was shouting into a vast digital wilderness.
But then something remarkable happened, people started listening. Not just locally, but globally. The diaspora found a daily lifeline. Conversations began.
A community formed. And for nearly six years, I was, quite oddly, the only one with consistent digital voices operating from within Tanzania.
Which brings me to the uncomfortable question that has lingered ever since: Why did most media houses in Tanzania fail to see what was coming? It is tempting to blame resources. Or infrastructure.
Or even timing. But if we are to be brutally honest, the answer lies elsewhere. It lies in mindset. In a certain reluctance - sometimes even arrogance - that dismisses the unfamiliar until it is too large to ignore.
Many traditional media houses did not merely hesitate; they underestimated. Digital platforms were seen as toys, distractions, perhaps even threats to be quietly dismissed.
And by the time they began to pay attention, the audience had already moved. Today, yes, of course, most media houses have some form of online presence. But one cannot help noticing the hesitancy.
The experimental tone. As though they are still dipping their toes into waters that have long since become an ocean. Meanwhile, the world has not stood still.
The smartphone has turned every citizen into a potential broadcaster. A Netizen. The "wananchi" are no longer passive consumers; they are active competitors.
They capture, publish and distribute information in real time. While some institutions are still preparing for the routine 8 o'clock bulletin, the story has already travelled the globe - and back.
And now, just as many were beginning to come to terms with digital media, a new wave has arrived - Artificial Intelligence. Ah, AI - the new villain in some quarters, the new miracle in others. It is being mocked, feared, debated and misunderstood in equal measure.
Some dismiss it outright, clinging to the comforting belief that "real journalism" cannot be replicated. Others point only to its dangers deepfakes, misinformation, automation gone rogue. But here is the inconvenient truth: ignoring AI will not make it disappear. If anything, it will widen the gap.... AI is not merely a tool; it is a force multiplier.
It accelerates content creation, enhances analysis, personalises distribution and reshapes how audiences engage with information. Those who learn to harness it will move faster, think broader and reach further.
Those who do not... well, history has already shown us how that story ends. And yet, one still hears the laughter. "Oh, those using AI are lazy." "Oh, this is just a passing trend." "Oh, nothing beats the old ways."
Somewhere along this journey long after Helsinki, long after the blog had found its rhythmI found myself being gently corrected. It came recently, quite fittingly, from a cartoonist.
Having recently introduced an AI generated cartoon strip on my Instagram and Facebook pages, I was rather pleased with myself.
It had bite, it had humour and most importantly, it had audience engagement.
In today's language, it was doing exactly what content is supposed to do. To spark conversation. But then came the verdict.
"Maybe call it an AI picture story," he said, with a tone that was neither dismissive nor approving, "but not a cartoon." I paused.
Not because I was offended, far from it. But because I recognised the sentiment. It was familiar. Comfortably so. The same quiet resistance I had seen years earlier when blogging first emerged.
The same raised eyebrow. The same invisible line drawn between what is considered real and what is considered... well, something else. I nodded politely.
One does not argue with an artist about art, at least not over a casual exchange.
So, I smiled. Because what I had created (through prompts, iteration and a bit of creative direction) was not an absence of effort.
It was a different kind of effort. A shift from hand to mind, from execution to orchestration. And perhaps that is what unsettles some. AI does not remove creativity; it redistributes it.
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The artist is no longer only the hand that draws, but also the mind that imagines, directs, refines. Only the tool is gradually changing.
But the intention has not. Yet, as with blogging in 2005, the instinct in some quarters is to draw boundaries. To label. To protect definitions as though they were fragile heirlooms.
"This is real." "That is not." But history has not been kind to such distinctions. Because the truth is rather inconvenient: what begins as "not quite" often becomes the new standard. But the printing press once seemed unnecessary to scribes.
The radio once threatened newspapers. Television once unsettled radio. The internet disrupted them all. The pattern is not new.
Only the players change. So here we are, standing at yet another crossroads. The warning signs are not subtle.
They are flashing, blinking, practically shouting. And still, in some corners, there is a curious calm. A belief that things will somehow remain as they are.
They will not. If public institutions, media houses and indeed entire sectors continue to treat digital transformation (and now AI) as optional luxuries rather than urgent necessities, the consequences will not be gentle.
Relevance will erode. Audiences will drift. Influence will shrink. Mind you, this is not a call for panic.
Nor is it an argument for abandoning everything that came before. Tradition has its place. Experience has its value. But progress does not wait for comfort.
And one day, perhaps not too far from now, the question will not be "why adapt?" but rather
"how did we fall so far behind?"
