#abungus

[klugenjoyer]

Realized I forgot to post this

[linedol2]

some Starilign characters

Abungu the Monkey (male) (11 years old)

Acorn the Porcupine (female) (12 years old)

Buzz the Bee (male) (8 years old)

Everest the Snow Leopard (male) (14 years old)

Lizzie the Lizard (female) (15 years old)

Pann the Red Panda (male) (18 years old)

Raindrop the Frog (female) (8 years old)

Sleepy the Lamb (male) (8 years old)

Spot the ladybug (female) (15 years old)

Turquoise the Hyena (female) (14 years old)

[hisclockworkservants]

Abungus

[anarchistdoll]

abungus.

[afrotumble]

Forgotten photos show how Kenyan archaeologists unearthed secrets of their own country | Archaeology | The Guardian

Prof George Abungu, emeritus director-general of the National Museums of Kenya, said that in the colonial era, one or two European scholars would typically work on each dig with a team of about 30 to 40 African Kenyans. The scholars would then publish books taking all the credit for the team’s discoveries. “Without those Africans, there would have been no excavations,” he said. “Nameless and faceless people produced this knowledge and they were never recognised. Even if you come to the museum in Nairobi or Mombasa, you will never know who worked with these European scholars, the people whose sweat and blood went into these discoveries.”

[biglisbonnews]

The Forgotten Kenyans Who Excavated Ancient Monuments For more than 20 years through the 1950s and 1960s, Karisa Ndurya worked as a foreman at some of the first excavations of ancient monuments in East Africa. Under the management of Scottish archeologist James Kirkman, Ndurya supervised teams of Kenyans who excavated the ruins of Gedi, one of the first medieval Swahili settlements on what is now the Kenyan coast, and Fort Jesus on Mombasa Island, the only fort maintained by the Portuguese. But if you were to read through Kirkman’s records on the excavations, you would not encounter Ndurya’s name or those of the Kenyans who labored alongside him.Fifty years later, a new exhibition aims to set those records straight. Currently on display at the Horniman Museum in London, “Ode to the Ancestors: Kenyan Archeology” is an exhibition of 28 previously unseen archival photographs commemorating the Kenyan archeologists and excavators omitted from archeological archives. The exhibit also features contemporary work by young people of African and/or Caribbean heritage, exploring what reclaiming African history means to them. A sister exhibition, where the same photographs are featured, is being held at the National Museums of Kenya at Fort Jesus. Both exhibitions were curated by Sherry Davis, a musician, filmmaker, and granddaughter of Ndurya. Born and raised in South London to a Jamaican father and Kenyan mother, Davis never knew much about her grandfather, who died in 1988 at the age of 80. When her mother told her about Ndurya’s work as a foreman, Davis was surprised and went searching for more information. Despite learning lots about Kirkman, Ndurya’s boss, she couldn’t find anything about Ndurya. “I felt a strong sense of loss,” Davis says. “My family didn’t know much about his work because he died so long ago and didn’t leave any records.” Before the 1970s, when African professionals began studying archeology as a subject, almost all European archeologists relied on the knowledge and labor of the locals, but their names and stories were rarely known. According to George Abungu, a Kenyan archeologist and former director of the National Museums of Kenya, archeology arrived in Africa at the same time as the colonialists. “The reason for colonialism was not only to dominate and subjugate, but also to extract knowledge, labor, and resources,” Abungu explains. “Archeology was not an exemption, although I don’t think the archeologists of that time saw themselves as extractors.” In search of her grandfather’s story, Davis traveled to Gedi and to Fort Jesus in 2018 where she met with professional excavators who mostly worked in the 1980s and five heritage professionals who knew Ndurya but whose memories were too faded because “it was a very long time ago and they’re very old now,” she says. At Fort Jesus, during a tour with the National Museums of Kenya, Davis noticed that the walls of the fort were marked with Kirkman’s name and no one else’s. “I didn’t want my granddad to just be in the memories of people that weren’t going to be with us for much longer,” Davis says. Davis found the same story at the Horniman Museum: its Kenyan archeological collections had white Kenyan-British archeologist and paleontologist Louis Leakey’s name attached to it. This was true at other museums in the United Kingdom, too. Frustrated with what she was discovering, Davis dedicated herself to searching for the names of those who had been left out of history and approached the Horniman Museum and the National Museums of Kenya about creating an exhibit telling a fuller story. With the museums on board, Davis started working with Abungu and photo archivist Okoko Ashikoye to gather photos of the forgotten Kenyan archeologists and excavators. The search for archival photographs, however, proved to be somewhat challenging. Ashikoye searched for photos at different institutes in Kenya, but the photographs were either not digitized or cataloged due to the lack of resources or they were taken in the 1970s and 1980s, after the colonial period. There were also instances where some photographs deteriorated or disappeared due to unfavorable archival conditions. Another problem was that not many photographs were taken of the locals at the sites in general. “You have hundreds of photographs of excavations of trenches that are empty,” Abungu explains. “But very few with the human beings doing the work.” The deadline to print photos was looming, but a breakthrough came when, at the Fort Jesus archives, Ashikoye stumbled upon a box of roughly 500 images taken in the 1940s and 1950s of excavation expeditions at Fort Jesus and the ruins of Gedi. Three of those photos were of Davis’ grandfather overseeing excavations in 1959. As word of the development of the exhibition in Fort Jesus spread, people from the community started coming forward with their own stories. “One of the retired heritage professionals' daughter came forward and gave information about her dad and it just had a snowball effect,” explains Davis. “Ode to the Ancestors” shows the pivotal role Africans had in the pioneering stages of archeology on the continent. According to Davis, the exhibition further emphasizes the importance of archeology as a tool for Africans to tell their own stories. “Archeology as a field is of the utmost importance,” she says. “And I hope projects like this that bring it to life in the context of telling African stories reignites more interest.” https://www.atlasobscura.com/articles/kenyan-archaeology-exhibit

[lordofthefeline]

I am a menace to society.

[fuckyeahscienceparty]

refs/doodles from @l-i-n-u-s-k-a and i's science party among us au! bc i am what the kids today call a, uh, Gay Fool

[paulthetoonman]

Oh damn I love him

Among Us/HLVRAI oc l m a o

He’s very stupid and you WILL hear more about him later

[sillylittlelouie]

The Falling Star

DeepWater  Prompts:  If you are hiding in the fae lands, you must never, never, never take off your mask, or even admit you are wearing one. 

Cordelia ran. Her legs, unused to the land after so many years in the lake and its surrounding waters, tangled together, throwing her to the ground. Tree branches reached for her, tearing at her silken robes, and relentlessly carving into her arms and bared legs.  Her blood ran red down her limbs, rivers of a deception that had been uncovered. The earth, as dark as her skin and unforgiving, held her in place as it tried to drag her down into it's depths.

Forcing herself from it's grasp, Cordelia stumbled to her feet and ran.

The rain, once her friend, threatened to blind her as she panted. When it realised that its attempt was useless, it turned its attention to the earth beneath her. Working together, against her, the two managed to bring her to her knees yet again. The strings of her mask, already loose from her moment of weakness, snapped as she fell. 

The delicate covering fell to the ground and broke apart, a parallel to the life that she was leaving behind. The life that she was leaving behind and had left behind, for the sake of her own.

The winds howled in her ears, around her head and at her back, disorienting her, filling her senses, panicking her as it chilled her to the bone, nipping at her like hounds at her feet. It brought the sound of the throng to her ears, panicking her further.

She tried to stand, but the earth held her tight, unwilling to release its prisoner. As she struggled, it opened it's mouth and released its residents. 

Worms and centipedes and maggots crawled up from the softened soil and onto her body. They trailed over the broken pieces of her mask, crept in between her fingers, dragged their bellies through her wounds and slithered into her clothes and hair, disgusting her endlessly.

She hadn't even known that such vile creatures existed, in the Faerie. 

Struggling, Cordelia freed one leg first, then the other. She didn't stop to throw the vile insects from her skin, despite how much she wished to do so. Instead, she ran.

As she fled, she looked up at the sky. Once blue and welcoming, it was now dark and tempestuous. The clouds hung low, and lower still. Lower than she'd ever seen them. She couldn't afford to dwell on this mystery, however. If she did, then the carrion birds that wove patterns in the tumult would be given the meal that they were eagerly anticipating. 

Panting, Cordelia pushed on. Her long plaits thumped against her thighs and she pounded along rocky paths that had been lush with greenery when she'd first arrived. But now, as the path slowly narrowed and she neared the narrow bridge that would lead her to safety, they were bare, and rife with swarms of writhing worms and snakes. Large spiders lurked at the edges of the road, a silent promise of what would befall her, should she try to seek respite in between the inexorable trees. 

Cordelia shuddered, and pressed herself even harder, desperately hoping to arrive at the bridge soon. The bridge, which crossed over a deep chasm, would make her flight much easier. Carved by nature, the bridge was made entirely from stone, and offered no hiding places for the insects on the path. It also promised a swift death for even the fae, should they dare to cross it too hurriedly. It would protect her, even against its own desires.

As she neared the bridge, Cordelia looked up, and screamed.

The clouds were hanging close to her head now, and were lowering their faces even more. They were aiming to cloud her path and make her lose her way upon the bridge, she realised. And to lose her way upon the cold, wet stone of the bridge would spell certain doom for her.

She couldn't afford that. Not now, when she was so close to the end.

Stumbling a little, she threw herself forward, and onto the bridge. Her feet threatened to slide over the edges of the bridge as she ran. She could feel the stone's discontentment as she hurriedly stepped on its many faces in her bid to cross. But, unable to thwart her on its own, it had no choice but to let her pass. 

The clouds, finally low enough, covered the path, and Cordelia slipped. Her hands scrabbled to find purchase on the slick stones as she went over. Finding none, she closed her eyes and resigned herself to her fate.

She never should have allowed him to remove her mask. Admitting to him that she wore one, had been a big enough risk to take. But she'd been foolish enough to allow him to see her face beneath. And now, look what her actions had cost her; she'd been chased out of the place where she'd sought refuge from her home, and had been cast off by the very land that she'd worked so hard to become one with. And her lover, the one who'd promised her the stars and the moon, had abandoned her.

Tears rising as she fell, Cordelia opened her eyes and her arms, hoping to be allowed to see the sky that had welcomed her, and to embrace the waters that had cradled her, for the last time. 

The sight that met her however, was not a blue sky, nor even an overcast one. The sight that met her was one of falling rocks, showering down from the bridge as a large root ripped through it. Of lateral roots being produced at an alarming rate and scale. Of one of those roots reaching for her, menacingly quickly.

Smiling, Cordelia stretched her arms out in front of her, offering her embrace to the root.

It wrapped around her body gently, abruptly stopping her fall. Her back threatened to break, but the root, already used to this type of play, begrudgingly spread its thick hairs across her back and the back of her neck, saving her from further harm. Once she was secured, the root lifted her, bearing her up, to the other side of the land.

Once she was safely on the on the ground, Cordelia looked back, chest swelling with solace. Through the dissipating cloud cover, she could see fae lights floating, searching, angry. She heaved a sigh of relief, and turned to the one that had saved her.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, and cradled her head in the crook of his shoulder. He returned her embrace, sighing into her hair. She could feel his feet beneath her, slowly becoming warm and smooth as he rescinded his powers, severing his connection with the nature.

"I thought you that you would not come," she admitted. It grieved her to say it, but she had doubted her love. Had doubted his love. She felt him shift.

"I did too," he conceded, after a few moments in silence. One of his hands moved to toy with her hair, and he sighed again. "I apologise. Tis my fault that you were found out."

Cordelia smiled, and raised her head to look at him. Her smile faded as she took in his face. The cut above his brow that bled blue, running lines down his beautiful face. Bruises that hid in the brown of his skin shyly blossoming, the longer she looked. One of his beautiful green eyes was hidden, concealed within the swell of the surrounding skin.

She winced. 

The fae weren't fond of wanton violence. But once they were inclined to it, they were ruthless animals.

"My precious Abungu," Cordelia cooed, placing her hands on his face, "what did they do to you, my love?"

Abungu looked away. "Tis not safe for you here now, my light," he murmured. He took her hands in his as he began to walk away. "I've blocked all the paths leading here, but they'll not last. Especially once your secret gets out."

He led her to an old tree, surrounded by brambles. As they neared, the brambles parted, revealing a knot of swirling stars in it's trunk. The grass around the base stretched towards them as they neared, and clung to them as they passed. 

A body, pinned to the ground by a root through its heart, was revealed briefly as they passed. Cordelia tried not to look at the bright blue blood on the chest of the woman that she once thought of as a friend.

Instead, she looked at the back of her lover. She kept her eyes on his back as they neared the trees, brushing their way through grass that had been stained blue with the blood of the fallen fae. 

Her every step felt like leaden weights were tied around her ankles. 

She'd come through here, once, a long time ago, when hounds had actually nipped at her heels. When stones and arrows had chased her until well into the night, each one trailed by a curse against her and her name.

She stood, atop the body of an unknown fae. "I can't go back by myself, love. They'd kill me."

Abungu stopped his procession, and looked back at her. "You'll be dead by the morrow, if you stay," he warned. His green eyes glowed bright, worry burning brightly within their depths.

"So will you; they'll have branded you a traitor!"

Abungu stared at her, and Cordelia stared back at him. Slowly, he raised his arm, and flowering vines twined around it. As she watched, they darkened, becoming hard wood. Her love smiled, and struck his arm with a spear that he'd ripped from a body beneath him. The spear shattered, leaving her love unscarred.

"I can fend for myself, my light."

Cordelia frowned, and touched her hand to his forehead, which still bled. "The hardest tree can be worn down with time," she pleaded. "Come with me, please love!" She began walking again, tugging him along this time.

As they stepped through the portal, Cordelia caught sight of the spear, heading straight for them.

[chichbro]

Everyone has a different theory about what happens when we die. Our people, the Ticuna of the Amazon, believe that the dead reside in the trees. But how do you find the tree that shelters the one you love?

There are a lot of trees where I live. It is interesting, the story about my birth. A thousand trees were set on fire by the Spirits when I came into this world. When my grandmother named me Abungu, of the forest, it was irony.

Before my grandmother died, she would take me out of our village, into the trees for long walks. Many stories were told during these walks, but the one I remember vividly is the one she told me a few days before she passed away.

"There are spirits living among us, Abungu, never forget that. Some of them are good, they protect us from the evil forces that wish to harm us. Evil surrounds us from all sides, which is why our forefathers escaped into the trees. The world outside is different from the one we live in, it's an entirely different colour. The air is heavy with the scent of impurity, and the water tastes like metal.

Our trees bring us rain; they give us pure air to breathe. The world outside is not as lucky. While we're self-reliant, they depend on others for basic amenities.

They've killed our animals, they were the ones who burned our trees during your birth. The world outside is filled with destructive beings, hell bent on destroying the gifts the Spirits bestowed on us."

By then, we had arrived by a huge Sumaumeira tree at the centre of a clearing. As we took in the majestic height of it, my grandmother smiled down at me. "Look for me here when I'm gone."

-s.y

[galaxy12sblog]

In village of The Abungu Nations…..

Half Colorless Queen Cordelia: *Walking in the village of The Abungu Nations with the solider wolf trolls’ leader.*

Rasha: I'm glad you came to check on my village.

[maoist-mizer]

@earlgay-milktea

a

[horrorofthebeast]

abungus

[glqwberries]

NOVEMBER 7 VC RECAP

- the list is back baby !

- abble

- starfall

- papa's games

- return of the king

- they used to call me the king of lists

- starfall has better diversity than disney

- cool math games

- triple AAA batteries

- duolingo !

- abb kills the duolingo owl

- kibby :)

- swapfell sans....

- panther eats cream cheese???

- aster leaves for like 5 seconds and comes back to hear people talk about cheese

- abb you will be in the shadow realm in 5 days

- go white boy go

- homestuck karaoke

- EVERYONE SPEAKING OVER EACHOTEHR

- WHAT THE FUCK IS HAPPENING!!!

- WHAT THE FUCK!!!!!

- abungus

- abb abb abb abb abb abb abb abb abb a

- the kinnies are fighting!

- no doubles

- beeeeeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE

- blood? No.

- ABB VOICE REVEAL!!

- atlas is rude now

- JANUS VOICE REVEAL

- bye buddy!

- davey brother reveal

- sapphire on?? The floor??

- "I walked in that motherfucker not giving a fuck and i walked out that bitch fearing for my life"

- who's the imposter???

- "i want these furries obliterated"

- in character among us

- rainbow dash??

- vadim is lemon demon

- lemongrab eats lemongrab

- Oc hours ��

- icaro has NEVER opened a can before

[allthepandasintheworld]

Abungus lives rent free in my brain... more specifically mini crewmates live rent free in my brain. My brain is like 90% mini crewmates, 10% stress about homework

Alois and Rene, except Rene is an impostor and Alois is a crewmate and he’s oblivious to Rene being the imposter bc he’s too busy making heart eyes at the grump who keeps adopting (collecting) the children of the dead crewmates

Alois belongs to @solemn-vow and Rene is mine