business and family intact. Other affairs are revealed as viewers learn more about Mr Gomora, and South Africa. In 2021 a study estimated 1.6% of South African women in polygamous marriages. But less than 25% of South Africans are married, so polygamous set-ups are a non-trivial share, especially in poorer rural areas and among groups such as Zulus. (Two producers are daughters of Jacob Zuma, an ex- president and famous polygamist.) “The Polygamist” transplants traditional practices into modern Johannesburg, shining a light on more than polygamy. Though only a fraction of black South African households are polygamous, just a fifth are typical (to Western eyes) nuclear families. The tut-tutting of various aunties about the polygamous marriage reflects tensions between African traditions and Western customs in the black middle class. But the main theme—other than romping—is inequality. South Africa is both patriarchal and economically unequal; its tycoons and powerful politicians are almost exclusively men. “The Polygamist” plays on the palpable rationality of some women—lambasted in tabloids as “slay queens”—who view sleeping with bigwigs as a route to social mobility. “I’m going to get a man ten times more powerful than him,” the primary mistress threatens when Mr Gomora considers ditching her. Gauteng, the province containing Johannesburg, has the highest rate of infidelity, according to a dating website. Is it any wonder that the city of gold is also the city of gold diggers? The show showcases rich black South Africa on its own terms. The soundtrack pulses to amapiano and gqom, two popular local music genres. Characters speak isiZulu larded with English. This rich portrayal of wealthy black life may be a reason—along with all the sauce—why it has taken off in other African countries. Viewers, like Mr Gomora, want more and more. ■ Sign up to the Analysing Africa, a weekly newsletter that keeps you in the loop about the world’s youngest—and least understood—continent. This article was downloaded by zlibrary from https://www.economist.com//middle-east-and-africa/2026/07/16/a-hit-new-show-takes- on-polygamy-in-modern-south-africa
Middle East & Africa | A crumbling legacy How to preserve Africa’s architectural gems Development and restoration must go hand in hand July 16th 2026 Darini House in Lamu, an old Kenyan town on the Indian Ocean coast, is a marvel: high coral stone ceilings; ornate vidaka shelves, carved meticulously into the walls; a shaded courtyard brightened by lilies. It is also a building site. For years, parts of the centuries-old family home have been near- derelict, bags of cement gathering dust beneath bat-populated beams. Now, slowly, they are being restored. “This place holds our dreams,” says Khaulah Abdulkadir of the Friends of Lamu Cultural Heritage, a local NGO. “We are hoping to breathe more life into it.” Their plan, backed by the World Monuments Fund (WMF), a New York- based conservation body, is to acquire the property and, with outside investors, turn it into a Swahili cultural centre with a café, gallery and rental
space for workshops and offices. By leasing and renovating historic homes this way, they hope to spark regeneration in Lamu’s dilapidated, UNESCO- listed Old Town. Yet critics fear that the approach, which relies on tourists and foreign capital, will erode the town’s essence. It shows the difficulty of preserving heritage in Africa, where conservation funds are scarce and development threatens to bulldoze what remains. Africa’s historic buildings and monuments account for less than 10% of the UNESCO World Heritage List. But they are overrepresented among such places deemed by the UN’s cultural arm to be “in danger”. By one estimate as many as one in three buildings in Lamu’s Old Town are in ruins. The once-bustling Madukini Street near Darini House is almost abandoned. In some places, such as Timbuktu in northern Mali, the most urgent threat comes from conflict and jihadists. Elsewhere, the problem usually boils down to a lack of resources, says Stephen Battle, WMF’s Africa director. Where states are cash-strapped, much depends on foreign governments, the UN and NGOs. By one estimate, since the 1980s roughly half of renovations in Stone Town, on Tanzania’s Zanzibar, have been funded by Oman. Residential buildings like those in Lamu present a particularly thorny challenge for conservationists. Unlike, say, the palaces and castles of Gondar
in Ethiopia, which are the property of the state, private homes are typically in the hands of families and individuals. Many lack the means for tasteful restoration. In Lamu, the problem is worsened by the fact that homes which have been passed down multiple generations sometimes have 20 or more relatives squabbling over ownership. As a result, many “end up doing renovation the wrong way”, says Abdalla Kuresh, one of only a few builders in Lamu still practising the traditional vernacular style. Shoddy—or non-existent—documentation worsens the problem. Killion Mokwete, a Botswanan architect at Northeastern University in Boston, says Afro-Brazilian architecture in west Africa is at risk in part because countries lack accessible digitised databases and archival institutions. This can make it hard both to prove ownership and to know how to restore a building to its original condition. It also helps explain why these architectural gems, many built and designed by former slaves who returned from the Americas in the second half of the 19th century, have not been listed by UNESCO. To fix this Mr Mokwete co-founded the African Built Heritage Project in Benin, which keeps digital records of endangered buildings. At root, though, lies a more fundamental difficulty: indifference. In Kenya, as elsewhere, “preservation of the built environment can quickly find its way to the bottom of the pile,” says Teckla Muhoro, an urban expert at Jomo Kenyatta University of Agriculture & Technology in Nairobi, the capital. For residents of Nairobi, historic buildings are often tainted by British colonialism; urban heritage in Lamu is sometimes seen as the work of Arab interlopers. African governments and foreign tourists, meanwhile, tend to pay far more attention to the continent’s wildlife and natural landscapes.
This means that when the choice is between urban development and heritage preservation, the latter typically loses. Eritrea’s capital, Asmara, whose perfectly preserved Italian-era Art Deco architecture was awarded UNESCO status in 2017, is almost unique. (Eritrea’s autocracy and stagnant economy mean it also is no model.) Much more common is the fate of old buildings in Ethiopia’s capital, Addis Ababa, which have been systemically razed in recent years. In pursuit of hyper-modernisation the city’s authorities have tossed aside laws designed to protect heritage, banishing poor residents to the periphery. “Ironically, the national-heritage authority itself is enabling the demolitions,” says Nahom Teklu, an Ethiopian architect. But pitting growth against conservation is ultimately a “false dichotomy”, argues Shadreck Chirikure of Oxford University. Plenty of picturesque European cities are proof of this. So is the idea of an inescapable trade-off between indigenous preservation efforts and foreign investment. UNESCO’s Mohammed Juma warns against creating “ghost historical cities”, which preserve architectural heritage but exclude local residents. A better solution may be for authorities to encourage tourism and investment, using the proceeds of growth to fund conservation. Heritage laws and building codes are, after all, more likely to be enforced if locals themselves feel their benefits. ■
Sign up to the Analysing Africa, a weekly newsletter that keeps you in the loop about the world’s youngest—and least understood—continent. This article was downloaded by zlibrary from https://www.economist.com//middle-east-and-africa/2026/07/15/how-to-preserve- africas-architectural-gems
Ukraine’s reformist defence minister is ousted Europe seems set to ease its carbon pricing Sweden squashed migration. The populist right wants to go further Opening the border between Spain and Gibraltar Why Berlin’s airport is still completely hopeless In praise of Scandinavia’s risky and dirty playgrounds
Ukraine’s reformist defence minister is ousted The generals pushed back at his efforts to modernise the army July 16th 2026 THE FIRING that people expected came first. On July 12th Volodymyr Zelensky announced the impending exit of his prime minister, Yuliia Svyrydenko, as part of a wider shake-up of his top team. The Ukrainian president needed someone with authority to reset fractious relations with parliament, and the pliant Ms Svyrydenko was never that. The more shocking news came three days later with the revelation that Mykhailo Fedorov (pictured), his popular defence minister, would also be leaving after just six months in the job. Mr Zelensky said there were problems in the “dialogue” between the army and the youngest member of his top team. A self-styled disrupter out to break the old system, Mr Fedorov had been quick to ruffle feathers, but slow to build alliances.
Mr Fedorov, 35, known to colleagues as Misha, began his tenure at the ministry in January amid high expectations. He came with solid reformist credentials. As digital-transformation minister, he had introduced Diia, a highly regarded app that put state services and digital passports on smartphones. After Russia’s full-scale invasion in 2022, he played a crucial role in building Ukraine’s “drone army”, introducing market mechanisms to boost the production of everything from small battlefield drones to bomber and interceptor drones. His supporters believed he was the man who could reform and modernise the army in the same way that he had digitised the government. The generals were less impressed, and set out to stymie him. At a war council in early July, the tensions between Mr Fedorov and the military leadership simmered barely below the surface. The generals had good news for their president. Drone operations were succeeding. A campaign to isolate Russian-occupied Crimea was ahead of schedule. But as Power Point slides were shown to the testosterone-filled room, the generals griped about Mr Fedorov’s missile and ammunition procurement. The minister snapped back: If it wasn’t for his emergency drone-purchasing decisions at the beginning of the year, which required borrowing money earmarked for salaries, there would be no Crimean operation to speak of. A witness to the proceedings described “two different co-ordinate systems” in a clinch, with “no common language”. Mr Fedorov’s six months in the ministry were marked by hyperactivity and a pugnacity that put many noses out of joint. He encroached on entrenched interests, and denied some powerful people lucrative contracts. He ordered a full audit of the ministry that uncovered overspending of 300bn hryvnia ($6.6bn). He subjected officials to lie detectors; those who refused or failed were dismissed. And he moved some procurement to open tenders, which he says cut the cost of artillery shells by 16%. That was part of the reason for his troubles. The rest was self-inflicted. The minister has quarrelled openly with the army’s more traditionalist leaders, especially its commander-in-chief, Oleksandr Syrsky. It is well known that the defence minister angled for the general’s removal, but failed to win his president’s approval. A senior intelligence source warned before Mr Fedorov’s ouster that he never understood how small his chances of