1 December 2008
opinion
I had been working myself into a nervous condition two days before my departure for Johannesburg, South Africa, last Thursday.
On Tuesday and on Wednesday I sat before my toy Yamaha and went through the compositions that I would present to Jonas Gwangwa's band in Johannesburg. Steve Dyer would also be presenting a song or two.
This was enough to exacerbate one's ulcers, and to develop a migrane headache in the process. Each time I did the songs, I discovered that I was not adding value to the way in which I had done them in the past.
I concentrated on finding places to start my solos and endings. I still was not making much headway. I decided that: "I play piano. It is not like a guitar or saxophone that you can carry to any place you wish to practise anything new that you might discover as you rehearse in your head. So, just be comfortable with what you know, because for now that is all you know."
I concentrated on preparing for the trip whilst also playing obedient at Mmegi, doing as much sub-editing as was possible in between my excursions to the bus rank, the bank and to the pharmacy. Somehow, the confidence in my compositions grew.
I knew that my songs would add value, even if my solos did not, to the reconstruction of that period when Thami Mnyele lived in Gaborone, painting, and also doing posters for Shakawe.
At the Johannesburg Arts Museum (or theatre), the people who made MEDU would congregate to stage an art and music exhibition to celebrate the work that the artists did as part of their contribution to what Gwangwa referred to as 'cultural resistance against apartheid' when he introduced me to the other musicians at his home studio.
For me, it was that, but more importantly, an opportunity to get some grounding in the fundamentals of African-based music, even if I had in my early years been introduced to the European version of the craft, or 'art form' if you wish.
I did learn and absorb everything that I could then. Gwangwa and Dyer had studied music.
So I could bank on their sense of theory, as well as the mountains of reading that I had also done in order to understand Afro-American folk music, popularly known as 'jazz'.
But most importantly, I would discover the inner meaning of the folk music of southern Africa, Mbaqanga, in all its varied names.
I keep reminding the folks that this is not South African music per se, but that at its very core, it is the musical consummation of the social interaction between the migrant labourers of southern Africa, often incorporating the rhythms, melodies and harmonies of the peoples of the Congo, West Africa, and even East Africa.
Batswana were at the very centre of that process of creation.I travelled to South Africa, in the confidence that I must have done something in my lifetime, to earn the invitation to participate in such a large event.
This was not a commercial 'gig'.This was an occasion to celebrate the collective contribution of those who cared to try to find a better way for a society that reeling under the oppressive stench of apartheid, which was, by the way, hardly foreign to Botswana.
We lived. Thami, the fighting artists didn't. Yet in his shortened life from 1948 to 1985 he had made such a monumental impact on the creative arts in Southern Africa, and the symbols of his efforts are solemnised in the living images that include, among others, the ANC's 'coat of arms'. Glen Mafoko plays bass.
These guys play four part harmonies on trumpet, two tenors, and trombone. There is this little kid who plays piano.
Three women sing, one of them Gwangwa's daughter, obviously the younger sister to Spanky, with whom I did a crude version of one song at the Town Hall as I was shown by Jonas.
Mma-Gwangwa celebrated her 70th birthday in September, and the children were setting her up for a party as I write, meaning Saturday.
Here I am writing and playing the Godliest of music for a good reason. Life can't be better!
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