Thank you to all 27 of you who have subscribed to my blog thus far. Through various stages of life, I cannot avoid writing; I value contemplation and sharing intriguing thoughts. With every new reader, I consider how my writing might be perceived from a different perspective. I hope this work stimulates dialogue among a range of people, like the music of Oliver Mtukudzi has done. Today, I am sharing thoughts on this Zimbabwean artist, who my father introduced me to long ago. His music is enlivening and reveals the fascinating insight of an enlightened human being.
Before we had internet, my father would painstakingly peruse the public library music collection, bringing home intriguing discoveries. Then on our booming living room speakers, he would share the very best with our family.
His musical taste defined the ambiance of my childhood home. Some nights, our spirits were filled with the mysticism of The Magic Flute by Mozart. Other times, we were confronted by the irrevocable observations of Bob Dylan’s “You Gotta Serve Somebody”. Within the music that my father enjoyed, he found profound wisdom to which he opened his spirit.
Dad playfully challenged my brother and me to identify the artist behind the music that resonated throughout our house. We were not good guessers. Our usual succession of guesses went: “Mozart? … Beethoven? … Bob Dylan?”
Music transcended mere entertainment for our family. It was a portal into the minds of great philosophers, counselors, and elders. All household activities revolved around their rhapsodic sound. I cannot recall my father ever lecturing me or my brother. Music was one of our teachers. And I now find myself appreciative of the lessons I learned through this medium.
African music was a regular presence in our home. It was an extension of my parents’ Peace Corps experience in Senegal before their marriage. More than other music we listened to, I felt called to participate with the entirety of my body and soul. Whimsical guitar riffs, call-and-response vocals, and the spontaneous beat of drums drove me to run and dance around our living room.
About 25 years ago, Dad brought home an album that would establish permanent residence in our household. It was “Tuku Music”, the breakthrough album that catapulted the career of Oliver Mtukudzi to international acclaim. While few lyrics are in English, the album has nevertheless made an impression upon me at various stages of life.
Oliver Mtukudzi utilized traditional Zimbabwe percussion, music, and dance known as ngoma. In this way, his sound was true to his Shona roots in northeast Zimbabwe, drawing older listeners. Yet, his incorporation of guitar and bass was a musical evolution, drawing a younger crowd. Through his music, Oliver Mtukudzi represented local Zimbabwe culture, values, and hardship, yet his unique style and lyricism earned him an international platform.
When Oliver Mtukudzi began his music career in the 1970s, the area that is now Zimbabwe was a war-torn British colony called Southern Rhodesia. Since the 1890s, British colonizers had attacked, controlled, and violated the Shona people native to this area. Oliver Mtukudzi’s music became integral to the uprising against white minority rule. Amidst a dehumanizing regime, he enlivened people with a sense of worth as human beings.
Among the Shona people, there is a fascinating social role called “sahwira”. This roughly translates to "family-recognized best friend". Oliver Mtukudzi describes this person as someone who “oversees how you are living in your home, and doesn’t overtake the family, but is always giving advice… he helps us, or coordinates us to discuss.” The sahwira has a license to speak to family members in ways that are otherwise socially unacceptable. They may use jokes, insults, or vulgarities to break the tension of uncomfortable situations. A sahwira may also use song or dance to neutralize the pain of intense grief. Whether called upon amidst conflict or celebration, the sahwira is a counselor who facilitates discussion and catalyzes cooperation.
Oliver Mtukudzi’s national presence during times of triumph and strife earned him the title “sahwira of the nation”. He possessed a tenacity to spark conversation about serious, humorous, and even taboo subjects in Zimbabwe, which he accomplished with music as a catalyst.
Unearthing Challenges, Catalyzing Discussion
When the album “Tuku Music” was released, HIV ravaged the African continent more than ever before. HIV afflicted 25% of the Zimbabwe population, one of the highest rates in the world. In the absence of effective therapy, average life expectancy plummeted to thirty-six years. And problems only spiraled from there. HIV crushed the productivity of Zimbabwe’s young population, it threw community networks into disarray and left older Zimbabweans without familial support.
Western public health organizations were initially unsuccessful in their attempts to address the epidemic. Scare tactics and slogans such as ‘AIDS Kills’ created an environment of intense stigma surrounding HIV. People became afraid to get tested, to seek care in AIDS clinics, or to make their HIV status known to others.
Stigma brought productive discourse surrounding HIV to a halt. Zimbabwe found itself in desperate need of a national sahwira.
Oliver Mtukudzi was a musician who responded to HIV/AIDS early in the epidemic. But even with his rapport and platform, his own approach initially fell flat. He first released the song “Stay with One Woman” in 1986, a song in English based on WHO educational materials. He was invited to perform the song internationally, yet it made little impact at home. Subsequent songs sung in Shona also failed to break through the prohibitive veil of taboo.
In 1997, Oliver Mtukudzi revived his role as sahwira with his hit album “Tuku Music”. The album’s second track, “Todii”, was not only wildly popular but it successfully brought HIV/AIDS into the spotlight. In the song, Oliver Mtukudzi is conversing with a hypothetical woman infected with HIV by her husband. She is now pregnant and will give birth to a child that will inevitably be infected and live a short life.
In the chorus, Oliver Mtukudzi sings with backup singers, posing the same direct question in Shona, Nbedele, then English:
Ho todii? Senzeni? What shall we do?
Tingadii? Senzenjani? What shall we do?
With “Todii”, Oliver Mtukduzi planted a seed for dialogue that Zimbabwe desperately needed. The song does not shame victims. It is overwhelmingly empathetic. Oliver Mtukudzi elaborates upon his approach in an interview:
Todii is like an answer to a few things that we don’t talk about… like you’re married and you discover you’re positive [for HIV]. What then do we do? Maybe you discover that your wife is pregnant. And you know exactly that maybe the baby will be affected too. What shall we do about that? I’m not giving any solutions there. But I’m just trying to trigger in the people… The more people talk about it, the more solutions can come about.
Despite the song’s international success, the message about HIV was partially lost in nearby countries struggling with HIV where Shona wasn’t spoken. So, he came out with a music video that lightly illustrates the subject.
We have much to learn from the humility of Oliver Mtukudzi. He witnessed catastrophic rates of suffering and death. Yet, instead of expressing rage, he stepped back and asked questions. He was genuinely curious. He wondered, how can we get through this together? He knew from experience that solutions wouldn’t arise from enforcing his views upon others. They must arise collectively.
For 20 years, I enjoyed this song without recognizing the commentary on HIV/AIDS, not to mention its cultural context. Yet, I have always found the mood of “Todii” to be captivating. The singers persistently ask, “What shall we do?” They seem troubled. Yet, the accompanying guitar riffs are blissful. And the marching pace of percussion provides a sense of forward movement, from hardship to a place of reconciliation.
To someone that doesn’t speak Shona, the song could be about anything. In retrospect, I somewhat appreciate this paradigm. “Todii” has been instrumental in my reconciliation of tribulations from family death and illness to vocational uncertainty and stress.
The power of Oliver Mtukudzi’s life work is derived, in part, from his radical ambiguity. In much of his music, he describes ubiquitous, yet challenging, human experiences. Yet, he doesn’t take sides. He poses broad questions and scenarios, allowing each member of his audience to interpret the significance from their unique vantage point.
A word that carries significance from South Africa to Malawi is ubuntu in Zulu or hunhu in Shona. While the word is variably interpreted, it roughly means “I am who I am because you are who you are”. When asked "How are you?", a common response in Zimbabwe is, "I am well if you are also". This culture of reciprocity is deeply embedded in Zimbabwe and in Oliver Mtukudzi’s music.
When Zimbabwe plunged into a 5-year period of irregular rainfall, Mtukudzi’s response was the song, “Hear Me, Lord”. While the song seems to illustrate a personal struggle, his plea is on behalf of all people in Zimbabwe. As “sahwira of the nation” Mtukudzi’s music was a force of solidarity. Time and time again, he enlivened his audience by channeling anguish into an uplifting sound, creating a bridge to hope and joy that was previously inconceivable.
I now see why Dad resonated with the temperament of Oliver Mtukudzi. During his Peace Corps years, he acquired a peculiar mannerism. He began to respond with a contemplative hum in acknowledgment of another’s observations or opinions. The tone didn't reveal agreement nor disagreement but communicated genuine consideration. This became a trait that Dad possessed for the rest of his life. Even when confronted by an objectionable opinion, he would respond with a thoughtful "MMmmm," encouraging elaboration.
Like Oliver Mtukudzi, Dad possessed a joyous personality, yet was deeply contemplative. As an impassioned librarian, he aspired to bring people's minds together in collaboration, regardless of how this might be achieved. This was evident from his career choices to his mannerisms.
After this month of contemplating Oliver Mtukudzi, I am asking the following questions…
Which issues possess the urgency of HIV/AIDS in Zimbabwe, yet lack adequate attention or discussion?
How can we channel the energy of Oliver Mtukudzi to catalyze empathetic discussion on these topics?
How can we become a sahwira to those who depend upon us?
How can we channel hunhu to uplift others, and thereby uplift ourselves?
Like Oliver Mtukudzi suggests, with discussion, perhaps solutions will come about.
For more on the life of Oliver Mtukudzi, I thoroughly enjoyed this podcast episode by Afropop Worldwide, which summarizes his life through interviews, music, and context provided by his biographer, Jennifer Kyker. Since childhood, she has spent much time in Zimbabwe and is an incredible source of context and interpretation of Oliver Mtukudzi’s music. I found Jennifer Kyker’s biography, Oliver Mtukudzi: Living Tuku Music in Zimbabwe, to be simply fascinating.
Beautiful and inspiring essay! Thank you for the good reminder about the ways we can build bridges.