I've always found South African music appealing. Not that I have listened to that much. But I have been quite impressed by the ones I've listened to, particularly those that retain a traditional touch. Whether it is Yvonne Chaka Chaka's Umqombothi—which was undoubtedly one of the most popular songs on the African continent in the late 1980s—or Ladysmith Black Mambazo's exquisite vocals, there is something about music from that part of the world that captivates me.

My friend is South African and a Zulu. He takes a great deal of pride in being a descendant of ancient warriors. His Zulu identity comes first, and not even his Roman Catholic faith prevents him from publicly professing a strong belief in polygamy. He was pleased to know that my Nigerio-centric education had exposed me to the "great" Shaka the Zulu, but was shocked on hearing that I knew nothing about the Battle of Isandlwana. "You know we defeated the British?" he said as he recounted what happened in 1879 as though he was there.

It was from this friend that I first got to listen to music by Ladysmith Black Mambazo some years back. But what I really found fascinating was how, to him at least, there was more to music than met the ear. "Asimbonanga: No, white South Africans won't listen to that." "Shosholoza? Everyone loves this song. Both blacks and whites sing it when we go watching football. You know I like Ladysmith Black Mambazo very much—even the white guy that sang with them. I like him."

The "white guy", I later got to learn, was Paul Simon who first shot Ladysmith Black Mambazo to international fame. My South African Zulu friend never hid the fact that he disliked South Africans of Caucasian stock—not as individuals, but as a group. I never agreed with the reasons he gave for disliking them but then, unlike him, I had been raised in and shaped by a totally different environment.

Helmut Lotti, whom I initially thought was South African, sings very well. His rendition of the Nkosi Sikelel' iAfrika with a backup choir is about the best I've heard. But in the opinion of an Afrikaner South African friend of mine, Lotti had a peculiar way of spoiling "their" South African music be it Sarie marais or Umakoti. "Lotti isn't a South African. Why on earth did you think he was?" she said. Well, he still sings brilliantly.

South Africa is, to the best of my knowledge, the only country in the world where one needs to understand five languages in order to sing and fully comprehend its national anthem. Until a few days ago, I often thought that the South African anthem was a mixture of Nkosi Sikelel' iAfrika in Xhosa or Zulu and Die Stem van Suid Afrika in Afrikaans. I once asked my South African Zulu friend "In what language is Nkosi Sikelel' iAfrika written and sung?" "Xhosa and Zulu" he replied.

According to Wikipedia, the official South African national anthem, which borrows from both Nkosi Sikelel' iAfrika and Die Stem comprises of five languages: Xhosa, Zulu, Sesotho, Afrikaans and English. I wonder for how long it could remain this way. If it does last for a hundred years, then South Africa could indeed teach something to the rest of the world: birds of not so much a feather can still flock together. And in so doing, they become one flock.

UPDATE (Sept 24, 2006): I came across this version of the South African anthem on YouTube. It is sung in five languages. Observe the change of key when the choir switches from Sesotho to Afrikaans.

Labels: Africa, Language, Music, South Africa