Music as a conduit: MANIFESTING IDENTITY, BELONGING, COLLECTIVE HEALING & RESILIENCe

Music. The one language almost every human being shares. Starter of the most iconic love stories, and the finisher of some tragic ones too. I have often found myself marvelling at just how many shoes it seems to fit, or perhaps the many hats it wears. Music nurtures like a mother - nature. Just as children learn their first vital habits and beliefs from their mothers, music can be a tool for instilling timeless practices that govern how people live and think. Even as I write, it dawns on me that it's not only humans, but other living beings also experience this. Birds chirp away their melodic tales, encoding messages of what's to come that travel beyond the reach of our eyes. Whales sing in echolocating songs, booming their knowledge deep into the seas. The wind whispers, bringing tidings of seasonal changes, of rains to come or sullen drought. Oceans rage with immaculate fury, whistling by coastal shores with whispers of lunar cycles and the rapidly deteriorating atmosphere. When each being comes into harmony with itself and others, the union is what I would describe as musical. And this, for me at least, is how I experience music.

It's not just the lyrical melodies or swervy harmonies that get musicians high, nor is it the rhythmic movements that breed a fire from dancers. It's the stories imbued deep within. The sensations oozing out of the song. These sensations, whether impressions or expressions of the artist's mind, lay a foundation, note by note, for stories we all somehow know and feel deep inside. This may not be the experience of every music listener. I'll admit the world is full of multifaceted perceptions that shape even how we hear a song! For me, that's what makes it so intriguing. It's how a few notes strung together can become an anthem, a prayer, a vow, a manifestation of feelings that cannot simply be put into words. How a rhythmic phrase can serve as a common greeting between two people from opposite sides of the world.

Music has the capacity to exist beyond mere melodies, harmonies, rhythms and grooves. It lies in the ability to unite communities, be it through shared experience or struggle. For instance, you may know how the experience of Apartheid in South Africa created a rich and "disruptive"(as oppressors described the sound of Jazz wherever it manifested) flavour of music that united people of colour into a singular fight. From artists like Miriam Makeba, Abdullah Ibrahim, Letta Mbulu & Hugh Masekela, among countless others, the message was clear. The people demanded liberation from their inhumane oppressors. What we now call South African jazz is an encoded sound of freedom fighters bound together in pursuit of liberation. If you listen to the music even to date, you will feel that fire burning through the songs. It continues to collectively heal and inspire people deeply.

Or we can look at how Kenyan popular music systematically evolved over time. You may know of Fundi Konge, who shared his deep-seated knowledge of Giriama heritage and the Kenyan coastal lifestyle, as well as his perspectives on life and experiences through his music. During the colonial and post-colonial eras, as efforts to silence local music-making cultures intensified, artists swiftly changed their tactics, adopting parabolic language in their music. We know how Daudi Kabaka was hailed for his splendid social commentary, which evolved over the years in his career. And in times when creative artists were hunted down by the Moi government for speaking up against political injustice, Kenyan artists boldly stepped up. They transformed benga music into raw, expressive, and deeply conscious sounds that surpassed the bans on "disruptive" music, which aimed to favour Nyayo-themed music. We may not even realise it in real time, but Kenyan popular music today is heavily encoded with the growing frustrations and release of a people who are still striving to have their voices heard as a collective.

Now, on a personal level, I have found that practising, creating and listening to music has both brought up and answered questions I never dared to truly face before. The question, "Who am I?" rang crisp in my mind the more I got exposed to music growing up. The more I learnt music through "formal" (put in quotes because, who said Western-based education is formal and indigenous-based education is informal?!?) training, I realised I was both further and closer to the answer I sought. One thing is for sure: the answer revealed from my pursuit of Western classical music as a high school student is that I did not know who I was or where I came from. It was far too distant in that music classroom, where we endeavoured to sound like operatic singers or orchestral maestros. The answer felt closer whenever I was immersed in the charismatic singing of my grandmother, uncles, and aunties at family gatherings as they praised and prayed, "Hoyai, hoyai ti theru ni mukuheo..." and I could really feel that maybe my prayers weren't landing on deaf ears, haha! Or when performing a cultural song with my fellow choirmates in high school, responding to the soloist's call, "Achee eeeh!" "Achee hoya!" and vividly seeing our forefather and foremothers in my mind, celebrating a wedding somewhere in Coastal Kenya.

These were mere first steps on my path as a budding artist. In moments where sadness would overwhelm me, or when I found myself lost in thoughts of a lover far from my side, I would find myself humming solemn melodies, holding words that I could not yet speak out loud. And so music opened a door. Writing songs and poetic narratives would come to hold me in ways that allowed me to transmute my own journey into experiences I could share with others without fear or shame. Through this journey, I discovered that the stories and experiences shared in my own music had the capacity to reach others, even when they could not understand a word. We were connected through an unspoken bond. The parts of myself that sometimes feel alone found community through this connection. I found myself increasingly drawn to music that elicits feelings in me, whether joy, sadness, grief, pleasure, or a spiritual or ancestral calling. I followed those sounds, those voices, and the words I could not understand spoke to me in a language I could grasp. The miracle of music further led me to creatives who speak volumes through their chosen medium or instrument. And through them, I came to understand that music goes far beyond whimsical melodies, enchanting harmonies, and moving rhythms. I began to connect with artists through their music. The echoes of their identities, beliefs and aspirations.

From where I stand, I see music as a conduit. And in the context of the African people, it is something that has endured over time, transforming and mutating to survive. Every modern iteration of African sound, be it in our present-day traditional folk music, contemporary, Afrobeat, Genge, Sebene, Rhumba, Kora, Nubian, Ingoma, Taarab, Amapiano - you name it - is a sound manifestation of a deep resilience, adaptable and undying spirit among African peoples (whether continental or in the African diaspora). You just need to hear it to know it. The same applies to music from all over the world. And so a creative, I feel not only obligated but greatly privileged to be part of the unending cycle of evolution of our people, manifested through sound, stories and spirituality. An honour that grounds me in my role as a conductor of this medium that holds space in ways we cannot fully describe. It is indeed a gift and a mandate!

~ The Afreecan