African Spectacular Albert Nyathi & Imbongi Hull Jazz Festival 31st July By Michelle Dee

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Oh what a treat the highly acclaimed Zimbabwean poet and his stunning group Imbongi (praise poets) performing at the Hull Jazz festival 2004. It was a grey drizzly day in Queens Gardens, the sky threatened us with a downpour but my spirits would not be dampened. The musicians from Imbongi started to play. The singers took to the stage proudly dressed in animal skin costumes the men with impressive headdresses the women wearing bright yellow. They opened with an accapella song rich in harmony.

Then Albert himself marched on to stage welcoming us to Zimbabwe, Malawi, Nairobi and his hometown of Bulawayo situated in Southern Zimbabwe. Albert infuses his powerful poetry with the music to great effect. He rejoices in the beauty of his country. He told us not to worry about the politics just be happy to be part of the community of life. In the poem Welcome to Zimbabwe (land of contradiction) the torrid history is told of the country, from 1890 to the present day.

He grew up in Matabeleland the land of kings and used to herd cows in the vleis around Bulawayo as a young boy. Albert developed an interest in writing during these early years and naturally drew on the things he saw around him such as animals, birds, trees and rivers for a lot of his inspiration. Using lots of animalistic metaphors and juxtaposed imagery he talks about laughing hyenas and crying children then asks the question why. With truly inspired verse he personifies the river imagining a swollen Zambezi vomiting fish and crocodiles.

He describes how through the media influence American culture has invaded the young minds of Zimbabwe's children. However there was no mention of how, Mugabe allegedly polluted the minds of children some as young as twelve or thirteen in diabolical torture camps. It has been reported that these children are taught the art of guerilla warfare and brainwashed to even turn against their own families in order for Mugabe to stay in power.

On a day that was about entertaining with beautiful songs and mesmerizing dance routines it was probably wise to stay away from such despairing human rights issues.

Marching proudly behind his troupe like a lion parading in the lowveld. A trumpet solo blasts out into the humid air as Albert begins to weave another tale. This one is about how he used to play out and have fun before the arrival of the terrible, winds of destruction, drawing on a meteorological metaphor, destroyed the villages and the indigenous culture.

The music was a fusion of traditional songs and street jive in a Mvengemvenge style. Mvengemvenge was a television show much like Top of the Pops that I used to watch on Zim 1 the only TV. channel we had. It showcased Zimbabwean music such as the Bhundu Boys I remember we used to get the news in English then Shona then finally in Ndebele.

The songs today were all sung in Ndebele, which is the language of Southern Zimbabwe apart from one or two of the songs where a few refrains were in English. Such as in the song, Give Me a Chance, this is a story of growing up through the eyes of a young girl. She cries out give me a chance to see my friends to grow and learn about life in my own time.

This song is driven by the dancers through characterized moves they tell the story of the girl how she is followed everywhere by her parents they are singing a song in her ear she doesn't want to hear.

Then she grows up and the idea of men is introduced to her. At this point the male dancers start posturing like bull elephants and begin a series of high kicks. Each one urges the other to more impressive dance steps that encompass spinning kicking powerful impressive moves but at times with the gracefulness of the sable. The female members play the young girl and revel in all this machismo amongst the men and allow themselves to be chased around the stage as they act out the story.

African Spectacular Albert Nyathi & Imbongi Hull Jazz Festival 31st July By Michelle Dee continued

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Photographs courtsey and Copyright © Jane Foster 2004

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