On her travels to the Ivory Coast, Kora judge Nicky Blumenfeld discovered a controversial dance that has been nominated for a Kora Award
I’ve never been the competitive type, but when I was invited to act as a judge for the Kora All Africa Music Awards at Sun City on September 4, I jumped at the opportunity to explore the latest African music among experts, each representing a different region of the continent.
The intense, rewarding process offered more than I could ever have conceived. As a Southern African representative, I visited Paris and Abidjan to nominate local artists for whom, according to the rules, I couldn’t vote.
By the journey’s end I had gained more than just knowledge. I met brothers, fellow obsessives and kindred spirits – each a pioneering specialist in the African sound. The world music scene may be small, but the trailblazing is paying off as awareness of global trends and the accessibility of information increase. Radios in major cities now transmit a more eclectic mix – less one-dimensional, more encompassing. The First World is being forced to acknowledge the reality of an expanded, universal citizenship.
Kora founder and coordinator Ernest Coovi Adjovi encouraged me to stay longer in Paris than I had expected, to attend the presentation of this year’s Kora nominees. He also suggested extending my stay in the Ivory Coast.
On the runway of Abidjan airport, with Adjovi, we met some first-class African entrepreneurs. Everything moves so fast in this game, and I was hastily introduced to a pharmacist named Dr Pitte, and informed that he would escort me to my hotel.
Pitte was excited. En route he confessed that his village’s musical group had been nominated in the Kora’s traditional category. He insisted that I visit his village for Sunday lunch, and once he’d duly offered to pay my hotel expenses, I felt obliged.
Sunday arrived – and with it a shiny Pajero to transport the party that included Adjovi and other notables. True to form, we were whisked into the hinterland, passing numerous disastrous accidents on the way. After two hours of dust roads and lush tropical vegetation, we arrived at the picturesque village of Ngui Saff, nestling on a lagoon shore.
When Pitte extended his invitation, I’d imagined a family event attended by a few inquisitive neighbours. But we were welcomed by the entire village, introduced to majestic chiefs in full regalia of gold- plated headdresses then marched off at a regal pace, accompanied by a big brass band. This was a place so rural that the children screamed in horror at the sight of a white woman!
The fanfare followed us to a central enclosure where ancient and toothless elders waited under a palm-leaf awning. Greetings, ancestral libations and expressions of gratitude were exchanged.
At length I discovered the reason for this lavish celebration. In the late 1800s a warrior from the vicinity left for war. On his return, he insisted that his daughter firm her buttocks by practising a certain dance he’d learnt during his sojourn. Later, the dance became a cultural trademark of the village, for almost a century.
Recently, though, the dance has become popularised and has been provocatively portrayed on television. Even in nightclubs, half-naked women have performed the dance in apparently obscene ways. So it was officially banned. And now Pitte was on a mission to reclaim the rightful identity of the custom. Hence the village’s excitement at being nominated for a Kora award, a worldwide assertion of the respectability of their culture.
First the young children entertained the visitors with their rendition, followed by the old experts. Finally the chosen group performed. With its weighty historical implication, the dance transcended the role of a mere bum-wiggle, and I understood that I was part of the privileged few: witness to a magical moment that most will never experience.
But that’s not all. We were suddenly whisked off again, about 500m down the lagoonside, to Pitte’s mansion. Elaborate and excessive Ivorian nova-kitsch adorned his abode. On the lagoon shore stood two gigantic cement statues of eagles, each about 5m high.
At sunset on the balcony drinks were served in colonial style, attended by chiefs and other dignitaries. We dined at the water’s edge, on starched white tablecloths, while crude boats floated by and the sound of djembes wafted from neighbouring islands. Talk about Africa – not to mention absurd contradiction!
On departing, with the aid of a translator, a chief informed me that my true home is the Ivory Coast – then he offered me his blessing.
I’ve arrived home culturally enriched. Never mind the famous – the Koffi Olomides and Angelique Kidjos – of the world. If the Koras serve to highlight the most underexposed and indigenous talents of Africa, then they are a winner. I, for one, am a convertee.