As I got the third call at 1.13am confirming Lucky Dube’s death, I could not go back to sleep but started reminiscing about the times we had spent together when I was still his keyboard player.
One view that I still hold about Lucky is that he was the most brilliant composer that South Africa has ever had, as attested by the lyrical content of songs such as Little Heroes, Crazy World (Dinky), House of Exile, Keep on Knocking, Johnny, Up with Hope (Down with Dope), Reap What you Sow …
It is a pity, though, that we are living in a country that sees no value in someone until he is dead and gone. Only then you will hear stories about that person that you never heard while he was still alive.
Lucky was one of the artists that this country did not honour accordingly, but buried him while he was still alive. He was more appreciated outside South Africa than in his own country. During apartheid, when he was singing against the system, he got much media coverage and love from the South African people, including the state itself, but post-1994 when we achieved the freedom he was fighting for, he never got the love he deserved, even from our state.
I am reminded of an incident when I was still his keyboard player and we were invited to perform in the then South West Africa, now known as Namibia. The booking never indicated that we would be performing at a military camp for the South African Defence Force. We only realised this when we arrived for the actual performance and saw white men in army uniforms.
We knew that we were trapped in a situation that might kill Lucky Dube’s career due to the political incorrectness of the performance and a possible bomb attack from the military wing of the South West African Political Organisation led by the former president Sam Nujoma.
We got together to discuss the issue but had no answers as we could not pull out at that time. The contract had already been signed and all payments made. We ended up getting on stage and performing against our will and our principled stand against the state.
All I can remember is white soldiers dancing to lyrics like, ”I am a prisoner in my own country,” and here and there Lucky would sing derogatory words in Zulu so that they didn’t pick up the meaning. We laughed about the incident all the many hours back to Johannesburg, as we were travelling by road and not by air.
In essence I am bringing back these memories to highlight our ruthless and non-appreciative attitude towards our own history, which we should embrace and look after by all means necessary.
I am sure that the industry will honour him posthumously, as usual. I wish I could design my own memorial and funeral programme, and write a will to prevent those who failed to show me love while I was still alive from attend these events to share their heartless condolences crowned with crocodile tears as a VIP pass for the afterparty and media coverage.
Let me not sound angry, but one cannot stop thinking that we all have a time where our lives will come to an end, and we hope that we’ll know when this time comes so that we can clean up our acts and clear all our grievances with those with whom we might not see eye to eye.
It is probably all artists’ wish that when such a time comes, their burial won’t have to rely on donations from charitable parties. This is one thing that I know Lucky will not be subjected to because he was very smart about how he spent and invested his money.
My honest wish is that his soul may rest in peace. Let us respect him like we used to during the apartheid era. Let us not allow democracy to erode our Africanism, but embrace our values.
Eugene Mthethwa performed with Lucky Dube from 1989 until 1995 as keyboard player