Kampire: The East African DJ spinning a new narrative for African music

The career of one of Africa’s most forward-looking DJs has its roots in nostalgia for her parents’ uncool music, which she was forced to dance to at Christmas parties when she was a kid growing up in Zambia.

Kampire Bahana, the East African DJ known by her first name, has just released a compilation titled Kampire Presents: A Dancefloor in Ndola on the respected UK label Strut Records, home to jazz, funk and global sounds. 

Unlike most other African music reissues, it doesn’t curate a regional scene or genre such as funk, soul or rock. With its mostly Nineties dance music from East and Southern Africa, 

A Dancefloor in Ndola also does not date back to the Sixties and Seventies, where the majority of those compilations have their focus.

“I think that, traditionally, these compilations of African music have largely been curated by white dudes in tropical T-shirts who have a passion for African music,” Kampire says with a mischievous smile. We are talking via Zoom — she is in London for a DJ set at the All Points East music festival the following day. 

“They are, like, ‘I’ve unearthed this artist or this archive of music and I’m bringing it to the West where it’s been undiscovered.’

“I didn’t want to approach the compilation in that way. And it’s different if you’re someone who’s immersed in that culture and you’re trying to give people a feel and a sense of that.”

Although born in Kenya to Ugandan parents, Kampire spent her formative years, from the age of two to 18, in Ndola, the commercial capital of Zambia’s Copperbelt province. 

A Dancefloor in Ndola is inspired by songs that formed part of her soundtrack during that time, including those Christmas parties with the old folks’ East African music plus some South African dance gems.

“It is important for me to continually reference Africa’s own musical history,” the 37-year-old selector explains. “At 17, I didn’t pick up on my dad’s music but now I love and collect those records. I’m constantly referencing them in my music sets today. I love that feeling of shared nostalgia where people recognise a song they haven’t heard in a long time. It is a touchstone for me when I’m playing.”

Kampire brought those sensibilities to A Dancefloor in Ndola.

“This compilation wasn’t to bring it to a Western audience and be, like, ‘Look at these undiscovered gems,’” she says. “It was more like a conversation that I’m trying to have with my peers and my generation and with younger people as well.

“Because I think that when you come from colonised peoples and colonised cultures, there’s this ever-present idea that the West is best or Western music and culture is better.”

But Kampire is quick to point out the global music world is integrated with people from different backgrounds.

“A lot of those white dudes in tropical T-shirts have been my friends and have welcomed me into the community and shared music with me. They have mentored and supported me. So, it’s not to say that their contribution is worthless or meaningless. It’s just that it’s also time and space for new and different approaches.”

In 2006, Kampire went to university in the US, where she had “that familiar immigrant experience”. 

“I had a deep longing for that music that reminded me of home and for people who remembered the same things as I did,” she says. “At the time, it was the early days of YouTube, which was really a wild, wild west and you could put anything up on there.”

It helped her stay connected to what her peers were listening to in Nairobi, Kampala and Ndola but also to older music. 

“I was also really missing my dad’s music, like [Congolese artists] TPOK Jazz.”

It also made her wonder what those songs would sound like on massive speakers in a Kampala club. 

Kampire returned to Uganda in 2009 and got involved in arranging parties and music. Friends had started the electronic music festival Nyege Nyege and they asked for her help organising it. 

Nyege Nyege, which is Luganda for “the feeling of a sudden uncontrollable urge to move, shake or dance”, has since evolved into one of the most celebrated dance festivals and record labels globally.

In 2015, Kampire played her first DJ set after a friend asked, “Why don’t you?” and she could finally hear what it sounded like playing out not only those old songs but also adventurous African contemporary dance music. 

Kampire’s global breakthrough came in 2018 when the online UK music broadcaster Boiler Room broadcast her set from Nyege Nyege — it had more than 753 000 views on YouTube.

She now tours worldwide and is celebrated for her brilliantly curated sets spanning a wide range of African music styles from the Seventies and Eighties to the present day:   assorted African bass music such as kuduro, bubblegum, gqom, kwaito, soukous, Afrobeats and amapiano.

But the Nyege festival has been controversial in conservative Uganda because of its close affiliation with the LGBTQI+ community.

In 2018, the government — egged on by rightwing American Christian fundamentalists —even tried to ban it. Uganda’s ethics minister Simon Lokodo said the devil had beaten him after his failed attempt to shut down Nyege, which he alleged promoted open sex, gay relations and drug abuse.

“I tried my best to block it but the devil has a strong hand,” Lokodo was quoted by The EastAfrican newspaper as saying. “I had to backtrack.” The minister said the four-day festival was “close to devil worshipping and not acceptable”.

The hugely popular Nyege has attracted festival-goers and artists from across the globe.  This year’s edition, which is taking place between 14 and 17 November in Jinja in eastern Uganda, is expected to surpass last year’s 60 000 attendees.

I ask Kampire if the authorities have made peace with the idea that Nyege is becoming more successful.

“No, they have not,” she sighs. “I would say there’s two camps — one is the ones who recognise that it’s a money-making opportunity. 

“But the other camp is people who have made their careers out of being religious or moral fundamentalists. 

“So, they gain a lot of power from making a lot of noise about this festival, how it should not happen and how it’s corrupting the youth and all of this nonsense.”

Kampire identifies as a queer feminist. 

“I think it matters in that it puts me in a community of my peers — it matters that more people like us are being in some way recognised for our contributions to arts and culture and community-building.”

I ask her how Uganda’s Anti-Homosexuality Act 2023 has affected her.

“I don’t go out as much as I did, like, five years ago or so. But, when we started again [after Covid], we were throwing all these parties, it was much more accessible … 

“People felt safer to put on these things.”

But the Act changed everything — it entrenches discrimination against queer people and puts them at greater risk of violence, according to Human Rights Watch. 

It criminalises consensual same-sex conduct with penalties of up to life imprisonment, attempted homosexual acts with penalties of 10 years in prison — and the death penalty for those convicted of “aggravated homosexuality”, which is repeated same-sex acts with a person younger than 18, older than 75 or a person with a disability.

‘Between the pandemic, and when this new law was passed, a lot of my friends and community have basically had to leave the country,” Kampire says. “A lot of people have been evicted from their homes or feel that they have to go underground.

“So, you can’t just be throwing random raves in the city … So, yeah, it has changed a lot since that bill was passed.”

When we speak, Kampire is halfway through a successful European tour. She has one fan who keeps a close eye — her dad.

“He always asks about my shows,” she says. “And if it’s something I think he’ll recognise, like a BBC radio thing, I’ll send him the link.”

She pauses and smiles at a thought.

“Funnily enough, this was, maybe six or seven years into when I started DJing … and he was very aware. But he randomly sent me a message saying, ‘Oh, did you know that when I was in university, I used to DJ and your mom would be standing behind me?’

“And I was, like, ‘What do you mean? You didn’t tell me this all this time I’ve been DJing?’”

Kampire shakes her head. “So, I get now where the understanding, appreciation and slight obsession with music came from.”