While I was living in Dubai in the mid-1980s, a South African friend gave me a CD he thought I might like. It was by Johnny Clegg, a white musician who was raised in Rhodesia (now called Zimbabwe) and South Africa. Clegg became fascinated with music as a young boy after he watched Zulu street musicians and dancers perform. In 1969, Clegg formed his own band, Juluka, which became the first mixed-race musical group in the country. During the apartheid era, it was illegal for mixed-race bands to perform, so the group could only play at private venues that were not open to the public. From the beginning, Clegg blended both Western and African styles of music and wrote many of the lyrics in local dialect.
The CD stayed in my collections for years, but it eventually got misplaced during one of my many moves. Once the CD disappeared, the name Johnny Clegg was also forgotten.
A few weeks ago, I was listening to an interview with a musician on Minnesota Public Radio. I wasn’t paying that much attention until the station played a music clip that I vaguely recognized. At first, I couldn’t remember where I had heard the song, but when the announcer mentioned the artist’s name, my memory kicked in. During the interview, Clegg said that he was in the middle of a U.S. tour in which he was going to preform at the Cedar Cultural Center in Minneapolis. After listening to the rest of the interview, I went online and bought two tickets for my wife and me for old times’ sake. It had been nearly 20 years since I had heard Clegg’s music.
The concert was excellent and it brought back many memories, particularly when he played some of his oldies with which I was familiar. Clegg continues to write music that deals with social and political issues facing South Africa and much of the continent.
During the concert, he paused in between songs and told anecdotes that explained the background of some of his pieces. If the words to a song were in Zulu or another South African language (there are 11 official languages in South Africa) he gave an abridged translation, because he wanted to make the audience appreciate the meaning of all his music. He also took time to reflect on the current political situation in southern Africa and how it has affected the way he writes. What interested me, however, were his impressions of America. The comment that I found particularly pertinent was his comparison of the U.S. to the land of Quaker Oats. He was referring to the predictability of life in America, where most people follow a daily routine that features the same patterns day after day with little or no variation. He compared this blissful “Quaker Oats” existence with life in Africa, which is riddled with chaos and uncertainty.
Having spent the better part of my life living in Africa and the Middle East, I can see how Clegg came to that conclusion. Over there, nothing is routine, not even mundane activities such as going to the gas station, shopping at the market or picking up your child from soccer practice. Every day when I left the house, the first thought that came to mind was: What should I expect today. It could be as simple as sitting in traffic and watching a beggar with no legs trying to maneuver through traffic on his makeshift skateboard by latching on to the bumpers of cars. Another scenario could be finding yourself stuck behind a horse that is towing a broken down car. A third, and more alarming possibility, could be driving by a building that had just collapsed a few moments earlier due to shoddy construction killing residents and passers-by. These experiences, whether amusing or horrifying, are memorable in their own right. To this day, I can still vividly recall many of my encounters, which at the time I simply perceived as part of daily life.
I will never forget the time I went to pick up my son from soccer practice when we lived in Beirut, and on our way home, we passed within a hundred meters of a car bomb. Still to this day, whenever I’m driving through a storm and a sudden gust of wind hits the side of the car, it takes me back to the moment that bomb detonated.
I don’t believe that Clegg’s comparison was intended to be derogatory by any means; he was just making a natural comparison in much the same way that an American visitor to Africa would make. Only in Africa, the American would tend to be amazed by how crazy and disorganized everything seems. When friends came to visit us in Cairo, their first reaction was invariably to ask, “How can you live in this place?”
Crazy as it may seem, I have always felt more comfortable living in places that are unpredictable, because I find it easier to adapt when things go wrong.