Encountering Zahara-A Chronicle of Feelings

A Feeling Without Name
“Some answers take time. Some words bleed their way onto the paper. Sometimes, much more difficult than the pain is the act of registering it” writes the Indian Journalist Astha Savyasachi. Over a month has passed since Zahara passed on. Her death left the world in shock. It left me shattered. Tributes and eulogies have since poured in from every corner of the world, each beautiful and fitting in its own way. This piece is not a eulogy. It certainly is not a tribute. It’s a chronicle of feelings, perhaps, and a belated one at that. And it’s belated because, as Astha put it, the act of writing about a pain is much more difficult than the pain itself.

The Encounter
My encounter with Zahara’s songs happened one evening in November 2023. It was a Friday, and I was visiting one of the members of the Board of Advisors of my life whom I’ll refer to as Fidel throughout this piece. The purpose of the visit was to pick his brain about a big decision I was mulling over. Fidel agreed to meet with me and requested in advance that we cook as we discussed. On the day, we drove to Kimironko Market in Kigali after work to buy the necessary ingredients for our cooking. Those who cook will tell you that music is a lifeline of the process. So Fidel, a great cook himself, and I agreed to take turns playing music while we cooked.

My playlist was great, featuring timeless vocalists like Salif Keita, Oumou Sangare, Rokia Traore, Tomani Diabate, and more. Once my playlist had run its course, Fidel took charge. His musical taste, much like his political views, was Pan-African and eclectic. The first song on his playlist was from the Senegalese vocalist Ismael Lo, titled “Souleyman.” This was followed by another gem from Cape Verdean maestro of music Cesária Évora, along with a selection of tracks from the legendary Congolese Madilu System. These were all familiar melodies. Ensnared by the familiar arose a new song, a voice unknown, but singing in a language that was hauntingly familiar-Xhosa:
Ndihambile (“I have walked”), the voice announced.
Ndibonile (I have seen), it continued.
Bandixelele bandinikile (They told me, they gave me)
Ndingafunanga ndingabuzanga (I did not want,I did not ask).

Singing each verse with a measured sequence and at an interval that makes the soul yearning for the next, I stopped chopping the vegetables and did what anyone would do on their first encounter with a great art when she pitched on the second stanza:
Ndiza ndiza (I will come, I will come)
Ndizaw’buya (I will come back)
ndikuphathel’ntliziyo yam (bringing you my heart)
Uzuyenze msulwa yona (Make it pure)

Who is the artist, asked? “That is the legendary Bulelwa Mkutukana from South Africa”, Fidel replied with a smile and a nod. That was my introduction to the great soul that touched hundreds of souls around the world. Although other great songs would come after her, I was already hooked by Zahara — body, mind, and soul.

The Voice and its Mesmerizing Power
As a child, I would often see my mom tilting her head from side to side while listening to Franco’s Mario or Kanda Bongo Man’s Muchana. When I asked if she understood the languages of the song, the answer was always the same: Yes. “Great music has no specific language, my son”, she would say while smiling affably. Of course my mom did not understand the languages of those songs. She only speaks Mandinka and Kpelleh and a bit of English. But her point was that when a music is good, it really does not matter what language it’s sung in for one to enjoy it. But at the time I didn’t fully comprehend her words. And although I would catch glimpses of her wisdom in other songs as I grew up, it was not until I encountered Zahara that I truly understood what my mom meant when she said those words. Zahara became a proof, indeed, that great music not only transcends languages, but also national boundaries, ethnicities, politics, religion, ideology, race, and so much more.

The lyrics of Ndiza, and later Lengoma, Xa Bendingena, Phendula, and others, initially incomprehensible, left me spellbound and unfolded a profound connection, as if my mother’s wisdom had found a new vessel. They were mesmerizing and captivating, and left me hooked, so hooked that the first thing I did when I got home that night was write about the encounter in my diary. Later, I created a new playlist called ‘Feels’ consisting of only her songs, which I have listened to almost every single day at work. But writing in my diary and creating a dedicated playlist was not the only influence her voice had on me. Her spell manifested in other areas.

Reincarnating my love for South Africa:
Growing up, I always wanted to visit South Africa. The primary reason was to see Mama Nomzamo Madikezela (Winnie Mandela), whose book, Part of My Soul Went With Him, was the first political literature I read and understood without any external supervision, guidance, or interpretation at the age of 13. Therefore, meeting her became a long-standing goal of mine. For that, I would devise plans, including wanting to attend the African Leadership Academy in 2011 and doing my first undergrad studies at a university in South Africa. However, my plans changed when Mama Winnie passed away. The only other opportunity I had to go to South Africa was when I was accepted for the Mandela-Rhodes Scholarship to study my Masters at Witswaterand University and other universities in the country; an opportunity which I declined for another one.

My long-standing desire to visit South Africa only became rekindled days after I encountered Zahara. Suddenly, I found myself considering a trip to South one evening. In between my encounter with herand her death, plans unfolded for a trip to Namibia during last December break. Initially the plan was to fly directly from Kigali to. However, as the time came near a new plan unfolded: I would fly to South Africa first before leaving for Windhoek. Call it fate. But it is best articulated by that Brazilian teacher and author Paulo Coelho: “When you want something, all the universe conspires in helping you to achieve it”. Clearly, the universe had conspired to make me see-Zahara. But as the Yiddish expression goes, “Der Mench Tracht, Un Gott Lacht” (We plan, God laughs). And so it was. Days ahead of my trip on that Monday morning while at work, a link flew into my inbox on whatsapp from Fidel. Zhara was pronounced dead.

Zahara’s death broke me and left me with many questions: What is life? Why do some people live longer and others not? Why do good people die soon? What becomes of our talents when we die? Will I ever go to South Africa? Despaire took over me at work in those moments. But somewhere in between, a console came in the form rememberance. A line in the speech of the President of the Economic Freedom Fighters of South Africa Julius Malema the funeral of Mama Winnie funeral in 2018 came to mind: “Queens mothers never die, they multiply into million [red] flowers of love and freedom”. No doubt Zahara has multiplied herself into millions of beautiful flowers. I am one of them.

Zahara had a message to the world
Zahara’s songs weren’t just harmonious; they resonated with powerful messages life lessons: of perseverance, of purpose, of tenacity and, most importantly, of patience. In Destiny, for instance, she sang:
Everything maybe rushing on me
Everything may be too slow on me
But I’ll be here holding it down
I know where I am going

Winning
Losing
That ain’t the matter
I’ll keep on trying
I won’t give up

Like Destiny, in Me I and My Guitar, she sings, yet again:
“Another bird has gone”
“Another part of each of us is gone yeah”
“Another right has been wronged”
“But we go on until until”

“So take your time for time is what it’s gonna take”
“And then you’ll awake to find there’s one less tear”.

Other songs such as Hold On and Rise Again are filled with similar and other important messages life lessons. Her messages were not mere words she sang; she also embodied them in practice. For instance, although an instant sensation upon the release of her first album (Loliwe), it took her 3 years or more to release her second album-Phendula- a friend told me this recenlty Fika Cafe.

In a time when everyone wants everything, and when achieved some, yet no one, to borrow the words of that great German writer Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, can “Say to the moment, Linger a while — thou art so fair!” her songs are stern reminders that it’s okay to be patient and persevere; to take each day at a time; to dream our own dreams instead of others and stick to those dreams, even when they don’t seem to be coming through at the moment; nd to persevere when the horizon seems far and the job seems impossible. Most importantly, that it is okay to take a pause and reset when it does not go as we plan. In this regard, she stands among the giants who have left their mark on the universe, including musicians, politicians, freedom fighters, nationalists, poets, and rebels.

A Confession:
I must confess that I did not have the opportunity to listen to Zahara’s music for very long while she was alive. In fact, I had only been listening to her songs for about three weeks when she passed away. I had trouble understanding most of her songs without translation, except for the ones in English like ‘Destiny’ or when she included one or two English words in others. Whatever is written here therefore is but feelings that accrued during those weeks.