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“Boomerang”
Hip-Hop and Pan-African Dialogues
HIP-HOP CULTURE IN Africa has increasingly been a subject of research that recognizes the importance of the culture’s popularity and its potential for influencing change. It is a culture that has had a tremendous impact on youth in Africa. Like hip-hop in the United States, hip-hop in Africa has had transformative impacts on youth. It has become more than just a style or genre of music. It is a culture that is simultaneously connected to global hip-hop cultures and local cultural systems. Hip-hop in Africa has brought African voices to a global hip-hop community. Hip-hop in Africa is a representation of African realities and of African youth cultures. In essence, hip-hop in Africa provides its own record of historical and contemporary Africa, a record no less significant than a written text, a documentary film, or oral histories. The subtitle of the book, Prophets of the City and Dustyfoot Philosophers, refers to the role of emcees in local cityscapes, their roles as prophets and philosophers narrating their local urban spaces. Prophets of the City is also an homage to the pioneering South African hip-hop group Prophets of da City, while Dustyfoot Philosophers is an homage to the landmark album The Dusty Foot Philosopher by Somali rapper K’naan.
In understanding both historical and contemporary Africa, one can look to its music. The concept of cultural representations in cultural studies asserts that to understand any society or culture one “must understand the practices that surround the production and consumption of its music” (Ingram 2010, 106). While the focus of this research is primarily the music, music is not the only form of cultural representation. Written text, song, poetry, film, television, fine art—all are cultural representations. The concept of cultural representation is found within cultural studies and was advanced by scholars such as Stuart Hall. According to Hall (2013), there are the “reflective, the intentional and the constructionist approaches to (cultural) representation.” Cultural representations may reflect what is going on in society, they may be an expression of the creator’s intentions, or they may construct meaning for the audience consuming the representations. This research takes a more constructionist approach, looking at how hip-hop, as a cultural representation, constructs certain narratives for its audiences.
This research focuses on the importance of cultural representations (hip-hop) in constructing understandings of political institutions, social change, gender, migration, and identity in Africa. Most of what we know about the world is through “mediation,” or representations, whether it be a newscast, a textbook, or a film. These representations can come in the form of a blog, a website, Twitter, a Facebook post, or a YouTube video. When we take in these representations by watching, listening, reading, and experiencing; reality is being shaped (Ingram 2010; Barker 2012). Cultural representations, in this case hiphop, shape how the consumers of those representations view society and what realities they adopt.
When news directors at the BBC, CNN, or Al Jazeera reduce the day’s events to thirty- or sixty-minute segments, they shape how viewers interpret the world (Barker 2012). Truth and reality are not neutral but constructed. As a form of cultural representation, hip-hop is no different. The artists themselves decide what is relevant and what realities they want to construct. Whatever is produced—be it music, a graffiti tag, a graphic design on a T-shirt, or a film—the cultural production encompasses the ideologies and backgrounds of the artist(s). Participants and observers of African hip-hop facilitate the process of creating reality by defining what information is important and interpreting it based on their own social, cultural, and ideological perspectives. The street language used in hip-hop, for example, may cause some to dismiss the music as troublesome, and disrespectful, while others may be drawn to the music because they feel connected to the words being spoken.
For the purpose of this research, African hip-hop will include hiphop music performed by individuals born in Africa, and who identify as African, regardless of where they live. The definition will also include those who are recent African migrants as a result of migrations of African communities outside Africa, especially in the West, in the past fifty years. While there are African hip-hop artists all over the world, this research will focus primarily on hip-hop in Africa, as well as hip-hop produced by those who migrated from Africa to the United States, the birthplace of hip-hop culture.
While the concept of representation is often discussed by hiphop artists, it is also a core concept within cultural studies. According to Hall, “To say that two people belong to the same culture is to say that they interpret the world in roughly the same ways and can express themselves . . . in ways which will be understood by each other” (2013). Hip-hop music speaks, through the use of shared languages, to individuals within certain cultures. Hip-hop is a vehicle by which artists represent locations, experiences, and identities. It is also a vehicle through which African realities are shaped and told. Representation in hip-hop serves to validate, depict, and define a place, a people, and experiences.
This research contributes to defining African hip-hop and recognizes hip-hop culture in Africa as a form of cultural representation by urban youth on the continent and in the diaspora. African hip-hop culture is tied to both African cultures and global hip-hop cultures. Hip-hop uses the power of words and wordplay while simultaneously understanding and harnessing the power of representation.
The research is based on the premise that hip-hop is a musical form with African roots, roots that predate hip-hop’s contemporary origins in the South Bronx between 1970 and 1973 (Chang and DJ Kool Herc 2005; Kitwana 2002). Hip-hop is part of years of back-and-forth music flows between Africa and the African diaspora. African hiphop has also been influenced by the continent’s own musical history. Hip-hop artists all over Africa have used local, continental, and diasporic elements in their music.
The research will examine representations within this varied and complex culture, on a continent with multiple hip-hop communities. Some hip-hop communities are larger than others. Most began in the capital cities but have spread to smaller towns and villages. There are also a growing number of African artists in the US diaspora, as a result of the large numbers of Africans who have migrated out of Africa and into the United States in the past thirty years. Hip-hop is bringing these artists together through collaborations and is creating both diverse and common narratives of African society.
This book examines the role that female artists play in constructing contemporary representations of African women. These artists are influenced by both hip-hop and local cultures, and they use their music to provide additional perspectives on, and depictions of, women in Africa. Many challenge constructions of femininity and womanhood, or the policing of women’s sexualities. Others direct their commentary toward gender oppressions or gender identities. It is important to understand how the representations created by female emcees contribute to our understandings of urban African women. Media representations of African women present skewed single-story narratives of passive, poor, rural African women. Female emcees offer representations that present narratives of African women having agency, women in both urban and rural contexts, and women who recognize and grapple with privilege in its many manifestations.
The research looks at African hip-hop as a representation of African society, as a representation through which Africa is discussed, defined, and represented. The events and experiences that have influenced the content of hip-hop in Africa, and the representations of Africa it chooses to depict, are significant. These events and experiences differ across Africa, but there are some important similarities. For example, the depictions of African economic and political realities, interactions with state institutions, and access to resources bear significant similarities in hip-hop coming from various parts of Africa. Topics like migrations west, across the Sahara, and in boats, as well as via Western embassies in search of visas, are depicted in a similar way across the continent by both anglophone and francophone artists.
As part of the global hip-hop community, African hip-hop artists have advanced the culture artistically and have created new spaces where Africans are able to tell their stories. In its examination of hiphop in Africa, this study will also illustrate the transition artists have made from providing political commentary and protest music to actually becoming agents of social and political change. As the increase of youth mobilization globally has resulted in popular uprising, the roles played by hip-hop artists and hip-hop culture in specific countries need to be understood as having local and global significance.
The Pan-African Connection
In 2003 the Senegalese rap duo Daara J released an album entitled Boomerang, based on the premise that when Africans left the continent in bondage during the transatlantic slave trade, they took with them their musical traditions, which evolved into hip-hop, which returned to Africa in the 1980s. These music traditions that were taken with enslaved Africans developed and were cultivated on the plantations of the Americas and included drumming, rapping, and storytelling (Keyes 2008; Manning 2009; Appert 2016). Over time, African American culture incorporated these music traditions into new forms of African American music and self-expression.
Hip-hop’s roots in African culture have been discussed in three major ways: by linking hip-hop music to African rhythms and drumbeats, by linking modern rapping to traditional African forms of rapping or poetry, and by drawing parallels between the hip-hop emcee and the West African griot.
Robert Walser (1995) looks at the “percussive sounds, polyrhythmic texture, timbral richness, and call-and-response patterns” found in hip-hop and links them to origins in Africa. Cheryl Keyes (1996) also looks at the continual repetition of particular rhythms in African music, which are similar to the hip-hop DJ’s tradition of repeating and extending the playing time of parts of a song, while mixing in the next song. Keyes says this “reaffirms the power of the music” and creates a connection with the listener (1996, 236). This is manifest in the call-and response traditions practiced at hip-hop performances. Walser’s (1995) article shows similarities in rhythms and beat patterns found in African and hip-hop music, specifically the polyrhythmic nature of both. Music is polyrhythmic when it contains two or more conflicting rhythms at the same time. Many early hiphop drumbeat patterns have similarities with patterns found in many African drumbeats.
Lyricism with rhyme styles similar to those found in hip-hop lyricism can also be found in some African languages. Keyes says hip-hop rapping can be traced from “the African bardic traditions to the rural oral southern-based expressive forms of African Americans” (2006, 225). The language most often cited as having a form of rap is Wolof and the tradition of tassou. Tassou is a form of rapping that is often accompanied by drumming and is found in Senegal and the Gambia (Tang 2007; Gueye 2011; Penna-Diaw 2013; Appert 2016). In other countries, like Somalia and Tanzania, artists have reflected on associations between rap and poetry.
The role of the emcee as a griot has also been discussed by scholars, who point to American hip-hop artists as being among the first to draw the parallels. Hip-hop pioneer Afrika Bambaataa, Professor X (a member of the 1990s rap group X-Clan), Nas, and Kanye West have all referred to themselves as griots (Tang 2012; Kimble 2014). Scholars who discuss the parallels between the rapper and the West African griot point to the griot’s role in their community as a storyteller and historian (Smitherman 1997; Dyson 2004; Tang 2012; Sajnani 2013; Appert 2016). While Sajnani’s (2013) article reflects on the griot’s position among the elite to debunk this connection, the similar functions the griot and the emcee play in their societies remain evidence for many of the connections between the two roles. The collaborative nature of African music and the traditions of call-and-response are also used to point to relationships between hip-hop and African music. A lot of African music is collaborative music, similar to the cyphers, sessions, and battles that take place in hip-hop culture.
In the twentieth century the African music traditions that were present in the African American community would merge with African-influenced Caribbean sounds as an increasing number of Caribbean immigrants arrived in the United States (Kalmijn 1996; Foner 2001). With similar patterns of music retention, the Caribbean population that would emerge in New York City was large. It would be members of that Caribbean community who would collaborate with African Americans to create a cultural revolution. The music that would develop into hip-hop has its roots in these retained musical traditions.
Hip-hop emerged in the Bronx borough of New York City in the 1970s, where African American residents exchanged creative influences with the West Indian and Puerto Rican communities (Chang and DJ Kool Herc 2005). Caribbean immigrant artists such as Jamaican-born DJ Kool Herc (Clive Campbell), Barbadian-born Grandmaster Flash (Joseph Saddler), and Antiguan-born DJ Red Alert (Frederick Crute) were among the pioneers who helped found hip-hop (Perry 2004; Chang and DJ Kool Herc 2005). The Caribbean influence on hip-hop also came with the importation of two music trends that emerged in the Caribbean, specifically in Jamaican music, in the 1960s (Hebdige 2004; Perry 2004; Chang and DJ Kool Herc 2005).
First was the introduction of dub music, which consisted of remixing and manipulating sound recordings, often removing the vocals to work with the drumbeats; second was the Jamaican style of toasting, or talking over beats (George 2005; Veal 2007). As Caribbean artists like DJ Kool Herc and Grandmaster Flash integrated into the African American community in the Bronx, they brought their Caribbean influences with them. Out of this fusion came hip-hop music and culture, and a new sound that would soon have a global reach.
Pan-African Dialogues through Music
The musical flows between Africa and the African diaspora are more than a century old. There has been a constant movement of peoples and cultures between Africa and the African diaspora, with cultural styles being adopted, transformed and renamed, and then borrowed again. Tsitsi Jaji (2014), in fact, talks about the “continuities” between African American music and various parts of Africa and the diaspora. Rather than seeing Africa as simply the source of diaspora music and culture, Jaji sees it as part of the cycles of taking, transforming, and giving between connected communities and cultures. Often when we speak of Pan-Africanism it is through the diasporic gaze, through the diaspora reflecting on African connections. We seldom consider the African gaze and African reflections on diasporic linkages. It is crucial to consider both, and in fact to look at Pan-Africanism using multiple lenses, and in consideration of the cultural linkages that encompass a global African (race as opposed to citizenship) population.
According to Edmund John Collins (1987), some of the earliest arrivals of diaspora music in Africa began in the 1880s with the arrival of former enslaved Blacks into West Africa from the United States, the Caribbean, and Latin America. In Ghana and Nigeria, the African American and Caribbean contribution to highlife dates back to the early 1900s (Shipley 2009; Shonekan 2012). In the Congo, and later in Senegal, Cuban music became very influential and popular (Shain 2002; White 2002). In the 1930s Cuba’s rumba music was a major influence on the emergence of Congolese dance music, which would become popular across Africa (White 2002).
The music that emerged from African American and Caribbean communities in the 1960s through the 1980s would also find its way to Africa. The music from artists ranging from James Brown to Michael Jackson to Bob Marley would be a precursor to the wave of hip-hop music and culture that would impact the lives of many African youth in the 1980s and 1990s.
In addition to the legacy of retained African culture in African American and Caribbean music, twentieth-century African musical influences could also be heard in the music of the African diaspora in the United States. African musicians like Fela Kuti, Miriam Makeba, Lucky Dube, and Hugh Masekela became well known in the African diaspora in the United States. Many of these artists lived in America during the turbulent 1960s and 1970s and became involved in the civil rights and Black Power movements. This was especially the case of exiled South African artists like Hugh Masekela and Miriam Makeba. Makeba would eventually marry Black Power activist Kwame Toure (aka Stokely Carmichael). Fela Kuti was very vocal about his exposure to the Black Power movement of 1960s Los Angeles and its influence on his music. Fela Kuti would also influence the Black music scene in America.
As hip-hop grew in America, several artists would sample beats or vocal tracks from Africa. Afrobeat musician Fela Kuti is perhaps one of the most sampled African musicians in American hip-hop. A selection of some of the many artists to sample his music: Mos Def sampled “Fear Not of Man” for his song of the same name (D. Smith 1999); Missy Elliott sampled “Colonial Mentality” for “Watcha Gon’ Do” (2001); Nas sampled “Na Poi” for “Warrior Song” (M.anifest 2012); the Roots sampled “Mr Grammarticalogylisationalism Is the Boss” for “I Will Not Apologize” (Trotter 2008); and J. Cole sampled “Gentleman” for “Let Nas Down” (2013). African American hip-hop artists Jay Z and Will Smith teamed up to produce the musical Fela!, which opened on Broadway in 2009.
The bridging of the gap across the Atlantic divide, between the United States and Africa, through hip-hop, has not been frequent, but the occurrences have been significant. There have been a number of collaborations between African and African American emcees. Much of this is due to the numbers of African emcees that migrated to the United States. In addition, several African American emcees are connecting with African artists in Africa. Collaborations between K’naan and Mos Def (“America,” 2009), Wale and Pharrell Williams (“Let It Loose,” 2009), M-1 and DJ Awadi (“The Roots,” 2010), and Blitz the Ambassador and Chuck D (“The Oracle,” 2011) have involved African and African American emcees on various projects. In fact, M-1 of the American hip-hop duo Dead Prez has been in two documentaries on hip-hop in Africa: Ni wakati and United States of Africa: Beyond Hip Hop.
Collaborations between African emcees from various parts of the continent have also led to linkages among urban youth across Africa. Early collaborations include, in 2000, the release of “Da Noize” by Kenya’s Nazizi and Mizchif from Zimbabwe. With improvements in communications and technology we have increasingly seen more collaboration. In 2009, ProVerb (South Africa) and ModeNine (Nigeria) released “ProMode,” Hip Hop Pantsula (HHP) (South Africa) and Naeto C (Nigeria) released “Boogie Down,” HHP and Nazizi released “Daraja” (Künzler 2011b), and Professor Jay (Tanzania) and Kwaw Kese (Ghana) released “Who Be You.”
In 2010, M.anifest (Ghana) and Krukid (Uganda) teamed up for a project entitled the African Rebel Movement and collaborated on the album Two Africans and a Jew. In that same year, Senegal’s DJ Awadi traveled to thirteen African countries for his Présidents d’Afrique project. The project produced an album and the documentary United States of Africa: Beyond Hip Hop. The album features collaborations between hip-hop artists from different African countries, like “La patrie ou la mort” with Smockey of Burkina Faso, “Amandla” with Skwatta Kamp of South Africa, and “Uhuru” with Maji Maji of Kenya. Also in 2010, Dominant 1 (Malawi), the Holstar (Zambia), and Illuminate (Zimbabwe) released “Don’t Stop Playing,” and the Holstar and ProVerb released “Stepping Stone.”
In 2011, ProVerb and Naeto C released “Higher,” and Navio (Uganda) and Jua Cali (Kenya) released “Respect.” In 2013, M.anifest and Camp Mulla (Kenya) released “All In,” and Gigi LaMayne (South Africa), Sasa Klaas (Botswana), Devour Ke Lenyora (South Africa), Ru the Rapper (Namibia), and DJ Naida (Zimbabwe) released “No Sleep.” In 2014, M.anifest and Proverb released “Proverbs Manifest,” M.I. (Nigeria) and Sarkodie (Ghana) released “Millionaira Champagne,” Sarkodie and Vector tha Viper (Nigeria) released “Rap Attack,” and Khaligraph Jones (Kenya), Dominant 1 (Malawi), the Holstar (Zambia), and Raiza Biza (Rwanda) released “Fecko: Real African Poetry 2.0.”
Defining African Hip-Hop
As the growth, influence, and content of hip-hop culture throughout Africa is being studied, so are attempts to define it. In the numerous interviews and conversations for this project, it became clear that several different positions were emerging on the topic. Most interviewees were asked to define African hip-hop, and the answers varied.
Some deny that hip-hop can be African, arguing that hip-hop is not an African music form, so all African hip-hop artists are just imitating American culture. Lliane Loots’s (2003) piece on American hip-hop in South Africa claims that the impact of American hip-hop on Africans is negative. Loots (2003) compares the influence of hiphop on Africans to Frantz Fanon’s idea of cultural colonialism. This perspective deletes hip-hop’s African past as well as its links to traditional forms of rapping and storytelling that exist in many African languages and cultures. Fanon’s pivotal discussion of culture can be used to examine hip-hop in Africa (see chapter 3), but from the perspective of hip-hop as a tool for mobilization.
Some argue that hip-hop music is African only if artists are performing in local languages and over African rhythms. These arguments narrow the definition of hip-hop to simply a focus on music, ignoring the culture that surrounds African hip-hop. Hip-hop culture includes music but includes various other cultural elements. African hip-hop’s influence is found in new slang emerging from various urban centers in Africa, and in the graffiti that colors African cities and towns. In addition, this argument ignores the contributions of the African diaspora to African music, such as mbalax (Senegalese dance music), highlife (West African dance music), or Afrobeat (Nigerian dance music), all of which were heavily influenced by the US diaspora.
There are those who argue it is about location. A fundamental principle of hip-hop is the idea of representation, of representing where you are from, your reality. The “locationists” argue that unless one’s experience as an African emcee emanates from living in Africa, one cannot represent oneself as an African emcee. This perspective calls into question artists such as Nigerian American rapper Wale, disregarding whether or not Wale self-identifies as an African emcee. Wale’s music is not considered African because his experience is not based on living in Nigeria. Some would also discount Somali-born artist K’naan as an African emcee because his perspective may not represent life on the streets of Mogadishu today; he has spent more than twenty years away from Somalia. This definition robs the African emcee of the power to self-identify as an African emcee. The emcee’s representation of an African in the diaspora and all the identities and experiences that blend together is a representation of an African reality.
The past thirty years have seen dramatic increases in the African immigrant population in the United States. Between 1990 and 2000 the number of Africans living in the United States jumped from 200,000 to 800,000; by 2013 the African-born population in the United States was 1.8 million (Anderson 2015). In cities such as New York, Minneapolis, Atlanta, Houston, and Washington, DC, which have been primary destinations, the increase has been even more significant. In Europe, countries like France and England had large African populations decades before the increase in African immigration to the United States. All these African immigrant communities form bridges between Africa and the West, and in many ways the African emcee informs each about the other. To deny African emcees their ability to represent Africa would be to reject an important part of the African experience.
African hip-hop is connected to the “notion of a global black experience of oppression and resistance” (Haupt 2008, 146). To understand hip-hop as a Black music form is sometimes a controversial position, although this characterization of hip-hop does not negate the connection nonblacks may have to the genre. There are hip-hop communities all over the world, many of them belonging to people who are not of African descent. But this does not mean hip-hop is not rooted in an African past. Stephanie Shonekan’s article “Sharing Hip-Hop Cultures: The Case of Nigerians and African Americans” looks at the linkages between African and African American hip-hop and highlights the cultural links that exist in “all manifestations of Black music,” referring to the progression of Black music not as a “continuum, but as a cycle” (2011, 11). Shonekan says that hip-hop is a Black music genre based on its roots in Black musical traditions and its role as a space to navigate and express Black identities and oppressions.
An essential element in hip-hop authenticity lies in truthful representation, in representing the culture and the environment from which the artist emerged (Forman 2002; S. Watkins 2005; Pennycook 2007; Hess 2009; Appert 2016). Authenticity in hip-hop is the degree to which artists remain true to hip-hop’s core principles (see the next section). According to Catherine Appert, Senegalese “hip hop’s very generic parameters allow for music that is grounded in Senegalese particularity and still definitively hip hop” (2016, 292). The same can be said for hip-hop globally. This study will use this definition of authenticity and apply it to hip-hop in Africa. Therefore, as long as an artist is representing his or her reality and experiences as an African, through hip-hop, it can be seen as African hip-hop.
When scholars consider hip-hop in Africa, they often include some of the talented artists who make up popular genres of urban youth music all over Africa: kwaito in South Africa, bongo flava in Tanzania, hiplife in Ghana, kuduro in Angola, genge/kapuka/boomba in Kenya. All these genres contain elements from hip-hop, reggae, R&B, house, and other music genres. Each has blended genres and influences to become its own genre, in much the way hip-hop did decades earlier. Artists like Yemi Alade, Davido, and P-Square (Nigerian), Obrafour (Ghanaian), Diamond Platnumz (Tanzanian), and Nonini (Kenyan) are extremely talented and have all become stars of urban pop music genres that emerged in their countries in recent decades. These artists are not necessarily hip-hop artists.
Boundaries between music genres are often fluid, making defining genres difficult. Mikhail Bakthin says that text belongs in the same genre when there are similarities “in theme, composition, or style” (1986, 87). While attempting to come up with a system of automatic music classification, Tao Li, Mitsunori Ogihara, and Qi Li (2003) and Nicolas Scaringella, Giorgio Zoia, and Daniel Mlynek (2006) concede the difficulty of the task. Li, Ogihara, and Li claim that a lot of “music sounds sit on boundaries between genres. These difficulties are due to the fact that music is an art that evolves, where performers and composers have been influenced by music in other genres” (2003, 282). Scaringella, Zoia, and Mlynek say that “musical genres are categories that have arisen through a complex interplay of cultures, artists and market forces to characterize similarities between musicians or compositions and organize music collections. Yet, the boundaries between genres still remain fuzzy as well as their definition making the problem of automatic classification a non-trivial task” (2006, 2).
Scholars in communication, computer science, and engineering have proposed methods by which music can successfully be automatically categorized into genres, including hip-hop. Such classification is helpful, and further examinations of how those methods could be used in hip-hop studies are needed. This book focuses on a variety of factors when defining hip-hop as not only a genre, but also a culture.
Hip-Hop Authenticity
That hip-hop would have a significant impact in Africa is not necessarily surprising. When hip-hop made its way to Africa, it caught on among the urban youth, who were attracted to the words, images, and beats of the music. The research tells us that the first attempts at performing hip-hop were often in the form of imitations and were not representative of local realities. Many simply imitated the cadence and style of popular American hip-hop artists. There are still artists who imitate Western musical styles, who incorporate images common in Western hip-hop, images foreign to their own experiences. For example, Haaken, Wallin-Ruschman, and Patange (2012), studying hip-hop in Sierra Leone, found that many hip-hop artists regularly used the word nigga because of their exposure to American hip-hop, but few knew anything about the history of the word or its current controversies. We will revisit the appropriations of African American and hip-hop culture more fully in chapter 6.
Many of the first hip-hop artists to break away from the pattern of imitation with their own unique styles helped shape hip-hop culture in their countries. In addition, the economic realities of the 1980s brought many African economies to their knees, and in the early 1990s these conditions would influence young artists across Africa to begin to transform hip-hop into an expression of contemporary African realities.
The foundations of hip-hop culture have been embraced in hiphop communities throughout Africa, and in many cases there has been an understanding of the five elements of hip-hop as well as hiphop values of authenticity, or “keeping it real.” Hip-hop’s five elements, recognized as the foundation of hip-hop culture, are the emcee (MC, or rap artist), the DJ, the b-boy or b-girl (breakdancer), the graffiti artist, and knowledge (of self) (Kitwana 2002; Chang 2005). The official website of the Universal Zulu Nation, a hip-hop collective that began in the 1970s in New York City, describes the five elements:
1. Graffiti is the writing of language or the scribe that documents the history.
2. Emcee is the oral griot, the conveyer of the Message.
3. DJing is the heart beat, the drum of the art or movement; DJ comes from the Djembe drum.
4. B-Boy/Girl is the exercise and the human expression through dance or body movement to keep the body in proper health.
5. Knowledge is the reason why we are who we are where did our roots comes [sic] from, what is the beginning of Man and where are we today. How do we take the artistic expression of Hip Hop and find our purpose in LIFE! (UZN, n.d.)
In Kenya, Malawi, Senegal, South Africa, Tanzania, Uganda, Zambia, Zimbabwe, we see that hip-hop artists have embraced these hip-hop elements (Haupt 2008; Parris 2008; Mose 2011, 2013; Casco 2012; Charry 2012; Fenn 2012; Perullo 2012; Clark 2013; Kellerer 2013). In a 2011 interview, Ghanaian artist Edem indicated that hip-hop was about “staying true to yourself.” In interviews with artists in Tanzania, several indicated that hip-hop was about representing the streets and keeping it real (Clark 2013). Malian emcee Amkoullel l’enfant Peul spoke in our interview about the importance of preserving the history of African hip-hop, as well as its connection with hip-hop’s roots, in both New York and African cultures.
Hip-Hop and Representation
Universally the question of hip-hop authenticity has been a subject of debate, and definitions of hip-hop authenticity have varied. The link between hip-hop authenticity and an artist’s relationship to poor, urban communities (ghettos) is based on hip-hop’s emergence from the Black urban underclass, as a response to the wealth of the elite and corruption and racism among public figures. This brings us back to the idea of representation, a core aspect of hip-hop. Place and representation—where an artist represents—is almost as important as what an artist represents. Because of hip-hop’s origins many still believe that in order to be authentically hip-hop one needs to be from the ghetto and espouse “ghetto” values, to speak to and represent “ghetto” culture (McLeod 1999; Forman 2002; S. Watkins 2005; L. Watkins 2012; Williams and Stroud 2014). The US hip-hop group Blahzay Blahzay captures the presence of these values in hip-hop in their 1996 song “Danger”: “I rocks hardcore, even when I dress suited. / On some business shit my street is deep rooted.” The idea of these lines and this belief is that even with money and when outside the physical space of the ghetto, being hip-hop means maintaining roots in ghetto culture.
These ideas are found throughout hip-hop in Africa, where gangster rap and also artists taking on “ghetto” identities have been popular. In countries like Malawi and South Africa gangster rap became popular and spawned several gangster rap artists (Haupt 2001, 2008; Fenn 2012). In the “ghettos” of Nima (or Boogie Down Nima, in Accra), Temeke (or TMK, Dar es Salaam), Dandora (Nairobi), Pikine (Dakar), Ajegunle (Lagos), Khayelitsha (Cape Town), and Soweto (Johannesburg), artists have emerged proudly representing their “ghetto” as a badge of authenticity. Groups like Tanzania’s Niggas with Matatizo (problems) and Bantu Pound Gangsters reflect this celebration of the “hood” in their names. In South Africa many artists represent kasi (ghetto or township) identities. This is reflected in the names of artists like KasiTime, or songs like “Kasi Shit” by Q’ba, and with numerous South African artists identifying as kasi artists or kasi rap.
There is also the idea that “hip-hop must be a representation of the ghetto in order to be authentic,” which serves as a defense mechanism. There is an inherent rejection of mainstream society, the same mainstream society that has marginalized individuals from the ghetto. Murray Forman (2002) and Byron Hurt (2006) suggest that the importance and celebration of ghetto representation in hip-hop comes from a lack of real power, and any power and strength one has is limited to within the ghetto and is not transferable. Mbali Langa suggests that artists attempt to “reclaim the word ‘ghetto’ as a marker of power and identity” (2010, 30). During an interview with South African emcee Yugen Blakrok, she expressed a similar sentiment, suggesting that in the face of the racism keeping Blacks out of the nicer areas, Black youth developed kasi identities that actually espouse an insincere preference for ghetto life.
Kembrew McLeod’s 1999 study of hip-hop authenticity concludes that authentic hip-hop means representing yourself, your reality, and your culture, especially underground and urban cultures. It also includes understanding “hip-hop’s cultural legacy” and core values. These ideas of hip-hop authenticity have been discussed by several authors (Forman 2002; S. Watkins 2005; Pennycook 2007; Hess 2009; Weiss 2009). Research examining hip-hop outside the United States has also addressed the topics of authenticity and representation within local hip-hop communities. Brad Weiss’s (2009) research on Tanzania, Christopher Dennis’s (2011) work on Afro-Colombian rap, Usama Kahf’s (2011) look at Arabic hip-hop, and Caroline Mose’s (2014) examination of hip-hop in Kenya are examples. In a project on hip-hop in Sierra Leone, Abdul Fofanah of the Moving to the Beat project discusses how “a progressive hip-hop identity centers on understanding its own historical roots” (Haaken, Wallin-Ruschman, and Patange 2012, 67). Fofanah goes on to discuss the importance of representing the streets, in embracing a global Black identity in which the marginalized have a voice (Haaken, Wallin-Ruschman, Patange 2012). Klara Boyer-Rossol (2014) finds similar sentiments among many hip-hop artists in Madagascar who she said had adopted a “Makoa” identity. The Makoa are descendants of the enslaved Africans brought to Madagascar who settled on the eastern coast of the island (Dina 2001; Boyer-Rossol 2014). Madagascar is a country whose population is a mix of the African and Asian settlers who came to the island, and as a result, among the population one finds a mixture of features that reveal these African and Asian origins. Thus, claiming a Makoa identity establishes the connection of these artists to a global Black identity. This claim of authenticity and Black identity is further emphasized when considering their claimed distinction from artists from the western part of the island, who are said to be descendants of Asian migrants to the island (Boyer-Rossol 2014).
In the 2006 track “Soldados Civis,” the Angolan hip-hop group Kalibrados declares how they view and represent hip-hop:
RAP is attitude
. . .
Potent rhymes over fat beats
Waited too long
Now it’s our turn
. . .
This is our love
And we take it personally
We heard
Want your respect
Criticize the country for the good of the nation
Our baggy pants is a matter of identification
We don’t use uniforms but fight for the country
Guerrillas out of the woods
Civilian soldiers
Guerrillas out of the woods
Civilian soldiers.1
Representation in hip-hop allows artists to speak to a certain set of experiences and to “link an artist to a tradition of hip-hop from that region” (Hess 2009, xiv). While the ideal of keeping it real is important in hip-hop, what is “real” is not defined the same globally, and is dependent on local contexts. An additional consideration in hip-hop authenticity is hip-hop rhymes. Representation refers to the content of an artist’s lyrics, but hip-hop music, like other genres, has rules and structures that distinguish it from other musics. Hip-hop music is defined by the presence of specific rhyme structures, and in order to differentiate hip-hop, and understand hip-hop lyricism, we need to look at hip-hop rhyme schemes.
Hip-Hop Flows and Rhyme Schemes
Emcees all around the world are diverse, and they utilize various rhyme styles and patterns in their lyrics. Rhyme patterns, or flows, can be performed over almost any type of music or beat, though there are distinct hip-hop beats. Hip-hop beats are often dominated by a heavy bass, music samples, and repetitive break beats. Many African artists rely on either hip-hop or African beats, which can share similar drum patterns.
Hip-hop’s emphasis on rhyming “distinguishes it from almost every other form of contemporary music and from most contemporary literary poetry” (Bradley 2009, 51). The rhyme techniques and creativity are the primary determiners of an emcee’s skill. But, unlike in other genres of music, hip-hop artists are expected to write their own rhymes. A hip-hop rhyme reflects both the thoughts and observations of the individual artist and a display of their lyrical prowess. Many genres of music have professional lyricists, but in hip-hop the focus is less on the ability to sing or play an instrument than on the ability to write rhymes. This is why the hip-hop cypher, or freestyle battle—in which artists are supposed to come up with their rhymes on the spot—is an important tradition in hip-hop culture.
Besides authenticity in content, in hip-hop authenticity in style is also important. There have been innovations in hip-hop lyricism, but an emcee’s rap rhythm and flows are often cited as key (Alim 2006; Bradley 2009). Adam Bradley says it is rap’s relationship to “lyric poetry” that distinguishes it from other genres. He points to “the dual rhythmic relationship between the beat of the drums and the flow of the voice” (2009, 31). H. Samy Alim defines the flow as “the relationship between the beats and the rhymes in time” (2006, 95). Alim (2006) says an artists flow must have a recognizable pattern, while the bars or lines must have recognizable rhyme patterns. For example, Alim (2003) looks at the multiple rhyme strategies used by American hiphop lyricist Pharoahe Monch, in order to distinguish hip-hop lyricists from lyricists of other genres. Bradley (2009) points out that pop singers match their lyrics to the rhythm of the music, as well as to certain melodies and harmonies. Pop singers harmonize their voices with the musical melody. For groups, or individual artists using background singers, everyone’s voice needs to harmonize together, as well as with the musical melody. This harmonization is not an element of hip-hop, primarily because hip-hop does not necessarily involve singing. Even in collaborations between hip-hop artists and singers, the singing on a song may harmonize with the music, while the rap portion focuses on being in step with the beat. We see a range of collaboration styles in songs such as “Call Waiting” with Ghanaian rapper Blitz the Ambassador and renowned Beninese singer Angélique Kidjo, “Gunshot” with Ghanaian rapper Sarkodie and Nigerian Afropop singer Davido, or “Juhudu za Masiojiweza” with Tanzanian rapper Fid Q and legendary Tanzanian taarab singer Bi Kidude. In each, the singing is in harmony with the music, while the rap is performed in time with the beat.
In addition to style and rhythm of flow, there are several rhyming patterns found in hip-hop lyrics, and it is useful to have a basic understanding of some of the rhyme patterns often used in hip-hop, as well as the basic stylistic structures of hip-hop music. Hip-hop songs often contain more words per minute than music of other genres (Mayer, Neumayer, and Rauber 2008). The structure of hip-hop verses often necessitates use of a greater number of words. A standard rap verse contains sixteen lines (or bars), though artists often experiment with this standard. Most hip-hop songs have three verses, so a standard song of four to four and a half minutes contains forty-eight lines of rap. Although it is an extreme example, the six-minute song “Rap God” (2013) by American rapper Eminem received a lot of attention because it contained over 1,500 words. Rudolf Mayer, Robert Neumayer, and Andreas Rauber (2008) compared hip-hop to genres such as country, pop, reggae, folk, metal, and R&B and found that hip-hop songs had significantly more words per minute. In a comparison of the top hip-hop and bongo flava artists in Tanzania, Fid Q and Diamond Platnumz, we see a definite difference in word count. Fid Q’s “I Am a Professional” contained 531 words and “Bongo Hip Hop” contained 558 words, respectively. “Kesho” by Diamond Platnumz, by contrast, has only 200 words, and “Nimpate wapi,” 230. As a whole, the songs in Fid Q’s catalog average more than twice as many words as the songs of Diamond Platnumz.
In addition to word count, hip-hop songs must have a particular rhyme structure. A song cannot be considered a hip-hop song if there is no identifiable rhyme structure. There are various types of what are called end, perfect, or full rhymes, including monosyllable (masculine), dual-syllable (feminine), and antepenultimate syllable (triple) (Alim 2006).
An example of a monosyllable rhyme: “We taking it back to the raw / The harder they ball / the harder they fall” (Blitz the Ambassador, Ghana, “Dikembe!,” 2013).
A dual-syllable rhyme: Mali, Koutonou, Malawi straight to Las Gidi / Cash no aba me spendi holidays with Figi / Adesa e be we don’t wanna f***k’n city (Sarkodie, Ghana, “Dear Rap,” 2014).
An antepenultimate-syllable rhyme: Siku hlasimlis’umzimba ibengath’ufak’iVibrator / S’qhushumbis’iz’speaker uve kukhal’iHand grenator (Driemanskap, South Africa, “S’phum’eGugs,” in Xhosa, 2009).
In these rhyme schemes, the rhyme falls on the last syllable(s) of the line. In addition to full rhymes, other rhyme styles include slant or half rhymes, which play with the pronunciation of words to create rhymes. Chain rhymes and monorhymes are similar in that they include repetitive rhyme patterns, sometimes using the same exact rhyme word for several lines. There are also internal rhymes, where the rhyme occurs in different parts of the line. There are numerous other rhyme styles and techniques. Artists may employ only one in a song, or they may use multiple rhyme techniques in a song. Here are some examples of the use of rhyme techniques by African hip-hop artists.
K’naan’s (Somalia) “Does it Matter” employs the use of internal rhymes. With internal rhymes the rhyme occurs not only at the end of the line, but in the middle of the line as well.
They don’t expect me on this beat, the thunder on the street
But I never turn the cheek, surrender or retreat
You can bet that I am strong, trying to right what is wrong
They say it won’t be long, keep on singing your song
But ayo you need a single, single to make a mingle
Something that’s kinda simple, I’d hate to call it jingle
A single is a missile, takes you right to the middle of 106 and park and maybe Jimmy Kimmel
You’ll need somebody famous co-signing for your anus
Who you got on the album I don’t see where the name is.
Ghanaian artist M.anifest mixes English, Pidgin English, and Twi in his lyrics. His song “Babylon Breakdown” uses more than one style; this excerpt highlights his use of both dual-syllable full rhymes and chain rhymes. In his full rhymes the last two syllables of the lines rhyme, and he uses the chain rhyme technique, repeating the same rhyme pattern in multiple lines:
Black military represent for the ghetto youth
Dem we slew them
Pharisees and Babylon crew dem
Free education, this generation could use ’em
Shackles gotta lose ’em
The pigs got egos, gotta bruise ’em
A badge and a gun, try to confuse ’em
Diallo never run, no gun, a wallet, why they shoot him?
In the song “Neo.Vadar” Yugen Blakrok (South Africa) provides a good example of hip-hop’s emphasis on representation, as well as the use of hip-hop rhyme techniques. Yugen Blakrok’s 2013 album Return of the Astro-Goth uses imagery that blends Asian symbols (similar to the US-based hip-hop group Wu-Tang Clan), African subjects, Black consciousness, and hip-hop lyricism. In the song “Neo.Vadar” Yugen Blakrok (seen in fig. 1.1 on the roof of her apartment building in Johannesburg) shows a lyrical style that uses the creative technique called slant rhymes. Unlike many full rhymes, in which the last words of a bar or line of rap have the same sound, slant rhymes have similar but not identical sounds.
Planted these roots under the Transkei sky
So when flowering, to shoot through the earth when the rains subside
Command them “Grow and bear fruit to feed the hungry and wise”
Divine sustenance, universal nature’s benign
But when the light behind the eyes fails to focus
And threats of rebel armies on your horizon just swarming like locusts
My thoughts run with the speed of Hermes.
Manifest these verses before the world of the mystic submerges. (Bradley 2009)
The song title “Neo.Vadar” is a play on Darth Vadar, the infamous Star Wars villain. The song blends science fiction, metaphysics, and Greek mythology and locates itself within a Xhosa community. In the song Blakrok places her herself firmly in the Transkei, a former Bantustan for the Xhosa in the Eastern Cape. Her lyrics are often more like streams of consciousness and contain a lot of symbolism, with references to spirituality and metaphysics, including a reference to the Greek god Hermes. Yugen Blakrok shows lyrical creativity in the use of symbolism and lyrical word to create a narrative that differs from the narratives created by her counterparts.
Figure 1.1. Yugen Blakrok in Johannesburg in 2016. Photo by author.
All three artists represent distinct styles of emceeing. The use of specific rhyme techniques by African artists distinguishes their music as hiphop music, as separate from other music genres. While examples were given of English lyrics, similar defined rhyme techniques can be found in the music of hip-hop artists rapping in languages other than English.
In “Dans mon rêve,” Senegal’s Didier Awadi rhymes in French and uses chain rhymes to repeat the same word in more than two lines.
J’ai fait le rêve que le peuple se levera
Dans mon rêve cette fille se lèvera
Dans mon rêve ce fils se levera
Main dans la main la mere se levera . . .
Dans mon rêve Y’a pas d’homme qui est dominé
Dans mon rêve Pas de peuple qui est dominé
Dans mon rêve Pas de terre qui est dominée
Et l’état c’est la haine qui est dominée
Dans mon rêve des colons éliminés
Dans mon rêve Colonies eliminée.
Nikki Mbishi (Tanzania) rhymes in Swahili and uses internal rhymes in his song “Utamaduni.”
Yo, vina punch na midundo, mafumbo na temithali
Za semi, zisome tungo, ni gumzo, jiweke mbali
Mi ni fundo we ni mwali nishike udumishe ndoa
Bila mishe niko poa nipishe nisafishe doa
Nadharia kwa kilinge, ninge hazitambi tena
Nishinde mbilinge, Mungu hazijui dhambi njema
Gongo La Mboto msoto hainyweki gongo ya moto
Maisha vitisho, mwisho wanaujua hadi Mrisho Mpoto.
While musical genres such as kwaito, bongo flava, kuduro, genge/ kapuka/boomba, and hiplife may have derived from hip-hop, borrowing from R&B and reggae as well, they are not synonymous with hiphop. Studies of hip-hop in Africa are newer than studies of hip-hop in America, the latter including the work of several scholars who have been actively involved in the culture. Studies that present research on bongo flava as Tanzanian hip-hop, kwaito as South African hip-hop, or hiplife as Ghanaian hip-hop are evidence of a need for further research and understandings of the spaces shared by hip-hop and other musical genres in Africa. This book will briefly touch on the relationship between hip-hop and other pop music genres in Africa, but a broader study may be needed. Research on hip-hop in Ghana leads to material on hiplife, which is often discussed as if it is synonymous with Ghanaian hip-hop. Hiplife is its own genre, much like highlife, Afrobeat, and others. Jesse Shipley has acknowledged the difficulty of defining hiplife, saying it is characterized “not by a particular rhythm or lyrical pattern” but by “a performative electronic orchestration of Akan-language practices and diasporic hip-hop” (2013, 132). Some say hiplife is Ghanaian hip-hop rapped in local languages, but Harry Odamtten (2011) indicates that hiplife is performed not only in local languages but also in English and Pidgin English. Both Shipley and Odamtten discuss the various genres that hiplife borrows from, including hip-hop, highlife, and reggae. The fact that Ghanaian hip-hop artists often produce both hip-hop and hiplife music adds to the ambiguity. Ghanaian emcees like Sarkodie have produced both hip-hop and hiplife. In a 2011 interview with Ghanaian emcee Yaa Pono, he said that he considered himself both a hip-hop and a hiplife artist, drawing a distinction between the two but easily moving between both genres. Given hiplife’s dominance in Ghana, when I asked Yaa Pono why he performs hip-hop at all, his response was “because it satisfies my soul.” Similar responses were given by other Ghanaian emcees who perform hiplife because of the genre’s popularity and marketability.
Hip-Hop Subgenres and Hybrids
Musical genres are often influenced by other musical genres. In a sense, all musical genres are hybrids, developing out of a blending of musical styles and influences. In the emergence of hip-hop in the 1970s, we see the heavy influence of both reggae and Caribbean culture, as well as the Black Arts movement of the 1960s.2 Hip-hop was influenced by contacts with other music genres and cultures as well but would merge these influences and develop its own identity. Similarly, hip-hop would both produce its own subgenres and influence the emergence of other genres.
Out of US hip-hop would come hip-hop subgenres, like gangsta rap, dirty south rap, and pimp rap in the United States (Lena 2006); out of South Africa came gangsta rap, spaza rap, motswako rap, and zef rap (UnderGround Angle 2009; Subzzee 2010b; Williams and Stroud 2013). In her studies, Jennifer Lena (2004, 2006) has identified thirteen rap subgenres in the United States, distinguishing them by looking at a combination of lyrical flow, lyrical content, style of background music, and rhythmic style. Artists participate in developing subgenres through experimentation, especially with samples and other elements that help distinguish where the artist is located and which subgenre they represent. According to Lena, sampling helps “the artist or group in signaling sub-genre identity. Through sampling practices, rappers tell listeners to which artistic circles they belong” (2004, 309). In South Africa’s diverse rap scene, language is also a signifier of rap subgenre.
Hip-hop subgenres remain connected to broader hip-hop cultures and communities. Spaza and motswako rap artists in South Africa still use hip-hop rhyme techniques, while kwaito, its own genre, borrows elements from hip-hop music, as well as house music, and has its own rules of composition. In a study of hip-hop subgenres in the United States, Lena writes, “While the diversity of rap sub-genres over sixteen years of production is undeniable, an analysis of rap lyrics suggests strong similarities across sub-genre styles” (2004, 490). New genres of music emerge from blending elements of various music genres. As new genres develop their distinctive styles, dances, culture, and rules of composition, they also develop their own identity.
In Africa, hip-hop would influence the development of several new music genres. New, hip-hop-influenced, musical genres emerged in many countries in Africa in the 1990s. These new genres (hiplife in Ghana, bongo flava in Tanzania, and kwaito in South Africa) would often blend hip-hop, R&B, reggae, house, and African sounds. In the cases of hiplife and bongo flava, the songs are also performed primarily in local languages. They are popular in urban African club scenes and have directly competed with hip-hop for radio airtime.
In Ghana, hiplife emerged in the early 1990s (Odamtten 2011; Collins, 2012; Shipley 2012). Artists like Reggie Rockstone, along with groups like Talking Drums, were among the first hiplife musicians in the country. Rockstone, known by many as the godfather of hiplife, is also a hip-hop artist. In a photo taken at his home in Accra (fig. 1.2), he wears a T-shirt proclaiming “I am Hiplife.” Ghana is home to an active hiplife and hip-hop community (sometimes referred to as GH rap, or Ghana rap), with many artists moving between the genres. Artists like Sarkodie, Reggie Rockstone, and Edem move between genres regularly.
Figure 1.2. Reggie Rockstone in Accra in 2010. Photo by author.
Unlike in Tanzania and South Africa, both the Ghanaian hybrid (hiplife) and hip-hop deal with social and political issues. According to producer Panji Anoff, hiplife often takes a more humorous approach to social commentary, while hip-hop tends to be more aggressive in its approach. Kwaito and bongo flava are known as mainly dance music, lacking a lot of real political commentary. Hiplife, kwaito, and bongo flava have all been described as be their country’s versions of hip-hop, but are actually their own genres, which incorporated sound from hip-hop and other music to create new genres. Today most are financially lucrative industries. Bongo flava is sung in Swahili, while hiplife is sung in Twi, Ewe, Ga, and other local languages. Kwaito is usually sung using one of the South African languages. Both kwaito and bongo flava contain lighter lyrical content, often avoiding many of the politics that South African and Tanzanian hip-hop often cover (World: The Global Hit 2007; Clark 2013), though in discussing early bongo flava, Lemelle (2006) suggests that it was initially political. Unlike in Ghana, in Tanzania hip-hop artists have fought to forge their own separate identity, distancing themselves from bongo flava, with only a few artists performing music in both genres. Ghanaian hip-hop artists often do both hip-hop and hiplife music. Likewise, in South Africa, Shaheen Ariefdien says that some hip-hop artists do kwaito in order to fund hip-hop projects. Shaheen Ariefdien is one of the members of pioneering South African hip-hop group Prophets of da City.
According to Shaheen Ariefdien, the reason hip-hop in South Africa remains strong is “because it doesn’t imagine its life-force coming from a barcode” (pers. comm., August 11, 2011). Shaheen Ariefdien perceived the biggest threat to South African hip-hop to be hip-hop influences from outside South Africa, particularly the kind of hip-hop that a lot of conscious South African artists do not identify with ideologically. Indeed, South Africa does seem to be facing some of the debates facing American hip-hop. According to Lee Watkins (2012), the growing influence of purely profit-driven hip-hop music has created some divisions within South African hip-hop.
The subgenres of South African hip-hop include spaza, motswako, and zef rap. The three styles utilize the same hip-hop rhyme techniques, and these terms are applied to artists performing South African languages. Spaza rap contains lyrics that are performed in multiple languages, especially Xhosa, often representing ghetto life in South Africa (UnderGround Angle 2009; Subzzee 2010b; Williams and Stroud 2013). Examples of Spaza artists include Driemanskap, Middle Finga, and Kritsi Ye’Spaza. Motswako is said to have come to South Africa via Botswana, and also contains the blending of languages, especially Tswana (Subzzee 2010a). One of the best-known Motswako artists is Hip Hop Pantsula (HHP), while younger artists Chazz le Hippie and Missy RBK have emerged recently. Zef rap was a style started by White Afrikaans speaking hip-hop heads and is performed in Afrikaans (Williams and Stroud 2013).
In Tanzania, hip-hop is not as commercially viable as bongo flava: many hip-hop artists are critical of the pop genre and have turned into activists invested in maintaining and developing Tanzanian hip-hop culture. While hip-hop culture remains strong through the youth involved in the culture, the tensions between bongo flava and hip-hop may have had an impact on hip-hop’s development and the willingness of hip-hop artists to experiment with sound. For example, many hip-hop artists in Tanzania have been hesitant to experiment by using beats and sounds that come from other music genres, exclusively using hip-hop beats, in an effort to stay “authentically” hiphop. Meanwhile in Senegal, with a variety of youth music, hip-hop artists do not have a popular pop hybrid to compete with, though in recent years Senegalese hip-hop has begun seeing a trend toward dance music and more commercialized hip-hop, as discussed in the short documentary 100% Galsen (Sene 2012).
As in Tanzania, some Senegalese hip-hop artists use only hip-hop beats, believing that using beats from other musical genres would affect the authenticity of their music (Appert 2016). According to Appert, mbalax beats are usually performed with socially and politically conscious lyrics in Senegal, though conscious lyrics are not always accompanied by mbalax beats. Also, as in Tanzania, Senegalese artists have a difficult time earning a living from their music (Keyti, pers. comm., August 2, 2009; Herson 2011; Clark 2013). Artists often have to rely on other business deals, paid appearances, shows, and touring to make a living.
Into Africa
As hip-hop spread globally, it made its way back across the Atlantic Ocean to Africa. Hip-hop arrived on the continent in the 1980s and brought with it a new sound and new styles of dance (e.g., breakdancing). Many young Africans first heard hip-hop as it trickled in via radio stations, house parties, and night clubs. As the music spread, it would often be those with relatives who traveled to the United States or Europe, or those with access to exchange students studying in their country, who would get the latest hip-hop cassette tapes. Copies of the prized tapes would then make their way around the neighborhood. Pioneering hip-hop artists like Zimbabwe’s Doom E. Right, Tanzania’s KBC of Kwanza Unit, and South Africa’s Shaheen Ariefdien have all reflected on these experiences in their first contacts with hip-hop (Doom E. Right, pers, comm., August 26, 2011; KBC, pers. comm., September 1, 2011; Ariefdien and Burgess, 2011).
In his 2007 memoir A Long Way Gone: Memoirs of a Boy Soldier, Ishmael Beah recounts his first contact with hip-hop music in early-1990s Sierra Leone. After hearing hip-hop for the first time, Beah and his friends became so absorbed by the music and the culture that they formed a hip-hop group. Though later forced into becoming a child soldier for the Sierra Leone military, it was his hip-hop cassettes and his skills as an emcee and dancer that initially saved Beah from being killed (Beah 2007). The civil wars in Sierra Leone and Liberia were infamous for their use of child soldiers. Often the boys forced to fight would be kept high on drugs (marijuana, cocaine) and plied with images and sounds of gangsta rap (Sommers 2003; Beah 2007). Armed with the lightweight, easy-to-use AK-47s, they were numb and ready to kill.
Elsewhere in Africa it would often be middle- and upper-class Africans who, with access to the appropriate equipment, formed the first rap crews. By the late 1980s African emcees grabbed the mic and began to transform hip-hop. Groups like Prophets of da City (POC) and Black Noise emerged to help pioneer hip-hop culture in South Africa. Both groups would be influenced by the music of American hip-hop groups like Public Enemy, X-Clan, and NWA as they told their own stories of life in apartheid South Africa (Ariefdien and Burgess 2011).
In West Africa the Senegalese group Positive Black Soul (PBS) emerged to help usher in hip-hop culture in that country. Along with rapper MC Solaar, PBS greatly influenced the emergence of hip-hop culture in Senegal. MC Solaar would go on to become one of the first African emcees to do a song with a major American hip-hop artist when he recorded “Le Bien, Le Mal” with Guru in 1993. Eric Charry provides a detailed account of hip-hop’s arrival in West Africa via Europe. Charry is especially thorough in detailing hip-hop’s history among francophone Africans. An important element in the growth of hip-hop in Senegal, for example, has been the migration of Senegalese immigrants into both New York and Paris, which would become important routes for hip-hop exchanges (Charry 2012).
The emergence of hip-hop culture varied all over the continent, but by the early 1990s several countries in Africa had flourishing hip-hop communities. In East Africa, groups Kwanza Unit and the De-Plow-Matz, and artist 2 Proud (now Sugu), were integral to the growth of hip-hop in Tanzania in the early 1990s. A photo (fig. 1.3) shows Kwanza Unit founding member Zavara Mponjika (aka Rhymson) in his old neighborhood of Temeke in Dar es Salaam. In Kenya, hip-hop artist Hardstone and the group Kalamashaka were influential in the development of hip-hop in that country. In West Africa, Reggie Rockstone and the group Talking Drums helped transform Ghanaian hip-hop, with artists performing in both English, Pidgin English, and various Ghanaian languages. Reggie Rockstone and Talking Drums also helped usher in hiplife, which came to incorporate various styles of music. There are hip-hop emcees, reggae musicians, and R&B singers who perform hiplife music.
Figure 1.3. Zavara Mponjika, aka MC Rhymson, of the group Kwanza Unit in the Temeke district of Dar es Salaam in 2010. Photo by author.
These early pioneers of hip-hop in Africa helped transform the culture from an imitation of American hip-hop to something distinctly local. Some of these artists have stepped away from the spotlight and others are still active, while still others are transitioning into politics or organizing with NGOs to make a difference in social issues.
Hip-hop culture has five elements (the emcee, the DJ, graffiti, breakdancing, and knowledge of self). While the emcee has the largest visible presence in Africa, aspects of all the elements can be found in Africa. Knowledge of self as an element emerged last and is often cited only by serious hip-hop heads.3 For most serious hip-hop heads, “knowledge of self is considered to be the fifth element of hip-hop, which informs the other elements” (Haupt 2008, 144). Many of the early African artists were attracted to not just the sound of hip-hop but the words. It was the honesty, and the voice of resistance, that also appealed to African hip-hop artists. Some of these artists understood the fifth element and incorporated it into a holistic approach to hip-hop culture.
In political science the phrase “all politics is local” could be similarly applied to hip-hop. All hip-hop is local. Emcees represent their contemporary local realities. Hip-hop scenes in various cities have their own distinctive styles and sounds. While hip-hop in Los Angeles was largely influenced by the funk music scene and gang culture there, hip-hop in Dakar was influenced by the mbalax music scene and Senegalese Islamic culture in that city. Hip-hop in Africa is a representation of local African communities and is influenced by local experiences and cultures. Hip-hop communities emerged nationally with very few connections with communities beyond their borders, and connections between francophone, anglophone, and lusophone countries were almost nonexistent. Aware of developments in the US hip-hop scenes, hip-hop communities in Africa developed in local contexts, largely a product of the music, culture, and history of the communities within which the culture developed.
The lyrics of those early African emcees encompassed the emotions and experience of entire generations of youth. The result was that artists not only speak to their national audiences, but contributed to global hip-hop dialogues as well. The goal for many artists was not just to speak to their local audiences but to represent their Africa to the world. For example, Senegalese rap pioneers Positive Black Soul (PBS) released their song “Africa” because they wanted to show the world “what Africa really is” (Appert 2016, 286).
African hip-hop artists also brought about conscious connections between hip-hop and African styles of rhyming and poetry, such as tassou (Senegal), maanso (Somalia), ushairi (Tanzania), that have existed for centuries in African cultures. K’naan, for example, has often reminded his listeners that Somalia is known as a nation of poets. Peter S. Scholtes quotes Senegalese hip-hop artist Faada Freddy: “Tassou still exists in Senegal . . . That’s an ancient form of rap music.” (2006, par. 4).
The process of indigenizing hip-hop culture was helped when many emcees began rapping in local languages. In countries like Ghana, Kenya, Liberia, Senegal, South Africa, Tanzania, and Uganda artists manipulated local languages and dialects and moved from producing English-only rap to also rapping in local languages. The importance of language use in hip-hop is crucial to understanding whom music speaks to, where an artist is coming from (Pennycook 2007; L. Watkins 2012). The language spoken by the masses has historically been assigned a low status (Devonish 1986). In fact, postcolonial policies to maintain colonial languages as official languages in much of Africa perpetuated the language inequality that developed, and the lower-class status assigned to the languages of the masses (Devonish 1986; Fanon 2004; Thiong’o 1986). Hip-hop’s roots, however, are with the masses, with those very individuals whom society has assigned a low status. The languages utilized by hip-hop artists was taken from the language spoken on the streets, by the masses. The slang used in hip-hop has the characteristics of other spoken languages, in that it is constantly changing, and an in-group status is also assigned to those who are fluent in it. As a result of hip-hop’s influence and popularity, in some countries hip-hop culture has promoted the status of indigenous and creole languages (and cultures) among the youth. In Ghana, for example, Pidgin English is assigned a low status but hip-hop artists have played a role in promoting its use among the youth. In response to the status of Pidgin English and street culture, Ghanaian artists Wanlov the Kubolor and M.anifest team up on the song “Gentleman” and proclaim, “I no be gentleman at all’o / I be African man original.” Through the song the duo uses Pidgin English to assert a specific kind of Ghanaian identity, one that is rooted in the masses.
