African Time

Bhekani Buthelezi and Suzi on the beach in Durban  that's the Indian Ocean behind us. 

Livin' on African time - I'm humming the tune to "Tulsa Time" in my mind as I write the phrase.  You might have heard it used in many contexts, such as when your event in Africa is scheduled to start at 4:00 p.m. and at 5:30 p.m. the people begin to take their places.  Or, maybe you go to a wedding that is supposed to happen  at noon and the groom and his groomsmen arrive around 2:00 p.m.  To westerners, African time can seem like a terrible insult - after all, you are told to be some place at a certain time, but nothing is happening at that certain time when you arrive. In fact, one is sometimes not very welcome at the appointed hour at all.   On the other hand, I sometimes see a miracle occur during African time.

The way I see it, the time needed to get used to an idea is African time.  The time needed to to make a good decision is African time.  And, the time spent learning the value of patience is also African time.  I went to Durban to meet some world-famous musicians, and I arrived early in morning, as I was told to do.  Sometime later that afternoon, I experienced the first conversation with someone connected to the musicians, and was somewhat distraught that I had misunderstood my instructions to be there early in the morning.  In fact, I was embarrassed at what appeared to my African colleagues as "barging in on them" - nearly four hours after I thought I was supposed to show up. By midnight, I was pretty sure that I was lucky to have been allowed to observe the music at all, and sat as near to a wall and in a dim area as possible to avoid bringing attention to myself.  But by 2:00 a.m. someone came over to me to see if I was warm enough or needed some coffee to drink.  She even gave me her phone number.  That someone took some time to think about who I was and why I was there.  While all this was happening, a friend and very busy colleague  - Mr. Bhekani Buthelezi - had stuck by my side the entire time (well OK, there was that one time when he went running into the crowd of political ralliers with my video camera to get some footage for me--as I was too chicken to do it myself).  All that time that might have been considered an insult --just waiting and waiting, but all that time there was another person waiting right beside me, explaining, interpreting, reassuring, and never complaining about the late hour or the long wait.  In fact, Bhekani tried to get me to stay even longer than I could manage, as the early morning hours began to change this long day into the next.

My advisors in Zululand go to great lengths to arrange introductions for me, so that people will "know" me.  It all seemed so ceremonial and unnecessary in the beginning, and I even felt I was wasting their time, because this practice requires some patience, no matter how it is carried out.  One waits until a more important person can become available to see you - even if you have scheduled an appointment.  Sometimes, business cannot be conducted until or unless one is known.  One waits to be fetched  - to use a local term - before saying goodbye at the end of a faculty meeting or school function.  One does not go willy nilly plundering around seeing oneself out, because one is in a hurry...at least before one is known.

Here's Elene Cloete --  she never waits for the clock to do anything!

I think I'm quite well known in some corridors and in some circles and still quite an odd and unsettling image in others.  I don't think I'll ever be completely correct with all the protocol and being known and observing African time with gusto, but I do think I might become a better person if I learn the patience required to live with African time.

I See You

In the Zulu language, one says Sawobona which literally translates "I see you".  My isiZulu teacher is a Professor of Language in the College of Education at the University of Zululand, who is also a sister in a religious order.  I address her as Sista Biyela, at her request.  Some interesting information comes along with learning to say "Sawobona" from a professional.  For instance, the "sa" in Sawobona is a plural form, but is used by one person who starts the greeting because it implies that: I, greet you together with both my living and living-dead family; and we are all concerned about you as you are part of us in the community.

From my textbook: "When two people greet each other, they shake right hands.  When you shake hands and you want to show respect and peace, the wrist of the right arm should be held by the left hand to support an act of love. " You can see this wrist holding technique if you watch the "#1 Ladies Detective Agency" tv show.  Precious Ramotswe always gives her client a cup of tea using this technique, as it is also used for giving items to people.  If you are receiving something, you place your left hand underneath your right hand to support it. The books says "it means that what is carried in the right hand is so huge and great that it needs support from both hands - no matter how small the thing given.  You may wish to thank the person using his/her praise name."

Every Zulu person has a praise name which is used when you want to thank someone or calm a person down - you use his/her praise name.  Imagine being in the middle of a rant and someone calls you by your praise name - that would be a little surprise, I think.  The praise name is more like a surname than a first name, and you never marry someone with your same praise name.  Sister Biyela says this is handy to know as a school teacher, because if I am supervising children at school and someone I don't recognize says he is an uncle and is here to pick up Thando, then I ask his surname - if he gives me his surname (many surnames indicate a specific praise name) and it is also the praise name that corresponds to Thando - then I would know the man is lying, as he could not possibly have married Thando's Aunt, who carries the same praise name.

I have been told by many informants that Zulus are not all one family, but many families or many clans.  So the Amahubo that would be sung in a ritualistic situation (one that I will never hear as a non-Zulu, unlesss I'm temporarily accepted by virtue of some role I might be asked to fill) would correspond specifically to the clan - indicated in modern society by the praise name.

First names also carry some baggage, mostly good, but not always.  My name - Nozibusiso-is very nice, because I was able to help choose it, but most people are given those names at birth.  The given name corresponds either to a role the new child is expected to play in the family, or an expression of circumstances regarding the birth.  This can be unfortunate, if one is born out of wedlock, because even modern unmarried Zulu parents may call the child Uxolo (forgiveness) to express sorrow that shame may have been brought to the family by their behavior.  The naming in general, though is a topic of conversation and a great way to create new chat with someone, so I always enjoy discussing it, as most people have happy stories to tell about their names.

So when Sister B asked me what characteristics everyone notices about me, I said that I was very lucky and very blessed, and it seemed that people around me were also very lucky and very blessed.  So she found the word for blessing busiso and then I had to decide if I wanted the form of the word that meant "the one blessing" (as though I was the answer to my parents wildest dreams) or "the mother of all blessings" (just one good thing after another, and all around me).  Sister told me to sleep on it and let her know at the following lesson.  Naturally, I chose the latter, but not just because it indicated so many blessings, but because I presented both options to Zulu friends, and they unanimously chose Nozibusiso over the alternative - Sibusisiwe.  Apparently Nozibusiso suits me well.

Shoot!

The photo is one I took while on my first "shoot" at the Soweto campus of the University of Johannesburg. The singers are being filmed for my research and book project and I am freaking out at the responsibilities involved with keeping everyone on schedule and on task. There is a whole lot that goes on at a "shoot". It was fun, and exhausting.

We are having a holiday weekend in South Africa, thanks to Women's Day on Monday. The holiday commemorates women who participated in the overturning of the Apartheid Government and many other contributions. In the early 20th century, women in Durban used their persuasive powers with their husbands who supervised treatment of interned Boers for more humane treatment. Women have repeatedly led and joined in political action throughout the 20th century and are now heading households, participating in government and contributing in just about every imaginable way to this re-developing nation.

Freedom songs, protest songs, songs of complaint, songs for social action...all these terms have a socio-political implication in the text, and many of them have used a style combining harmonic, rhythmic and formulaic elements that became quite recognizable. For some composers and choral directors, it is too far out of fashion for their choirs to sing them, and for others, critical that their choirs have a number of them in the repertoire. For Nobel prize writers, and distinguished literary giants I heard at the opening of the Wits University South African Theatre Festival, the hark back to the days when those songs were so pervasive in Black culture is still extremely important, because the memory of why they were needed is so important. I was in Johannesburg briefly during the festival and the time of the annual Nelson Mandela Lecture. The keynote speaker was Argentine born Ariel Dorfman, who is a poet, playwright, novelist and social justice advocate world wide. If you are interested in reading this year's lecture it is available at this website.

Because I have met South African musicians who want to steer our conversations away from my interest in the freedom song genre, I had begun to wonder if I was really studying something important, or just looking for an interesting history lesson. After hearing the conversation led by Dr. Dorfman the night before the Nelson Mandela annual lecture, I am more convinced than ever that text, context and social justice need a place in music education, every bit as much as years of analysis of form and style or months and years of practice teaching and education theory studies.

I took a trip from my little country home in Empangeni, on the North Coast of KwaZulu-Natal, to the big city of Johannesburg. On my first hour in the city, I witnessed a horrible auto accident that I think was fatal and on my second hour, I met Professor Mzilikazi Khumalo, a cultural icon of traditional South African folk music. He's the guy who was appointed by Nelson Mandela to solve the problem of the national anthem. He is also the eldest living composer, born in 1932 and considered the grandfather of South African choral composition. My students and colleagues at the University of Zululand arranged the meeting, and they assisted me with preparing for the interview with Professor Khumalo. What I did not know was that by the end of the day, I would secure a promise for two of his compositions, based on South African Nguni folk traditions to be contributed to my song book effort.

The next day, I met with staff members at the SAMRO centre, (South African Music Rights Organization) to obtain the legal permission and discuss my project further. The legal part of the discussion took all of 10 minutes, but the follow up hour and a half was full of new ideas and contacts for me, that the staff wanted me to have. Enriched by the experience, I hired a videographer and jumped in Wayne's van, just in time for a rehearsal at the University of Johannesburg, Soweto Campus. Wayne is the world's most fabulous driver and transportation company entrepreneur and has himself contributed greatly to my work, as he is the person who organized the famous train ride from Soweto to Johannesburg that Dennis and took in 2009.

Suzi with UJ Director Neo Motswage

Back home in Zululand now, I am wrestling with the logistics of teaching a class with 189 students, and finding time to transcribe interviews and schedule meetings with the people whom I have found to consult. I can now add "I am teaching Music" to my list of phrases that I can utter in isiZulu, and thanks to Sister Biejla my Zulu language teacher and colleague in the College of Ed at UniZulu, I hope to formulate sentences of my own choosing soon.