“16. Music, Weapon of Change, Weapon of Peace: Thomas Mapfumo, Chimurenga, and the Power of Music in Exile” in “Resisting the Dehumanization of Refugees”
Chapter 16 Music, Weapon of Change, Weapon of Peace Thomas Mapfumo, Chimurenga, and the Power of Music in Exile
Thomas Mapfumo, Chiedza Chikawa, and Michael Frishkopf
Introduction by Michael Frishkopf
Artists who embody local music—popular or traditional—are more deeply rooted in their homelands than nearly anyone else. Particularly when they achieve renown, they are richly connected to and sustained by the local. They are culturally connected and sustained through music; they are socially connected and sustained through fans and musical colleagues. They depend on these connections, this complexly woven web, not only for their livelihoods but for their core identities. They cannot uproot and emigrate the way engineers and doctors do, seeking greater prosperity abroad in nearly identical positions. No such alternatives exist for the localized artist. Social and cultural connections, as well as economic interests, restrain them. Abroad, they may find a diasporic audience, but it is not the same. Similar constraints apply to social activists engaged in grassroots struggles for liberation or social justice, whose lives are enmeshed with a local context, with momentous contemporary events and social movements. Dr. Thomas Mapfumo, renowned artist and activist, is thus doubly rooted in his homeland of Zimbabwe.1
Yet music also enables the spinning of new social threads, the weaving of a new socio-cultural fabric, one that can sustain the artist-activist, even far from home. This is particularly true for African music, already deeply woven into popular musics around the world, especially in the Americas. Nearly all North American, Caribbean, and Latin American popular music has roots in African music: blues, rock, jazz, R & B, soul, reggae, hip hop, and salsa. Furthermore, African music’s North American transformations returned to Africa via artists as diverse as Dizzy Gillespie, Bob Marley, Elvis Presley, and James Brown through tours, recordings, and radio in the past—and internet in the present. For African immigrants to North America, in particular, a firm musical basis for the weaving and reweaving of social fabrics—connecting to one another, to the wider host society, and to the homeland—is already in place.
I fell for Chimurenga, Dr. Mapfumo’s revolutionary Zimbabwean music, as soon as I heard it, in a graduate school course surveying popular music of Africa. Love at first listen. Like many ethnomusicologists, I had been drawn to African lamellophone traditions, with their intricate interlocking melodies, cyclic polyrhythms, and dulcet metallic tones, particularly the large mbira dzavadzimu (mbira of the ancestors) of Zimbabwe, used in Shona spirit ceremonies, accompanied by the steady swing of the hosho rattle, both instruments supporting a captivating yodelling vocal style. I eagerly read Paul Berliner’s ([1978] 2007) famous book, The Soul of Mbira, about Shona musical traditions and purchased an mbira dzavadzimu from the celebrated performer Ephat Mujuru. I was equally fascinated by the amazingly polyphonic guitar styles of urban Africa, particularly Soukous and Congolese rumba.
Mapfumo’s songs drew on both. His soft, deep voice flowed over cyclic forms, buoyed by guitar lines drawing upon the extraordinary polyphonies, polyrhythms, and inherent melodies of traditional Shona mbira music, as well as popular guitar styles of southern Africa. On some tunes, the band even incorporated the traditional instruments—mbira and hosho—or compositions, such as Nhemamusasa, adapted as “Chitima Nditakure (Train Carry Me)” (Brown 1994; Eyre 2015; Nonesuch Explorer Series 1973). And yet these were contemporary songs addressing social issues, inducing connections in this world, not in the world of spirits.
Our paths crossed again when I attended a live performance of his celebrated band, the Blacks Unlimited, at the Middle East Restaurant in Cambridge, Massachusetts, around 1994—though, of course, I did not meet him. Many years later, when I was co-producing the Giving Voice to Hope CD (GVTH 2009; see chapter 15), I mulled over which international musician I might approach to provide an endorsement. I knew I’d never reach Western superstar philanthropists like Sting and Bono of Live Aid fame. Then I remembered Mapfumo and reached out through his agent. Thomas kindly responded with a pithy phrase highlighting the power of music for social change: “Music is the best weapon to bring change and also bring peace to the world. I and the Blacks Unlimited wish these musicians in Buduburam refugee camp all the best in their endeavours.” We proudly featured his inspiring words on the CD’s back cover.
Thomas Mapfumo, also known as Mukanya and the Lion of Zimbabwe, is a living legend: for nearly fifty years, one of that country’s most celebrated popular singers and activists, unwaveringly committed to uplifting his people. His music—sung in Shona and sometimes English, a musical blend of local Shona musical rhythms, melodies, and instruments and African and international guitar-band styles (themselves inspired in part by African American musics, infused in turn by African music)—is “the music that made Zimbabwe,” as writer Banning Eyre (2015) subtitles his authorized biography. Mapfumo’s incendiary songs inspired the fighters who ultimately overthrew the white regime of Rhodesia in 1980, and he was jailed for a time. Undeterred, he continued his musical struggle for freedom and good governance. Despite initial optimism following independence in 1980, many Zimbabweans left their country, as it fell prey to tyrannical rule and a collapsing economy. Mapfumo stayed on, dedicated to his art, his cause, and his people. Despite threats and harassment, his music continued to critique power, this time the increasingly corrupt, partisan regime led by Robert Mugabe.
Mapfumo called this music “Chimurenga” (“struggle”), referring first to the 1890s Shona uprisings, then to the 1970s liberation struggle (Eyre 2015, 5). It is a music expressing the thread of his personal lifeworld. Born and raised in rural Zimbabwe, immersed in Shona traditions, he moved to a Harare suburb, Mbare, where he attended school. Later, he travelled abroad—to southern Africa, then (through musical tours) around the world. Throughout his varied musical career, he has struggled mightily for his people, for the poor and oppressed. Rooted in the popular guitar styles of southern Africa, moulded by the traditional musical elements of the indigenous Shona, his music, fuelled at its core by compassion, helped humanize the downtrodden people of his country; give voice to their suffering; liberate them from oppressive governments, white and Black alike, locally, regionally, and globally; and galvanize solidarity.
Thomas Mapfumo is thus deeply connected to his homeland both as a locally rooted musician and as a social activist—a musical icon, a legend, an inspiration, a political force—uncompromisingly, unremittingly committed to his people. And yet, following increasing harassment from the Mugabe regime, he too finally chose exile. For the sake of his family’s well-being, he left his beloved country in 2000, settling them in the leafy, artsy college town of Eugene, Oregon, where he has remained.2 Perhaps no two places on earth could be more different.
How did he cope with this transition, far from the socio-musical connections that had supported him? Music continued to sustain him, albeit in new ways, through new connections. His musical and political stature provided recognition and official asylum. He brought family and many band members along and connected to musicians in the United States while maintaining his connections to Zimbabwe through new musical releases and media. His fame (including prior tours) allowed him to quickly establish himself in the North American scene, playing African, fusion, and world music festivals and catalyzing a new set of socio-musical connections around himself. He performed for the local Eugene community (e.g., Mapfumo 2011) while connecting to the wider North American musical scenes, which he’d long admired, through festivals and collaborations (Piotrowski 2019; Toombs 2008; Music Sumo 2002). As someone who grew up playing rock ’n’ roll covers, he was intimately familiar with American music and could adapt, blending languages and styles, while his Chimurenga style became immensely popular among non-Zimbabweans.
His music helped interconnect the Zimbabwean diaspora through performances and collaborations with artists such as dancer and choreographer Nora Chipaumire (Chipaumire, Mapfumo, and the Blacks Unlimited 2009). He also wove new connections to American artists like avant-garde trumpeter Wadada Leo Smith, with whom he recorded an album in Eugene (Piotrowski 2019; Leo Smith and Mapfumo 2020; Dreams and Secrets 2001).
During Mugabe’s waning days, Mapfumo toured North America, galvanizing the diaspora with a speaking and performing tour. Encouraging political action, he undoubtedly hastened (albeit indirectly) Mugabe’s fall in 2017. Mapfumo’s power inheres not merely in his songs, whether their lyrics are overtly political or have simply accrued political meaning through the uptake of Shona traditional musical symbols (Turino 1999, 246), but also more directly in his personal charisma and social influence as a revered cultural figure, so closely intertwined with his music.
Despite all the years of listening to that music, I only had the opportunity to witness his leadership—as a revolutionary musician and champion of his people—first-hand when he visited Edmonton in 2016, one stop on that tour. At last, I had the opportunity to meet him face to face, at the Massawa Café in downtown Edmonton. A small group had gathered there, mainly Zimbabweans. We were treated to a performance by a local Zimbabwean band called Mbira Renaissance, after which Mapfumo gave a lengthy but impromptu speech in Shona. Of course, I could not understand his words, but I got his message anyway; his passion shone through his resonant vocal rumble. I knew that he was visiting not to sing but to gather support for political change in Zimbabwe. He appeared at two other events in town during that weekend trip. Two months later, he returned to Edmonton to play a sold-out concert to a largely Zimbabwean expatriate audience. Through music and speech, as a performer and political activist, Mapfumo not only called for a “new Zimbabwe”; he called it into being. Less than a year later, on November 21, 2017, Mugabe finally resigned, ending a thirty-seven-year tyrannical rule.
No musician could be more deeply wound into his country’s modern history. Mapfumo was forced to leave his beloved people of Zimbabwe because of his music. But equally, it was his music that sustained him in exile. Indeed, Mapfumo’s music is all about weaving social connections. Once asked in a TV interview about whether he sings love songs, he replied,
It is good to sing about love [. . .] but sing about the important love. [. . .] We have had enough conflict in this world. There’s no use in trying to sing about love between two people. [. . .] The love that I am talking about is the love amongst the people. [. . .] We have to love each other. [. . .] Let’s sing about the love between the people of different races [. . .] that is a very important issue. Because there is no love amongst the people. (Mega Video Zimbabwe 2020)
Through the dense weave of his music, his bands, and his audiences, criss-crossing all manner of socio-cultural boundaries, Dr. Thomas Mapfumo has indeed created “love amongst the people.”
In the following sections, we present Mapfumo in his own words in three parts:3 first, his life story as he recounted it during our 2020 conference event, “Transpositions”; next, a follow-up interview by myself; and, third, an interview conducted by his daughter Chiedza Chikawa (which she kindly translated from Shona to English). Both interviews were recorded and transcribed. I conclude with an important moment in my conversations with Chiedza and a poignant song of exile. Links to audio and video examples are provided in the references section, and my explanatory comments are in footnote annotations.
Thomas Mapfumo’s Conference Address, February 6, 2020
Hello, everybody. My name is Thomas Mapfumo. My friends call me Mukanya.4 Mukanya is my totem. I was born in the rural areas of Zimbabwe. I was a herd boy, herding cattle, goats, and donkeys. I spent seven years in the rural areas, where I grew up with my granddad and my grandma.5 Those are the people who actually looked after me when I was a boy. I learned a lot of things when I was living in the country. The music that I am playing today is the music that I learned in the country. As a herd boy, I had instruments that we used to communicate as herd boys. When we would go out there to herd cattle and goats, we used to play traditional instruments to communicate with the other herd boys.
I started going to school in 1954, in the rural area, where I did my Sub A. After seven years in the rural areas, my parents called me to come and join them in the city, where I did my Sub B.6 I was at John Brooke school for Sub B, Standard One, Standard Two, Three, Four, and Five. Then I moved on to Mbare; they used to call that place “National.” I went to Chitsere School for Standard Six.
Then I went to Zambia to join my friend Naboth, who was also a musician. I lived with my friend, and we were playing a lot of music together. I wasn’t a star at that time. After some time, I left Zambia and went back to Zimbabwe—Rhodesia at that time. I joined a band called the Springfields. The Springfields were a rock ’n’ roll outfit. They used to play music by Elvis Presley, Cliff Richard—music from all the rock ’n’ roll stars of that time. I used to sing rock ’n’ roll music too. I enjoyed Elvis Presley; he was my idol. I loved everything that he used to do on the stage. I was into rock ’n’ roll music.
As time went on, I was into a lot of different types of music. I did rumba music from the Congo by Franco.7 I thought he was a great artist, and I liked his style of rumba. He was really good.
That time was during the colonial era. We were living under bondage; our people were not free. Our people decided to fight for their freedom, and they went out to get trained. A lot of youngsters left the country to go and get friends, and they came back fighting the white regime. They were living in the bush.
That’s the time that I started thinking about my own identity. I started thinking, Where do I come from, who am I, what am I supposed to be? That alone made me change. I started thinking of my own identity, thinking of my own people. They were suffering. Well, that brought something to my mind. I had to change—I had to look for my identity. And the only thing that I had to do like a musician was to actually play the music of my own people—the music that I grew up with in the country.
When I started doing this music, that’s when the Chimurenga war broke out,8 and I decided to name my music Chimurenga music.
I recorded a lot of songs opposing the white regime, and that got me arrested by the regime. I was arrested, and I was sent to detention for three months. I was there for three months. They kept sending a plainclothes policeman to interrogate me. Sometimes, they would come with a lot of singles, and some of these singles were not even mine. They said, “You are singing about politics.” I said, “No! My music is not political. This is the music of my people, the music of my ancestors.”
So I stayed in detention for three months. After three months, they decided to let me go on condition that I had to go to Bulawayo to go and play for Bishop Muzorewa, where there was a rally.9 When I got out, I went straight home, and I contacted the other band members. They came to my place. We sat down and talked about this show for the Muzorewa rally, which was going to happen in Bulawayo. Some of my band members didn’t want to go there, but I told them, “Look, we are just musicians; we don’t have guns to defend ourselves, so we have to go to Bulawayo and play our music.”
When we went to Bulawayo, we were still playing the same songs, the revolutionary songs that I had been arrested for. People were asking questions—why we were still playing the same songs. I said I didn’t have time to compose songs for this occasion. They understood what I said to them. After that, we were the only band that was supporting the liberation struggle in the country, and when these guys in from the bush heard that Thomas Mapfumo had played at Bishop Muzorewa’s rally, they thought I had sold out. But no, I hadn’t sold out! My songs were still the same. The messages within my songs were still the same. I was still singing about the freedom of my people.
So a lot of people didn’t want to come to our shows. We sometimes had big flops. People didn’t want to come. But we never changed; we kept singing the same songs. We just wanted to show them that we were still freedom fighters. In the end, they started coming back to our shows. They realized that they had actually made a very big mistake.
When Mugabe became president, we all went wild.10 We thought, “Oh, the country was free, and our people were free now.” Everybody was rejoicing. We thought everything was going to be rosy. We had won the war, and the Black people were now in power.
Well, we were wrong, because after eight years of independence, we started noticing corruption, and that made me compose a song, “Corruption.”11 From there, some of them were asking me a lot of questions: Why am I singing about corruption? I said, “Well, the government has got a lot of corrupt people.” Some of the ministers were corrupt; the president was also very corrupt.
Yesterday, I sang against oppression by the white people, and today, the man who is in the forefront is our man, a Black man like me, and he is also corrupt. I can’t take that! I can never take that, and I won’t even look at the colour of your skin. What you do to the people, how you treat your people, how you see them—you understand? If you are a leader, you are not a leader of a certain political party. You are a leader of the people, even those who don’t like you; you are still their leader. So you must show the qualities of good leadership.
This is what is lacking in Zimbabwe today. Today, people are still crying, and it’s almost forty years. I don’t know where we are because our people are suffering. They are suffering. I was there for the last four months; after I was there, I could see a lot of youngsters. They’ve been turned into beggars, moving up and down the streets looking, begging for money, begging for food. That’s not the way our people should live. We need good leadership; we don’t need a corrupt government, people who are stealing from their own people. That’s a disgrace; it is a disgrace, and the world should be talking about this.
We always listen; we always watch the news. On CNN, they don’t talk about Zimbabwe. BBC doesn’t talk about Zimbabwe. You forget there are people there, who are supposed to be human. The world is not doing anything for the Zimbabwean people. They are suffering; the people of Zimbabwe are suffering. They need your help. They need your help. There is no democracy in Zimbabwe, no freedom of speech in Zimbabwe, no freedom of movement in Zimbabwe. If you criticize the president, you are going to be arrested in Zimbabwe.
I don’t know whether you know about that. Most of you don’t know about that because you don’t hear any news from Zimbabwe.
Michael Frishkopf’s Interview with Thomas Mapfumo, July 24, 2020
MF: Can you tell me about your experience leaving Zimbabwe, coming to live in the USA with your family?12 Why did you leave? What was the role of music in that move for you?
TM: I think music played a very big role for me when I left Zimbabwe with the rest of my family. My brothers are also here with their families. I didn’t want to leave Zimbabwe. Even my wife always talks about that. I didn’t want to come to live here, but then when we talked about our future and our children . . . when we look back at the situation in Zimbabwe, we thought it was the right thing to be here. We just wanted our children to finish their education where they have freedom, so we thought the United States was a good place.
I was known all over the world. The US government actually knew who I was. They read about me and my biography; they knew exactly what I stood for. I didn’t want to be involved with the government that is there today in Zimbabwe. I fought in my music, played a very big role during the liberation struggle, and we supported these people. My music inspired a lot of young people to get out of the country, be trained, and come back. A lot of youngsters were inspired by my music.
When they took over, we started noticing that after eight years, there was corruption within the people who were working with the government, and that’s what made me compose the song “Corruption.” Some government officials didn’t like this song because they knew what I was talking about, and a lot of people never realized what I was trying to tell them, but at last, they realized.
They thought I was a supporter of Robert Mugabe. I wasn’t a supporter of Robert Mugabe; I was a supporter of the people. I stood by the people, and that’s where I am today. I’m not going to abandon the people. My freedom and the freedom of my people cannot be separated. I don’t care whether I have money or I don’t have money.
MF: So through music, you were able to keep that connection to your people, even though you were in Oregon?
TM: Yeah, that’s very true.
MF: How did that work? You weren’t able to visit, but you were able to send your music or . . .
TM: I went back sometimes.
MF: I think a year ago?
TM: Yes, I actually played a very big concert in the stadium.13
MF: But that was after Mugabe stepped down?
TM: Yeah, after Mugabe stepped down. A lot of people came—it was filled to capacity.
MF: So, obviously, you were able to maintain your audience throughout the period you were away. How were people getting your music? Were they getting new music, or were they listening to the old music?
TM: You know, my music is sold online, and whoever wants to buy my music can get my music online.
MF: So you were continuing to address your people even though you were far, far away?
TM: That’s what I do always. Sometimes, I had interviews with radio stations in the UK and also Zimbabwe News.14 I’m always telling people to keep focusing; they have to fight for their freedom because freedom doesn’t come on a silver plate. If you don’t stand up for your rights, no one will ever do that for you. At the end of the day, it’s the people who actually have the power.
MF: What about Zimbabweans in the USA? When you moved, did you start to connect with the community there, either in Oregon or somewhere else?
TM: Well, I speak to a lot of people here because I always talk to a lot of people. Right now, I’ve been on the phone with someone in Ohio who represents the MDC Alliance,15 and we have been discussing the problems that the people are facing at home. They are supposed to demonstrate on the thirty-first of this month, so we are encouraging people to get out in big numbers—get out there and protest. If they want to be free, this is the only way to do it.
MF: What about in the States? Are people there also demonstrating in support?
TM: That’s right. I’ve been on the phone with a member of the MDC Alliance and with a lady activist; they are organizing that.
MF: In Oregon or across the country?
TM: Across the country.
MF: And would music play a role in those demonstrations? Your songs or some other kinds of songs?
TM: Of course; we have a Twitter account, so every song that I wrote during the liberation struggle and some songs that are my latest music, we are actually posting them on my Twitter.
MF: Oh great.
TM: Yes.
MF: So in the actual demonstration, do you ever perform a concert in the US that gathers people together?
TM: Yeah. We can always do one online,16 so that’s the one we want to arrange right now.
MF: Do you have a large following among non-Zimbabweans?
TM: Yes, I do.
MF: I heard you back in the early nineties in a club in Cambridge, Massachusetts, called the Middle East Restaurant. I don’t know if you remember. That was probably twenty-five years ago.
TM: I know!
MF: So who are the musicians you have worked with since coming to the US? Did you work with some musicians who are not from Zimbabwe?
TM: Yeah, I’ve worked with a lot of different people here; there’s a young lady, Stormy—I did a song (“Music”) with her. She’s an African American. Another white girl—I did a song, “Shabeen,” with her. She has a very good voice.17
MF: Who’s been in the band over the years since you moved to the US?
TM: Gilbert Christopher, myself, and Chaka, and we have a drummer, he’s white, from Arizona: Eddie.
MF: And the others are Zimbabweans?
TM: The rest are Zimbabweans.
MF: In the songs that you did with the African American and the white lady, were you crossing into different styles with those?
TM: You know, I just love to write any kind of music. Yeah, this was a different style, but you know, that was me, and that’s what I do. I’m not specializing in Zimbabwean music only. When I started music, I played a lot of other people’s music, like I was into the Beatles, the Rolling Stones . . .
MF: So since you came to the US, did you develop some new musical directions or styles?
TM: No, but I always listen. If I happen to come up with a different tune, I just have to write it down, yes.
MF: Did you ever do anything, for example, with jazz or R & B?
TM: I love Frank Sinatra and also Sam Cooke. I used to follow all those guys; I was into every type of music. I just love good music. I listen to everything, even dancehall, that is all new styles from Jamaica. Bob Marley was my idol.
MF: Were there other Zimbabweans who felt they had to leave the country because of political persecution and came to the USA?
TM: A lot of them. We cannot name them by their names, but a lot of them are here.
MF: I imagine that your music would be an inspiration and a hope for them to keep in touch with their culture and their identity.
TM: That’s really true, yeah.18
MF: So where did your tours take you? I’m sure you’ve had a lot of tours across the US since moving here.
TM: Yeah, yeah! I know every part of the United States [laughs]. I started coming here in 1994, before I moved.
MF: And then since you moved here, you’ve been touring also?
TM: Yeah, every year. Right now, we were supposed to go to Australia, but because of COVID-19, we’re just waiting.
MF: Where would you normally play on your US tours? What sorts of venues?
TM: Most of the time, we used to come here for festivals. And we played a lot of universities, yes.
MF: Which festivals did you play?
TM: I played the Grassroots Festival; also the Reggae on the River; the Chicago Festival, I played there several times; and also Yoshi in California, Triple Door in Seattle, House of Blues—we played that. I’ve lost count of them.19
MF: And what sort of audience did you get? I mean, who would come?
TM: A lot of white people. They really support us; they give us that inspiration. They give us the support we’ve been looking for, and we thank them very, very much because, I mean, that’s our culture, so if they can appreciate our culture, that’s a good thing for us.20
MF: Do they tend to be younger?
TM: Young and old.
MF: And for many of them, do you think that was the first exposure they had to music from Zimbabwe?
TM: Some of them have been listening to South African music, and Zimbabwean music is almost the same, so it’s not a new thing to them.
MF: I know also in Seattle, there was a very big traditional music scene with the mbira.
TM: Yes.
MF: There was an mbira player who was invited there; he had a lot of students: Dumisani Maraire.
TM: Oh, Dumisani Maraire? I just did something with his son. His son is a rapper.21 I edited something on his music.
MF: You’re in Eugene. Is there a lot of interest there too?
TM: There’s a lot of interest. Yeah, there are even a lot of white people who are trying to play the mbira instrument.
MF: Yeah, like me! I love it, but I’m a beginner.
TM: All right, keep playing!
MF: Thank you, thank you so much. Take care.
TM: Bye-bye.
MF: Bye-bye.
Chiedza Chikawa’s Interview with Her Father, Thomas Mapfumo
Part 1—December 2020
CC: When you relocated to America, how did you connect with American society, specifically Eugene, through your music?22
TM: We always came here on tour, so for us to get to Eugene, it was due to the touring we did. We toured around the United States; that is how we got to Eugene and met people like Mr. Green.23
CC: When you started living in Eugene, did you connect to the Eugene community—you know, connecting with the people of Eugene?
TM: Yes, a lot of them.
CC: How did you connect with them?
TM: We were well known, so the moment they knew that we had settled in Eugene, they wrote about it in the local papers.
CC: Usually, you were with the band; you were always with the band, so you didn’t socialize too much with the local Eugene community unless you were playing locally at places like the WOW Hall.24
TM: That is right.
CC: Was the Eugene community supportive of you?
TM: Yes, very much. They were really supportive.
CC: When you moved to America, how did you stay connected to the community of Zimbabwe? Now that you lived in America, how did you connect?
TM: These are modern times; we connected with phones and through music. We connect through music, internet, and social media.
CC: But you are very involved with the things that happen at home (Zimbabwe)—politics and, you know, social awareness on issues at home. Now that you were here, how did you stay connected? Plus, how did you stay connected with your fans who were in Zimbabwe after moving to Eugene?
TM: We spoke on the phone.
CC: Who told you about the things that were happening at home?
TM: We saw some stuff on the news; we have modern phones, so we were able to google on our phones to see what was happening.25
CC: Did you feel any type of disconnection when you started living in Eugene?
TM: Of course. When you are coming from your homeland, where you are used to, and going to live in another country, it is so different. The feelings are different because now we are far from family, so it’s not . . . yes, it’s nice that we are living a better life, but at the same time, it is not pleasant because we are so far from our family. That’s another thing that pains me a lot.
CC: Did it affect you a lot in the first years after relocating? Especially because you had a large fan base at home—you were like the most popular artist—so for you to leave your fan base at home, you know, coming to live here, I can only imagine how you must have felt in those first few years.
TM: Yes, it is very painful to come into what you call a strange land you don’t know much about. Where you are coming from is where your family is, where your everything is. If we were home, we would not be where we are today. We would be well developed if the country were functioning properly. But it set us behind.
CC: Yes.
TM: Yes.
CC: Even for you personally, your businesses and everything.
TM: It killed us, even the issues with our money. Nothing went well after that. Money that we had at the Building Society26—we just woke up one morning to be told that we had lost our money to inflation.
CC: Yeah, really.
TM: So all the money that we put there, all the money we got from our record sales, that’s where we put it. We had a lot of money there, and then you wake up to be told one day that you have lost all your money due to inflation. So who has the problem here? Give us our money back; you are the government.
CC: I don’t know.
TM: It’s so painful; it really set us back to the point that our lives never recovered.
CC: What kept you hopeful or kept you going afterward? It’s depressing, to be honest, to see what happened. But what kept you fighting and moving forward even though, at this point, you had left your home, had left your fan base, and were here in a strange land? What keeps you going and fighting?
TM: I am the type of person who does not give up hope. I keep hoping that it will get better at some point. I trust in my God and my ancestors. It’s not my own doing that has gotten me this far, and it’s not my cleverness that has gotten me to live this long; it is my God and my ancestors. So those are the two that I put forward in my life. I don’t have any power/strength; I cannot say “Tomorrow I will do this and that.” Uh-uh. I have to ask my God and my ancestors to guide me so that I may get to see tomorrow.
CC: When you moved, the band—your band—was a big band, and you had a lot of members. Did you ever think that you would keep all the members, or, you know, you ended up finding some local musicians here [in Oregon]. Can you please talk a bit about the changes that have taken place in your band since you moved?
TM: Yes, you know, at home, we had enough people. Though a lot of our people left us (passed on and left), we kept on adding people when anyone left in order to replace those who had left. In Zimbabwe, we had a full band, so we felt the burden of leaving and then had to find other people, like Brooks.27 We were used to having a big band, and we always had a brass section, so we brought people like Brooks who play brass into the band and taught them our music. They didn’t even know our music, and now they know Zimbabwean music well.
CC: Where did you find people like Brooks?28
TM: We found Brooks in Eugene. I don’t remember how . . . Oh, wait—he hung out with that guy who owned Tsunami Books, who also played the saxophone.29 He now lives in Hawaii.
CC: Oh, okay!
TM: Yes, so he and Brooks used to play together; we met Brooks through him.
CC: And how did you find him?
TM: We were looking for people who would play, and someone introduced him to us. I don’t remember who introduced him to us.
CC: So how was it playing with people who were pretty foreign to your type of music—to have to teach them your music and also them not knowing the Zimbabwean culture and not necessarily understanding it?
TM: That is why we say we are one people. Music is music and how you hear it. We also play their type of music too! So music is music. If someone listens to it, they can tell that it’s not the same as their type of music, but if you are a musician, you can tell what’s good music.30
CC: So they really understood your music?
TM: Yes, they understood it.
CC: And then you have people like Paul Prince.31 Those were the people who were part of your community in Eugene, right?
TM: Yes, that’s right.
CC: How did you meet Paul?
TM: We met him here in Eugene.
CC: Did you first meet him on your tours?
TM: Through touring. We met him here while on tour.
CC: So coming here while on tour before moving to settle here helped you settle better because you were a bit familiar with Eugene?
TM: That’s right.
CC: After moving to America, you released some albums from here. Did you feel like you were still connecting with the Zimbabweans living in Zimbabwe? Did they connect with your music, or did you feel like it would be better if you were releasing your music from home?
TM: It was much better releasing from home. That’s where the majority of our fan base is. Now from here, you release the music and hope it will be sold in Zimbabwe, but then they sell it in the streets. No one is really buying genuine CDs. They now buy the piracy copies, so it doesn’t work. Things died, especially music—it’s dead in Zimbabwe. There are a lot of little studios where individuals just make their own CDs. All those Zimdancehall artists just make their own studios and make their own CDs.32
CC: Plus, do you think the issue with your music being banned on the radio affected your connection with people in Zimbabwe, since your music wasn’t being played on the radio?
TM: Yes, even today, they don’t play it. It affects us a lot. It hurts our livelihood. It’s thoughtless because you are hurting my family. That is my farm (where I harvest), so if you are closing doors on me, you are not thinking. Just because I am speaking against you, it does not mean you should shut my resources down. It is not right.
CC: So how do you think people heard your music, with it being banned on the radio?
TM: They would just buy it wherever they could find it. Some of it ended up on the streets, with individual people making their own versions and selling them on the streets for less. That killed the music industry. I asked Mr. Sibindi for money from my royalties, as he has not paid me in years. I said give me even $250, and he laughed. He said he doesn’t get that much due to piracy.
CC: The story of Zimbabwe is a tough one.
TM: It is very tough. It’s very tough. It’s not something to play with. Whoever takes power next must correct all these things.
CC: Yes, that’s true. So how did you connect with the Zimbabweans who are living in diaspora like you? How did you connect with them through your music?
TM: Since we toured a lot, we would go to some places where there were Zimbabweans. So when they heard that we were living here, they would look for our numbers and call us, and we would see them when we toured.
CC: And how did it make you feel to meet with other Zimbabweans who were in a similar situation as you, knowing that you were all in exile or came to look for a better life?
TM: It hurts a lot. It is not fun. One day, we were playing in England for Zimbabweans. There were so many of them; it was a packed show. We played the song that goes [singing] “kuchema chete nguva dzose, hapana kufara mwana wamai” (we are crying all the time, there is no happiness).33 We cried real tears, seeing that all these people fled from poverty, and you know how this life of living in other people’s countries is. Their home is their home, and the one that you are used to is yours. It is very sad to see all these people running from Zimbabwe and having to stay in foreign lands.
CC: Yeah, it is sad, and it hurts.
TM: It hurts a lot.
CC: I do not know when it will get better.
TM: I don’t know.
CC: Yeah, I don’t know either. But how do you feel now knowing that there are a few more Zimbabweans in Eugene because for the longest time, it was just us?
TM: That’s family now. The more of us, the better. We get to socialize with one another.
CC: It also helped that you had your brothers with you when you moved, right?
TM: That’s right.
CC: And other band members like Uncle Chris and Uncle Gilbert.
TM: Yes.
CC: Okay, I think that’s all I got for now. If I come up with any more questions, I will ask you, Dad.
TM: Okay, that sounds good.
Part 2—January 2021
CC: Today, I wanted to talk about culture and how you were able to preserve your culture in a different country that holds a different culture and lifestyle. You have been living in the States for twenty years. How do you manage to preserve your Zimbabwean culture, since it is different from the American culture and you are not around many Zimbabweans?
TM: Wherever a person is, they don’t forget where they came from and their values and lifestyle. Those are things that one preserves, even food—you see that we cook at home because that is part of our culture; we don’t go out and buy takeout food a lot. We cook at home. Those are some of the things we value.
CC: How about your children, like me, Tai, and Mati? Well, Mati was so young (three) when we moved here; Tai and I grew up in Zimbabwe and moved here in our teens. What do you think allows us to keep our culture, if you think we have kept the Zimbabwean culture? What do you think has allowed your family to hold on to Zimbabwean culture after all this time? Do you think it’s you or something else?
TM: Children see how their parents behave, so that is usually what they follow. They follow what their parents teach them in terms of their values and lifestyle.34
CC: Tai and I know the Zimbabwean culture pretty well, but Mati pretty much grew up in the States. Do you think she understands the Zimbabwean culture possibly because she lived with us and heard us speak Shona? Do you think that helps her understand our values and makes her who she is, even though she may be more Americanized, when she is out in the world?
TM: That is true. That is what helps her. She sees through you guys and how you carry yourselves and knows that those are part of her values as well, and she takes that and uses that.
CC: Of all the things you left behind in Zimbabwe, what is that one thing from your culture that you can never let go or that you hold on to so tightly?
TM: Talking to our ancestors. That is something we always think of. As you can see right now, we are lamenting the issue of your grandfather’s [TM’s biological father] resting place and how it needs to be fixed so that we make sure that we sort out our stuff. Those are the kinds of things we worry about.
CC: So your ancestors are one of your biggest priorities?
TM: Yes, our ancestors and God. God comes first, then the ancestors come after God.
CC: Last time we spoke, I asked you about how you were able to know what was happening in Zimbabwe after you first left, and you spoke of smart phones. I just wanted to clarify because at that time, there were no smart phones, remember? We still had old phones that were not iPhones. So I wanted to go back to that question and ask about how you were able to get the scoop on what was happening in Zimbabwe.
TM: There were people who called us from home, and they would tell us what was going on. Some stuff we would see on television, like BBC.
CC: So back to the culture and coming to America, I know you left Zimbabwe while Gogo [grandmother] was still alive. Did you talk to her and keep in touch with her when you moved to America? And what did she say about you leaving and not coming back, and how did that make you feel?
TM: She didn’t say much about us leaving the country. She knew the issues we faced with the government of Zimbabwe.
CC: But didn’t she worry too much that all three of her sons had fled the country?
TM: Of course, it worried her, but there was nothing she could really do because she knew we were trying to survive.
CC: How about your two sisters—how did they feel about you guys leaving?
TM: They were worried, just like our mother was worried.
CC: And then when she (grandma) passed away, I’m sure it pains you that you weren’t able to go home and attend her funeral, but how did you deal with it, knowing that you couldn’t go home to be there?
TM: It was a very hard day; we lost our mother. We were supposed to be there, but because of the state of things with the country, we couldn’t go. We ended up going recently when things got better. But we should have been there at the time, and that pains us a lot.
CC: I know our family in the States got together on that day, but how did you process it all? In Zimbabwe, the community gathers when someone dies, and they cry together. You had your brothers and their families and managed to get together to do something similar. Did that help you a little? Did it help knowing that you had some of your family with you during that difficult time?
TM: Yes, we got together, and we also spoke to the people in Zimbabwe.
CC: Is there anything you regret about coming to America?
TM: The thing that I regret about moving to America is losing everything I worked for in my lifetime. I left everything in Zimbabwe, and I ended up losing it. It was my children’s wealth that I had built. We had done a lot, bought properties, and so on, and we lost all that due to the way the country was run. That is not something that pleases me.
CC: Is there anything you hope for in the future, or something you look forward to, or something positive that you would like to see happen?
TM: I would like to see the people of Zimbabwe be free. If those people start living a better life, then we can all be happy. That is the biggest thing. A lot of people are struggling back home. They have been lied to for forty years, being told that they are independent when there is no freedom. It hurts a lot.
CC: What would you say you appreciate about your life in America?
TM: I appreciate the way America is governed because people have a say. People have a voice here in America. You saw what recently happened with Donald Trump. It shows that the people have power.
CC: Okay, well, I think that was my last question, Dad.
TM: Okay, thank you.
CC: Thanks!
Michael Frishkopf’s Interview with Chiedza Chikawa, January 2021
After both of us had interviewed her father, I conducted a follow-up interview with Chiedza in order to learn more about her life in Zimbabwe and the United States, as well as to clarify a few points and check names.
We were just about winding up when she told me she wanted to add something very important about cultural preservation that had not arisen throughout our interviews: the role of music.
She told me that her father’s music played a very important role in maintaining Zimbabwean culture for his children. He writes his own lyrics and expresses the culture in them, she said. His music was always present in their lives. Personally, she loves his music, and her brother, sister, and mother feel the same. “Of course, we’re biased,” she said, laughing.
Mapfumo grew up in a traditional Shona family, very aware of his musical and cultural roots. His songs carry that feeling because they draw on Shona cultural traditions associated with mbira music and carried through the poetry as well. The language of his songs is not ordinary conversational Shona but rather deep Shona, like Shakespearean English. Often, she would have to ask her father what they meant.
This music, then, is what kept them all close to Zimbabwean culture, even in exile. When she got married, her father insisted that she had to perform the traditional Shona rituals. She listens to his music a lot now. Perhaps she didn’t appreciate it as much when she was younger, she says, but it was part of everyday life at home in Eugene. Now she’s living far away, in Canada. She regularly listens to a playlist of her father’s songs, bringing her closer to home. His music is not like that of other artists, she says; it’s more spiritual. It contains something that connects her.
Chiedza used to braid her own hair—a process that takes many hours—continuing late into the night. Sometimes at 3 a.m., she would still be braiding, listening to her father’s music. Her mother would awaken, join her, and sing along.
Perhaps Chimurenga music itself is a braid—weaving sounds, people, and places.
Song of Exile: “Ndangariro” (Mapfumo 2010)
I conclude with a beautiful, wistful song from Mapfumo’s 2010 album Exile, encapsulating music’s power to weave connections, especially people and places of one’s homeland, to evoke their memory for everyone living in exile:
Sleepless nights thinking about you, Zimbabwe; I lie thinking about the Zimbabwean family; Thoughts trouble me, far away as I am; Family don’t mourn me, I’m coming; I am always thinking about family back home; I am always shedding tears father,
When I remember Zimbabwe
When I think of Harare
When I remember Bulawayo
When I think of Gweru
When I remember Kwekwe
When I think of Kadoma
When I think of my mother back home
I left her a long time ago; She cries for me; Chimurenga fans, I trust in you; Wherever I go, I go with you; It just takes strength, we will prosper; Dreams and thoughts trouble me,
When I remember Chegutu
When I think of Chinhoyi
When I remember Marondera
When I think of Rusape
When I remember Mutare
When I think of Masvingo
We greet you all, Zimbabwean family; We say how are you doing; We are coming; I am a child of the ghetto; You know that; My family and friends think about me; Honestly I miss them; I left them a long time ago; Even though I am far away; I don’t forget my home; By God’s grace, we’ll see each other; The thing that pains me are my thoughts,
When I remember the ghettos
When I think of Mbare
When I remember Fiyo
When I think of Mabvuku
When I remember Mufakose
When I think of Chitungwiza
We greet you all, Zimbabwean family
We say how are you doing
We are coming.35
Acknowledgements
My heartfelt thanks to Dr. Thomas Mapfumo, his daughter Chiedza Chikawa, and his biographer Banning Eyre for their generous cooperation in the preparation of this chapter.
References
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- Berliner, Paul F. (1978) 2007. The Soul of Mbira: Music and Traditions of the Shona People of Zimbabwe: With an Appendix Building and Playing a Shona Karimba. Chicago: University of Chicago Press.
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1 In 2001, Mapfumo was awarded an honorary doctor of music degree in recognition of his songs of liberation (Ohio University 2001; Eyre 2015, ch. 14).
2 The University of Oregon is located in Eugene.
3 The oral texts are condensed and lightly edited for readability.
4 The praise name of his Shona clan.
5 According to biographers, he lived in the town of Marondera.
6 Rhodesia’s education system began with Sub A and Sub B, followed by Standards 1–5, corresponding to what were later considered grades 1–7, respectively.
7 François Luambo Luanzo Makiadi (1938–89), one of southern Africa’s most influential popular musicians.
8 The Second Chimurenga (revolutionary struggle) was a civil conflict from July 1964 to December 1979 in Rhodesia involving three forces: the Rhodesian white minority government; the Zimbabwe African National Liberation Army, led by Robert Mugabe’s Zimbabwe African National Union (ZANU); and the Zimbabwe People’s Revolutionary Army.
9 For several months in 1979, Bishop Abel Tendekayi Muzorewa (1925–2010) served as the prime minister of what was then called Zimbabwe Rhodesia. He opposed armed revolutionary struggle and was viewed by some Blacks as a collaborator of the white regime.
10 In 1980, Robert Mugabe, the leader of ZANU, became the prime minister of independent Zimbabwe. Subsequently, he served as the president from 1987 to 2017 and as the leader of the ZANU–Patriotic Front (ZANU–PF), a merger of ZANU with the Zimbabwe African People’s Union.
11 “I’ll give you something / That is if you give me something in return / That is the slogan of today / Meaning corruption in the society” (Mapfumo 1988).
12 In 2000, Mapfumo moved with his family to Eugene, Oregon, returning to Zimbabwe for concerts until 2004 (Eyre 2015).
13 Saturday, April 28, 2018, at Glamis Stadium in Harare, with some twenty thousand fans of three generations in attendance (Eyre 2018; BBC News 2018).
14 Mapfumo has been interviewed many times since taking up residence in the United States, both in mainstream Western media and specifically for Zimbabwean audiences (NPR 2015; Mega Video Zimbabwe 2020; Nehanda TV 2016).
15 Movement for Democratic Change Alliance, a coalition of political parties united with the Movement for Democratic Change, formed in 1999 to oppose the ZANU-PF.
16 Due to COVID restrictions, a live concert was not possible at this time.
17 In 2012, Mapfumo worked with an LA-based DJ, Charlie B. Wilder, to add new beats to his sound and subsequently released Danger Zone, containing several English-language songs directed to a Western audience, most of them produced by keyboard player Fernando Bispo, from Track Town Records in Eugene, where Mapfumo recorded (see Drop in Films 2015). Both the new song “Music” (featuring singer Stormy) and a remix of his older “Shabeen” (featuring singer Natalia Rollins, a.k.a. Moxie, with his daughter Chiedza on backup vocals) appear on this album (Herald 2014).
18 Mapfumo collaborated with another Zimbabwean exile, the acclaimed contemporary dancer and choreographer Nora Chipaumire, in a live performance program at Chicago’s Museum of Contemporary Art: “Living as exiles in an increasingly globalized world, Nora and Thomas unpack the experience of the migrant, using their impassioned voices to speak about living as Africans in an increasingly borderless world” (Chipaumire, Mapfumo, and the Blacks Unlimited 2009). Chipaumire herself spoke movingly about this collaboration: “I empathize with other Zimbabweans who are dislocated, and who are dislocated not out of personal choice, and the sort of situation, the trauma, that condition of being the other in a hostile environment redefines, makes you understand again who you are” (651 ARTS 2010). Mapfumo also provided music for the film about Chipaumire’s life (Hinton and Kovgan 2008).
19 I located the following festivals and club dates for Thomas Mapfumo based on this interview: Yoshi’s (2007), House of Blues (2002), Chicago Festival (?), Reggae on the River (1992), Grassroots (2012), Live 8 (2005), Triple Door (2008), Ashkenaz (2017), Central Park Summerstage (2004), Black Arts Fest (2020), and Summer Soulstice (2013).
20 Chiedza later confirmed that the festival audiences she saw were largely white.
21 His son goes by the stage name Draze (https://thedrazeexperience.com/).
22 The recorded phone interview was conducted in Shona in December 2020, with a follow-up in January 2021. Chiedza Chikawa kindly transcribed the interview and translated it from Shona.
23 Al Green was an American musician who lived in Eugene and became Mapfumo’s manager (Eyre 2015, ch. 13).
24 WOW Hall is a prominent and historic music venue in Eugene where Mapfumo has performed (Mapfumo 2011).
25 Chiedza notes that this was not possible in the early 2000s.
26 A Zimbabwean bank-like institution (see Roux and Abel 2017).
27 Jazz trumpeter Brooks Barnett—a University of Oregon graduate, “blond, blue-eyed, and one day shy of his twenty-third birthday” when he played his first gig with the Blacks Unlimited at the House of Blues in Cambridge, Massachusetts (Eyre 2015).
28 From here, Chiedza’s interview clearly illuminates the local network enabling Thomas to link to the Eugene environment through music despite radical differences.
30 This statement is a wonderful encapsulation of Frishkopf’s theory of music’s universality: not in meaning, but in meaningfulness. Understanding entails sensing this capacity for meaning inherent in “good music.”
31 Paul Prince is a guitarist and woodworker based in Eugene. He performed a concert at Tsunami Books in 2014 (see Tsunami Books 2014).
32 A popular genre in Zimbabwe combining local music with Jamaican dancehall.
33 Lyrics from the song “Manhungetunge,” on the album of the same name (Mapfumo 2002).
34 Although Mapfumo doesn’t mention music explicitly here, it is clear that his music was always present in his family. It is an ethnomusicological truism to say that music carries its culture, but this statement is singularly true for Mapfumo’s music, being intimately connected to traditional Shona culture, to popular Zimbabwean culture, and to the country’s entire modern political and social history. By following what their father taught them implicitly through song, Mapfumo’s children would have been closely linked to Zimbabwe.
35 Translated from Shona by Chiedza Chikawa.
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