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Interview w/ Miriam Makeba
by Christopher Blagg

It is one thing to be the spokesman for a nation, but to bear the burden of an entire continent seems too 
much for one individual to bear. Or is it?
Legendary South African singer Miriam Makeba earned her nickname "Mama Africa" through a 
combination of her tireless efforts promoting the music and culture of her homeland, as well as 
her attempts to expose the world to the tragedies of apartheid. In doing so, Makeba brought attention 
not only to South Africa, but also to the entire continent of Africa.

Miriam Makeba was born in 1932 as the daughter of a sangoma (traditional healer) in Johannesburg, and 
was immediately thrust into the realities of the horrific apartheid regime, spending the first six months of 
her life in a prison. Even amongst the rich choral tradition of the townships, Miriam's sensual alto stood
out, and by the age of 21 she was performing with the popular vocal group the Manhattan Brothers. 
She formed her own all-female group, the Skylarks, soon after and was given international exposure in 
an award-winning documentary film entitled Come Back Africa.

This led to tours of Europe and the United States in 1959, and along with her then-husband, trumpeter 
Hugh Masekela, Miriam was embraced by the African American community. She soon became the 
toast of New York City selling out multiple shows at the Village Vanguard and garnering the esteem 
and patronage of stars like Harry Belafonte. But because of her adamant criticisms of apartheid, 
she was denied access back to South Africa. She would then become a "citizen of the world" for the 
next 30 years, never able to return to her homeland and people.
Makeba was the first African to record a Top Ten hit with her ebullient single "Pata Pata" in 1967, but 
one year later, her career was stopped dead in its tracks when she married controversial Black Panther 
activist Stokely Carmichael. Because of the association with her radical husband, the music industry 
unceremoniously dumped Makeba. Her tours were cancelled and she was immediately dropped by 
her record label. Shunned by the United States, Makeba followed her husband to Guinea where she 
continued to record, and was fittingly chosen to represent Guinea as their delegate to the United Nations.
It was in this role where she was able to do the most for her people, twice addressing the UN General 
Assembly on the horrors of apartheid.

Makeba's career was rejuvenated in the 1980s when she was asked to perform with Paul Simon 
on his highly influential and groundbreaking Graceland tour. Following the dismantling of apartheid, 
Miriam returned home after 30 years of exile in 1990 as the deified Empress of African Song, 
culling adoration comparable only to Nelson Mandela himself. Since then, Makeba has recorded 
several albums, most recently a joyful Putumayo release entitled Homeland.

Having spent six months in South Africa studying music, I had become well aware of the beauty 
of Miriam Makeba and her role in the apartheid struggle. The nervous excitement which had been 
building in my stomach all week at the thought of my conversation with one of the world's true 
heroes tripled when I realized, at the start of the interview, that she hadn't been informed of 
our interview. In a panic, I tried thinking of ways to win over "Mama Africa," who naturally 
assumed I was a crazed fan interrupting her from her day (which I basically was). Luckily, 
I recalled a tiny bit of the Xhosa I had studied five years previous.

Molo Mama. Kunjani? (Hello Ma'am. How are you?)
(surprised pause from the other end) ÉNdiphilile, enkosi. Wena? (I'm fine, thanks. You?)

Ndiphilile enkosi. (I'm fine. Thank you.)
(This was basically the extent of my once vast grasp of the Xhosa language, but it seemed 
enough to open the doors a bit, and gain a small grain of trust with Ms. Makeba).

Of all the African nations, it seems that South Africa has spawned the most popular musical 
artists, such as yourself and Hugh Masekela, Ladysmith Black Mambazo, Mahlathini & the 
Mahotella Queens, and Abdullah Ibrahim. Why do you think South African music has resonated 
so strongly with the West?
First of all, we were influenced a lot by music from the United States. We grew up watching films of 
black people [African Americans]. We would have sessions on Sundays where people would gather. 
One person would cook and everyone would bring whatever records they had. And we'd sit down and 
listen to music, mostly jazz.

What were some of your favorites?
A wide variety, but of course I liked listening to the vocalists. Dinah Washington, Billie Holiday, 
Lena Horne, and some of the men like Louis Armstrong and the big bands you know, like Duke Ellington,
 Count Basie, all the ones that we could get our hands on. The records were hard to come by.

Louis Armstrong was popular?
Yes. I will tell you a story. Hugh Masekela was given his first trumpet when he was 15 years old 
from Father Huddleston, who had gotten it from Louis Armstrong. I met Mr. Armstrong when I first 
went to America in 1959. I went to his home and was very well received. When Hugh 
[Miriam's husband at the time] came to join me in America in 1960, I took him to Mr. Armstrong's
house [in Queens, New York] so he could thank him for the trumpet.

So are you familiar with New Orleans?
Yes. I've been there before. I performed with Hugh Masekela in 1990.

This city is probably most known for its rhythm, above anything else. Is there a particular 
sound that is identified with South Africa?
Hmmm. You know South Africa is a very musical country. It's hard for me to say.

When I was there it seemed like everyone was always singing.
That is true. I always tell people that you can start a song [in South Africa] in a whole big stadium,
and everybody joins in, and it sounds like it has been rehearsed.

I have been trying to come up with some comparisons between New Orleans and South Africa,
and the one thing I keep thinking of is the musically rich tradition of funerals in each culture. 
Our jazz funerals are a big part of the city's heritage. Can you explain the significance of music
 in South African funerals?
You know, we have a song for everything. When a child is born we sing. When a child is baptized we sing.
When a child dies we sing. So you know we have songs for every aspect of our lives. When people
protested here [during apartheid] they sang.

Apartheid was the reason you were banned form your home. You were in America for 
how long?
I was ten years in America, but in exile from South Africa for 31 years.

Did you ever visit the American South when you were living here?
Yes. I sang at Tuskeegee University.

Was the South in the '60s comparable to apartheid growing up?
It was similar in many ways, except ours was institutionalized. In America it existed but it was not law.
At home it was the law. The Immorality Act made it so we couldn't intermarry between races, or even
have a drink together. We were not allowed to drink alcohol.

When I went to South Africa in 1997, I was studying music in Capetown. I noticed that a lot of the young
people were turning their backs to the traditional music, calling it a backwards music. They were being
inundated by MTV and flashy Western sounds and images that proved stiff competition for the indigenous
music of the townships. How is South African music going to stay alive against the influx of the West?
Yes, well there was a honeymoon period after elections in [in 1994], a fascination with America and the 
West. But they are coming back now. There are many of us who are trying to keep the traditions alive. 
That is why I recorded my record Sangoma. Many of the young people now are taking our songs and doing
them their way. They are coming around, you know.

I guess it's natural for the younger generation to mix the newer sounds into the traditional framework.
Yes it is a healthy thing. For [young] people to sing the songs from the older generation, it means they 
are beginning to recognize that their music has someÉworth as well. Take for example a young lady like 
Sibongile Khumalo. She studied classical music, but she still sings the traditional music. I think that is 
beautiful, because some people, when they study classical music feel they cannot sing the traditional music.
She doesn't. I like that in her.

I guess finding a balance between the two is the key.
Oh, I'm sorry. I just realized I have to go. I did not know that I was going to be interviewed, so I had scheduled
a meeting, and I am late. I'm sorry, but I must go now. We can talk when I arrive. Okay?

I would love that. Sala kakuhle, Mama. (Goodbye, Ma'am.)
Sala kakuhle.

Picture and interview courtesy of Offbeat Magazine (www.offbeat.com)