Kutlwano Magazine

Dee-jaying their way to state powerÔÇªor so they believe

Source : kutlwano

Author : Mothusi Soloko

Location : Madagascar

Event : Interview

Loud music pierces sharply through my hotel window at faint of dawn, waking me up from my deep slumber. It is the kind of music that evokes nostalgic feelings about some nightclubs I patronised in Cape Town, South Africa. I stick my head out and peer into the streets through the glass door of my balcony. A teenage boy with headphones on, and basking in the rays of the morning sun, is pumping out deafening beats enough to shatter glass windows.

For a moment I remain transfixed and perplexed by the rare skills and prowess with which this young man does his thing. He plays music with astonishing maturity. As I cannot resist a sudden urge to meet this young man and have a conversation with him I am soon going down the staircase. I cross the street and deliberately walk into an open area so he can easily see me. As he lifts his head up I wave my hand and he waves back. Then I give him a come-over-here sign.

We meet at the gate of his house, the music still blaring out from the balcony above. I find myself starring at him for I cannot speak French. Neither can he speak English. I think of the hotel receptionist who speaks English and I give him-a follow-me sign. As I order breakfast for both of us we talk about his music, and his story makes my heart sink. Zafu Rakotondrandrai is one of the golden DJs that the country stands to lose as he has his eyes set on political office.

Ever since former disco jockey, Andry Rajoelina, imposed himself as president of Madagascar and got the young people’s support partly because of his great skills on the turntables, a whole bunch of young people now seem to believe that the easiest route to political power is through the turntables. With all the skills he has in the world, Zafu has his focus on politics and just like DJ Raj and now President of Madagascar, he is in search of instant glory without the patience to wait for it.

Somehow Zafu sees himself as a replica of Rajoelina mainly from the fact that he has on several occasions been one of the patrons at many nightclubs where Rajoelina was Dj. Most likely, he behaves more like a man expecting a favour from the highest office sooner than later. And he believes that the turntables will speed up whatever awaits him at the office of the president.

Then Zafu leads me to a nightclub where President Rajoelina used to play. It is just a stone throw away. “I used to come here with my elder brother when

he was playing,” he says. He says the club will open at 12pm and surely this is an opportunity no one can afford to miss. We continue the conversation until three other Djs who will be playing in the club join us. We talk deeply about Malagasy politics and one thing that strikes me is that all these young men hate democracy with all their passion. One of them, the youngest for that matter, says before Rajoelina became the president he used to flail around in mediocrity.

“I don’t like democracy; you know Jesus Christ was killed by democracy. I don’t think it can work for Madagascar,” he says. For a French-speaking island with very limited access to the rest of the world, democracy has almost become a subject from an unknown planet. From our conversation it is easy to tell that to these gentlemen Madagascar is the world and everything else is from dark caves.

We take a walk from outside the club down to a nearby mall. As we pass what could have been butchery, another young man is blasting music from inside, while chunks of meat hang loosely from the rafters. We come to a busy spot where pedestrians appear to be competing for the road with vehicles and road rules do not seem to exist.

We pass another group of young people pulling donkey carts loaded with fresh grass. The music is still blasting from all directions. “Ever since Rajoliena became the president DJaying has become almost every young man’s dream - that is why there is noise all over,” another one says. It dawns on me that the flurry of oustings that Madagascar has experienced in the past has exposed kids to the search for now rather than thefuture.

They seem to be all in the rush for instant fame and glory perhaps due to the pressure of living in a politically unstable country where tomorrow is not

promised. We board a taxi back to the nightclub as soon as a shower of stones rains down. We deep in big pot holes as the taxi horses its way out of the city centre and before finally coming to an abrupt end in front of the club.My colleague, Gaseitsewe Moruakgomo, is waiting by the entrance.

Young women with babies on their backs stream in and out of the club. Scores of teenage boys, with hopelessness all over their faces; and teenage girls whom with a little bit of decent dressing, c o u l d end up in the world beauty stage, come in as well. We then decide to check in the club where we find children as young as three years with their parents immersed in cigarette smokes and smell of beer.

I ask myself if there is no law that prevents children from entering a club. As if one of Zafu’s friends is listening to me he explains that the club is for children. Indeed it can be true because many of the people who populate the place are children of ages ranging from six to 10. From the way they dance it is clear that they too, like their custodians, have had one too many.

While we wait in awe, the hotel manager, who has come so close to us because of his English background, taps me on the shoulder. As I look back at him he says:

“Don’t take the young girls to your room, it’s not allowed,” he says leaving me laughing my lungs out. “Maybe you should give the advice to your countrymen who are in compromising postures with the kids,” I say to myself.

Back at my hotel room, as I lay on my bed I think of the rest of the world, particularly Africa and realise that the Malagasy people are a world away from the rest. It dawns on me that Madagascar is an abandoned country that is already sipping through cracks. If the people were exposed to the rest of the world then democracy would not become a frightening beast.

I wake up and look at the city from my hotel balcony. There is power outage and the rest of the city except the hotel is dark. Spontaneously a quote from George Orwell’s 1984 novel comes to my mind, “Until they become conscious they cannot rebel and unless they rebel they cannot become conscious.”