South Africans should reject any suggestion that the vuvuzela is unpopular because we could not embrace such assertions without contradicting our own experience. The reality we know is that the horn epitomises the spirit of a football loving people, and any criticism devoid of the desire to understand the deep connection we share with the horn must be met with outright dismissal.
There must (and there should) be a rational connection between the popularity of the horn and our uniqueness as a people. This connection must be established and uncovered as a prerequisite, lest the critic run the risk of merely portraying the locals as having a penchant for irrational and therefore anti-social behavior.
Imagine the difference it would have made if the international audience had, in their initial contact with the vuvuzela, set out to conduct an in-depth inquiry with their local counterparts with a view to establish and understand how they manage to tolerate and still operate effectively under the circumstances.
The crux of the matter is that we could never negotiate the tension between a local practice and the international description thereof, when neither side is unable to present any formidable content for the purposes of an in-depth investigation. For as long as the locals fail to come up with a rational explanation for the practice without resorting to cultural justification and for as long as the visitors fail to exercise an open mind without resorting to tendencies of cultural superiority, the tension will never be resolved.
How then could the vuvuzela be both popular and unpopular at the same time?
I’m reminded of a guy called Moshe (Moses), who was brass band which was owned by the Lutheran Church in Ramatlabama, Mafikeng. The members of the band were particularly good, but what made Moshe stand out was probably the passion in his performance. His face would turn red with every note sounded; his facial veins would bulge out and eyes would look like they are just about to pop out. He was possessed by the instrument!
On the other hand, I once attended a traditional ceremony to welcome my mother’s distant cousin when she returned from training as a sangoma. The occasion was characterised by some form of organised chaos: singing, clapping, dancing and loud banging drums. The sangoma had her hair and face painted red, her body was shaking uncontrollably and her voice growing deeper with every groan and sensation. For a three year old, I was deeply terrified, and I was probably convinced then that I was indeed in the company of demonic spirits.
But both these stories have a common unifying theme: ‘the ability to perform possession and to be possessed in performance.’ (Sarah Goldingay; the Actor, the Medium and the Other) On the one hand, it refers to the highest level of showmanship in a performance, and a vehicle for spiritual communication on the other. Both these aspects are then intertwined by the notion of ‘a self-induced altered state or hysteria for ceremonial purposes.’
In my view, these two concepts encompass the story of the vuvuzela as it unfolds today. It could be highly exciting to those who catch the magic, but also terrifying to those who find themselves alienated by an environment foreign to their natural experience.
But there is also another dimension in the current image of the vuvuzela, which somehow represents a vulgarised version of the original vuvuzela philosophy. In this state, the horn is no longer associated with the original art of showmanship as it were in the early days, but rather with a commercial and empty call for people to just ‘make some noise.’
To a larger extent, and besides the inevitable snobbish attitudes of others, the ‘make some noise’philosophy is probably at the centre of the current brawl. In embracing this misconception, South Africans deny their visitors the contagious magic, the art and showmanship which catapulted the vuvuzela to a level of deity in local football scene.
In conclusion, we do not (and should not) blow the vuvuzela to simply ‘make some noise’, but to induce a trance at will. Once this particular level of showmanship is established, the sound emanating from the horn ceases to become noise, but a symbolisation of pure spiritual energy.
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