An ode to the vuvuzela

Know the Tutu story? Or is it Kenyatta who first told it? When the white man came to Africa, Africans had the land and the white man had the Bible. The white man said “let us pray” and after the prayer the Africans had the bible and the white man had the land.

Now — and this is my addition — we cannot be so sure that Africans either need or have the bible, can we? What they certainly do have is the vuvuzela. At this point you can either laugh or cry. If you laugh you run the risk of getting to the root of the African tragedy too quickly. If you choose to cry instead — and supposing you cry hard — you then run another risk, namely one of crying until you laugh. You painful laughter should transport you towards the intrigue of the vuvuzela.

Ah! The vuvuzela! That gadget that resembles a modern trumpet, a loud-speaker or the “traditional” animal horn used to announce and to summon. While it may not be huge improvement on the tonal dexterity of the prehistoric animal horn, it definitely delivers a lot more decibels — enough decibels to pierce the eardrum of a European man, woman or child. We know this because “expert researchers” have found this out for us.

The vuvuzela is “shaped like a missile” — built to glide through air — and as such it could cause grievous harm, they say. Like the African drum of old, it should be banned from all “civilized” public gatherings, they say. Some have come close to suggesting that the vuvuzela invokes “primal power” capable of awakening primitive instincts. These primitive instincts present in uncontrollable bodily gyrations often accompanied by vigorous facial movements and, foaming in the mouth and the rolling of eyeballs, they say. It engenders primitive fear — fear as humanity once knew it before the advent of “science and culture”. In short, the vuvuzela can cast a spell upon both its victims and its perpetrators, they say.

In my naiveté, I caused a scene on Thursday the 3rd of June in the ancient city of Edinburgh, at the University of Edinburgh. When my turn came to address the international conference I was attending I decided to dress up like a Bafana Bafana player. I looked great — at least the top part — Fernando Torres and Didier Drogba have better looking legs. After a brief introduction and definition and purpose of vuvuzela — I unleashed it on the unsuspecting scholarly folk who had descended into Edinburgh from practically every corner of the world. Four loud vuvuzela helpings filled the hall with a mixture of awe and dread. The vuvuzela is the latest of our cultural weaponry. As a people, we have, over the centuries, lost a lot — including a lot of weight (our “hunters and gatherers” were a lot bigger than the average Bafana player). Colonialism took away our land and riches. It also dealt a heavy blow to our dignity and self-esteem. We have been reduced to beggars — begging to be European and American — begging to be anything other than who we are and what we have. In the midst of blue doom and grey gloom, along came this small instrument — the vuvuzela.

The vuvuzela has been called the twelfth player — the juju, the mojo and the voodoo. To be fair to the “other side” one local newspaper man who dislikes the vuvuzela recently likened its sound to the sound of “a goat in distress”. But I love our goats! Sure; its sound is probably intolerable to the uninitiated. But that is our point exactly!

Here is what it is — our beloved vuvuzela. It is an instrument of assertion. With it we demand to be heard, to be seen and to be felt. The vuvuzela howl is the desperate cry of a continent long rendered inaudible and invisible. The vuvuzela sound is the cry of a people dying to be seen and heard. It is a plea to be heard differently and seen differently — to be heard and seen in positive light. This is most important to a continent and a people who, again and again, have been mis-seen, mis-heard and mis-spoken. The vuvuzela personifies the cry of Africa today. It is not merely or only an outward cry — for Africa is not entirely without blame for its own misery. So the vuvuzela calls for action. When we blow it, we are summoning Bafana into action. As we bathe the crowds in its unruly sounds, we will be calling on Africa to stand up and be counted. We blow it for an end to the marginalisation of Africa and we blow it for an end to war and corruption in Africa itself.

Ok, let us face it; the vuvuzela will not bring back the land, the cattle, the oil and the mines. It will neither solve Mugabe nor Dafur. Nor will it remove dictators currently plotting their next coup d’etat. The Vuvuzela is unlikey to help us pay our third world debt. It is not much help against the ravages of HIV/Aids. The World Cup will not solve Africa’s problems. Which country’s problems has it ever solved? We cannot be sure that its legacy will be good for the poorest of the poor. Once the Fifa 2010 Cup national adrenalin rush has come and gone, will the dream become a nightmare? Every indication is that those who will make money from the cup have already done so — and they are not the African poor. And yet we must not pour scorn over the infrastructure windfall that has come with the world cup and the jobs (decent or indecent) too.

The vuvuzela cannot accomplish everything. But what the vuvuzela can do, only the vuvuzela can do. It will make the world sit up and listen. It is already doing that. For a massive five weeks we will be seen. The value of getting the eyes of the world focused on Africa should not be underestimated. In fact the meaning and value of it all cannot be estimated. Without letting the minority who will make the most money in the Fifa World Cup 2010 off the hook, we must also insist that the value of the moment cannot be calculated only and merely in monetary terms. Without suggesting that there is anything better than winning the actual World Cup — which I have no doubt an African team can win — the vuvuzela could inspire us further still. We should not be easily and quickly satisfied. Having succeeded in forcing the world to look Africawards — let us proceed to take inspiration from the Vuvuzela so that we take it upon ourselves, to win back our dignity in two dozen other ways.

The Fifa World Cup is not everything. At this moment — it is the only thing! And the vuvuzela is our most potent weapon.