Bebe Cool is a Ugandan singer and songwriter who performs in a style loosely referred to (by himself and fans) as Reggae, though his music could more easily slide into the “Afro-pop” category. Last Friday night Bebe held a concert to inaugurate a new CD. Admission to the concert was $11.50 (in Ugandan currency) and yet at least 5,000 people turned out, partly to hear a supporting singer from Trinidad and Tobago, Marion Asher, well known in Uganda for a catchy song called “Ganja Planter.â€
The concert was held in an enclosed field and on the way in I met Mrs. Cool, Bebe’s wife, who was collecting money at the gate. “Bebe doesn’t trust anyone else,” she said. I understood. In the days prior to the concert, Bebe had engaged in various lawsuits with Asher and the concert promoters and had even physically assaulted his co-star in a nightclub. “Does Bebe like to hit people?” I asked Mrs. Cool. She frowned. “He was provoked,” she said. Indeed. Beebe took exception to Asher singing in a club with another Ugandan performer a week before his own concert. Fearing his brand was being tarnished, Bebe — who in Christian-loving, God-fearing, ultra-conservative Uganda is a kind of African Elvis Presley — proceeded to beat the crap out of Asher. Fortunately everyone was moving with their body guards and the ass-whipping never reached harmful heights.
Inside the venue, I found a temporary stage flanked by two large screens on which the organizers projected, almost non-stop, advertisements for the two corporate sponsors of the event: a brewery and a national mobile telephone company. In Africa, of course, the two most profitable businesses these days are beer and cell phones, so the sponsors could afford to toss around their money. For the concert-goers, though, the question was why they had to pay so much for the priviledge of watching commercials. In between acts, there were even dedicated spots, and then the two emcees lost few opportunities to extol the virtues of the particular brew and cell-carrier.
When Bebe Cool arrived on stage about 1 am surrounded by smoke bombs and fireworks, the escape from reality was complete. Despite four hours of music up to that point, there was no word about HIV-AIDS or poverty, the twin scourges of Uganda. According to the U.N., 7 million Ugandans are malnourished, or about one quarter of the country’s population. Even accounting for the U.N. addiction to exaggeration, many go hungry in Uganda. None of the priviledged Kampalans present at the concert seemed to care, or maybe they view their musical experiences as part of a separate reality.
The only raw note among the musicians was provided by Asher. Like all the other performers except Bebe Cool, Asher sung along with his recorded CDs, a practice derisively referred to as “miming†by Ugandan sophisticates. Yet at least Asher sung about injustice and stopped his crooning (and the dee-jay) to exhort his listeners to fight for political change and smoke pot, which like many other crops in fecund Uganda grows very well.
Asher was a blue note in an otherwise rosey evening of music that promoted consumption and capitalism, not conscience and musicianship. As aid donors and do-gooders continue to flog Africa for its eruptions of war, disease and inequality, the elites of the region strive for the good life as conceived of by domestic tycoons and international marketers.