Published by Pan Macmillan
‘There are moments in life that are pure, and which seem to hang in the air, unhitched from the everyday world as we know it. Suspended for a few seconds, they float in their own space and time with their own hidden prospects. For want of a better term, we call these moments “magical” and when we remember them they are cloaked in a halo of special meaning.’
Is this not true for all of us? Those moments of magic in one’s life that you remember in vivid detail and which often impact the direction your life takes? For 14-year-old Johnny Clegg, hearing Zulu street music as plucked on the strings of a guitar by Charlie Mzila one evening outside a corner café in Bellevue, Johannesburg, was one such ‘magical’ moment.
This excerpt from the opening pages of Johnny Clegg’s memoir, Scatterling of Africa, is just one sample of the myriad philosophies that characterised the story of his life and his career in cross-cultural music, story, song and dance, and which helped him transcend these various disciplines and made him the national and international icon that he was.
If you were a fan of the sounds of Johnny Clegg and his Juluka band who became famous for such tracks as Scatterlings of Africa, Impi, The Crossing, and my personal favourite, Asimbonanga (his song for Madiba), and of course many others, then you are sure to enjoy this read.
In his book, Johnny shares intimate memories of how the son of a single and artistic mother, and a grandson of Jewish immigrants, living in a small Bellevue flat in Johannesburg, came to realise that identity can be a choice.
Most of us have hazy childhood memories at best, and Clegg felt obliged – albeit weird (his words) – to issue a disclaimer regarding his own memory, declaring that recounting the distant past is ‘almost like betraying an old and close friend. Memory is a faculty intimately embedded within one’s life but, as time goes by, its operating software sputters and jumps and suddenly gaps appear when you press it hard for a linear account of itself. A bit like a faulty GPS, taking you down memory lane and landing up nowhere near any place recognisable.’
He shares the story of how he became a ‘white Zulu’ and the struggle of sharing his music with a South African audience during those turbulent ’70s and ’80s when the country moved from legislated oppression to democratic freedom. But also how his sound and message would eventually transcend borders, cultures, social divisions and multiple generations, resonating with people all around the world. His is undoubtedly a unique South African story and a testament to the power of human connection and friendships across cultural, political and social divides.
Written with passion and humour, Scatterling of Africa is not only an account of Clegg’s life but also a record of the absurdity and tragedy of the times he lived in. What intrigued and impressed me most was the insight into Clegg’s deep philosophical view of life and how he took the time to analyse and reflect on events, displaying a deep understanding of anthropology and the nature of humanity.
Learning more and gaining understanding of the richness of the Zulu culture as seen through the eyes of a young white immigrant adolescent was eye-opening and precious, particularly for the likes of me, a white South African who lives alongside, yet remain inadvertently and unintentionally detached from the wonderful cultures that make up the colourful and diverse fabric of this country.
To see how Clegg’s knowledge and his exposure to his Zulu friends and their customs ended up shaping his identity, values and music, was fascinating and had me pondering how different our racial and cultural integration – and tolerance of one another – would have been if we all enjoyed similar exposure to and intimate knowledge of each other’s cultures.
Clegg’s motivation to enter the world of the Zulu migrant worker as a teenager was not driven by politics. He wasn’t trying to make a personal political statement in defiance of apartheid. Rather, it was his falling in love with the Zulu maskandi guitar music and, later, with war dancing, that brought him into conflict with the authorities of the time. ‘I was not looking for politics. Politics found me.’
During his first interactions and association with the tribal migrant Zulu, Clegg regarded them as a people who seemed to be completely grounded in their identity and he envied them for their deep conviction and contentment in their customs and language as well as their ‘realness’.
To Clegg they were not invisible, anonymous migrants walking down the street playing ‘that’ music, as it would often have been labelled by whites at the time. Instead, the music and the people filled his sky and imagination. He saw them. The Zulu greeting for ‘hello’, sawubona literally translates to ‘I see you’. More than just a greeting, ‘sawubona’ recognises the worth of the recipient and tells them ‘I recognise your experience, your pain, your strengths, your person’. No wonder, then, that the Zulu culture resonated so strongly with a young Clegg and that they in turn accepted him so wholeheartedly, as this is the ethos that he exuded right from the outset.
The lesson he learnt by getting to know the migrants was that, although one might not be able to control your circumstances, you can control your response to them. He saw the Zulus live this motto through their deep sense of self and the visible pride in their vibrant culture.
Clegg’s turbulent childhood and teenage years, compounded by the fact that he lived in different countries and in varied circumstances, make for thrilling reading, but for me it was his philosophical musings that brought the most joy. The book is littered with these throughout and, without divulging too much, please allow me to share a few.
On nature, which, he says, is indifferent to humanity. It is its own reality. It is not judgemental, nor does it need us. On language, which he proclaims as the most important initial tool in identity formation. We refer to language as our ‘mother tongue’ because, as we suck for sustenance at our mother’s breast, we ingest, too, the magic of her language as she talks to our infant selves or sends us to sleep with a traditional lullaby.
On music, the magic of which, Clegg says, lies in the fact that it can amplify hope. For him, music uses the organisation of time (rhythm) with melody (sound) to create a new but very temporary context of reflection. You can hear a song unfold and connect to the performer and reconnect with profound feelings, through songs that speak to shared human emotions – love or loss, joy and sadness. Such, says Clegg, is the power of music. And who would disagree with such sage nuggets from the man who inspired a nation through the power of his music?
Of course, the wisdom doesn’t stop there, and this memoir contains much besides, including views on parenting, Black Consciousness, the nature of the Afrikaner, the dividing powers of the apartheid regime, the power of metaphors, all the way through to the meaning of life… and death.
Editor of Scatterling of Africa, Alison Lowry, who had an invaluable hand in the end product, describes Clegg’s wisdoms as deriving from deep thought and painful experience, and from an irrepressible life force that was full of humour and sheer joy. For her, as for me, the overriding theme of the book is migration, both in its reality and in its imaginings: the leaving of a place to explore a different one, sometimes by choice, sometimes by force; the travelling to and fro across borders that are not only geographical; the sadness inherent in leaving something behind and the pleasure and recognition in returning to it.
Scatterling of Africa is a book that is bound to find its way into your heart through the compilation of mesmerising stories, musings and reflections in which Clegg reveals his world of music and dance, and his struggles to find a place where he belongs. All crafted with the humour, insight and indomitable spirit of the man throughout, it is important reading for South Africans and the world.
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