|
Mali's madonna >> For Oumou Sangaré, feminism means battling polygamy by RUPERT BOTTENBERG
Sangaré is a devout Muslim, and has no trouble reconciling her faith with her progressive view points. She is, however, exasperated with the selfish and chauvinistic conduct of Malian men, all the more glaring under a thin veneer of piety. "The Muslim men of Africa profit from the religion," she says. "They take the sides that suit them, while other important aspects they don't bother with. "Islam is quite adamant about men not running from woman to woman," she continues, referring to the Koran's directives regarding adultery. "It is said that if you cannot be faithful to your wife, you should get a second." Now, to the average North American male, the idea of tag-team henpecking sounds like the very definition of hell. In Mali, though, polygamy still runs rampant. Where the practice runs afoul of the Koran is when the husband fails to give each wife equal respect. "You may have more than one wife, but on the condition that you love all your wives, which is difficult. You must give equal care to the women, which is even more difficult." Invariably, of course, men play favourites, with "this year's model" always coming out ahead. Sangaré's anger over polygamy stems from the misery she saw her mother endure as one of three wives. Her mother was a singer in the national capital of Bamako, and it was she who encouraged Sangaré to develop her talents, already evident in early childhood. In turn, Sangaré would go on to sing about those same injustices her mother suffered under. The title track of her latest album, Worotan, for instance, translates to "10 kola nuts," the price for which a bride is purchased in Mali. While her politics may call for the deep-sixing of traditional social customs, Sangaré's music is quite the opposite. Like anywhere else, success in the world of African pop music is often won only by taking the low road, cluttering the airwaves and record store racks with soulless synthesizer fluff. Sangaré elected to buck the trend by delving into the music of Wassalou, her ancestral homeland. The predominant traditional music of Mali is called jali, a music of pomp and ceremony sung in praise of the community's big shots. Springing up in recent years, though, is the resurgence of Wassalou music, based on hunting ritual rhythms beat out on the djembe, and the intricate plucking of the kamalengoni, meaning "young man's harp." Wassalou is popular with the young, partly because of high spirits and danceable energy, a sharp contrast against the sedate nature of jali. But there's more to it than that. "It's folkloric music," says Sangaré. "We're not singing the praise of big people, of the rich. We sing about society. We sing with a message." Although steeped in Wassalou tradition, Sangaré's music benefits from some modern rethinking as well. Upon learning that Pee Wee Ellis, onetime horn boss for James Brown, now resides in England, Sangaré asked her London-based record label to ring him up. Ellis handled the assignment with perfect grace. His horn accompaniments on Worotan are enthusiastic but not overbearing. "I feel that my hard work is now bearing fruit," says Sangaré, "because the young women singers of Mali are applying my ideas. They are singing against polygamy, against forced marriages, against the injustices between men and women. I'm very proud, because I see people are interested in women's rights, now." Since the start of her career, Sangaré has watched the women's rights movement blossom in Mali. Considering that Sangaré is only 28 years old, it's remarkable how fast things have come along in that time, and the extent to which her own efforts have affected the process. Still, she recites the mantra of social activists everywhere. "We've done a lot," she says, "but there's a lot left to do." With guests Assar Santana & Shamell at the Medley, Thursday, Nov. 13, 8:30pm, $25, kids under 12 get in free
|
They call her the Madonna of Mali. Not that Oumou Sangaré has any lewd coffee table books to hawk, or any rocket-nosecone brassieres in her closet. The analogy does spring from two genuine similarities, though. Firstly, Sangaré is a superstar in her homeland, and indeed across western Africa. Secondly, her popularity is a result not only of her remarkable vocal talents (she sings passionately and precisely enough to render the Material Girl immaterial), but also the strong feminist stance that threads its way through her music.