In Tiken Jah Fakoly's Ivory Coast, singing can be dangerous
"I didn't consider music a way to fight or be militant, until someone explained to me what the lyrics of Bob Marley's songs were about," says reggae singer Tiken Jah Fakoly.
Photograph by: Pierre Obendrauf, THE GAZETTE
MONTREAL - For artists ranging from Bob Dylan to System of a Down, dissent has turned out to be a pretty good career move. Luckily, none of them ever felt they had to go into exile for speaking out. Reggae singer Tiken Jah Fakoly did.
When civil war broke out in Fakoly's native Ivory Coast in 2002, he left for Mali. "I was worried about my own security," he said during a hotel room interview on a recent visit to Montreal. "I promote freedom of expression. I consider my country independent and my people free. We can say what we want to say."
Those were dangerous ideas in the country's political climate. As rumours of a blacklist intensified, Fakoly tried to convince his friend, popular comedian and television star Ash Karamoko Camarah, to go with him. Camarah, who was also in Alassane Ouattara's opposition party and outspoken in his political views, answered that he had done nothing wrong and had no reason to leave, according to Fakoly.
Camarah was found dead in February 2003, his body covered in blood and lying on the street with those of other opposition leaders. He was a victim of what was reported as a political killing.
Fakoly's bouncy, uplifting reggae, as heard notably on his latest album, African Revolution, sounds deceptively gentle, but it's informed by such tragedies. It's a political call to arms – perhaps more inward than literal. In conversation, Fakoly acknowledges that too much blood has been spilled in his homeland already. On much of the album, he calls for a change in attitude: another Africa, as he often calls it.
But even trying to change people's ways of thinking has carried its risks.
Fakoly's 1999 album Cours d'histoire landed him in hot water with the Baoulé ethnic group, which was then in power. Like Camarah had done, Fakoly spoke out, on that recording, against what he saw as a tribal obsession with "real Ivorians." The concept is aimed at people who moved to the Ivory Coast from neighbouring, poorer countries and is often defined by who is ruling, Fakoly said.
"We are all Ivorians. We all come from somewhere," he said. "If you see the American population today, you see some are born in Japan, some are from Africa. Everyone is from somewhere and they are together."
A 2007 ban against him in Senegal, supposedly for calling on president Abdoulaye Wade to resign over the issue of inherited power, has been lifted, Fakoly said. But he's happiest in Mali, where he has settled. A return to the Ivory Coast won't happen today, he said. "It could be dangerous for my health," he explained, laughing.
Fakoly is still pushing for the departure of Laurent Gbagbo, who is internationally considered to have lost to Ouatarra in last November's disputed election but refuses to leave the country. But that doesn't mean the singer is ready to give Ouatarra a free pass, either.
"One week after he is recognized, I will give a press conference to talk about the reality of the Ivorians and remind him of how people fought for him," he said. "After that, I will try to meet him and tell him directly: 'We didn't support you. We supported democracy. If, tomorrow, you do what Gbagbo did and don't do anything for the people, we will fight against you.' "
Part of what he's looking for is an end to handouts. In the mournful Vieux Père, Fakoly denounces the conditions that have led to a generation of young people in the Ivory Coast who are constantly begging. "They need jobs and somebody to educate them, to tell them what they're doing is not good for Africa's image. They don't know better," he said. "We will never have a revolution with young people who always ask for money. The politicians will give it to them to stay in power and we will never change anything."
If educating people is the goal, reggae is exactly the right vehicle, Fakoly said. "I didn't consider music a way to fight or be militant, until someone explained to me what the lyrics of Bob Marley's songs were about," he said. "I decided to play reggae because of the message. I knew we had a lot of injustice in our own society."
Fakoly's version of reggae is mostly distinguishable, particularly on African Revolution, for its use of indigenous instruments like the kora. "The message is important, but I wanted to give more power to African instruments," he explained. "We won't play reggae better than Jamaicans. When we do, we should leave our own mark, put something new in there. When you listen to the first song on the album, you know this comes from Africa."
And yet, as he sings in Je Dis Non, he doesn't expect music to change everything. "We can sing, but music will not do the job for the people. Music can wake people up, but it can't do the revolution for them," he said.
In spite of his activism for change, Fakoly said he has no desire to leave the stage or studio for politics. "I'm like the voice of the majority," he said. "I'm trying to say, in my songs and in my interviews, what the majority of African people want to say, but can't do it. That's what Bob Marley did in Jamaica. My mission is to wake people up. It's more important than politics."
Tiken Jah Fakoly performs Saturday and Sunday at 8 p.m. at the Olympia, 1004 Ste. Catherine St. E., as part the 25th-anniversary celebrations of Nuits d'Afrique Productions. Tickets cost $42.32. The Saturday show is sold out. To reserve tickets for the Sunday concert, call 514-790-1245 or go to www.admission.com.
Bernard Perusse also covers the music scene on the Words & Music blog at montrealgazette.com/wordsandmusic
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