Singer: Gloria Bosman
me writing this night after hearing about the death of Gloria Bosman at the age of 50. Just a few days before, AKA’s protégé and future amapiano star Costa Titch died shortly after collapsing on stage during a performance at the Ultra Music Festival in Joburg.
This is just a few weeks after we had to adjust to the unfathomable reality of losing AKA, one of the best rappers to ever walk this land. And these are just a few of the people who have died this year. It became increasingly difficult to cope with the ongoing grief and loss. As they say on Twitter, “Yellow” (That’s a lot).
Two weeks ago, I had the pleasure of watching the incomparable Simphiwe Dana in the Mpumi Ntintili-Sinxoto and Gregory Maqoma-choreographed Umoya performance at the Joburg Theatre.
During the performance, which was dedicated to the memory of her mother, Dana sang with such sadness that when she performed in iNkwenkwezi, a woman was crying so much that singer Zoe Modiga had to come and comfort her.
Hearing her cry reminded me how much Dana’s music helped me through my own grief. Her last song from the performance, Mayine, cracked me open when it first came out. I remember nights, days, holidays, birthdays and many other special days when I cried, wishing my father was still alive. I like to let those emotions out, but I’m reminded of my short life through music.
Today, I live. I have a mother, sister, brother and niece; I have friends who love me from New York to Namibia. But tomorrow, it could all be gone. Even one special person taken away from me could shatter my world into a thousand little pieces, but I believe that’s the choice we make when we decide to choose life.
Because choosing life always means choosing love. And choosing love means choosing one of the scariest things for humans, vulnerability. Love makes us vulnerable to disappointment, pain, sorrow, shame, embarrassment, emotional exposure and the worst – rejection.
But love also opens us up to joy, happiness, adventure, freedom, peace, connection and intimacy. As Denzel Washington once said: “You pray for rain, you have to deal with mud. That’s part of it.
I have loved and lost throughout the year and I can assure you that other sorrows will visit me and stay with me for as long as I choose to love. Whether you love an artist like I adored Kiernan Forbes or my friend Fikile Mntambo, who died after suffering from severe postpartum depression, love is a dangerous act.
But the risk of losing someone is not nearly the same as the risk of not loving. Because, I’ll tell you, love has given me some of the best moments of my life, moments that I’ve enjoyed so much that I feel like my heart is about to burn.
Love made me wait for hours outside the Standard Bank Arena with my friend Maria Tilly to watch Tevin Campbell, a strict parent indulged in teenage love. I will never – and I mean never forget – forget the first day I saw Boom Shaka in Moretele Park in 1998. TKZee had taken the stage, Trompies, Thebe and other kwaito legends had performed that night, but it was like everyone else was using it. to wait for Brenda Fassie in the 1980s, we are waiting for these four extraordinary people.
They are two boys – one who makes us expand our minds before we know what a transgender person is (the question of whether Theo Nhlengethwa has been around for years or not) – and two black girls in shorts, long brown braids, Dr. . Martens and white socks.
We were at the bar getting drinks when, as the sirens sounded, people literally started running to the stage as soon as they heard Theo’s voice harmonizing with Lebo Mathosa’s voice singing: “It’s time you listen to Boom Shaka!”
I just saw them on television and, being the pipsqueak that I am, I could feel my eyes welling up, knowing the tall man would steal a once-in-a-lifetime chance to see his favorite SA group. But my boyfriend at the time put me on his shoulders – a stunt I wouldn’t let anyone try now.
When I saw them perform, my love for Junior Sokhela, Thembi Seete, Lebo and Theo deepened. I was surprised when Thembi and Lebo stepped up to ragga-kwaito bangers and I knew I had found the band of my generation. Inclusive, talented, brave, smart and sexy.
I first heard about Boom Shaka in 1994 returning after a school holiday to hear my friend Thuso Motsepe sing: “It’s about time you listened to Boom Shaka!” while walking around the quad.
We asked who he was talking to, what song he was singing, but when we heard his debut album, we knew that American hip-hop was in trouble because Mzansi – especially Kalawa Jazmee Records – had discovered the kwaito bag. Their sophomore album It’s Our Game didn’t disappoint either. I can’t tell you how many dope nights I’ve had in the last thirty years, with strangers, dancing to Thobela.
The loss of Lebo in 2006 was as heartbreaking and sad as when we would hear Kiernan rap Mbuzi again on his last album Mass Country. But trust and believe, despite the pain of losing a loved one, nothing lasts more than love. It transcends boundaries, time and space. It is the ultimate symbol of everything eternal about life.
So, as we celebrate 30 years of Boom Shaka and remember those we have loved and lost, never forget that love is forever, love is worth every tear. Love is worth the risk.