Black Writers INK

By Yasin Kakande

In the vivid tapestry of Uganda’s music history, there exists a triumvirate of exceptional artists whose melodies resonated through the hearts and homes of generations. As the ’90s dawned and music wafted through our family abode, my parents each found solace in their favored minstrels. My father’s ears were attuned to the soulful Prince Paul Job Kafeero, while my mother’s heart swayed to the rhythms of Lord Fred Sebatta. Amidst this harmonious diversity of choices, I, a young and impressionable dreamer, sought to chart my own musical path, and so it was that I came to embrace Herman Basudde Ssemakula.

Intriguingly, my early fondness for Basudde was not born of an extensive familiarity with his repertoire. His tapes were rarely found on our home’s shelves. Nevertheless, in my youthful wisdom, I gravitated towards his name, sensing his significance in Uganda’s musical landscape. My journey into his artistry began through the waves of the radio, where I eagerly tuned in whenever his songs graced the airwaves. Over time, I unearthed treasures that stole my young heart, reaffirming my choice. Among the early anthems that etched themselves into my soul was the melodic tale of “Bus Dunia.”

If you were to inquire today about my most cherished Basudde composition, I would fervently present “Abakungubazi” or “The Mourners.” In this lyrical masterpiece, Basudde embarks on a poignant introspection, contemplating the fate of his offspring should he depart this world, leaving them vulnerable in its callous embrace. His verses conjure a haunting tableau where even those who come as mourners, ostensibly to offer solace, are cast as predators, ready to exploit their innocence and pilfer their modest fortunes. Today, as a parent to young children, this song resonates deeply within me, a haunting reminder of parental fears and responsibilities, asking what might befall my own should I depart this world.

While Sebatta, Kafeero, and Basudde are often celebrated as the triumvirate kings of their era, the latter stood tall in the pantheon of Ugandan music. Despite not clinching the international musical accolades that graced his peers, titles such as “Lord” and “Prince,” Basudde carved a unique niche for himself. He crowned himself the “Basudde of the Nation,” a creative assertion that proclaimed his own identity as a title. In his songs, he boldly declared that his music would endure long after he had departed this world, a prophecy that continues to echo through time.

The trio of Sebatta, Kafeero, and Basudde not only captivated audiences with their musical prowess but also their distinct tonalities. While Sebatta and Kafeero serenaded with a gentle and cultured cadence, Basudde’s voice resounded with a rebellious, masculine, and at times, even arrogant timbre. In this narrative, we embark on an exploration of the remarkable facets that elevated Basudde to a regal stature never officially conferred upon him in his lifetime. We delve into the magnetic forces that draw me to his music, whether in the throes of storytelling or when life’s trials weigh heavy upon my shoulders. Basudde of the Nation, a title earned through artistry and devotion, continues to serenade our hearts, and this paper seeks to unveil the secrets of his enduring legacy.

A Voice Against Imperialism: Basudde’s Struggle Through Song

In the tumultuous ’90s, amidst the echoes of political discourse, one figure stood as a harbinger of truth and awakening. It was none other than Mulindwa Muwonge, the venerable host of a prominent political show on CBS. With an air of solemnity, Muwonge chose Basudde’s haunting melody, “Africa,” as the overture to his program. As a faithful listener, I, too, came to know this melody as a whispered anthem of our time. However, it wasn’t just the music that captivated my senses, but the profound message it bore — a clarion call to unveil the veils shrouding the irreparable damage inflicted upon our beloved continent, Africa.

In “Africa,” Basudde masterfully paints a vivid tableau, a visceral condemnation of the horrors of slavery and colonialism. With somber verses, he narrates how Africans, shackled by their oppressors, were forced to carry their own resources—treasures of gold and diamonds—on their heads as they embarked on treacherous journeys to Europe and America. Those who faltered along the arduous path met their demise. These African riches, Basudde asserts, fueled the economic prosperity of the European powers, but this plunder was not enough. They returned, laden with automobiles and airplanes fashioned from Africa’s riches, heralding a renewed conquest of the continent.

The weapon of choice for their return was not just military might but the power of religion. Basudde, unapologetically, refers to religion as a form of chloroform—a tool to cloud African minds. His perspective aligns, in some ways, with Karl Marx’s assertion that religion is the opium of the people. However, Basudde’s contention diverges. He does not question the existence of God but rather denounces the imposition of foreign religions upon Africans. He contends that Africans were already devout in their worship, constructing sacred shrines and offering sacrifices. They embraced virtues that most religions extolled—compassion for the needy, kindness, and acts of charity. Basudde provocatively questions why someone (the European) would prohibit worshiping a stone, only to turn around and advocate the veneration of a cross that is similar to a stone. Such contradictions, he argues, make little sense.

In “Africa,” Basudde resolutely asserts that the land was not a desolate wilderness upon European arrival. It was a tapestry of thriving communities, rooted in familial bonds, clans, and tribes. Clothing draped their forms, organized religion filled their hearts, and monasteries echoed with their praises. Their governance, though unwritten, was steeped in tradition and custom. Yet, the European arrival branded them as uncivilized, fostering a belief in the superiority of the foreign culture, laws, and religion.

Basudde’s lament carries the weight of generations who accepted this narrative of inferiority, facilitating the European pillaging of lands and dignity. In the present, his voice still echoes, condemning the West’s role in fanning the flames of conflict for profit, as they peddle weapons to both sides of African conflicts. Wars, he asserts, have become a gruesome business, where human lives are commodities traded for wealth.

In another poignant anthem, “Bus Dunia,” Basudde castigated the white man for setting our planet ablaze and then seeking escape to other planets through launching rockets. He poignantly remarks that their escape plan remains thwarted because they have yet to find another planet with water and arable land—a testament to the havoc they have wrought.

These Basudde’s songs transcends music and enters the realm of fierce resistance against imperialism. Through his artistry, Basudde breathed life into the aspirations and fears of a continent, carrying the torch of defiance against the shadows of oppression.

A Ballad for Women: Basudde’s Vocal Protest

In the tapestry of Ugandan tradition, a thread of resistance against women’s participation in the workforce persists. Basudde’s stirring song, “Omukazi Akola,” reverberated across the airwaves, stimulating the edict that confined women to domestic spheres. In lyrical precision, he decried the new cultural trend of sending women to work, leaving their marital duties behind. Basudde painted the workplace as a treacherous labyrinth, one teeming with temptations that could strain marital fidelity. While he acknowledged the financial boon brought by working women, he cautioned husbands to share their wives not only with the workplace but also with colleagues and employers. He sealed this declaration with a pledge never to let his wife labor alone unless they toiled hand in hand.

In “Muyinge Okwambala,” or “Dress Decently,” Basudde’s unflinchingly criticized modern women’s attire, denouncing it as foreign and conducive to moral decay. With unwavering conviction, he decried the wearing of hair wigs, labeling them as tresses from deceased white women. His sharp words also addressed the use of skin-lightening creams, a transformation from Black to white—a path, he argued, toward self-perceived inferiority. In his reasoned discourse, Basudde pointed out that he had never witnessed a white woman striving to darken her skin.

It is essential to note that within Basudde’s verses, contemporary feminists might discern echoes of toxic masculinity. Yet, beneath this apparent discord lies a complex narrative of cultural tensions and resistance to cultural imperialism. The clash of cultures perpetuates the ongoing push and pull between tradition and modernity, where any pushback is often maligned as backwardness.

In a surprising alignment with modern feminist values, Basudde criticized intergenerational relationships as exploitative and morally questionable. His sharp-tongued critique found targets in both men and women who sought love with partners from a different generation.

Through “Mukyala Kandida” (“Mrs. Kandida”), Basudde cautioned older women against pursuing romantic relationships with men who could be their sons’ or daughters’ contemporaries. His words would resonate with contemporary discussions on intergenerational relationships involving celebrities like Zari Hassan, her former paramour Diamond Platnumz, or her current partner, Shakib Nsubuga.

Equally, Basudde turned his discerning gaze upon older men who wed younger women in his song “Semukuto.” In this poignant narrative, an older man’s marriage to a youthful bride led to an unforeseen twist, as she found solace in the arms of her agemate—his own son.

Basudde’s HIV/AIDS Awareness campaigns

In the twilight years of the 1980s, a period when Basudde was launching his illustrious music career, Uganda, much like the rest of the world, found itself ensnared in the relentless grip of the HIV/AIDS pandemic. Uganda, known to be among the nations hardest hit by this devastating plague, bore the weight of its sorrow. Nearly every family in the country was touched by the cruel hand of this merciless disease, leaving behind a trail of heartache and suffering.

In those tumultuous times, the most daunting aspect of AIDS was its unyielding resistance to any known cure. Scientists toiled tirelessly, desperately searching for preventive measures to combat the relentless scourge that haunted our nation. In the midst of this despair, musicians like Basudde embarked on a noble mission to raise awareness among the populace about the looming catastrophe and the grim toll it exacted.

One of Basudde’s earliest contributions to the fight against AIDS was encapsulated in a haunting melody he named “Ekiwuka ekyagwa muntamu,” which translates to “an insect that falls into the cooking saucepan.” This poignant song emerged during the late eighties, well before the ABC (Abstinence, Be faithful, and Use Condoms) strategy became a popular preventive mantra. Through this lyrical masterpiece, Basudde skillfully captured the desperation that gripped the nation.

In his lyrical prose, Basudde used the metaphor of an insect contaminating the family’s cooking pot, symbolizing the dire consequences of engaging in intimacy. It depicted a haunting image of a family unable to prepare a meal, leading to hunger and suffering. Abstaining from sexual relations was not a viable solution either, as it too led to a different form of despair. Basudde, in his lyrical brilliance, implored the population to cease the stigmatization of those showing signs of AIDS, for it was a stark reality that even those who cast judgment would soon confront the same harrowing fate. His message resounded loud and clear: if you’ve ever partaken in the act of love, you were neither a saint nor immune to the scourge.

In another soul-stirring composition, “Akadayuma,” or “returning to your ex,” Basudde shared a cautionary tale from his own life. He recounted how he narrowly avoided falling prey to AIDS when he attempted to rekindle a romance with a long-lost flame named Amina. This reunion took place during a traditional social gathering, where the community celebrated the life of a respected citizen.

Yet, just as passion was about to ignite, a chilling revelation surfaced. Amina’s landlord, offering condolences for her late husband, disclosed that the deceased had been suffering from AIDS. Amina’s husband had been well-known in the community, and sympathy had flowed toward her as she endured the ordeal within the confines of their home. Basudde’s message in this haunting song was clear: do not revisit past relationships, for the shadows of their secret liaisons may carry with them a perilous legacy.

In the lyrical masterpiece known as “Gwanga Ki,” or “Which Nation,” which we colloquially referred to as TASO, Basudde paid homage to The AIDS Support Organization (TASO). TASO had pioneered the development of groundbreaking AIDS therapies, offering a glimmer of hope to those afflicted by the cruel virus. Basudde praised TASO for extending the lives of AIDS patients through these therapies.

However, beneath the accolades, Basudde expressed a profound concern. He feared that these treatments, while prolonging lives, inadvertently encouraged infected individuals to mingle with those who remained unscathed. He noted that the very disease known for wasting away its victims was now, with the assistance of TASO’s therapies, causing its victims to appear healthier, even plumper. In response, Basudde ventured into controversial territory, proposing that TASO should mark those who had received their therapies, setting them apart from the general population. He suggested extreme measures, such as amputations or castrations, to distinguish them.

This idea obviously was as a form of dark humor, in the face of a relentless adversary like AIDS. Infact this particular song, I believe, may be one that Basudde himself might reconsider in hindsight, given the gravity of its implications on his sanity and reputation.

Still in these songs, Basudde’s lyrical prowess and unwavering commitment to the cause of raising awareness about HIV/AIDS during the darkest hours of Uganda’s history remain an enduring testament to his artistry and social responsibility. His words resonated deeply with a nation in turmoil, serving as a beacon of hope and enlightenment during an era defined by overwhelming despair.

A Childhood Story

During my childhood, I frequently journeyed to my maternal village, Bukkogolwa, nestled in the heart of Butambala, especially during school holidays. Despite the pervasive poverty that characterized life in the village, the simple pleasures and entertainment we experienced as children remain unparalleled in my memory, even amidst the more modest lifestyle I lead as an adult.

Among the myriad joys we cherished, one of the highlights was undoubtedly the nighttime kids’ music concerts, where a group of ten or more village children, including myself, would gather. Our repertoire consisted mainly of mimicking the tunes of popular stars of the time, such as Herman Basudde, using makeshift instruments like empty jerricans as drums. These gatherings were orchestrated by my aunt, affectionately known as Mama Safina, the youngest sister of my mother. At that time, I was about ten years old, while Safina, being my senior by seven years, assumed the role of a teenage mentor.

These concerts not only provided us with entertainment but also served as a welcome respite from the constraints of poverty. Often, we lacked the means to illuminate our surroundings adequately, relying instead on the soft glow of the moon to accompany our melodies under the open sky.

As the hostess, Mama Safina enforced strict guidelines for participation. Each child had to demonstrate completion of their daily chores, such as fetching water and bathing, as evidenced by their clean and gleaming sandals. Additionally, participants were required to memorize songs by top musicians, a task I diligently fulfilled with Basudde’s melodies being my forte. Mama Safina, acting as both judge and occasional lyricist, possessed an encyclopedic knowledge of the songs and would promptly correct any errors in performance.

One memorable instance was when she penned the lyrics for Basudde’s hit, “Mukyala Mugerwa,” a tale of marital betrayal and its consequences. Despite initial reservations, I embraced the challenge, committing the song to memory and delivering it with fervor during the concert.

The ultimate prize for these musical showdowns was the “Golden Potato,” a coveted reward consisting of large, roasted potatoes prepared in the kitchen’s wood ashes. Yet, despite my earnest efforts, victory remained elusive. Mama Safina’s fondness for contestants who favored Fred Sebatta’s songs often resulted in my disappointment, despite my belief in the superiority of my performances.

Occasionally, I contested the outcomes, prompting Mama Safina to arrange re-battles between myself and the declared winners. However, her unwavering preference for Sebatta’s aficionados consistently tipped the scales against me.

The concerts would often extend late into the night, ceasing only upon the awakening of my grandmother, Musebeeyi, who would usher the other children to their homes before retiring indoors with us. There, we would share a modest sleeping arrangement, our heads resting on a small mattress in the sitting room, while a blanket provided scant comfort against the chill of the night.

With the break of dawn, Musebeeyi’s call to prayer beckoned us from our slumber. As we prepared for the morning prayers, her admonishments about our dusty feet from the previous night’s revelries served as a gentle reminder of our obligations. Despite her reprimands, I took solace in leading my family in prayer, channeling the authority bestowed upon me by Mama Safina’s previous judgment.

Later, as we gathered in the garden, Mama Safina would offer her candid appraisal of my talents, acknowledging my proficiency in reciting the Quran while gently teasing my lack of prowess in singing. Her assurance that victory would eventually come in a different arena echoed in my mind, yet at that tender age, my desire for triumph remained all-encompassing.

The Musical Rivalry of Basudde and Kasozi

Long before the infamous feuds between modern-day musical titans like Bobi Wine and Bebe Cool, or the tragic saga of Tupac and Biggie in America, Uganda bore witness to a fierce rivalry between two of its own legends: Herman Basudde and Livingston Kasozi.

The discord between Basudde and Kasozi stemmed from a deep-seated rift that saw Basudde part ways with his once esteemed mentor. Through a series of scathing songs, Basudde laid bare the grievances he harbored against Kasozi, revealing instances of mistreatment and betrayal. Foremost among these compositions was “Enimiro y’okubugaga” or “Traitors and The Harvest,” a poignant narrative of Basudde’s relentless efforts to elevate their musical group to the pinnacle of success, only to be met with betrayal and threats to his life by his former mentor, who had allegedly pocketed the lion’s share of their earnings.

Another notable track, “Ekiryo n’omuwafu,” saw Basudde critique Kasozi’s perceived arrogance, cautioning against the pitfalls of hubris and highlighting the collaborative nature of success.

In response, Kasozi retaliated with “Kazimba mulumuli” or “A Fake Fame,” accusing Basudde of insubordination and unruliness. However, despite his efforts, Kasozi’s rebuttal failed to match the popularity of Basudde’s hits, which continued to resonate with audiences across Uganda.

Despite their bitter rivalry, fate intervened in an unexpected manner when Kasozi revealed his battle with HIV/AIDS. Moved by compassion, Basudde, along with Prince Paul Kafero, set aside their differences to reunite with Kasozi. Together, they embarked on a series of farewell concerts, a poignant reminder of the fleeting nature of life and the enduring bonds forged through music.

Tragically, Kasozi succumbed to his illness in 1996, leaving behind a legacy tarnished by the acrimony of their rivalry. Only a few months later, Basudde met his own untimely demise in a motor accident, marking the end of an era and the closure of a chapter in Uganda’s musical history.

Though their rivalry may have defined their public personas, the reconciliation in their final days served as a poignant reminder of the power of forgiveness and the enduring spirit of camaraderie that transcends even the most bitter of conflicts.

In conclusion, Basudde’s musical legacy stands as a testament to the richness of Ugandan culture and storytelling. Through his timeless songs and captivating narratives, he has woven a tapestry of emotions and experiences that resonate deeply with audiences across generations. While it’s impossible to encompass all the beauty and depth of his repertoire within the confines of this paper, it’s evident that songs like “Ekyali Musabo,” “Eggwala,” and “Abakazi Ba Beeyi” deserve recognition for their poignant portrayals of life’s complexities.

Moreover, Basudde’s collaborative efforts with his wife, Aisha Nakitto, and sister, Immaculate Nabiryo, further underscore the interconnectedness of family and music in his artistic journey. Their harmonious duets not only showcase his musical versatility but also highlight the importance of shared creativity and companionship in his life.

As we reflect on Basudde’s contributions to Ugandan music, let us not only celebrate his accomplishments but also recognize the profound impact he has had on preserving and promoting our cultural heritage. His songs will continue to serve as a source of inspiration and solace for generations to come, reminding us of the inherent beauty and resilience of the human spirit.