Music of migration

Songs about leaving home.

[musicofmigration-blog]

Songhoy Blues on FB / @SonghoyBlues Songhoy Blues - Should I stay or should I go? (Mali) When the islamists conquered the north of Mali guitar player Garba Touré was threatened. They wanted to destroy his guitar. That is when he decided to leave his home town Gao in the North of Mali and flee with a bus to Bamako. At every check-point he was afraid they might discover his guitar he was traveling with. Together with his brother they found after arrival, their new band in a bar in Bamako. Here they performed for many refugees. That is why their album is called „Music in Exile“. Songhoy Blues are the newcomer band from Mali. They have added elements of Indierock and Postpunk to the classical repertoire of Songhai Pop, of the likes of Ali Farka Touré, Kaira Arby and Baba Selah. Damon Albarn saw them perform in Mali and brought them together with Nick Zinner of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs, who ended up producing their album. When they performed at this years Roskide Festival 2015 they played an encore, the Clash's classic: „Should I stay or should I go“ and turned it into an anthem about African migration.

[musicofmigration-blog]

Afrikan Boy on FB / @AfrikanBoy Afrikan Boy - Border Business (Nigeria / UK) Born in London of Nigerian parents, Afrikan Boy is a documenter of the crazy antics of his Nigerian brothers and sisters living in London and of those trying to get there. He’s part of the African diaspora but plays on what he sees happening within that diaspora, and within the African community in Africa. Calling himself Captain Africa or The Eba (pounded yam) Eater, he sells T-shirts with slogans like ‘who stole my visa’ and plays on cultural misunderstandings to tell the story of present-day characters that Nigerian Afrobeat legend Fela Kuti once called JJD, Johnny Just Drop, meaning the African villager arriving in the big European city with no understanding of what’s going on. His songs chat about Nigerian girls going crazy for guys who have a jacoozi in their flat and a BMW in their garage, or tell hilarious stories about the crafty Nigerians writing 419 scam letters trying to trick people out of money, or of people like his former classmates at college who change their age on their papers to make them look like children to get them through the UK immigration system. Afrikan boy grew up in London and while doing a degree in psychology made it big on the UK music grime scene. He likes chicken and chips and eba, because he’s a Lagos-London boy.

Watch Afrikan Boy visits a migrant camp Calais called "the Jungle" in Northern France where he speaks directly to people looking to enter Britain. He also performs his song Border Business from his debut album "ABCD". In an interview with Noise he speaks about his experiences. Seems like they had fun! http://bit.ly/1ihWMEW

[musicofmigration-blog]

@daarajfamily / Daara J Family on FB Daara J Family - Unité 75 (Senegal) Daara J Family began life as a trio, making a name overseas with their last album ‘Boomerang’ (2003) and becoming one of Senegal’s best loved groups, looked up to by the youth for their outspoken lyrics and revered for being one of the few Senegalese hip-hop acts to have gained international recognition. After a split with their third member, Alaji Man, they reformed in 2009 with a whole new set-up, Ndongo D’s rapid-fire Wolof rap lyrics, Faada Freddy’s souly voice and a live band. Daara J Family ‘made it’ overseas but life in Europe’s been far from easy for them, they say. In this song, exclusively recorded for this compilation, they say that when they send money through Western Union, it’s money they fought hard to get, money they didn’t spend on food in order to help pay school fees and build houses in Senegal. But people at home always want more. The song's name, ‘Unite 75’, refers to the international telephone booths in Senegal where they sell phone-time by the unit: 1 Unit costs 75 west African francs (CFA). Their ‘success’ comes at the price of supporting a huge network at home. This track is about life on the other side. “Sometimes,” says Freddy, “when we send money to Senegal from abroad, we don’t eat for a day. If we can’t send money, it doesn’t mean that we’ve changed, become colonialists or don’t care about the family. Migrants know that things are hard in Senegal and so they sacrifice themselves for the others. They don’t want to loose the esteem people have for them.” Usually public figures do not speak openly about how hard life in Europe is. Most people prefer to keep up the perception that Europe is Paradise, because for their friends and relatives at home not making it means failing. Daara J Family are one of the first to tell people what the situation is really like.

intro: Saneex (Saneex (pronounced ‘Sa- nekh’) is a famous television comedian who here sneaks into his friend’s house so he can use his telephone to ring his friend in Europe) chorus: I come from Senegal, paddling on a pirogue. I arrived, and now every month I have to send something home to the family. They don’t know how I got it, and they’re having fun with it. Here I am, hiding from the police, sweating blood. We didn’t come to Europe to play around. Everything we manage to make, we turn into cfa (west African francs) and send it to the family. In the ‘Place del Sol’ (Place del Sol is a square in Madrid, Spain, where Senegalese gather to sell their wares- usually rip-off watches and handbags) they run from the police. In the evening, around the Trocadero, the police check our papers like in a movie. The modou-modou (the name given to Senegalese who travel overseas for work, often selling fake goods in tourist areas in major cities) trying to get ahead. I wait for my chance, God will give it to me, I’m a country boy from the village. I don’t have a girlfriend, I don’t go dancing, I stay inside, I don’t wear nice clothes. Nothing’s sorted out yet, my only concern is to send money home, but I don’t have it yet. Where he comes, where he’s going, nothing matters, whatever happens I have to be brave and face up to things. Even buying expensive false immigration papers. Phone cards, give them the Western Union code, the road to the post office, get a pen, write the code down, the password and write these words. Don’t forget to send my little boy to school, the money saves you from shame, don’t forget to keep building the house. Nobody knows, nobody’s aware of what I’m striving for in Babylon. Don’t think that I just walk around finding money on street corners. They ask for papers you don’t have, you get frisked by police officers and they want to arrest you but you run away, leaving your wallet behind. It’s easy to feel helpless, you’re always running around until you can’t breath, looking for that little bit to send the family. That’s why I’m hustling night and day, I sell watches, I sell pirate CDs. My family didn’t know any of this, I’ll talk to the point of choking but what amazes me, when I miss Senegal and I call them, whoever I speak to doesn’t ask me if I’m well. One is saying this, one is saying send me that, one says send me an iPod, one says send me money, as if I won the lottery. Don’t mess up the deal, I’ve just arrived, I have to work hard. I wouldn’t say no to washing dishes or sweeping the streets in the cold. I don’t complain, I don’t eat enough, I just want to reach my goal. I have to work hard to achieve my goals, this is your chance, don’t mess it up. Quickly marry a brunette, red-head or blonde bomb, or an old white woman would do. Then the papers would be easier to get. We are broke, send it by Western Union.

[musicofmigration-blog]

K'Naan on FB / @Knaan K'Naan - 15 Minutes Away (Somalia / Canada) K’Naan spent his childhood in Mogadishu, Somalia, and later moved to Toronto after the war broke out in Somalia in 1991. The country remains mired in violence as factions fight Islamist militias and in the meantime, an entire generation has been lost, growing up without ever experiencing the rule of law, only arbitrary warlord violence. Hundreds of thousands of Somalis have had to leave the country to escape from war and are now living overseas. The problem of piracy and terrorism has brought the country’s miserable situation back to the attention of the world. K’Naan got into hip-hop through listening to American rap artists, learning how to rap in English before he could even speak the language, and has gone on to work with artists like Mos Def and Damian Marley and has four albums under his belt. His music mostly tells of his experiences growing up in a war-torn state, of his life as an immigrant, of getting along as an African in the west. ‘15 Minutes Away’ is about the life-line of Western Union money transfer, the fifteen minutes it takes for the money to be sent from a shop or a post office in the west to an office in Africa, the feeling of knowing that financial help is on the way. But money transfer comes with its own pressures. Western Union offices pepper the African landscape, from tiny villages that are otherwise completely cut off from the world to capital cities like Bissau where the Western Union office holds up the local economy. Any son or daughter who travels overseas will be expected to get money back to the family in fifteen minutes, and Western Union plays on the pressure: ‘Sending much more than money’, say some of the advertising slogans, or ‘Can love be transferred? Yes!’ Those who don’t send money by Western Union will be accused of not caring about those left behind.

[musicofmigration-blog]

/ Rapturous Apollo Helios on FB Rapturous Apollo Helios - Money talk(Nigeria/Germany)

This collaboration between Nigerian rapper Rapturous and producer Beige from Berlin was recorded first for a German – Nigerian coproduction by a Nigerian Nollywood director Azubuike Erinugha. The movie tells the story of a Nigerian immigrant trying to make it in Germany. He enters the country with a forged passport and then sets out trying to make a fortune. Just before he is supposed to be deported back to Nigeria it turns out his stolen passport originally belonged to an important sportsman from Nigeria who is supposed to represent his country in Germany. Will he manage to stay? This song was recorded in Berlin in 2010 by the Nigerian-born rapper Rapturous who came to Berlin at the age of 18 and knows first-hand what it means to live in Germany, being integrated in German society whilst facing cultural differences. After many years of living in Germany, he was denied a residential permit and deported back to Nigeria in late 2006. He is now back in Berlin after 14 months in his home country and is currently working on his first solo album. The music was produced by the musician producer Nicholas Bussmann (aka Beige) from Berlin. Gimme the glitz, the glamour, the fame, the fortune, that euro that dollar, that Dolce & Gabbana, holla my name like Obama. I’m powerful, platinium that’s how I look, European cars that’s how I move, that’s how I should not how I would, bigger than movies, I’m Hollywood see me on TV, hear me on CD, still on that money talk on that money talk, on a roof top just like Donald Trump, if I follow my dreams. chorus: I see the future when I follow my dreams, but things don’t always look the way that it seems, I want the fame the fortune want the fortunate things, gimme the glitz, the glamour and glamourous things. Now here I’m standing while looking at me, the road to riches is the song that I sing. I need a chance to advance to a better living, I want the best but I guess you should know what I mean. I’m still that one on a mission role with intentions to make things easy at my leisure, girls love me so they call me, in turn I call my money and we all meet while we sit in there chatting we be chillin all week dinners at the 4 seasons while I’m lounging with my favourite buddies ain’t nobody got to leave see, the bills on me, (what!) I’m sorry I’m arrogant never had much I’m African, now I got money I could be African, American, Dominican valid in my telegram, first class like that.

[musicofmigration-blog]

Awadi on FB / @awadimusic Didier Awadi feat. Kirkiou - Sunugaal (Senegal)

Founder member of Positive Black Soul, Senegal’s first hip-hop group to make it big internationally in the 1990s, Didier Awadi has made his career out of loud, outspoken lyrics damning things like trade agreements, corruption, and ageing African political leaders hanging on to power. He’s extremely unpopular with the government in Senegal but the youth look up to him and take what he says as encouragement to speak out against what they see as a failing system of rule. ‘Sunugaal’ means ‘our canoe’ in Wolof and refers to the dug-out canoes that tens of thousands of Africans set off in during the 2006 immigration crisis in the hope of making it to Europe and a better life. While at the peak of the crisis, 31,000 Africans, mostly Senegalese, made it to the Canary Islands more than 900 miles away in these boats, an estimated 7,000 more died along the way, thrown over the sides when they starved to death or drowned during the Atlantic storms that hit the boats along the way. When Awadi’s song was released on the internet, it became an instant hit. It verbalized the intense frustration that young Senegalese felt over the lack of job prospects, the endemic government corruption and the worsening economic situation in their country. While President Wade struck repatriation deals with the Spanish government, and rhumours spread that he would receive money from the Spanish for every illegal immigrant returned to Senegal, young Senegalese risked their lives for the vague hope that they would reach a better existence in Spain. Rap artists helped bring Wade’s government to power in the year 2000, launching a musical movement that supported his election and ousted the Socialist government from power. Ten years on, rappers say that they are worse off now than they were under the previous government, and regret the support they once offered President Wade. Awadi has become an active supporter of the African social forum in recent years.»

Awadi: All your beautiful words, all your beautiful promises, we’re still waiting for them. You promised me that I would have a job, you promised me that I would never be hungry, you promised me real jobs and a future. Up until now I still see nothing. That's why I decided to run away, that's why I risked the pirogue (Senegalese boat). I swear, I can't stay here one more second. It’s better to die than to live in such conditions, in this hell. Come what may, I’d still prefer to die. The political journalists are in prison or in the DIC (Department for Criminal Investigations) the political opponents are in prison or in the DIC, too many companies are bankrupt ICS (Industries Chimiques du Senegal, the once-state owned fertiliser company now owned by Indian private investors), SONACOS (Société Nationale de Commercialisation des Oléagineux du Sénégal, the state peanut oil company which was also privatized) all sink into the bankruptcy. Every day your scandals flood our radios the Old man (A. Wade), his spiritual son (Idrissa Seck, one-time prime minister who was accused of embezzlement, jailed but never charged. It’s widely thought that President Wade was trying to remove him as a political opponent, which he succeeded in doing), the son of the Old man (Karim Wade, the president’s son but also the government’s financial advisor and Minister of State for International Cooperation, Urban and Regional Planning, Air Transport, and Infrastructure. He is widely disliked by the Senegalese people, suspected of corrupt business procedures and potential heir to the presidential throne.) It’s serious what goes on in Senegal. The thieves and the criminals are free or let go and we say that’s legal. Kirikou: What became the jobs that you promised us. We still see nothing, we’ve been waiting for ever. Isn’t it you who promised to take out us of the misery? Every day it gets worse. All this noise, it’s not what we hoped for. If everything worked well, we wouldn’t set off in these pirogues. All this noise, it’s not what we hoped for. Our pirogues set sail and it’s our kids who lose their lives. Awadi: You propose your University of the Future. But we worry about the current one. Young people are living in worry, excessive power cuts from SENELEC (electricity company) The Result? Nobody can work. For water, it's the same, they spend their time cutting our supply. And in spite of it all, they cut you off if you don’t pay your bill. It’s not that we’re involved in politics or because we want to pressure you. But this is just the sad tale of reality. We welcome your big projects: roads, electrification and bridges. But sadly, a man can’t feed himself on tarmac. There’s no glory for a carpenter to make a table; he was paid for it. He’s doing his job, that’s all. A leader shouldn’t claim victory for every road he builds. The people voted for him and gave him a mandate and a budget for it. God doesn’t go to the polling booth, it’s the people who vote. When you’re elected, either you work or you cross your arms.