Beauty Saloon Music: Artists/Articles

I first traveled to Niger in the summer of 1999 to live with my brother who was conducting research on Islamic history in West Africa. I had just graduated from high school and when this unique opportunity arose to explore a part of the world I had grown interested in because of its wonderful music and that music's influence on American music I loved, I jumped at the chance. My first impressions are vividly engrained in my mind. As we landed, I was struck by the swirling clouds of red earth rising from beneath the plane. But what really got my attention were what seemed like thousands of cheering people awaiting our arrival, both in the airport and along the runway. As I descended from the plane with my father, there seemed to be an ecstatic release of collective emotion, men embracing with tears in their eyes and women leaping in the air with happiness. This was my Yakov Smirnoff moment, "Wow, what a country!"

I later learned that the revered Nigerien Muslim leader, Sheikh Koita, was on my flight up in first class and after a number of subsequent flights with only weary customs agents to greet me, I observed that this sort of welcome at Diori Hamani International Airport in Niamey was anything but usual. After receiving the news that our bags had not arrived with us and making our way through numerous baggage handlers fighting for the chance to carry our nonexistent suitcases, we drove through the streets of Niamey at dusk. The dusty streets were lined with men answering the call to prayer from an old megaphone. The men were clearly facing east, but in the disarming face of such public religion and poverty on a scale I had never confronted before I wasn't sure anymore where I was heading.

The first nights were spent lying in a spongy mattress that felt like it had gathered the sweat of generations before me, wondering what was worse, the rusty fan teetering awkwardly above like a dangling sword or the malarial mosquitoes. The heat was only intensified when trapped by the cement walls of my room and I quickly understood that the numerous bodies stretched out on the side of the road every night in Niamey were not those of homeless people as I had initially believed. To lie outside in the bare night breeze under a wide sky provides precious relief from the searing Sahelian heat. Over time, I discovered many other small pleasures of life in Niamey and voyages to the ancient gateway to the Sahara, Agadez, and the older capital of Niger, Zinder, revealed fascinating new layers of the culture and history of the region.

Soon, my brother and I began looking for opportunities to explore the local music. I had a brief apprenticeship with some Zarma griots on the molo, a long cow-hide lute with gut strings strikingly similar to the guembri of Moroccan gnawa music, but my main aim was to learn the gurumi from a musician named Malam Maman Barka who my brother had been describing to me for months as the best musician he'd heard in Niger. Through a couple connections, we were able to set up a meeting in his office at CFPM (le Centre de Formation et de Promotion Musicale) and I was immediately drawn to his approach to music, his warmth as a person, and his eloquence. From then on, Malam Barka, now known by some as Le Piroguier because of his playing of the boat-shaped biram, became my guide to the soul of Niger.

Although Malam Barka plays traditional music and has an enormous respect and passion for the traditional arts of Niger, this in no way implies that he is afraid of innovation and change or not tuned in to global trends. He is an innovator and trailblazer in Nigerien music in terms of his gurumi style, his songwriting, and the simple fact that he is a non-griot Toubou from Tesker who has become a professional musician playing a traditionally Hausa instrument and singing in nearly all the languages of Niger. To show me the range and possibility of the gurumi, he would play for me a great Sahelian version of Brubeck's "Take Five" on its two fishing wire strings or a Japanese folk song that he had picked up from a cassette given to him by a student from Japan. In addition to the gurumi and the biram, he plays excellent guitar in a style based on the tuning and melodies of the gurumi and what he describes as Arab music on the banjo, inspired by music from Sudan.

When I returned to Niger in December 2005 to record his music and fulfill a dream that had begun 6 years earlier, Malam Barka generously welcomed me not only in to his culture but into his family. I shared countless meals in his home, eating rice with gombo or baobab sauce and dates, and drinking foura (a satisying millet and milk drink) and finishing with the essential tea. After these meals, sometimes we would sit with his large, close-knit family and watch Hausa films from Nigeria or American films dubbed in French. Other times we would listen to his cassettes, ranging from local gurumi players he had recorded and other tapes of traditional Nigerien or West African music, to Moroccan gnawa, American blues, and Sudanese oud music all of which he loved and felt a great connection with, to some of his favorite international artists such as Bob Marley and Fela Kuti. All the music he listens to he absorbs completely and feels deeply, closing his eyes, swaying in time, and taking profound pleasure. When listening to the gurumi players, he would keep a running translation of their lyrics which were spontaneous and profound. The songs reminded me of old blues songs with existential phrases electric with meaning that didn't necessarily make linear sense but lit up the brain and heart masterfully. Or he would repeat individual lines of Fela's unique Nigerian English so as to frame their dark humor in the disheartening face of contemporary African politics and life.

Other times, we would just sit outside and talk. I remembered always finding his perspective to be unique and engaging from the time I had spent with him in 1999. He would say things like, "Qaddafi's Green Book is an excellent book. An excellent book...if you want to be a dictator." His view of politics, applicable to both the corruption and theft of foreign aid that plagues Nigerien political life and to the self-interest and brutality that guides global affairs generally, is well-expressed in his song "Politicien" which says, "The politics that I understand are like a soccer game where the boss is the referee and the captain of one of the teams, and the spectator is the people, witness to what is happening." We would discuss his attachment to Rastafarianism which seemed like an interesting position for a devoted Muslim who I would see pray with faith and sincere intensity. He explained to me that Rastafarianism was a philosophy for him, not a religion, whose central principle was to help and this was his primary concern in the world too. However, he grew fed up with the organization of Rastafarians he had gathered in Niger when their lack of punctuality became a serious problem in cleaning up the hospitals and orphanages he had scheduled. He seemed not only disappointed but hurt by their lack of discipline. I didn't have the heart to say that this didn't particularly surprise me and that punctuality may not be a Rastafarian's greatest quality. And of course, he was always bursting with ideas to promote not only his own music but all Nigerien music. Among many other activities, he was involved in organizing festivals in Niamey for Zarma Keti-Keti music and for Tuareg music and had plans for creating a modern Toubou music with a group from his hometown of Tesker.

In addition to his family and the group of musicians at CFPM, I was able to spend much time with several of his fadas. A fada is a street corner social organization where local men and boys sit together and talk for hours on end each day and night to pass the time. One of the upsides of chronic unemployment is that there is a lot of time to discuss life and the world and socialize with friends. There are countless downsides. Each fada has its own name and often even a president. Reflecting the seemingly widespread Nigerien belief that there are 52 states in the US, I spent many pleasant hours with a fada in my neighborhood of Kalley-Est called the 53rd State of the US in French. This was an indication of the generally positive image Nigeriens held for America, refreshing for a Muslim country in this day and age. Of course, I also vividly recall seeing the Al-Qaeda Discotheque on one Niamey street. Given Al-Qaeda's attitude towards music, it was hard to imagine the Al-Qaeda Discotheque as a particularly swinging place and I kept on moving. The preparation and drinking of tea is ubiquitous in fada life, with its own set of rules and decorum, and many fadas of young men eat all their meals together as well. Indeed, I shared many fine meals of rice and a spiced tomato or peanut sauce in this Cinquante-Troisieme Etat des Etats-Unis. Often a giant platter to feed 10 guys or so would include only a few choice pieces of meat which would undoubtedly be offered to me as a sign of their hospitality. After eating and praying if it was time, the tea would be prepared by forcefully swinging the pot with lit charcoals in the air so as to ignite on the wind and then poured countless times between the pot and glass to purify its contents. As an honorary member of their fada, I would receive the first glass to then be refilled and passed around. After much travel to other states in the US, I assure my fellow Americans that our 53rd state is one of our most pleasurable and hospitable.

During the Francophonie in December 2005, Malam Barka introduced me to his Toubou "parents" from Tesker who had come to perform at the festival as well as Hausa hunters from Zinder who normally perform for the sultan of Zinder. With the Toubous, we listened to the various young men play the tcheguendi and improvise songs and we drank tea and talked late into the night. One particularly memorable day was spent watching the traditional wrestling championship with the chief of Tesker who was a very likable man named Dezi. The atmosphere was very festive with traditional drumming to spur the towering wrestlers on and incite the crowd, included in this effort were court fools in outlandish costumes who danced around amusing the crowd. It was made even more exciting because Niger actually won, unlike the soccer game against Cameroon I saw in Seyni Kountche Stadium which did not end so happily.

It was clear that in the eyes of the Toubous and the Hausa hunters from Zinder along with numerous other Nigeriens I met, Malam Barka was a man worthy of great respect. This was especially clear during what was undoubtedly the lowest point of my time in Niger (even lower than when I suffered for seven days from a mysterious illness known in Zarma as Anogo, the symptoms of which feel like a mixture of melting gums, burning cracked lips, and a thousand razor blade slashes on the tongue). In a rush to meet the hunters and record their music one day, I hastily leapt onto the back of Malam Barka's motorcycle with a large bag of equipment and managed to split my pants from seam to seam which I discovered much to my displeasure upon getting off. It was too late to go home and change so I had no choice but to stand for about an hour with a microphone and torn pants surrounded by a large group of hunters chanting their heroic exploits, whom I had already witnessed the night before eat glass bottles, swallow razors, and bend steel swords on their stomachs to demonstrate their power and fearlessness. Other than a few irrepressible laughs, I attribute my survival with a shred of my dignity from this humiliating session solely to the esteem that these hunters gave to Malam Barka. This is one reason among many that I feel much gratitude to Malam Barka.

My final day in Niger for the initial record sessions happened to be the start of Id al-Adha, or Tabaski as it is known in West Africa. This Muslim feast day commemorates Abraham's willingness to sacrifice his son Ishmael for God. It is incumbent upon Muslims to sacrifice a sheep or a goat or some other grazing animal. Preparation for Tabaski in Niamey begins weeks or even months ahead of the day with families trying to secure a sheep or goat at a price they can afford. Vendors from the villages parade their animals through Niamey's streets negotiating prices with the neighborhood residents. The morning of Tabaski begins early when seemingly all the men of Niamey converge upon the Grand Mosque of Niamey to pray together and listen to a brief sermon on the holiday's significance. The Grand Mosque is a beautiful piece of architecture and inspiring house of worship built with funds from Libya's Muammar Qaddafi before his falling out with Nigerien President Seyni Kountche in the 1980s. Upon walking to the Grand Mosque that Tabaski morning in my new Orange boubou and turban that Malam Barka had presented me with, I gained a new nickname, "Qaddafi," due to my perceived likeness to the infamous Libyan. This of course is a name with mixed connotations, despite Qaddafi's Pan-African ideology he is deeply distrusted by many Nigeriens for his support of Tuareg rebels in the north of the country during a civil war in the 1990s that simmers to this day in a bid it is believed to control the country's natural resources in the desert, including caches of uranium and oil.

After praying at the mosque in a unifying act of collective faith with thousands prostrating together and reciting the same prayers in a single voice, people then return home to perform their personal sacrifices. For a man of art and peace such as Malam Barka, this is a very difficult task. Although the source of all meals containing meat, many people are far removed from this essential act of killing another creature so that we may live. As Malam Barka was preparing his sheep for the sacrifice, he told me, "I can do this only for my religion." Then he surprised me by asking me to hold the horns while he let the animal's blood drain and the severity of the sacrifice came upon me. When he called me over, I felt that maybe he wanted me to take a photo of the occasion, but Malam Barka had brought me deeper into Nigerien life than just as a passive observer. Over the course of many encounters and experiences, musical and otherwise, he had led me to feel very much at home. Driving through the streets of Niamey that evening before dusk, I was struck by the surreal scene of thousands of sheep roasting on crosses on the side of the roads. Rather than be repulsed by this almost nightmarish image, I was moved that people chose to prepare the meat of their sacrifice openly to the public and later distribute the meat to neighbors and those in need. The memory brings to mind Sura 94 of the Qu'ran, "In the Name of God the Compassionate the Caring/Did we not lay open your heart and relieve you of the burden that was breaking your back/Did we not honor your name/After the hard time, there is the easing/After the hard time, there is the easing/When you finish, strive again and in your lord, aspire" (Sells, 92). After the hard time, there is the easing, and after the manifold sacrifices of Niger's striving and aspiring people, one day there comes the feast.




Sells, Michael. 1999. Approaching the Qur'an: The Early Revelations. Ashland, Or.: White Cloud Press.