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Little woman with a booming voice

Friday April 26 2013
kidude

Fatuma Binti Baraka was born before her time, and she lived her life perpetually in front of the curve. She never had any children of her own, but she leaves a legacy that will never die. She once said that singing taarab was like “throwing your soul into the sky,” and, after years of reaching for the stars, she has now made her home among them.

No one knows exactly when Fatuma Binti Baraka, the legendary Bi Kidude, was born. But we do know that it was a long time ago – 1915 or thereabouts – in an era when the East African coast was thriving as a hub of trade, plied by wealthy traders from Asia, the Middle East and beyond.

“I began singing when I was a child, just 10 years old,” she said in an interview. “At that time, rich merchants would come to Zanzibar and when they arrived you knew they were here to have fun. Some of them were Arabs. Others were Tuubis. When you heard that the Tuubis were in town, you knew the rich men had arrived. When they were around, you would hear them play their music.”

And, with that, her love affair with taarab began. As fate would have it, she met Siti binti Saad, a woman who was then described as the modern taarab superstar.

Siti ascended to the top of the genre in the 1920s, performing and recording in India and around the world. She was probably the first musician to sing taarab in Kiswahili — before her it was purely in Arabic.

So we have Siti to thank for the taarab we know and love, and for the fact that at the time of her death in 1950, women had taken their rightful place in a genre that was the preserve of men.

Like her protégé Bi Kidude, Siti was a woman way ahead of her time. She left a lasting legacy, and Bi Kidude would stay true to her mentor’s instruction, borrowing heavily from her musical style.

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Most of Bi Kidude’s songs were renditions of Siti’s material, but she would change the lyrics and rhythm as it suited her. In her later years, Bi Kidude was wont to forget the words and mix the songs up, skipping from one track to the other, and forcing her band into a wild goose chase.

She would admit in an interview that, in her style of taarab, the lead singer was queen.

“In taarab, there are many instruments,” she said, “but there is only one singer. My voice is powerful. I don’t need a microphone.”

Bi Kidude’s voice was a force of nature. When she sang, she bellowed. She was tiny, but her deep vocals were commanding. There was a slight rasp to her baritone, probably due to long years of smoking. It is reported that during one of her many interviews — one lasting about an hour — she smoked a whole packet of Sportsman cigarettes.

“I drink. I smoke. And I sing,” she said. Well into her 90s, she once announced to close friends that she was going to slow it down and live a more sedate life. She intended to do that by switching from Sportsman to Embassy, which is considered a mild brand. The nonagenarian was also going to switch from hard liquor — she was partial to a bit of Konyagi, a local cane spirit —to beer.

Over the years, it became clear to all that Bi Kidude was a rebel. She was irreverent in the pursuit of her independence. The women of her generation were not supposed to be seen or heard, but here came this feisty little woman, with a booming voice – and a personality to match – who refused to sacrifice her identity at the altar of convention.

When asked about her fondness for alcohol and cigarettes, she said she did it all for fun. It may not sound like the best of reasons, but this simple act of defiance proved that women, even those born decades before the women’s liberation movement, had a right to self-determination.

Covered faces

Bi Kidude also broke with tradition by walking around with her head uncovered. In the early days, when she performed with Siti, they covered their faces with a fine cloth. But when Siti died, Bi Kidude made the radical decision to appear in public bare-faced.

“When Saad died, some of the highest people in the land said ‘you must do something to show who you are,’ and so I raised the veil,” she said in an interview. That is something that does not happen often among Muslim women, even in the 21st century.

By “raising the veil,” Bi Kidude was not being disrespectful, she was just following her own path. From the neck down, she was always shrouded in layers of clothing, believing, as she did, that women needed to dress decently.

“Girls must dress decently,” she said once. “They should never wear trousers and shirts that expose their bellies.”

Some may interpret that as a contradiction, coming from a woman who blazed her own trail, but such were the peculiarities that made her a truly remarkable character.

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