typically without the owner’s permission
The day before the crew from CNN’s ‘African Voices’ came down to shoot their episode on my work I stood in full view of this and it was scratching that part of my mind again. You know, the part that usually frowns on Africans viewed as a form of entertainment. A young white boy asks his mother what the dancers are doing and she says, “That’s what they do here in Africa. It’s everywhere”. In her defense, today this looked pretty normal to me too. Had I grown so used to it that I’d become completely desensitized and compliant? Was I entertained for the same reasons the Europeans were? Are we all just clapping for the wrong reasons?- There’s a very thin line between appreciation and appropriation.-
Let me take you back to the day I landed in Cape Town in January. My phone rings and on the other end of that line is an astute black woman, let’s call her Mahlako. Mahlako has some exciting news to share with me. “Hi Tsoku! You’ve been handpicked as part of a handful of creatives in Cape Town for a private meet with a media-marketing agency I work with. They’re from London!” she exclaims. “London?!” I yelled (see, I was walking past one of the roving plane engines at the time). Yes, London! You know – fish, chips, cup o’tea, bad food, worse weather, Mary fucking Poppins, London!- “Oh my God!” I remember saying, “I left my copy of ‘The Psychopath Test’ on my seat!” I asked Mahlako to text me the details and, with a click, hung up. But on my way back up to the cabin I couldn’t stop thinking what the conversation meant. And, was the stewardess smiling at me because she thought I was cute or because my fly was down? Whatever the reason, I really should’ve peed at home.
A few weeks later we – the handpicked – all gathered in a room, Illuminati style, introducing ourselves and explaining what we do with our African magic powers. Did you know that being a Socialite is a thing? Anyway, I was really happy to finally meet Mahlako, but Mahlako had masters and they were both white. The only white people in the room. Mahlako was just a face, she didn’t know anything else about the meeting. She stood and watched as they sold us a dream that involved us giving them our work for their upcoming website (which still has nothing on it today, by the way) that was supposedly attracting sponsors and could help us make money and gain representation overseas. I generally don’t trust people who travel so far with nothing but promises in their hand luggage, and as a professional on sussing out psychopathic behavior, I left.-
This goes beyond street performers, media appropriation and the slander of African culture. It’s also about African artists who sell their stories for a penny – either to get recognized, stay relevant or break into the industry. White spaces are buying the culture and appropriating it in bulk. A stride through any recent art fair will wipe away any doubt. Most galleries are white owned, yet they claim to represent African stories. Scratching that part of my mind again. But at least the artist will be able to showcase their work to a larger audience and maybe make some money.-
With a population of roughly 80% people of color living in South Africa, the advertising industry is another marauding beast that has sunk its teeth into African culture for monetary gains, using us as faces to re-enact their fantasies time and time again. Often conceptualized and written by people who are nowhere near of color (I’ve been to those brain-storming sessions. Cue Mr. Krabs meme). African culture, or the African aesthetic, is the new sex. Fetishized and romanticised everywhere but home. And it sells.-
I keep wondering if there’s room for genuine collaboration, where one doesn’t feel used but is a part of something. On the other hand, perhaps it’s time for Africa to cut out the middleman and be self-sufficient. You have the product. You know how to cook it. Now how do you get it onto the streets? How do you own it?
Young creatives have ideas and go out of their way to bring them to life, but more often than not struggle to market them. How do you get the work out there? There isn’t a sure answer to that. Social media is a fantastic tool, but most of us learn the hard way that it quickly becomes oversaturated and large numbers don’t always equate to profit or actual engagement. Personally, I’ve never approached a publication or a space to showcase my work in stead the opposite, which has meant that the way the work is represented has been on my terms. This possibly could be down to the personal nature of the work and thesis. This brings me to my next point: Authenticity. Emulation may get people’s attention but it withers over a period of time as people start to see through the bullshit. Your voice and your work needs authenticity. Tell your story, but make sure it’s told the way you want it to be heard. That’s ownership.-
So is it our fault that as Africans with access to online platforms, the world still thinks we’re waiting for them to save us? Or are they just ignorant? We’re not looking to be saved. We can each one teach one and share our resources to make sure that our continent and our narrative is represented the right way.Representation is important, and people’s lives depend on it. One can never put a price on that