By Ronald L. Murdoch Oats
There is an often spoken about but seldom practised philosophy of ‘Ubuntu’ in Africa.
‘uMuntu ngumuntu ngabantu’ is the isiZulu and most commonly cited phrasing of the idea, although it is present in languages all over the continent.
‘A person is a person through the people.’
Joe epitomised this kind of humanism.
Anyone who met him immediately understood that their place in relation to him was beside him, not above or below, but ‘arm-slung-over-the-shoulder’ beside him.
He actually didn’t like the term, but we called him Prof. Joe out of a teasing kind of respect. He would shy away from this kind of elevation, often saying that those he had learnt under deserved that kind of honour more so than he did, not so Prof. Joe.
I met him in 2017 while I was doing my Bachelor of Arts at Rhodes University in English Literature, Philosophy and IMS: African Ensemble, in association with the International Library of African Music, the largest repository of African music in the world. We would sit outside ILAM on blazing hot afternoons, sweating over our crafts and listening to his stories.
To be blunt, I was one of the very few white kids in my class. But I was given no free passes and no special support. I was expected to learn at the same pace and use the same materials as everyone else.
I relished the challenge; I’m no great dancer and would often struggle with the pronunciation of traditional songs.
But luckily, I’ve been blessed with a small sense of rhythm. This sometimes surprised my fellow classmates, and even Joe, who would occasionally say, in response to the occasional groans of my colleagues.
‘Hayi, if the umlungu can do it… so can you!’
He largely taught himself how to craft the various instruments he played, such as the kora, mbira, valiha, masenqo, xiwewe, ngoni ba and xizambi, among many others. He did this using books, the internet, and the support network of other craftspeople, some of whom had heritage traditions that go back literally hundreds of years.
When we met, I was pretty directionless about the overall purpose of my music, having performed for half a decade, spending close to a year gigging in pubs, bars and clubs, hitchhiking to music festivals, ‘trying to make it big’. Really, it was because of Joe and my experience at ILAM that I came to understand the almost divine purpose of music.
We are the keepers of sacred memories and secrets of the hearts of people and humanity. We are honoured with the often overwhelming responsibility of archiving the inner truths of being alive in this world at this time. We boldly carry a tradition stretching back millennia to our earliest ancestors painting their hands on the walls of caves and singing the songs of their communities, taught to them by their elders, taught to them by their elders, and so on.
Artists are the keepers of human consciousness itself, a task not to be taken lightly but, at the same time, not to be taken too seriously.
Joe had this formula down to a tee, a dedicated student and living archive of indigenous music knowledge, all the while casually sharing this in his lessons and conversations with his students, with a little tune, a little dance, a little smile.
This is not a eulogy because he lives on in his compositions and in the impact he’s had on his collaborators and students, faithfully continuing this universally human tradition.
For those who wish to pay their respects or contribute financially, please contact Joe’s wife on 082 934 7735 or 081 728 0719 or contact Elijah Molesang Madiba from ILAM at prophetandcarpenter@gmail.com
