Kwame Rigii: On a mission to revive cultural pride and consciousness

There was a time, in the 1970s and early 80s when Limuru was a thriving hub of cultural awareness, performing arts, the letters, all tempered with activism and an undercurrent of dissidence championed by literary icon Ngugi wa Thiong’o and others.

It was a bejewelled time; Ngugi oversaw theatre at the Kamiriithu Community Education and Cultural Centre in Kamiriithu, Limuru, while musicians such as Francis Rugwiti and CDM Kiratu-a singer way ahead of his time, complemented the scene with music about old love, trees, mended and broken hearts, sprinkled with hints of politics.

But a relentless crackdown engineered by the KANU government, and subsequent flight by Ngugi to the US saw the movement crumble and by the 1990s, the pulse had all but flatlined.

Vestiges of that vibrant period remain: all along the Naivasha-Nairobi highway traders display traditional attire; silvery, spotted hides, walking sticks and fleece-hats dot the highway like punctuation.

I am travelling to Tigoni, Limuru to meet Kwame Rigii, a musician, landscaper and one of the young, latter-day culture-conscious artistes reviving what once was. It is early November and the jacaranda dotting the landscape are in full bloom, the purple of their plumage adding some hint of grandeur to the land.

Kwame’s home is tucked about two kilometres behind Tigoni shopping centre. From the gate, it becomes apparent the subject is not at all usual.

The earth-brown coloured gate is woven from tree branches, with a heavy African print cloth covering the inside. Kwame walks me into the compound and we settle into a couch in the porch of his home, a colonial-themed house overlooking a spacious, grassy and treed lawn.

HAPPY CHILDHOOD

Kwame is dressed in a dashiki-themed shirt and traditional sandals. Beads festoon his neck and his jet-black dreadlocks. He lives here with his wife Kanyi Rigii, and two children-a son, Madiba, six, and daughter, Muthoni, four.

Like their father, the children sport dreadlocks. The endearingly rambunctious pair has the compound to themselves and as we ease into the interview, they run in the grass, squealing with laughter.

Now and then they pass by the porch to whisper something into their dad’s ear. They address him by the term, “Awa”, which traditional Kikuyu salutation for a male parent.

The front yard is a child’s dream; a playground with swings, a mini-house complete with a ladder.

“I want my children to experience my childhood,” Kwame says. “My childhood was happy, filled with laughter and art. My father was very particular.”

Kwame’s father, Karanja Rigii, died in 2001. A gifted artist and sculptor, he exhibited his artworks at Gallery Watatu in Nairobi. In the evenings the children would gather around his feet and he would sing them songs from the old times; songs full of meaning and steeped in tradition and cultural pride.

The compound is also suffused with all kinds of art, to the point that it seems any object can be turned into something of beauty. Wine bottles ring a wall mirror by the door and from a tree hang a piece of driftwood and other bits of art pieces.

Kwame is a positive torrent of fascinating history, a thoughtful person who weighs each sentence carefully. A regular panellist on a popular cultural-themed programme on the Kikuyu language TV and other forums, Rigii says he wants to instil positive cultural pride in young people.

“It is about brotherhood, love and respect for culture,” he explains. “No matter what tribe we come from, there should be no place for acrimony and hate.”

LIMELIGHT

The debut was a masterpiece. During a taping of the Churchill Show early this year, host Daniel “Churchill” Ndambuki called out into the microphone for the singer of the night. The guest didn’t walk through the traditional curtain main stage, choosing instead the top of the aisle.

Sharp in a blue suit, Kwame Rigii, the man of the hour walked down the steps, his music preceding him. The notes, with no playback, were vintage and rich; Harry Kimani, Anthony Hamilton.

If there was anything to say about the singer-his unveiling, one only had to skim the hall and look in the eyes of the audience, especially the female section, and listen to the ensuing ovation: It was an ambush. Who is this guy, and why haven’t we heard of this song yet, the eyes seemed to ask.

The song Kwame performed that night was "Aki Wewe", a love ballad from Kwame’s album by the same title. The hook punctuates with the sound that alternately translates to the smack of a smooch, or the expression of approval.

In the crowd, Kwame took the hand of a fetching girl and walked her down the burning hall. And that’s how the audience-and most of the viewing public, met Kwame for the first time, 15 years late.

That most listeners hadn’t heard of Kwame, and his music was not quite surprising.

Rigii, who describes his music as urban folk abandoned mainstream music a few years ago for what he terms as the “authentic air of underground scene” preferred by artistes who wish to remain unshackled by the trappings and the plastic of the now.

FRUSTRATION

But his decision was also influenced by the maze of red tape frustration he encountered as he tried to push his music.

“The gatekeepers are the problem,” he says. “If you are doing conscious music, art that you value as true, and not running with what is considered popular, you soon find out that you are not welcome.”

Rigii says that he tried pushing for airplay for his music but no radio station would accept his music. He could do mass music if he chose to, he explains, but that would be selling out.

“I want to do music that my children wouldn’t cringe at, even after I am gone.”
Every life is an aggregate of shards, we are maps from long ago, dotted with our experiences. Kwame has been singing for nearly two decades, but after recording "Aki Wewe", he says he plunged into a dark place.

The conflict was occasioned by a soul-searing conviction that he hadn’t earned the right-hand light, to employ his voice.

The foggy interlude that ensued nearly drove him to the edge. It was during this dark period that Kwame recorded the song "Mwene Nyaga" (God), a song plucked from the independence struggle and originally recorded by the late Joseph Kamaru.

The song, which was released in 2016 aches with supplication and a call to the deep, to the meaningful. The simple, but richly evocative video was shot in the compound by a close producer friend.

“My father used to sing the song to us when we were growing up,” Kwame said. “But only after finding my roots, the truth, did I appreciate its significance.”

MAKE-OVER

The truth was a return to a traditional way of life, one purged of negative Western attitudes. It was a complete makeover: Kwame’s children are home-schooled, and though urban are fluent in their mother tongue.

Now at peace with his identity, and having “earned the right to my voice”, Kwame plans to get into the studio soon. He has been writing music, has been to the well and he hasn’t come up empty.

His songs span the entirety of life’s many offerings and contradictions: love, faith, happiness, children, the trees. But mostly love.

“Love music without the vulgarity,” he explains. “I also want to reach out to young people-especially boys; to mentor them, teach them about true manhood, masculinity and what it entails.”

“You know,” he tells me as he describes his wife, his eyes glinting “It is such a great thing to love your wife; the wife is the pillar of the home.”

He is also planning a cultural event set to be held at his home on December 9, 2018. The soul of the event will be to reprise a traditional home with life as it was before colonialism.

Together with his wife, Kwame opened a children playground equipment business. It is all part of being happy, he says.

We carry with us maps from long ago, and if we are really fortunate, we recreate our memories, our childhoods. To a significant degree, Kwame has reclaimed part of his.

It is almost dusk and the notorious Limuru chill is falling on the land. In the trees birds chirp their evening music; it’s sad and beautiful and lonesome music but utterly sincere. As can be said too of Kwame Rigii, and his craft.