As usual, our over-sensitive Canadian way of dealing with problems had led us to believe that the msela had reached their breaking point, that their friendships had been irreversibly shattered, and that certain individuals (Ninja) may have to be forced to leave the project for good. What we forgot was that we weren’t in North American anymore, that people argue sometimes, and that a little scraping in the life of a group of young street hustlers is anything but strange. Sure, we’d spent the night lying awake with Ninja’s threats of suicide and causing harm sending our imaginations reeling, but in the morning, after hearing that the theatrics continued over at the maskani, we realized that they were just that, theatrics. None of these guys would choose this life if they were given the choice, but if there is one thing a street youth is proud of, it’s being a street youth.
Our messenger, Mwingi, informed us that they had worked things out, but didn’t hesitate to show us the nick he had endured from the broken bottle while trying to hold back the crazed Ninja. Knowing full well that he is vying for a spot as the leader of the msela and that he would not object to Ninja getting the boot from the project, we took his account of the mornings events with a grain of salt. We sent Ninja a note telling him, essentially, to chill out and went about our day, shooting some interviews but being careful not to pass too close to the maskani so as not to stir the pot any more than we already had.
House Hunting and being hunted
It was clear that Ninja needed to live by himself, so we set out to see the rooms that the other msela had found for themselves, hoping that price had been discussed before word got out that wazungus (white people) were involved. Well, it had and it hadn’t. The day was spent in hot rooms, with some hotheaded msela trying to play us while in cahoots the “housing managers”, even hotterheaded landlords un-stealthily trying to pull the wool over our eyes, making us even hotter, treks through some of the most dangerous ghettos in Dar (see Jay’s humorous but un-exaggerated account here), arguing over “finders fees”, and explaining that even us wazungus knew the difference between 1.5 Millioni Shillingi and 1.8 Millioni Shillingi. It was exhausting but at the end of the day, we had a house.
Nyumba Msela! A House for the guys!
It houses 12-15 youth and by uswalini (ghetto) standards, it’s REALLY nice. We are happy. The msela are happy. I don’t think I can accurately compare the colossal-ness of this change to anything else, certainly nothing in my own life. Not only is the physical difference of sleeping alfresco street-side to sleeping indoors a huge change, but also little things that we take for granted, like having a place to leave your few personal items (books, clothing), sleeping for more than 2 or 3 hours at a time because not police or security guards are going to make you move or throw you in Juvi, and best of all, a mattress.
You’d think we were buying them all gold Rolex watches and 1200 Thread count Egyptian cotton sheets. 6 foam mattresses later and the guys had a furnished home. But you can’t exactly phone up U-Haul when you’re a street kid in Dar, so we proceeded to carry “home” the goods through markets, mud and suicidal traffic in true African style, on our heads.
Posted by GiantAnt on 11.20.2008 at 2:28 pm// Tagged: all posts //
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As if we thought for a moment that the rest of the project would go seamlessly from here on out, more drama surfaced this week when we introduced housing for the msela. We (Urban Project) had always intended of setting the guys up with housing and getting them off the street at night but didn’t want to overwhelm them with a hip hop album and housing and school fees all at the same time, so we decided to stagger them. You can imagine if someone from a foreign country showed up and offered you a new apartment in downtown Vancouver, a studio space fully equipped with video and computer equipment, and the cash required to produced a feature film. Well, I can. It would be awesome. And I probably couldn’t handle it. I’d be completely thrown by it and would probably act irrationally as a result. That’s basically what (we think) this week has been like for the msela.
No more Malaria!
When we told them about the rooms, they were beside themselves. Shavu, who is the oldest of the crew and the most ready to wave bye-bye to street life, starting singing “good-bye mo-squweeeetos, good-bye Malaria!”. We were glowing. It made all the stress and hard work of raising the money and getting here feel more than worth it. We parted with the msela feeling energized and made plans to meet 2 days later, once they had found their rooms (it would not have worked for us to go with, as the landlords would have jacked up the price for the Wazungus(white people).
Red Card, Ninja
Jay went to meet them early Saturday morning for what he thought was a low-key “soka” practice. It turned out to be a full on match with about 40 local youth, some from the street, others students. Gossip started immediately and the msela told Jay that Ninja has lost it at the Maskani that morning and was accusing all the guys of hating him, of not wanting him to be their leader, and was threatening to hurt them, or himself with a broken bottle. Sadly, what had happened was that no one wanted to share a room with him and Ema, who Ninja had wanted to live with, had decided to live with Kisu instead, the antagonist in the life of Ninja. It must have really hurt, but it doesn’t excuse what happened next.
Ninja shows up at the soccer field, drunk and disorderly, crying, and ready to take on any or all of the 40 guys there. He challenged most of them, throwing accusations of disloyalty, and started pulling items of clothing off their bodies that belonged to him, as if anything does in msela life. It was an ugly scene. As Jay left, escorted by another msela, he turned back to see that someone had finally lost their cool and decided to give Ninja a run for his money. It turned out to be Shavu.
What Have We Done?
We felt terrible. The msela were fighting amongst themselves (imagine the Jets taking each other on) and we had caused it. We started to contemplate what we were doing, how we could have avoided this, and if the msela were going to blame us for these new problems introduced into their already hard and complex lives. Were we helping or hindering? It was unclear. Most of all, we worried about Ninja. Sure, he screwed up royally and was way out of line, but imagine getting dumped by 20 of your friends and finding out that no one wanted to live with you, then put that into the context of street life. We had to step aside and let them figure things out for themselves.
Posted by GiantAnt on 11.18.2008 at 8:29 am// Tagged: all posts //
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(but not without some heated arguments, exhaustion, and a little machine gun fire)
Not bad for completing it within our first two weeks! The msela very took the project very seriously and wanted to go hard on recording everyday until all six tracks were completed. It was interesting to see them start to tire out as the end of the week neared, but it’s no wonder. We (Danya, Jay and I) were all exhausted from day after day filming in the “Bikram Room” (did I mention it was 30-35 outside and felt like a cool oasis in comparision to the studio, let alone the “booth” which was a few degrees hotter still) and these guys (we had to keep reminding ourselves) sleep outside on the street and still have to get at sunrise and wash cars until 11am when they meet us outside our hostel to head to the studio. It was impressive what they were able to accomplish, negotiating which tracks to record, deciding who would sing the verses, taking direction from the producers, and none of them having never seen the inside of a recording studio, let alone create an entire album.
Drama
On the morning of the 3rd day of recording, Jay and I had had a conversation about how well things were going, TOO well in fact. We were beginning to worry that our film, without a little conflict, would seem unrealistic, idealistic, or heaven forbid, boring. We had spoken too soon.
Kisu, one of the msela that was on the original track Hivyondivi Tunavoishi (the song on our promo video) which we planned to record a remix of, had come to the studio as per our request. We didn’t want to record a remix of the song without at least two of the artists from the original track and had asked the guys to find Kisu, who sings the chorus on the original, and bring him along. Apparently, one of the other msela on the track is in jail now and we wanted to cover our bases (asses) so as not to piss off a soon-to-be-released street hustler or cause conflict between our guys and another maskani (think West Side Story). What we didn’t know was that beefs (beefi) existed between Ninja and Kisu that may or may not have had anything to do with the said track, but whatever it was was still very much an issue. As soon as we disembarked the dala-dala an heated argument erupted which resulted in Kisu being told to leave. Great. Unfortunately (or fortunately for the film), this did not seem to be the end of it and the arguments (which, in Tanzania, is a very common form of communication and does not seem to ever lead to physical violence, the mama lishe fist fight being an exception) continued at the studio and seemed to go on for at least 2 hours. We’ve been told that when there is an argument here (in TZ), it is rarely left unresolved and “discussion” will continue until some kind of agreement is met. This is exceptionally true for life in the maskani and because these guys are essentially each other’s family, they must decide as a group what will be done. Eventually they did.
Finishing the album ended somewhat anti-climatically as the last verse was recorded and mixed into the final track, Hivyondivi Tunavoishi. By this point, the msela had little energy left to be excited after a solid week of recording (and arguing) and we all left the studio looking forward to having the next day off to rest.
Machine Gun Fire. Oh great.
We returned with fresh ears 2 days later to hear the completed album and pick up the CD. It was obvious when we arrived that there was still a little bit of work to be done on some of the tracks so Jay and I waited in the hallway of the studio, Danya and the msela were arriving a little later. Eventually, the producers invited us into the studio to listen while they finished working on the music. Our worst nightmare was coming true. The tracks (in true Bongo Flava style) had been seriously (over)produced. Think Fresh Prince of Bel Air. In Hakati Maskani, one of the more “hardcore” tracks, stock machine gun fire (albeit, perfectly timed to the beat) was inserted to the song and in another, the voice of the msela had been distorted to the extent that it bore a striking resemblance to that Cher hit, Do you Believe in Life after Love. Our hearts were sinking fast. When we had left the studio at the end of last week, we were feeling pretty stoked that we’d help create a kick-ass album that had potential to do well at home (N.A.) as well as here. Now, we weren’t sure what we had. At the end of the day, this was not OURS anyway and they guys would have the final say on the production and whether the machine gun fire would stay or go.
The Cut
They loved it. They especially loved the gun fire. Our hearts sank even further, but watching them listen to the final cuts of their songs made most of our worries wash away. At the end of the day, it was their music and they had made it. There was genuine giddy excitement on everyone’s faces, well, everyone’s but Shallo’s. He was steaming. His verse had been cut out of the last track and he wanted to know why. Another epic argument erupted and carried on out into the backyard of the studio. Even Ally, the studio owner, was involved this time. Somehow, and we won’t really know until we translate the whole affair, they worked it out again and came to some agreement as they always seem to do, Shallo got his verse put back on the track, and the msela left with a shiny CD of their album untitled Maisha Magumu (Hard Life).
Posted by GiantAnt on 11.12.2008 at 12:40 pm// Tagged: all posts //
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Cross-posted from jaygrandin.com
Every day for the past five we’ve been boarding the dala dala and making the trek, crammed shoulder to shoulder [or armpit to nose, or crotch to ass, or afro to ear], to the uswailini, the ghetto, to record this album. The amount of people on these “buses” would be grounds for an immediate safety inquiry back home. And the way they barrel down the road despite pedestrian congestion shows a firm grasp of physics: the driver clearly understands that in a battle of gravity + momentum + physical density that they will win every time… so why bother slowing down. I’ll tell you though, it sure makes crossing the street a safari in its own right.
Each day when we walk down the dirt streets, swarms of little kids run along side us rolling tires shouting “mzungu, mzungu,” which basically means “whitey” without being derogatory. It’s indescribably cute. So much so that when one of them says “Give me money,” I’d gladly just hand them my Visa if it weren’t for the fact that only MasterCard is accepted here. My credit rating breathes a sigh of relief every time. Dotto describes the uswailini as “houses built without a map,” which is brilliant. That’s just it.
We’ve powered through 4 tracks on the album thus far that so astoundingly exceed our expectations that I see Tanzanian Schilling signs flashing in the eyes of these street boys. They record all day, go “home” to the streets to practice and write all night, and get up to do it all over again each morning in a hot, foam-clad room that smells like a thousand armpits. The other day it was 34 degrees outside, but at least 5 degrees hotter in the studio… and then at least 5 degrees hotter in the recording booth. After 10 minutes of filming in there my shirt is soaked right through… and the guys point and laugh.
Three days ago we were complaining over breakfast [mine still routinely gets forgotten, somehow] that things have gone so well that it’s going to be hard to find enough conflict for the film. Cut to: Ninja stealing the salaries of the other guys, fighting about which tracks to record, and shouting matches about botched verses. We spoke too soon; drama now = high. A film is emerging…
Jay
[pssst. more photos on flickr]
Posted by GiantAnt on 11.04.2008 at 12:10 pm// Tagged: all posts //
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Cross-posted from jaygrandin.com
Let me kick off this post with something unrelated: You know how mice can squeeze themselves through the smallest of spaces… under doors, etc. It’s amazing, right? Well, have you ever seen a taxi do that? Neither had I… until now. I honestly don’t know how they do it, but the cab drivers here manage to squeeze their way, at a stunning speed, through the tiniest of spaces. It’s like they’re oiled up and everything else, if they touch it at all, is clad in sandwich wrap. Mid-conversation, like it’s no big thing, they slip and slide between dala dalas and SUVs, pedestrians and banana-filled wheel barrels. It blows my mind. Every time.
The project has kicked into high gear over the past couple of days. We finally built up the courage and false sense of street savvy, to bring out the big camera and the big microphones. The result was some beautiful footage [pats back] at Cocoa Beach of the guys rehearsing the first track to be recorded tomorrow. The turquoise water lapped at our feet while they dropped hand and mouth-made beats and drew a crowd.
Today we visited the recording studio for the first time, and ended up laying down a demo of the first song’s chorus. Holy shit… knocked my socks off. The guys were so excited - giddy even. It’s hard to make street boys giggle like school girls, but today we managed and it made the last 6 month’s fundraising worth it just for that moment.
We signed up to record 5 tracks, and Danya negotiated a price of 1,000,000 Tanzanian Schillings in Swahili - about $1000. After she finished, the producer thanked us in perfect English. Oh well, I think he appreciated the Swahili effort just the same. After we got to talking, and ironing out the filming permissions, the news of us as “filmmakers” inspired him to pull out a collection of Bollywood-esque music videos that they had shot in the same studio. They were extremely well-filmed, and used all of the “camera tricks” and “fancy editing” that you might have seen in a DJ Jazzy Jeff music video from the mid-90’s. He even shared an English music video that he shot with his young children, which was so much fun to watch. I will say, however, that it got weird for me when his prepubescent daughter hit the chorus about “Taking all my clothes off” and doing it “All night long”… Maybe it’s all some Kiswahili metaphor for getting fulling dressed and going to church. I hope so.
Jay
[psst. more photos on flickr]
Posted by GiantAnt on 11.04.2008 at 12:08 pm// Tagged: all posts //
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