Picture this: You are at a funeral and it is time for another song. uMakazi looks to you and your cousins and says, “qalani ingoma” – “Start a song”. You look at each other awkwardly, scratching your heads in thought. Finally, one of you starts to sing the only song that comes to mind: “Ngixolele”. Immediately, your aunt starts shouting at you for singing Busta 929 at a funeral. But it is the only song you know, so what were you meant to do? This is the scenario animated in TikTok user @Lamiinations’s video captioned, “When Ama2k are asked to start a song at a Funeral Service”.
Whether it be a funeral service, a church service, or a wedding, songs form a huge part of South African culture. Nowadays, there seems to be a growing impression that those born in the 2000s (or “ama2k”) do not have the knowledge of such culture and tradition. The thing with traditional songs is that you cannot just go to Genius and look up the lyrics if you want to learn more songs, so what are we supposed to do?
Most songs are learned from family and friends, or even at traditional events. This means that you will often find yourself not knowing songs if you are not actively attending or participating in traditional events. Many people born in the 2000s are less confident in their knowledge of cultural songs. We often find ourselves in situations where we are humming along and dancing, unable to actually join in on the singing.
The oral tradition is a big part of African culture. Folktales are passed down verbally rather than being written in physical books, even though there has been an increase in books which include African folklore. This means that for them to be passed on they have to be told and retold across generations. The issue at hand is that stories are forgotten, and it seems like we are starting to forget as well.
18-year-old Philasande describes his experience of feeling connected with culture as being influenced by growing up in suburbs where mainly English is spoken. “Honestly, it’s also part of the economic set up of South Africa,” he says as he explains that when black families move to cities to find better opportunities, children begin to grow up in spaces where traditional cultural practices are not as present in their day-to-day life. 25-year-old Entle feels that there is a lack of knowledge of tradition within this generation. She says, “With colonisation and the dominance of English, a lot of things were lost. Because our traditions were passed down orally, it’s easy for things to get lost or misinterpreted across generations.” This begs the question then: what will happen when it comes time for us to be the ones leading traditional events?
Many share the sentiment that it will be a struggle and that we may find ourselves practicing a diluted version of our culture. Some feel that our families simply are not including us enough and are not actively teaching us our traditions. If we are not being included in traditions and are separated from our culture by suburbia, how can we be expected to know what to do when it becomes our turn to lead? Maybe it is an issue of lack of initiative. 41-year-old Ntombizamangwe says, “As time goes by and [you get] older, you understand and you will ask certain questions or [ask] for explanations as to why certain things are done the way they are done.” This is how tradition is passed on. It is a two-way street. We need to want to be included, and our families need to be willing to teach.
There is a consensus that tradition needs to be kept alive. Passing on tradition requires active participation. Yes, it is awkward to not know songs. It is embarrassing and even isolating to be the one quietly humming along while others sing and dance. But there is no shame in asking to be taught a particular song or allowing yourself to be clueless as you learn. So maybe Ama2k do not know traditional songs, but it is never too late to learn.
Jemma Thomson
