Lazarus rising: Strange case
‘It was like Jesus coming back’ when a maskandi star was miraculously ‘resurrected’. The bizarre events that ensued divided fans and family alike
This is a story about music and identity theft. On the cover of his final album, Autography, there are two uMgqumenis. One is clad in white, right leg crossed over the left, the bottom of a running shoe sneaking into the frame. This uMgqumeni is smiling directly into the camera, as if in an attempt to be carefree. Behind him stands a figure, wearing all black, dreadlocks covering most of his face and hands in his back pockets. Above them, the word “uMgqumeni” is embossed in maroon on a grey background and under that, in Bleeding Cowboys font, is the title of the double-disc album.
Canadian graphic designer Guillaume Seguin released the Bleeding Cowboys font in 2007, inspired by punk rock and grunge bands. I’m not sure what he’d make of his creation being on the cover of a best-selling maskandi album in Africa.
The artwork for this final uMgqumeni album would prove to be prophetic, as if he knew that at some point there would be more than one version of himself and played a little joke on us while he still had time.
II: Lazarus comes to Nquthu
In the summer of 2012, three years after uMgqumeni’s death, just as the maskandi scene was beginning to heal from the ripple effect of his passing, there was an announcement on Ukhozi FM about him. Listeners were about to be treated to an interview with a person who was claiming to be the musician, risen from the dead.
But this “resurrected” uMgqumeni said he had never really died. Instead, he had been captured and held hostage as an umkhovu (a neo-zombie), by whom exactly he refused to say.
“There is not much that I remember; I just saw a bull and everything went black,” he proclaimed during the interview. “I am only finding out what happened now that I’ve been found, that people thought I was dead.”
The story soon went viral, and uMgqumeni fans prepared to make the journey south to see their idol. In a vast open field in Nquthu in northern KwaZulu-Natal, the following Sunday, thousands gathered from as far afield as Zimbabwe, all wanting to get a glimpse of their returned hero.
Filmmaker Nduduzo Shandu was at the scene. “I took a taxi to eNquthu. Everyone in the taxi was talking about the return of uMgqumeni. Some were sceptical; others believed it was him. When we arrived, it was packed. Thousands of people were waiting to see him. I remember one old lady next to me shouted: ‘Hhuye (It’s him)!’ That’s when the media and people went crazy.”
This Lazarus did not awaken from the grave. He emerged from the top of a police Nyala in a red floral shirt not unlike the one uMgqumeni wore on the cover of i’Jukebox, plus a cowhide crown, biting his lower lip as he waved to the stadium-sized crowd.
This uMgqumeni didn’t have dreadlocks; nor did he have the oval facial features and big eyes of the artist on the cover of Autography.
The black-and-white footage Shandu caught of the moment is haunting. Some people’s faces are full of hope; others are vacant, haunted and unsure what to do.
“It was like Jesus coming back. Some even cried because they felt that their idol had lost so much weight; others asked him to smile,” recalls Shandu. “They wanted to see his unique charismatic smile. But there was a gang of young boys who were angry and they kept saying: ‘It’s not him.’”
Although some (including one of uMgqumeni’s girlfriends) affirmed that it was him, others were sceptical. But this was his coming-out party and he wouldn’t let anyone ruin it. From the back of the Nyala he charmed journalists as they badgered him with questions.
“My face has changed because of the lifestyle I was living as a zombie, but I am still uMgqumeni,” he said with a smile, surrounded by three police officers operating as his bodyguards. “Some people call me a ghost. I cannot pretend to be somebody else. Some people feel guilty for what they’ve done to me but I love all of you.”
In Zulu culture, when a person has been turned into umkhovu, there is a rehabilitation process that must be followed to reintegrate them into their community. This, according to Bheki Khumalo, uMgqumeni’s paternal uncle, was the reason why when they found this man, they kept him away from people prior to that revelation in the field.
“We were not happy with the state he was in,” recalls Khumalo. “We wanted more time to give him more muthi and help him heal, but there was too much pressure from the public and we knew we had to show him because we had nothing to hide.”
But people had other theories as to why this pretender had emerged. Shobeni Khuzwayo, uMgqumeni’s manager, says he didn’t even bother to go to the field that day.
III: Have you heard from uMgqumeni?
To understand why an impostor would go to such lengths to impersonate a dead maskandi musician, you need to understand the weight of uMgqumeni. And to understand uMgqumeni, you need to understand Nquthu, the rural KwaZulu-Natal village where he was born.
The drive from Durban to Nquthu is harrowing. Almost three hours and the further you go, the bumpier the roads get. In recent years, this place has been stricken by drought. We pass bridges with no water under them, animals dead under barren skies with only their carcasses left to tell of their thirst.
I am reminded of Athi-Patra Ruga’s A Land Without People for a People Without Land tapestry works. Here people have land but because it is so dry, they are forced to relinquish it to the highest bidder to make ends meet. “The people haven’t drank in so long/ The water won’t even make mud,” says a Gregory Porter lyric. In this part of the world, water is holy and so is music. That’s why they use the latter to summon the former.
What you also notice about Nquthu is the absence of men in their 20s to 40s. There are kids and then grandparents. In between is a missing generation: young men pushed out of the birthplace of their forefathers to find work in the cities. Some come home to bury the dead, those left behind. Some come home to be buried. UMgqumeni did both.
As a child, Khulekani Kwakhe Mgqumeni Khumalo was often bullied because he was small and had a high-pitched voice. From a young age, he showed an aptitude for the guitar; music would become his refuge. He competed in local talent shows and won a few. But the bullying got so bad that he decided to leave the village and join his uncle Mahawukela, a popular maskandi musician who toured with legendary maskandi crew Izingane Zoma.
According to music promoter and manager Shobeni Khuzwayo, what made uMgqumeni so good was his ear and ability to pick sounds, a skill he learned from Mahawukela.
UMgqumeni’s songs were mostly written in the first person. Loss, helplessness and failure are recurring themes in his catalogue. As Khuzwayo points out: “He was an artist that had a hard time because he wanted more, and there were things and people in his life that were making it hard for him to achieve happiness. So he would always turn to music to express how he was feeling and I think that’s why people related to him so much.”
On the cover of i’Magic, again two versions of himself appear. One sits on a chair superimposed on an ocean scene like some chilled-out Christlike figure.
In the world of maskandi, uMgqumeni occupied the sacred place of being both musician and muse. His work has spawned several bands while he was alive and since his death. In the genre, he is considered the avatar of an artists’ artist. Conversely, he was a deeply resented figure among some of his peers.
Maskandi tends to appropriate freely without permission. It’s not uncommon to find a maskandi remix version of a popular song, where an artist changes the chords and uses the lyrics as is, without crediting the creators. UMgqumeni set himself apart from many of his contemporaries by not following this formula. Instead, his music fused elements of isishameni and isichathamiya, where the guitar is front and centre and everything else is built around that and not the percussion. His long, dragging notes gave his music a soulful, sorrowful appeal. It was traditional music, yes, but inventive too.
At the height of his fame, uMgqumeni’s albums went multiplatinum and he would sometimes release up to four records a year, including group albums with his many bands.
He also notoriously feuded with one of his close friends, fellow musician Mtshengiseni Gcwensa. The two, who had grown up together, were in a band until they fought over a song.
“He had given Mtshengiseni his start in the industry and when Mtshengiseni went solo, he started attacking uMgqumeni through his music. We were all surprised by this and it would make uMgqumeni cry that someone who he considered his brother was treating him like this,” says Khuzwayo.
What now seems like a silly misunderstanding led to a lengthy feud, which saw the artists exchanging blows on more than one occasion. It got so bad that they were banned on some SABC radio stations until they made peace.
“It affected uMgqumeni a lot, ’cause he wanted his music to be heard and when radio is taken away from you, your fans don’t hear your music even if you have an album out. He wasn’t even getting booked for some events because of this, so that also didn’t help,” adds Khuzwayo.
On Saturday December 19 2009, uMgqumeni and his band were travelling home to spend some time with their families ahead of the busy festive season. There were also plans for a conciliatory meeting between Mtshengiseni and uMgqumeni that had been brokered by radio legend Bhodloza Nzimande.
UMgqumeni and the band were making their way down from Jo’burg to Nquthu after a pit stop when uMgqumeni began to complain about chest pain. His breathing was laboured and they stopped for him get some air. Barely an hour after he