Clash of the cultures: The absolute
The Bushfire festival is one place where Swatis can let their hair down and be themselves, and it is slowly sowing the seeds of change
Change comes slowly to eSwatini. The nation formerly known as Swaziland — and still labelled as such at border posts, on road signs and on official letterheads — is one of Africa’s most conservative countries. It is, infamously, the continent’s last absolute monarchy, ruled by the 50-year-old King Mswati III, who treats it much like a personal fiefdom.
It is also home, incongruously, to Bushfire, the hedonistic music festival that showcases Africa’s finest musical talents, along with a collection of recreational drugs that is arguably even finer. The festival’s hippy-inspired values stand in stark, unforgiving contrast to its surroundings.
This year, its 12th iteration, the festival was headlined by Nigerian Afropop star Yemi Alade and Guinea’s kora virtuoso Sekou Kouyate. But Bushfire claims to be more than just a music festival. In the words of its own PR guff, which exhorts festivalgoers to “BRING YOUR FIRE!”: “Your fire is your energy, your spirit, your passion and your drive to make a difference … the festival has achieved a worldwide reputation for its visionary and authentic approach to raising awareness of the need for social change.”
There is little doubt that eSwatini needs social change. For example, 63% of its 1.4-million population live below the poverty line. The country has the world’s highest HIV infection rate. Civil society and media operate under tight restrictions and serious opposition parties are banned. Women are discriminated against in law, according to Human Rights Watch, and it is illegal to be gay.
At Bushfire, against the breathtaking backdrop of the Mzimba Mountain, the normal rules don’t apply. Here, at least for a weekend, social change really is possible. But is Bushfire making any real difference outside of its golden circle?
Swazi gold
Entering from Mpumalanga, the landscape of eastern eSwatini offers little to suggest you are in another country — it’s the same lush, green landscape, the same rolling hills. ATMs dispense in rands and emalangeni. The major clue that things have changed are the billboards, every few kilometres along the highway, that wish King Mswati III a happy 50th birthday.
In Bushfire’s parking lot — GP plates as far as the eye can see — touts clamour for business. “100% Swazi gold for you, sir!” they shout, referring to the cannabis strain that has become world-famous for being both easy to grow and very relaxing to smoke. You can buy anywhere between one and five joints for R100, depending on your accent. For these entrepreneurs, Bushfire is a business opportunity like no other, bringing in hordes of cash-rich tourists looking to buy themselves a good time.
Watching indifferently are uniformed policemen armed with automatic weapons, who don’t bat an eyelid at the roaring drug trade going on before their eyes. This is part of the unspoken social contract that exists between the government and the festival. Hear no evil, see no evil. Festivalgoers are free to flout eSwatini’s laws; in return, they turn a blind eye to the country’s dysfunctional politics.
Not that most visitors are especially interested in challenging the status quo. “I know the king has a lot of wives and like that he changed the name of the country because it is a sign of independence. Elections would be good but you have to keep to the culture,” said Julie Reul, who came from Mozambique.
Marshall Burogard, an American volunteering in eSwatini, said, as a citizen of “the bastion of freedom” — his words — it was hard to adjust to the way his temporary new home is ruled. But, he added, he respected that “things were done differently” here.
The only show in town
As attractive as Bushfire is to tourists, it is even more so for middle-toupper-class Swatis.
“Outside the Bushfire Festival, really nothing happens in Swaziland besides football that is any form of entertainment for Swazis,” said Bheki Makhubu, the editor of The Nation and arguably the kingdom’s most incisive political analyst. He goes to it every year. “It’s the only show in town. It’s the only time I can go and live out my youth for a couple of hours and remember days gone by.”
But he is all too aware of the festival’s contradictions. “To understand