By Nimusiima
The noise was deafening. It was overpowering. The noise about the South African afro-pop acts, Mafikizolo. They had refused to perform at the Club Mega Fest. They had claimed that it was too late for them to ‘Khona’. And they had sauntered back in their SUVs and drove off to their spacious hotel. Their ardent fans, young and old, smacked themselves hard in the face and counted their losses. They had missed them. And for them, it was a bad day in office. However, chance unveiled itself for the MTN-sponsored VIP show at Serena Hotel. But then again, the entrance fee figures were astronomical. And it was obviously impossible for some to part with such money, they missed. But to the lucky ones who placed their foot in the Victoria Hall, history was written. Here it is:
Mafikizolo performed to the best of their abilities. They dropped a sweat. They jumped and sung themselves hoarse. It was a full-house. And the revelers made a beeline near the stage, to gawk at them, to etch the moment in their phones and in their minds. To capture the tableau. They took a detour and rubbed dust off their CDs and did Ndihamba Nawe. The crowd went wild. It went rowdy in delight. People literally crawled on the floor on their bodies. They wobbled on the floor like a waddle of penguins, shouting and clapping their hands thunderously, pulling out their eyes and ears in hysterical fervor. They sang along. Every song they pelted, the people clung onto it. Singing. Humming. Mumbling lyrics they never knew.
Hell would later break loose when they did Emlanjeni, it felt as though a lightning bolt seared through the audience rendering them to patch on each other like twin fetuses. They danced, joyously. You could see that everyone that came through was having their money’s worth. You could see delight and bliss and happiness written all over their faces. Even in the dim light, you could see it, like a glistening glow. ‘…meet me at the river!’ They sang and people closed their eyes on this part, as though they were deeply in pain. Only they weren’t. They were struck by the power the song held. They were struck by the jolt of happiness, frozen by the blissful moment and paused by sheer delight the South African singing duo spewed. It felt like a musical orgy. Their repertoire of songs were hypnotic. And before they stepped off the stage, the people were yawning in thirst, in hunger for more. It clearly was on their faces. They showed signs of disillusionment when Mafikizolo said that they were performing their last song. A catalogue of ‘Oohs and Aahs’ were heard from the audience, shooting their hands in the air in protest. But then, they stepped off the stage. And history was written. One of the best concerts in a long while had come to an end.
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