And it is through that prism that most African youth approach music, art and I dare say life.    We are aware that the inheritors of the colonial project have misruled and plundered our continent.   We have watched them cling to power and become schizophrenic.   A schizophrenia embedded in the African psyche, like a microchip controlling the African mind--a by-product of the ailment that befell the continent when fortune seeking European nations embarked on the colonial project, bequeathing to the natives a virus that seems to have no immediate antidote, a virus that defies classification.     

Where post-independence African leadership has failed in steering their nations toward the actualization of goals that range from basic drinking water and electricity, political and economic sovereignty, respect for human rights, civic accountability and administrative transparency, music has emerged as a potent force, loyal ally and effective weapon amongst youth.   Music's ability to inspire hope, initiate dialogue and as a defense mechanism under oft-dehumanizing circumstances has proven reliable and sustaining.  

Thus the utilization of music as a tool of empowerment and a fountain of inspiration only seems natural.  

Music is innate, its origin, unknown though embedded in the human genome, spiritual in essence and hidden from the scrutiny of mere eyes and capable sustaining the human spirit. Music speaks to that aspect of the human personality that is godly hence flawless.   It speaks to the god in us.   Music, for the African youth then becomes a platform through which they can initiate dialogue and create understanding when confronted with economic, political and social injustice.   It becomes a handle for them to reclaim their humanity.

Apartheid, as it has been well chronicled, was a shameless, thieving, bloodsucking, lying and draconian machine that was both vampire and victim, dehumanizing the natives and in a way dehumanizing those it sought to protect in the first place, the settlers, eventually rendering them numb to the stark injustices of their cherished system.

The documentary Amandla has demonstrated how music's played role in the dismantling of apartheid.   It illustrated how ordinary people, young and old but mostly youth, nameless but valiant, were able to toyi-toyi away the last institutional vestiges of racial Imperialism on the African continent.    South African resistance music did not only set out to destroy the beast, it became the magical portion needed to heal a wounded people.   It sustained them in their bondage and in some cases was the chronicler of events.    We hear it in Masekela's horn.   We hear it in Makeba's voice.   

I have often argued, with no verifiable evidence to prove my point, that music, amongst other artistic avenues, are some of the aspects of African society that survived the colonial project .   How it survived, I don't know, but it did I argue because I believe the creative process to be abstract.   And music, in its essence, is invisible, rendering it indestructible.

In Sounds of Resistance , Robin Ballinger's essay on the function of music in the "dialogic process" of social life, the author disagrees with my conclusion and argues that "music is neither transcendental nor trivial, but inhabits a site where hegemonic process are contested.   Placing music back to the world does not reduce music, but gives it social force."

It is with this force, this ability and power, whether transcendental or trivial, that music has in altering our collective perceptions that made it possible for someone like Petit Pays to muscle his way into the Cameroonian music scene in 1987 with Mandela Azania , a catchy makossa tribute to jailed freedom fighter, Nelson Mandela.   In spite of the fame that this brought him, Petit Pays really became a household name in Cameroon when in 1994 he posed nude for an album cover.   In that defiant act, he forever altered the social landscape of urban Cameroon popular culture, albeit rudely, and in the process realigning perceptions, a prerogative for human progress.

To fully appreciate the implications of that daring gesture, its depth and scope, one has to understand that in 1994, Cameroon had just marked four years of political pluralism, albeit begrudgingly, by the country's autocratic regime. The reactions of disgust came from different camps of Cameroon citing it as pornography and an insult to our traditional values.   Even characters with questionable reputations within the very corrupt government joined the chorus.

But, in spite of all the raucous it caused, the album was extremely successful in Cameroon and the region.   It was rumored that he was more popular in the Ivory Coast than he was at home.   Petit Pays, using music as a platform had made a tremendous political statement.   Agree or disagree with him, perceptions were changed for good.   Almost a decade later he dipped his foot in the pool of controversy once again when he wore a dress on yet another album.   Petit Pays knows controversy sells and has used this to his ends whilst igniting debate.   He remains embodiment of the social provocateur in the Cameroon music scene.   Because Petit Pays knows Cameroonians, their nocturnal activities and psychosexual urges, having grown up in one of Douala's squalid Quartiers .   Thus he is with the kink in them and has thus taken it upon himself to unhinge the society from those hidden urges.   In the process, he has built a loyal following at home and abroad, made a modest fortune and opened the doors of opportunity for many up and coming local musicians.  

I have a friend who is a master drummer from Guinea-Conakry.   His name is a Mohamed Diaby.   Mohamed's musical instruction was during Sekou Toure's Cultural Revolution.   Though only in his mid-thirties Mohamed is a musician of the ancient stock.   A veteran of the legendary Ballet Africaine, Mohamed is relatively young for a master drummer.    But then, when you consider the fact that Mohamed has been playing since he was seven years old only then can one begin to understand how he earned his rank amongst the great drummers of Guinea-Conakry.

According to Mohamed, music is sacred, echoing what Wilson pointed out earlier.   I have watched him cuddle and talk to his djembe like it was an infant.   I have also watched Mohamed trigger tears, trances and the most uninhibited of dances during performances in the Houston area.   Mohamed surmises his drum, a vital component of African music arsenal, as a medium of communication that heals with the ability to transcend language and culture.