Down the centuries, songs have been written for all kinds of reasons: to celebrate happy events, to mourn the passing of loved ones, to pray or even to fight for a better world. This is the second in a series of stories by Radio Netherlands Worldwide about protest songs from all over the world.

Africa has a long tradition of tribute songs. Kings, presidents, business moguls and even the most fearsome of tyrants are sweetly serenaded, often by the country’s most celebrated singers.

That side of the tradition is well known.

But there's another, lesser known side. Zimbabwean poet Albert Nyathi: “These tribute songs were also intended to inform leaders about what was going on in society. But that aspect has disappeared.” Modern-day presidents command modern-day security services and providing critical commentary has become a very risky business.

Song of fury
It’s a truth that Lapiro de Mbanga knows all too well. He spent three years behind bars in the Cameroon port of Douala. It nearly cost him his life. “The conditions are life threatening,” he said from his prison cell. “All requests for medical assistance are refused. It’s only thanks to my wife and all the international support that I’m still alive.”

His crime? Criticising President Paul Biya’s plans to change the constitution in order to remain in power for life. Lapiro wrote a furious song entitled Constitution Constipée, in which he condemned Biya’s plans using a wealth of proverbs and references and without once mentioning the president by name.

Singing between the lines
Getting the message across by implicit means is a craft that the African protest singer has mastered through the decades. In 1968 Luis Visconde recorded the song Chofer de Praça in the Angolan capital Luanda.

On the surface it seems to be an innocent ditty about a taxi driver who refuses to give a ride to a customer. But every Angolan immediately understood that it was really about a white Portuguese driver refusing to take his black customer to one of the poor districts of Luanda, where his loved one lived. The song was a protest against the everyday racism of the colonial power.

As the saying goes …
While Angolan colonial authorities understood Visconde's lyrics perfectly, singer and poet Thomas Mapfumo was able to capitalise on the colonists’ linguistic limitations in 1970s Rhodesia.

He switched from English to the African language of Shona and liberally sprinkled his lyrics with local sayings that carried a very clear message to anyone who was tuned into the cultural references. Eventually the authorities figured it out and Mapfumo served a three-month prison sentence in 1979. Yet his music became the soundtrack to Zimbabwe’s liberation, exactly one year later.

“I have always supported our struggle,” says Mapfumo years later after a late-night concert in London. “But that doesn’t mean I have to heap praise on a particular figure. After independence, things went wrong in my country and I pointed them out to people.” The result was songs with titles such as Corruption and Disaster. The country’s new leaders were not impressed. Mapfumo became the target of threatening phone calls. He now lives in exile in the United States.

Fela Kuti
Thomas Mapfumo’s story illustrates a major problem. You begin by fighting against the injustice of the old regime, but when it falls, the new regime demands loyalty and tribute songs from you. An artist who remains true to his or her principles is bound to suffer for them.

In Nigeria, flamboyant musical hero Fela Kuti has been arrested countless times. His song Zombie, a song that depicted soldiers as mindless robots, prompted a violent act of vengeance from the military.

But it doesn’t always end badly. Oumou Sangaré of Mali has spent her entire life fighting against polygamy, spurred on by her own bitter experience of the damage a father can do when he abandons his family for another woman or brings another woman into the family. Her tough-talking lyrics sparked a storm of criticism. But nowadays Sangaré is by far the most popular diva in her country. Her concerts are real parties where thousands of women sing along with every word.

Never give up
In the opinion of Lapiro de Mbanga, stopping singing is the same as giving in. Speaking from prison, he says “I have written protest songs all my life. As soon as I am released, I will go on doing so.” These are not just idle words: a new CD is scheduled for release later this year.

Organisation for musicians who are persecuted for expressing their views: www.freemuse.org