Salif Keita

Last night I went to see Salif Keita at the Stade Modibo Keita. He is doing a Mali-wide tour, playing in municipal stadiums at a fraction of the cost of his usual tickets (so, you know, an actual Malian person might be able to afford to see him.) Standard tickets, with seating in the bleachers, cost about $4; ‘Carte VIP’ tickets, with seating on the grass (the stage was a temporary platform on the grass), cost about $10.

The concert was a mix of things I love and hate about Africa (mass generalizations to follow.) The tickets said the start time was 9 p.m., so I figured if we got there around 10, the opening act might have just started. We got there around 10:30 and… nothing. So we went and sat on the grass and talked and it was really very pleasant, but still – people here idolize him. $4, much less $10, is a not insignificant amount to a lot of the people in that audience. How is starting three hours late not enormously disrespectful? I know there must be something I’m not understanding.

The ‘VIP’ section was being kept behind a line, guarded by police. When he started playing, he told the audience we could all get up and come closer, so there was a minor stampede; after we’d been up near the stage for half a song or so, the police got anxious and started pushing people back, even going so far as to take out a piece of fabric (a belt?) and threaten to hit people with it. There was also a remarkably officious woman in pink bazin – part of the entourage, I guess – encouraging the police to make the line of demarcation further back. I hate these exercises of petty authority where minor officials are obstreperous and unhelpful just because they have the power to deny people something. I hate, hate, hate it – how can people want to, say, organize a girls’ club if they have to get 10 stupid bureaucrats to condescend to sign off on it? I feel like people are discouraged to do anything before they even start by the knowledge that some jackass behind a desk will withhold his stamp just because he can, just because you haven’t been adequately obsequious – or keep concertgoers an extra foot back just because she wants to – or whatever. Grrr.

Then when we were leaving, we had to pass through a gate. For no apparent reason, a chain was wrapped around it so that only one person at a time could get out. There was absolutely no reason – beyond the gate there was only open space and then the parking lot. So what was the goddamn point? None, except someone decided to be the expert on crowd control and force people to do his bidding. (Or, possibly, the gate was chained shut for some excellent reason in the past and then someone lost the key.)

But…. when he started playing, I totally forgave – in fact, forgot – my irritation at the three hour delay. Because it was amazing. He had such a rapport with the crowd, and everybody around me seemed pretty close to delirious with joy. I was a couple people away from the police line – the dudes who had been threatening to beat us – and two minutes later, they were shaking hands and flirting and laughing with the dancing audience, and mouthing the words along as well. (The medusa of the pink bazin had disappeared.) It’s really hard to explain how cool it was. We were outside, under the stars and gibbous moon, with a rocky cliff framing the stage. He played mostly songs from Mbemba, the only album I’ve listened to a lot, so I got to feel as though I knew what was going on, a refreshing rarity. There was an amazing dancer – this tall skinny guy who came out in a variety of costumes (from full-on Touareg to a mask and some cowrie shells to Eurotrash white linen suit with big shades.) One of the female backup singers/dancers came out into the centre of the stage and – well, shook her ass with incredible skill and dexterity. The djembe and kora players and lead guitarist had awe-inspiring solos, with Salif looking on and shaking his head in amazement. And he and his gorgeous voice, stumping around the stage barefoot, saluting the crowd and pressing his hand to his heart – it made me want to cry. I left euphoric and that state continues this morning (although sleep deprivation and an excess of caffeine may be contributing) – this is such a wonderful city and country and I am so lucky to be here.