been embraced in hiphop communities throughout Africa, and in many cases there has been an understanding of the five elements of hip-hop as well as hiphop values of authenticity, or “keeping it real.” Hip-hop’s five elements, recognized as the foundation of hip-hop culture, are the emcee (MC, or rap artist), the DJ, the b-boy or b-girl (breakdancer), the graffiti artist, and knowledge (of self) (Kitwana 2002; Chang 2005). The official website of the Universal Zulu Nation, a hip-hop collective that began in the 1970s in New York City, describes the five elements:
1. Graffiti is the writing of language or the scribe that documents the history.
2. Emcee is the oral griot, the conveyer of the Message.
3. DJing is the heart beat, the drum of the art or movement; DJ comes from the Djembe drum.
4. B-Boy/Girl is the exercise and the human expression through dance or body movement to keep the body in proper health.
5. Knowledge is the reason why we are who we are where did our roots comes [sic] from, what is the beginning of Man and where are we today. How do we take the artistic expression of Hip Hop and find our purpose in LIFE! (UZN, n.d.)
In Kenya, Malawi, Senegal, South Africa, Tanzania, Uganda, Zambia, Zimbabwe, we see that hip-hop artists have embraced these hip-hop elements (Haupt 2008; Parris 2008; Mose 2011, 2013; Casco 2012; Charry 2012; Fenn 2012; Perullo 2012; Clark 2013; Kellerer 2013). In a 2011 interview, Ghanaian artist Edem indicated that hip-hop was about “staying true to yourself.” In interviews with artists in Tanzania, several indicated that hip-hop was about representing the streets and keeping it real (Clark 2013). Malian emcee Amkoullel l’enfant Peul spoke in our interview about the importance of preserving the history of African hip-hop, as well as its connection with hip-hop’s roots, in both New York and African cultures.
Hip-Hop and Representation
Universally the question of hip-hop authenticity has been a subject of debate, and definitions of hip-hop authenticity have varied. The link between hip-hop authenticity and an artist’s relationship to poor, urban communities (ghettos) is based on hip-hop’s emergence from the Black urban underclass, as a response to the wealth of the elite and corruption and racism among public figures. This brings us back to the idea of representation, a core aspect of hip-hop. Place and representation—where an artist represents—is almost as important as what an artist represents. Because of hip-hop’s origins many still believe that in order to be authentically hip-hop one needs to be from the ghetto and espouse “ghetto” values, to speak to and represent “ghetto” culture (McLeod 1999; Forman 2002; S. Watkins 2005; L. Watkins 2012; Williams and Stroud 2014). The US hip-hop group Blahzay Blahzay captures the presence of these values in hip-hop in their 1996 song “Danger”: “I rocks hardcore, even when I dress suited. / On some business shit my street is deep rooted.” The idea of these lines and this belief is that even with money and when outside the physical space of the ghetto, being hip-hop means maintaining roots in ghetto culture.
These ideas are found throughout hip-hop in Africa, where gangster rap and also artists taking on “ghetto” identities have been popular. In countries like Malawi and South Africa gangster rap became popular and spawned several gangster rap artists (Haupt 2001, 2008; Fenn 2012). In the “ghettos” of Nima (or Boogie Down Nima, in Accra), Temeke (or TMK, Dar es Salaam), Dandora (Nairobi), Pikine (Dakar), Ajegunle (Lagos), Khayelitsha (Cape Town), and Soweto (Johannesburg), artists have emerged proudly representing their “ghetto” as a badge of authenticity. Groups like Tanzania’s Niggas with Matatizo (problems) and Bantu Pound Gangsters reflect this celebration of the “hood” in their names. In South Africa many artists represent kasi (ghetto or township) identities. This is reflected in the names of artists like KasiTime, or songs like “Kasi Shit” by Q’ba, and with numerous South African artists identifying as kasi artists or kasi rap.
There is also the idea that “hip-hop must be a representation of the ghetto in order to be authentic,” which serves as a defense mechanism. There is an inherent rejection of mainstream society, the same mainstream society that has marginalized individuals from the ghetto. Murray Forman (2002) and Byron Hurt (2006) suggest that the importance and celebration of ghetto representation in hip-hop comes from a lack of real power, and any power and strength one has is limited to within the ghetto and is not transferable. Mbali Langa suggests that artists attempt to “reclaim the word ‘ghetto’ as a marker of power and identity” (2010, 30). During an interview with South African emcee Yugen Blakrok, she expressed a similar sentiment, suggesting that in the face of the racism keeping Blacks out of the nicer areas, Black youth developed kasi identities that actually espouse an insincere preference for ghetto life.
Kembrew McLeod’s 1999 study of hip-hop authenticity concludes that authentic hip-hop means representing yourself, your reality, and your culture, especially underground and urban cultures. It also includes understanding “hip-hop’s cultural legacy” and core values. These ideas of hip-hop authenticity have been discussed by several authors (Forman 2002; S. Watkins 2005; Pennycook 2007; Hess 2009; Weiss 2009). Research examining hip-hop outside the United States has also addressed the topics of authenticity and representation within local hip-hop communities. Brad Weiss’s (2009) research on Tanzania, Christopher Dennis’s (2011) work on Afro-Colombian rap, Usama Kahf’s (2011) look at Arabic hip-hop, and Caroline Mose’s (2014) examination of hip-hop in Kenya are examples. In a project on hip-hop in Sierra Leone, Abdul Fofanah of the Moving to the Beat project discusses how “a progressive hip-hop identity centers on understanding its own historical roots” (Haaken, Wallin-Ruschman, and Patange 2012, 67). Fofanah goes on to discuss the importance of representing the streets, in embracing a global Black identity in which the marginalized have a voice (Haaken, Wallin-Ruschman, Patange 2012). Klara Boyer-Rossol (2014) finds similar sentiments among many hip-hop artists in Madagascar who she said had adopted a “Makoa” identity. The Makoa are descendants of the enslaved Africans brought to Madagascar who settled on the eastern coast of the island (Dina 2001; Boyer-Rossol 2014). Madagascar is a country whose population is a mix of the African and Asian settlers who came to the island, and as a result, among the population one finds a mixture of features that reveal these African and Asian origins. Thus, claiming a Makoa identity establishes the connection of these artists to a global Black identity. This claim of authenticity and Black identity is further emphasized when considering their claimed distinction from artists from the western part of the island, who are said to be descendants of Asian migrants to the island (Boyer-Rossol 2014).
In the 2006 track “Soldados Civis,” the Angolan hip-hop group Kalibrados declares how they view and represent hip-hop:
RAP is attitude
. . .
Potent rhymes over fat beats
Waited too long
Now it’s our turn
. . .
This is our love
And we take it personally
We heard
Want your respect
Criticize the country for the good of the nation
Our baggy pants is a matter of identification
We don’t use uniforms but fight for the country
Guerrillas out of the woods
Civilian soldiers
Guerrillas out of the woods
Civilian soldiers.1
Representation in hip-hop allows
