I
love YouTube. At least I am able to enjoy the latest music and old school songs
that have been uploaded by caring men and women of wit, talent and skill.
Another noble thought after sliced bread owing to the fact that one can watch
the latest movie trailers, video songs and home learn since the relevant videos
are just a click away.
The
other day I was glued to the box watching Coke Studio. It was the season grand
finale uploaded in their YouTube account. It was however a lackluster video if
the number of viewers is to go by and the lack of chutzpah it was to showcase.
But I did hang on for a while till I could not condone the motion pictures
anymore as it had the impact of making me smoother in a peaceful lull like an
insomniac having been infused with bouts of sleeping pills resulting in
amnesia.
Coke
hired a certain young sweet voiced heavily borrowed accented chic (I don't know
from where) to be the lead presenter of the show. Every time I went on YouTube
and the 'Ada Ada' song renditioned by Flavor and Victoria Kimani played as
an ad, I sat down and watched. The version was a success having more than a
million views in the few months after being uploaded. Not many Kenyan artistes have a million views. A friend who knows one of the biggest artiste in the country once said the artiste found them watching Diamond in the office and bemoaned. He wanted comments and views on his YouTube account. You know what that means, more mullas from YouTube.
That's probably the song that made me subscribe to Coke Studio. It was
electrifying and oozed symphony. Those tasked with creating the afro beats did
not disappoint either and the two had the requisite connection expected of a
9ja broda and a Kenya diva of majuu pedigree fused to create a modern and
authentic beat with seamless flow in sound on Kenya soil in a stage that was
neatly strewn with resplendence, ample lighting, enough props and a vibrant
audience that did not disappoint in this aural environment. The performative context
of the song made it sound like a love ballad easily capturing one’s attention
even if moody.
The three ladies who sang the background vocals did an awesome job and knew how
to be in sync with the musicians on stage contributing in the stage having a
vibrant appeal. But the most exhilarating part was the fact that the guitarists
and all those involved in the acoustics produced pulsating beats leaving one to
yearn for more.
So while watching the season grand finale, I must admit I was really irritated when the presenter
referred to ‘Iyanya’ as ‘Iyaya.’ Hitherto my African proclivity and to be
precise my opine was that the right articulation of the stage name of the West
African heartthrob was ‘Iyanya’ and not ‘Iyaya.’ The former (Iyanya) means ‘you
are verbally spewing insults on me’ in jang. So after watching another
video where he introduces himself, I came to learn that he is ‘Iyaya’ and not ‘Iyanya.’
Initially
I found the lady just alright considering I am a great fan of Capital fm which
has a couple of newscasters and radio presenters with Bri’ish and Uncle Sam
brogue of words which are uttered as if one is suffering from an acute cold
blocking the nasal cavity preventing flow of air to adequately access the vocal
cords. This ultimately results in the pulmonary pressure provided by the
lungs generating sound by phonation in the glottis in
the larynx that then is modified by the vocal tract into ersatz
American sounds in lieu of genuine Kenyan vowels and consonants.
I
wonder why those of oriental inflection never get preferential consideration
especially now that the top two countries we import from are Tigers.
One
of my cousins who knows Mandarin once told us about the queer tendencies of
some peeps from the renowned Asian giant. He was once told to go and serve
himself food as he was working in one of their firms. Apparently, their numbers
have proliferated in the recent past as a result of the many tenders they
get. Unbeknownst to him, he thought it was a normal delicacy
that he is accustomed to. He was shocked to find reptiles that had sumptuously
been prepared staring at him like a tot does without blinking the eyelids even
if you fake a prod. At least the for the short period he served, he became a
proficient Mandarin speaker by design.
I
have never understood why people develop accents when they speak in the Queen’s
patois. One of my sisters was in a local university where almost all the
comrades had gainfully acquired American umlaut.
Kenyans
are a very funny people. One can stay in India for over ten years but still
never acquire the Indian diacritic while another whiling away years in academic
pursuit in the desertish and highly segregative Kasarani school of higher
education can easily outdo an American when it comes to twanging by default
association.
The
few Americans (whites) I have interacted with don’t twang like some of the
ladies who want to appear cooler do. They are easy with life and none has ever
admired acquiring a Kenyan accent. Who will tell our ladies and some
cheap publicity seeking boys that an accent is not a measure of how sophisticated
or cool you are.
Ideally,
if you acquire such accents by association and not as a result of nurture, then
it only means we are still slaves of our own creation. That is the reason I
usually admire South Africans and Nigerians. Just by the tone of their voice,
one can easily tell the nationality of such a person.
In
Kenya, a patois of American descent can easily earn you a job if you have
fluency and diction in some of the local TV and radio stations even when
lacking solid content between the ears.
I
still don’t know the person who made it fanciful to speak in foreign accents (I
would have hanged him with tissue paper). The culprit made us loose one thing
that could have easily aided in giving Kenyans identity, voice intonation and
tonal variation. Sad we pride in other people’s accents yet the Italians are still
thought of as romantic as they carelessly and spitefully express themselves in
English.
