By Mathew K. Jallow, Associate Editor

The year was 1970, and it was a spectacularly beautiful day. And nearly sixteen miles away from Banjul, Yundum Airport was besieged by thousands of eager young and not so young Gambians, from all over the Greater Banjul area. And although there was no red carpet reception at the foot of the aircraft, it was nonetheless a welcome fit for a King. On that day, so long ago, even President Dawda K. Jawara was gracious enough to provide his official limousine and several other government vehicles for the occasion, if only to help the young people of our country celebrate the most important guests the youth had ever invited to grace our shores. Around 11 a.m. that morning, the aircraft landed, and the world renowned couple, Stokely Carmichael and his wife Marian Makeba, emerged from the inside shadow of the aircraft to a roaring mass of humanity. Stokely Carmichael, the activist who coined the phrase Black Power, and a leading member of the machine gun totting Black Panther Movement, was on exile from of all places, the U.S. Luckily; he found refuge in Guinea Conakry, with his wife Mariam Makeba, an activist in her own right, also a refugee from the apartheid regime of South Africa. Together, the couple and the former Ghanaian President Dr. Kwame Nkrumah, who had been removed from power by his army, were guests of President Ahmed Sekou Toure of Guinea Conakry. It was in Guinea that the couple framed their global political message of liberation and social justice; a clear departure from narrow and limiting nationalist agenda which had been their mantras. The global message became necessary, because wherever they went; they saw cruelty and oppression against black people.

Mariam Makeba’s journey was a long and winding one. She had a destiny in mind, yet she traveled wherever the winds took her. Her melodious and mournful lyrics sang of love and living, but also of death and dying, of oppression and brutality, of exploitation and inhumanity, of misery and hope, and of her peoples’ perennial yearning for freedom. If the winds blew her to the east, the west, and the north, it was because she knew she would find her voice there too. Everywhere she traveled, she took with her the story of pain and of suffering of her fellow countrymen and women in her native South Africa. Makeba was articulate enough to espouse her message in speeches; instead she chose to deliver them in song. And soon a compassionate world began to take notice and listen to her delicious poetry: poetry of song that captured the sound of whips, and cries of agony, of barking killer dogs unleashed on young children and old seniors, and of tortures and gruesome murders. Makeba had already left her mark on the world long before Tambo Mbeki and long before the world ever heard of the real story of Nelson Mandela’s ordeal. She was the real face of oppression in South Africa, the ambassador extraordinaire for the twenty million black people who then lived in bondage under an evil racist regime. In her latter years, her journey was our journey too, for she took the message of Africa wherever she went. Mariam Makeba has serenaded millions around the world, from the vine yard valleys of California, to the exquisite beauty of the fjords of Norway, from the highlands and meadows of Scotland, to the ancient ruins of Greece, and along the way, she received more awards for her exceptional singing and story-telling talents than anyone on the singing circuits.

During the whole week Mariam Makeba and her husband Stokely Carmichael were in Banjul, I had the fortune of accompanying them to many places. Mariam Makeba treated me almost like her son, all because I was a friend of her revolutionary husband, Stokely Carmichael, long before the couple was invited to visit The Gambia. During their visit, they lived on New Primet Street, one block away from the home of ex-minister Yahya Ceesay on Box Bar Road. I remember the fiery one-hour oratory of Stokely Carmichael in Crab Island School’s assembly hall. I had a front seat, because Carmichael demanded a special treatment for his young radical friend. In speech, Carmichael’s passion was loud and infectious. He was a master orator, and his delivery on that day, was miles apart from what we “young revolutionaries” were accustomed to hearing on street corners around Banjul from Tonya Youth Movement members. This is not to diminish the efforts of older brothers such as the late Dr. Willy Baldeh, Musa Bala Gaye, the late Ebrima Mbenga, Dr. Adama Mboge, Junkunda Daffeh, and of course Dr. Saja Taal, who were the vanguards of a revolutionary movement whose activities partly influenced some of us. Carmichael had a message that had global impact, and his gift of oratory and Mariam Makeba’s gift of song, fused the dynamic duo together in ways that made their message resonate around the world. Until she passed away late last week, Mariam Makeba remained the soul singer whose message had evolved to transcend the race and nationality politics of her native South Africa. In death, Makeba has become a national treasure in South Africa, the former ambassador plenipotentiary of Africa and an icon on the world stage. Though the voice of Mariam Makeba has been silenced, her message will echo around the world for as long as we live, and the good she did will never be undone. I will treasure the moments I had been around her, the grace and motherly kindness she smothered me with, and the lessons of kindness I learnt from her. The world is a little less glorious without her.