DNA's feminism

The song that placed DNA on a pedestal, Mukandipepesele, was not – at least in gender relations – ambivalent. It was clear. It was a song that portrayed the world of men: a world in which they make mistakes that leave a trail of hurt – unintentionally; and, thereafter, they seek to make things right – with little success most times.  

Now, he has returned. This time, his album is called Dziko la amuna. In recent years, an album has never been ambiguous as the 13 track album that DNA has released. The literal translation of Dziko la amuna is twofold: one, it is a world for males; two, like in the song that introduced him on the local music scene, it is a world of males – that invisible yet occupied space.

In the song that introduces the album, Odala, there is little that relates to the album title. It is, however, in the second song that DNA takes his audience through the world of males. A world in which value is based on the monetary possessions of a man. Not his intentions.

Waminga m’thumba, to name the song, is one that a lot of males would relate with. In which the love they had, and held, fled because they had nothing. Here, DNA speaks for the males with whom he shares a gender and experience.

But, DNA did not make this album to be a spokesperson for males. He made the album to talk about, and across, gender divides. Thus, the song that comes third on the album slaps males in the face. It brings out the inherent advantages that males possess in the world – not only of males, but one in which they share with females.

Azasintha is a song that presents daily realities of most women, even in the 21st Century, behind the veneer of reports on progress of achieving gender equality by state and otherwise actors. It is the realities of being forced to endure abuses in marriages because of those adages and those bridal shower advices that have sought to entrench the status quo in gender relations.

Men cry too, although mostly silently. This world of men is hardly visible. However, DNA in Kunakakhala bureau kumanda unmasks that world. With care and tenderness, he paints grief and loss as some caricature in a desert of despondency and hopelessness. In the song, a man mourns after a lost love, to death.

In it, so far one of my best on the album, DNA highlights how men keep looking for a love that went – with no success. It is a world of men, in which after a loss they are urged to move on. Marry. Laugh. Forget.

The sympathy for this world of men is, nevertheless, short-lived. In Selina, DNA points at the hypocrisy that drives this world – the world that favours men, the men’s world. A man, at a bar, gets distrustful of a Selina he meets at the bar who wants to spend her life with him.

It is a quiet, yet angry, observation this: that for a man being at a bar, soliciting sex, nothing is considered amiss yet when it is a woman at a bar, selling sex, then hell is pronounced upon her.

The feminism from DNA continues, it is actually a stronger thread, on the album. In Tang’atang’a, he highlights yet another injustice that exists in the world that was designed for men.

You remember that Patrick Tung’ande oldie, A Pat Mwatikhumudwitsa, the part in the second verse that comes after a bridge, that seemingly needless line that faults that Pat man for intending to have his woman in trouble with his relations? Well, if you do, that is the message in Tang’atang’a; if you do not know it, then listen to Tang’atang’a. In the meantime, the brief of it is: a man goes out, comes back with diseases, the family of the man descends on the woman with all sorts of accusations.

It is almost a stereotype, that presentation of gender relations within families and beyond, but it also speaks so much to the feminism thread that DNA has embedded in his latest release.

Anandikondapo, another of my best on the album, is a song that is not clear when contextualised within the central message of the album. In one breath, it is a song that presents the world of males; yet in another, it presents the world as one for males.

DNA uses an angle that most musicians have not used in singing about love – and heartbreak. In the song, a jilted woman advises the one coming after her that she is not inheriting paradise. What is worse? It is a journey she has ever been through and the new woman should not think that the journey will end differently for her.

 A rushed critic might dismiss this as an angry ex’s rant. But, DNA – or rather the voice – is patient on the song. In the opening lines, one might actually be forgiven to think it is a religious song, only to be slapped in the face when the actual lines start rolling.

As a world of males, it is one in which to break a heart is considered a norm. A routine. In which it is assumed that there is no pain they carry after that experience. As a world for males, it is one in which a man can just switch from a woman to the woman’s friend and, thereafter, keep looking for ‘the one’ without society questioning his behaviour. That song by Dolly Parton Just because I am a woman finds an equivalent – almost – in Anandikondapo.

Dziko la amuna is a contemporary album. Following on the tradition of Matafale (eventually carried on by his remnant band of Black Missionaries) who named his albums Kuimba, another of a tradition that Lawi has mastered, there is no song on the album that is titled as the album.

Its contemporariness also lies in the compositions. Ndikudikilabe, despite being another of that feminist critique on religion, is a song that touches on the lies and illusions of modern religion.

Being gender fluid, again, DNA uses the voice of a woman who was tricked by a Prophet-Pastor that she was going to get married (yes, marriage and women – do not miss the sarcasm there) only to realise that his promises were illusions and lies. Nothing materialises. You can add: like most modern religious promises.  

The album is not just a commentary on gender. It is not just a juxtaposition of feminist, anti-feminist oxymoron. It is also an album with politics, a beautiful view of it with the current – and coming – times. It is also an album on love. On life. On death. On religion.

It is an album that has ascertained DNA – or let us call him by his name now that he is all about making a name: Daniel Kaliwo – as an actual musician who can move across themes, genres and make music relevant for all ages, across times, in a world that men might think they own yet cannot even comprehend it themselves especially when faced by realities such as love and death.