How Congolese rhumba became the soundtrack of Tanzanian life – and why we are giggling about it!
TANZANIANS are easy-going folks who love their music. Give them anything with a good beat and they will dance from sunrise to the next sunrise, no questions asked.
At least that has been the trend for years. No complaints. Just a peaceful nation swaying to the rhythm—until recently.
Now, it seems music lovers have woken up from a long, rhythmic slumber and started to get picky for the first time in history.
Picky? Yes, picky! And the reason?
Well, we have a flood of musicians from the Democratic Republic of Congo who have practically set up musical camps across Tanzanian towns, captivating hearts and eardrums left, right and centre.
Once upon a time, these Congolese guys used to know the magic formula: take a good Lingala beat, add some Swahili lyrics and voilà! You had a Tanzanian hit.
But now, they seem to have thrown the formula out of the window.
Today they are serving pure, unfiltered Lingala like it’s on sale. No Swahili in sight.
It’s like going to your favourite restaurant and finding they’ve replaced the ugali with French fries. Sure, fries are nice, but… where’s the ugali?
Do you feel me?
Let us rewind to the glorious musical past when the battle for Tanzanian hearts was as fierce as a Simba vs Yanga showdown.
On one side, you had the legendary Orchestra Maquis du Zaire, led by the iconic Nguza Viking, strumming up a storm with Zembwela tunes, hence his promotion to ‘Field Marshall’.
On the other, you had Orchestra Safari Sound with the genius Ndala Kasheba and his twelve-string guitar that could make even the most stoic elder break into a shoulder wobble.
Kasheba, whom fans called ‘Maestro’ killed it with Kesi ya Khanga, Marashi ya Pemba, Nimlile nani and Dunia Msogamano – to name but some of his hits.
Nguza Viking was no slouch either, giving us Kadiri Kansimba, Maida, wedding anthem Seya and Karubandika, tracks so sweet you could practically taste them…
Music played by these guys then was so addictive you’d think they had been sprinkled with a dash of spices from Pemba.
Meanwhile, the cheeky Diamond Sound band slid in between these two giants and won over the masses with their playful Ikibinda Nkoi style.
Their hit number, Neema was simply out of this world and their Mwenge venue was like ‘Kwa Mkapa’ during a Simba and Yanga duel in terms of throngs of fans.
It was like watching a football team sneak in a last-minute goal—no one saw it coming, but everyone was cheering.
Later on, MK Sound stepped into the arena, delivering some of the smoothest melodies, having morphed from MK Beats under ‘Iron Lady’ Asha binti Baraka.
They eventually evolved into FM International, which then transformed into FM Academia —each iteration ruling the airwaves like a dictator with a playlist.
These musicians from DRC weren’t just talented; they knew how to charm the crowd, not only with beats but with Swahili lyrics that hit home like an unexpected holiday.
But that was then and this, sadly, is now…. and what do we have? Lingala. All. Day Long.
Attend any show featuring Congolese musicians, and you’ll be treated to 29-minute Lingala lullabies that make you question if you have wandered into the wrong country.
It’s not that the music is bad—no one’s denying the power of good Congolese vocals and guitar riffs — but seriously, where’s the Swahili? We are in Tanzania jamani, right?
Imagine sitting there, nodding along politely as a singer serenades in Lingala the whole night, only to realise you have no idea what they are saying.
You could be jamming to a song about boiled bananas, for all you know!
And it’s not just the Congolese musicians who have gone rogue; even local bands and musicians have caught the fever.
Our beloved Tanzanian groups have become so Congolese in their ways that it’s like they’ve been possessed by the spirit of François Luambo Luanzo Makiadi himself.
Or, for the sake of modernity, everybody now is either Fally Ipupa N’simba, known professionally as Fally Ipupa or Hervé Gola Bataringe, aka Ferré Gola.
You will sit through these performances with three distinct stages: first, a vocal warm-up that feels like it lasts until lunch, second is an intermediate chorus that seems endless….
Then the third, an hour-long grand Sebene finale, complete with 60 rap shoutouts to every friend, cousin and goat that lives in the neighbourhood.
It’s exhausting! And don’t get me started on our wazawa bands.
Nowadays, the Wazawa guys, before the show even kicks off, they’ll spend two hours warming up with—wait for it—Congolese oldies!
Why? Nobody knows. It’s as if they’re trying to summon the musical ghosts of Kinshasa.
Even Twanga Pepeta, our stars who have graced the stage for decades with 19 albums to their name, have fallen under the Congolese spell.
Instead of warming up with one of their countless Swahili hits, they will dust off Madilu System’s Pesa Position.
They will go like;
“Bolingo eleki na nga oh, Angela.
“Ekosa nga na zua maladi eh.
“Nalinga mibali kasi na suki
“Nafukami epayi naye….”
(Translate that if you can….)
Excuse me? We came for Kisa cha Mpemba, not a tour of Kisangani!
The other day, music critic extraordinaire Saidi Mdoe couldn’t contain his frustration anymore.
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He was attending a Twanga Pepeta concert when he leaned over and asked, “Who in the name of Tanzanian music decided it was a great idea to toss out Swahili?”
A good question, indeed.
Are we witnessing the slow takeover of Kinshasa in our musical hearts?
Or is it just a phase, like those wild hairstyles and bell bottoms and slim-fit shirts from the ’90s that we would all rather forget?
If you think it’s just the bands, think again. Even our DJs have long hopped on the Lingala train.
You go to a wedding or a party and the DJ—who should be firing up the crowd with Sikinde, Msondo, or Bongo Flava bangers—is instead dropping Congolese classics.
It’s like you walked into a party expecting to hear Diamond Platinumz or Konde Boy but ended up with a 60-minute Zaiko Langa Langa marathon.
When you go to a wedding or any social event, you’ll be lucky to hear many Bongo Flava hits – at least unless the hosts threaten to throw them out.
Sure, Congolese music is nice. But every single event? C’mon! Can’t we mix it up?
Bongo Fleva has hit after hit, but our DJs seem to think the only place hits come from is the Congo River.
Every music critic worth their salt is scratching their heads.
Mdoe and countless others are all asking the same question: who, in the name of Tanzanian music, decided that the road to musical success lies in the DRC?
Did someone commission a study? Was there a national vote? If so, I missed the memo!
Just the other day, I went to see Msondo Ngoma, one of the oldest and most beloved bands in Africa.
They have been playing since 1964, and they have stood the test of time like a musical monument.
But oh, dear reader, how my heart broke that night.
I had to stop myself from leaving halfway through because their two-hour warm-up set felt like a tribute to the Congolese Hall of Fame.
By the time the main show started, I wasn’t sure if I was still in Dar es Salaam or if I had somehow teleported to Lubumbashi.
To conclude— and, hey! Let me be crystal clear here— I have no beef with Congolese or any other musicians coming to work their magic in Tanzania.
They can dance, strum and sing to their heart’s content!
The issue here isn’t with their talent, their style, or even their Lingala lyrics when used sparingly.
My only problem is this: Swahili.
Just sing in Swahili, like they used to in the good old Maquis du Zaire and Orchestra Safari Sound days. It’s really that simple.
Back then, they knew how to connect with Tanzanian audiences through Swahili and we loved them for it. Bring that back!.
All I am asking for is a return to that harmonious blend.
Give us those beautiful beats wrapped up in a language we understand and cherish. That’s it. That’s all I ask for, nothing else!
Now, who wouldn’t want that?
