How Tanzanian celebs uut-Nigerianed Nigeria — and forgot their own tailors

DAR ES SALAAM – Mid this week, aboard a private jet shimmering like freshly oiled cheeks in a wedding convoy, a crew of Tanzanian celebrities took off from Dar es Salaam’s Julius Nyerere International Airport.

Destination: Nigeria. Occasion: a traditional wedding. Attire: an unprovoked fashion coup.

Leading the ensemble was none other than Bongo Flava’s finest export, Juma Mussa Mkambala, better known as JUX, flying out to attend the second traditional wedding to his Naija sweetheart Priscilla Ojo.

The first ceremony had already lit up Dar, but now they were taking it “homehome” the ancestral home of the bride, Lagos.

The delegation included artists, influencers, fashionistas, stylists, hangers-on and one confused uncle who thought he was going to Abuja for an AU summit.

Now, here’s where the plot thickens like mtori left overnight. One would have expected our stars to arrive showcasing East African elegance kanzu, kitenge, maybe some tasteful Maasai beads, a little Zanzibar swag, or at the very least, a Kikoi scarf flapping gently in the Atlantic breeze.

But no. What came out of that jet was a full-blown Nollywood production in living colour. Agbadas the size of camping tents, headwraps so tall they could interfere with Lagos flight paths and beadwork so dramatic it made King Jaja of Opobo look minimalist.

These weren’t just Tanzanians attending a Nigerian wedding.

These were Nigerians… in cosplay… impersonating Nigerians! As the cabin door opened, the first man stepped out wearing a white agbada so wide, it caught the Harmattan breeze and lifted like a parachute. For a second, we feared he’d drift into the Gulf of Guinea.

Thankfully, his Gucci loafers had enough weight to anchor him down. But the real shock came when one of the immigration officers squinted and asked, “Na wa o, this one dey come from Lagos or Dar?”

Back in the arrivals hall, a small auntie selling puff-puff did a double take, blinked twice and muttered, “These Tanzanians have colonised our culture.

They’ve taken it, deep-fried it and served it back with extra pepper.” One of the Tanzanian ladies had tied her gele so aggressively high, the Nigerian bridesmaids had to look up to speak to her.

No joke the bridal makeup artist stopped midway through contouring and declared, “I no fit reach your standard, aunty. Your headtie get altitude sickness!”

And then came the most unforgivable part: not a single one of them rocked anything Tanzanian. No hints of makonde carvings, no nod to Swahili coastal elegance.

Not even a bag with the flag of Tanzania as a passive-aggressive flex. Instead, they marched into the wedding looking like they were auditioning for a remake of Chief Daddy 3:

The Swahili Heir. Now, we understand wanting to honour the host’s culture. That’s nice. That’s polite. But this? This was full cultural surrender.

This was waving a white agbada of defeat and saying, “We hereby declare Tanzanian fashion dead on arrival.” One of the Naija uncles at the wedding leaned over to another and said, “So these are the Tanzanians?

But they look more Yoruba than my own son who failed his traditional rites exam!”

Back home in Dar, even our old school tailors those veteran fundis who’ve stitched generations of kanzus, dera and vitenge watched the Instagram stories and collectively wept into their Singer machines.

“We taught them embroidery,” one sighed “and they flew to Nigeria for costume drama.”

Tanzanian netizens didn’t let it slide at all! The fashion faux pas slapped harder than an unpaid TANESCO bill.

And leading the digital outrage parade with tears and trembles was none other than Mama Rita Paulsen, our forever Bongo Star Search queen. In her now-viral Instagram clip, she looked like she’d just watched a documentary titled

“The Death of Tanzanian Identity: A Story Told in Nigerian Fabrics.”

With eyes misty and voice quivering like a TV signal during rain, she asked, “Why? WHY didn’t they wear Tanzanian outfits? Even Maasai! Just something East African!” But the real scream was hidden behind her silence.

Mama Rita, without saying it out loud, was clearly mourning our national costume that never was. A whole two-decade search for a Tanzanian vazi la taifa and we still don’t even have a sleeve to show for it.

And guess who inherited that cursed file like? None other than Dr Kedmon Mapana, the musicloving, lecture-hardened warrior who left the University of Dar to join the National Arts Council, full of hope and cultural fire. The first file on his new bureaucratic desk?

The cursed “National Costume Project.” That same dusty, bureaucratically frozen file that has outlived three ministers, five national football coaches, several Bongo Fleva beefs and three BASATA executive secretaries.

But wait it gets better. Right after that, Dr Mapana opened File No 2: The Search for a National Beat.

Yes, guys, they actually tried to define an official Tanzanian rhythm! And believe it or not, proposed samples do exist you can probably find them next to the lost city of Atlantis or in the cabinet where government reports go to die.

But alas, our musicians are too busy dancing amapiano with South African beats and Instagram filters to care about homegrown rhythms. If it doesn’t have a Zulu bassline and TikTok challenge, it’s dead-on arrival.

Poor Dr Mapana must be tearing his remaining hair out, watching years of committee meetings, cultural consultations and press conferences dissolve into memes about celebrities in gele and agbada, pretending they’ve just come from a Nollywood casting call.

He’s probably back at his desk right now, sharpening his pencil, reopening that tragic costume file, flipping through decades of sketches, proposals and passionate letters from elders in Mwanza who believe “kitenge is sacred” and Maasai elders from Ngorongoro who say, “nothing beats shuka and beads.”

And yet nothing! Everything is still on the drawing board, like many, many other such projects. Reason? Nobody knows! It’s a Bermuda Triangle of ideas. Projects go in.

Nothing ever comes out. Meanwhile, Mama Rita continues to sob softly in her geles-less, authentically Tanzanian kaftan, whispering, “Even Sudan has a national dress…” while online memes go like, “Breaking News: Our National Costume is Missing. If found, please return to BASATA or Mama Rita.”

Oh no! Another Instagram auntie exclaimed in dismay: “If Mwalimu Nyerere were alive today, he’d cancel passports and open a fashion rehab centre at Butiama.”

Now, guys, let’s not forget fashion is personal. People should wear what they love. But surely, surely, there must be a line between appreciation and cosplay confusion.

Because if your attire causes local police to suspect you of being part of a secret cult or air traffic control to mistake your gele for drone activity, then we need a cultural intervention.

The cherry on this already outrageous sundae came during the dance session. The DJ, out of love and courtesy, played a Tanzanian Bongo Flava hit. The crowd cheered.

Finally! A taste of Bongo! Our agbada warriors took to the dance floor… and broke into kwaito steps. Not mdundiko, not ngoma ya asili, not even that bentknee Mbeya wedding groove.

Kwaito, my friend. From South Africa. Wrong country, wrong continent vibe! One auntie in the corner nearly dropped her plate of jollof rice. “Ahn ahn, even their dancing is outsourced?”

Back home, elders from Tanga to Tabora have called for a national wardrobe summit. Recommendations include a 30 per cent local fashion quota at every international event, a vitenge revival strategy and a mandatory rewatching of Nandy’s old music videos for cultural realignment.

Guys. Guys. Guys! As a nation, we cannot continue to be strangers to our own identity. It’s one thing to visit your in-laws; it’s another to show up acting like their long-lost cousins from Ogun State.

There’s no harm in dressing to impress but impress them with your own vibe, jamani! Our ancestors didn’t cross Lake Victoria in dugout canoes for you to end up wearing someone else’s tribal prints without credit.

As we say in Swahili, “Samahani, lakini kama hujui ulichovaa, umevaa shida.”

(Sorry, but if you don’t know what you’re wearing, you’re wearing a problem.) So next time Tanzanian celebs are invited to a wedding across the continent, here’s a humble suggestion: Show up in a well-tailored kanzu with a Maasai shuka throw over the shoulder.

Let the lady come through in a flowing dera adorned with Tingatinga motifs. Add Swahili accessories with spice. Let your fashion whisper, “I’m Tanzanian and proud,” not scream, “I borrowed this from Nollywood’s costume department.”

Because, guys, if we keep this up, don’t be surprised if one day our celebrities show up in Accra dressed as Egyptian pharaohs… or worse, in Kigali dressed like Wakanda extras.

Until then, may your gele be grounded, your agbada optional and your khanga loud and proud. Happy Easter Sunday, and God bless East African tailors everywhere!