Breaking Taboos In Zanzibar

The first all-woman taraab ensemble in Zanzibar challenges traditional norms and brings a social message, too.

Sitting outside on a hotel terrace, Mariam Hamdan and her female-only band treat onlookers to a fascinating and original performance of Swahili taarab music.

The violin's melody, the qanun's low hum, and the dum dum from the tambourine provide a soundtrack to views of the Zanzibar coastline; the forlorn ballads communicate a sense of yearning and lost love.

In tribute to their Zanzibari heritage, the women are dressed in traditional, brightly-colored cotton kaftans and wear head wraps. The significance of their performance is not lost on the audience: this is the only female taarab troupe that has surfaced in Zanzibar for decades.

The name taarab is borrowed from the Arabic word tarab, which means to reach a state of ecstasy through music. Originally a classical Arab music genre, it was particularly popular in Egypt before the outbreak of the First World War.

Taraab reached the shores of Zanzibar when Sultan Bargash bin Said, who ruled from 1870 to 1888, brought an Egyptian taarab troupe to entertain him at his palace, Beit Al Ajaib, or House of Wonders, in Stone Town. One theory suggests the Sultan sent a Zanzibari to Cairo to learn taarab and how to play the qanun, and that's how the first Zanzibari taarab orchestra, which still sang in Arabic, was formed.

The musical style had its heyday in the first half of the 20th century when bands played various instruments, including the oud, violins, ney, accordion, cello, and various percussion instruments.

Singing in Swahili, a language rooted in Arabic and Eastern Bantu, did not become popular until the 1920s when taarab performance truly began to reflect the local mix of cultures.

Vibrant laughter, the quivering sound of the violin, the rhythmic thumps of the percussion, and the hypnotic hum of a female voice chaotically compete with each other until the appearance of Mariam Hamdani in the doorway brings the cacophony to a halt.

The women, ranging in age from their early 20s to the mid-60s, watch as Mariam, a heavyset woman with greying roots and tips red with henna, settles behind the qanun, a large zither-like instrument, plucked like a harp, and wait for her instructions. Sure enough, a few minutes and several commands later, the diverse instruments and sounds merged into one beautiful symphony.

A woman plays the qanun; a zither-like instrument plucked like a harp.

Watching them play with such ease and confidence, it’s hard to believe that less than a decade ago, all of this would have been impossible. This group of women represents a revolution in a very traditional art: they are the very first all-woman taarab orchestra in Zanzibar. Taarab, which in Arabic means to reach a state of ecstasy through music, began as a largely elite and male-dominated art form. It was first introduced in Zanzibar in the late 19th century when ruler Sultan Seyyid Barghash bin Said brought over a taraab ensemble from Egypt.

“Women preferred to sing at exclusively female celebrations or weddings, but they didn’t pay well enough to compete with the hotels,” recalls Mariam. So the men began performing for tourists, and the women found themselves without instrumentalists.

With meager pay and no musicians to accompany them, taarab women groups had slowly died out by the early 1990s, Mariam says.

Until 2009, that is, when Mariam decided to revive the art form. “I thought, ‘No, this can’t be. We need to try and fill the gaps,” says the 73-year-old, the first female news reporter in Zanzibar, who worked for the Russian news agency TASS. “I was very stubborn in my time, and they wanted to sack me for reporting on things they didn’t want me to. But I told them I will criticize whom I want, whether they like it or not.” Mariam’s face often breaks into a broad smile, but her demeanor commands reverence. When she speaks, people listen.

An unexpected response

She visited schools and workplaces, hoping to find women willing to join her group. Initially, the response was underwhelming: none of the women she approached showed any interest, and some even scorned her idea. “I came back disappointed. I had already bought a lot of equipment: violins, accordions, and bongos. It was a lot of money,” she says.

But one morning, just as she was about to give up her search, Mariam woke up to find over 20 women waiting at her door. Within a week, those interested had committed to the project and started practicing. They never imagined that only seven months later, they would perform in front of thousands of people on the main stage in Sauti za Busara. Since then, Tausi Women’s Taarab has played in Dar es Salaam, Nairobi, Beirut, and Mayotte, a small French island in the Indian Ocean.




Despite an enthusiastic reception, it has been an ongoing struggle to keep Tausi alive, and many women have had to leave the group. Mariam says, “We often lose some of our greatest talents to marriage, as their husbands stop them from continuing their music careers.” There are still doubts within the community about whether women should be allowed to play instruments.

“A lot of people are opposed. They say it’s anti-Islamic, haram [forbidden],” says Mariam, who is also a devout Muslim. “But I always ask them: show me the verse that says this is haram. They cannot do it because there isn’t one.”

Simply being part of this ensemble, this group of women pushes boundaries and challenges norms in a traditionally male-dominated society. But they go further than that: through their lyrics, they confront topics usually considered taboo, such as domestic violence and drug abuse.

“I want our music to have a social message, too, and maybe help change things on the island. We are not happy when we hear about women getting beaten by their husbands or young girls getting pregnant and having to leave school,” says Mariam. “We are trying to do something to change that.”

If you want to learn more about Taarab, read Behind the veil by Andy Morgan.

https://www.andymorganwrites.com/zanzibar-behind-the-veil/

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