I blame colonialism 4 all chaos all over the world. 

~Baba Hugh Masekela

I don’t remember what year it was but somewhere along my lifeline I was asked 2 write a poem 4 and open 4 Hugh Masekela. Coming from a well-versed musical family I was aware who Baba Hugh was but I didn’t KNOW him. I knew “Grazing In the Grass” from repeated plays on the Herb Kent show. I wasn’t fluent in everything that he was and all that he represented. I couldn’t fully appreciate the invitation but I would soon.

It was Margarite Holberg of the HotHouse who booked me 4 the gig. The HotHouse, which had been closed down at that point, was an unusually accessible space N Chicago 4 home-based and international artists 2 come, express their craft and B paid. Audiences could connect with non-commercial artists that made our hearts race that we may not have seen anywhere else N the heavily segregated, heavily regulated city of Chicago. There really was nothing else like it and it was Margarite’s baby. Having produced numerous shows there prior 2 its closing I was honored that I got the call. It wasn’t paying much and I believe I was going 2 turn it down if not 4 the insistence of my then manager, Chamille who felt that this moment, at that point in my career, was more important than money.

I don’t remember the show N vivid detail. What comes 2 mind is the research I put N2 the piece, having some idea that this was way bigger than “Grazing In the Grass.”  What I uncovered (pre-internet) 4 myself was a true revolutionary; a man who had sacrificed much and gave even more 2 the People through his music. I found a lover of people of color the world over stemming from a love 4 those same people in his home country. I found a man who inspired generations 4 6 decades far more than he simply entertained them. And I discovered a king who would never make anyone else feel like a peasant. 

I was taken 2 meet him in his dressing room B4 the show. We hugged. I presented him with a copy of the poem. He graciously accepted. As we talked, I remembered there was a South African word or name in the poem that I had trouble with and asked him 4 help. He asked me 2 read it 2 him. I did and of course I pronounced it wrong. He corrected me. I said it wrong again. He worked with me and wouldn’t let me go until I got it right. I felt like a stupid American but I was so appreciative that he did. Members of the South African embassy were there, native South Africans living in Chicago and many more. I didn’t want my limited, colonized tongue 2 show and Baba Hugh did his best 2 make sure it didn’t. Can’t remember if I got it right on stage but if I didn’t, it wasn’t his fault. HA! It’s a moment that I never 4got and I am appreciative of the light he personally shared with me then.

I am thankful that I was able 2 honor him long B4 his transition and while he could fully receive it. His presence and work made this planet a better place. I hope that the legacy that he leaves us grows and inspires far more 2 grow, evolve and artfully resist injustice wherever and whenever it rears its hideous head. I encourage U 2 dig a little deeper N2 his discography and life and B moved as well.

Thanks 4 reading

Khari B.
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