Aluta Continua: Remembering Miriam Makeba in a South Africa Still Struggling for Dignity
I grew up listening to Miriam Makeba’s music. As a young person in the 1980s, with the help of Peter Mnono Makgatholela, we sang her songs not just for entertainment, but as an expression of identity and hope. Only later did I come to understand that the woman whose voice shaped our imagination had been exiled and banned from her own home. Her music was not only beautiful; it was a lifeline for a people kept silent.
On November 9, 2008, Miriam Makeba collapsed on stage in Castel Volturno, Italy, performing at an anti-mafia concert in solidarity with the writer Roberto Saviano. She was seventy-six. Seventeen years later, on the anniversary of her passing, her songs Aluta Continua (1980) and African Sunset (1987) still speak urgently to South Africa.
Aluta Continua was recorded during her exile in Guinea. Its title, “the struggle continues,” drew from Mozambican liberation struggles espoused by Frelimo and Samora Machel and was embraced by South Africa’s own freedom fighters. The song was crafted to travel. It was a slogan set to rhythm, portable enough to be sung in villages, work places, and refugee camps across the continent. Today, South Africa faces a different landscape. Unemployment stands at 32.9 percent, with youth unemployment at 62 percent. Sixty-three percent of municipalities are dysfunctional and over R300 billion in debt. The struggle did not end. It changed shape.
In African Sunset, Makeba warns us of a betrayal of the people. She asks how the poor will survive in a land where the wealth has been seized by a few. The question is sharper now than when she first asked it. Too many South Africans watch their dignity erode while corruption and political convenience replace accountability and leadership. We no longer need commissions of inquiry to tell us what is wrong. We need leaders who honour the Constitution, a police service that upholds the law, and a National Prosecuting Authority that acts free of political influence. Most of all, we need citizens who vote for principle rather than loyalty to party.
By any measure, Miriam Makeba is among the most remarkable figures this country has given the world. She was more than a singer. She was a cultural ambassador and a moral voice. Her music carried the dignity of the oppressed when the nation itself was not allowed to speak. The world called her Mama Africa because she reminded humanity that Africa is not a wound, but a cradle of story, song, and soul.
Yet admiration alone is not enough to honour her.
To remember Makeba meaningfully, we must continue the work her life demanded of us. She affirmed identity, confronted injustice, and lifted the voices of the unheard. To follow her example is to restore dignity in our homes, communities, institutions, and public life. Dignity is not something the state grants. It is inherent. Our social grants are not a favour from politicians, they are paid for by hard working patriots. She proved this every time she sang in isiXhosa, isiZulu, Sesotho, and other African languages before global audiences. To honour her is to protect and celebrate our languages not only during cultural ceremonies, but in classrooms, workplaces, and everyday conversation. She hated tribalism and ethnic exclusivism.
Her memory also calls us to courage. Makeba lived her convictions even when they cost her everything. Today, we enjoy freedom, yet silence has become widespread. Corruption, gender-based violence, poverty, and misgovernance persist not because we lack awareness, but because too many are afraid to speak. To honour her is to refuse silence when dignity is under threat.
We must also support the arts. South Africa cannot survive on nostalgia. Makeba was shaped by community choirs, elders, and cultural mentorship. Young artists today face barriers of poverty, lack of opportunities, and indifference. The arts are not luxury. They are nation-building.
Lastly, Makeba teaches us rootedness. International acclaim did not dilute her (South) African identity. She carried home within her voice. In an age of imitation, she reminds us that our worth lies in being unapologetically ourselves.
Remembering Miriam Makeba is not sentimental. It is a responsibility. The question is not whether we speak her name. The question is whether we act on the values she lived for.
If we restore dignity, speak the truth, nurture the arts, and live with rooted identity, then her legacy does not simply survive. It continues.
The struggle continues not because we are defeated, but because we are alive.
Not because we are weak, but because we know our worth.
Some think South Africa is a mafia state. Who am I to argue with them.
"And to those
Who have given their lives
Praises to thee
Husband and wives
All thy children
Shall reap what you sow
This continent is home
My brothers and sisters
Stand up and sing."
"Siyolobola ngani na
Masiyeka inkomo zobaba
Zem uka nomoya"
Comments
Post a Comment