Digging Graves and Singing Songs: Ethnographies of Survival in Venda.
Fraser G. McNeill.
(frasermcneill@hotmail.co.uk)
Paper presented at the Local Economies Workshop: Wits University, 15 th Sept. 15th Sept. 2010 :
Please do not cite without author’s permission
This presentation comprises a summary of my two recent research projects in the former
homeland of Venda – now officially known as the Vhembe district of the Thulamela
municipality in Limpopo Province.
It looks at the social and political implications of
economic activity in two separate spheres: the funeral industry and the music industry.
Both of these consider, although from somewhat different angles, the rapid and recent
accumulation of wealth by a very small sector of society – but my analyses focus on the
ways in which people at the other end of the spectrum – who form the vast majority – have
negotiated spiralling economic inequality. In the interests of time, I will only be able to give
a brief overview of my research and findings for each of these sectors.
1. THE FUNERAL INDUSTRY: DEATH AND IMMORAL ACCUMULATION
Having recently completed a PhD on the failure of AIDS prevention projects in the region,
the increase in funerals has long been on my ethnographic radar. The focus on local
economies in this project gave me a chance to investigate this further, although clearly an
in-depth analysis would require many years of engagement with research informants on the
ground. My investigation began with compiling a list of things that a family must organize in
the run up to a burial. This quickly revealed the economic complexity and multi-layered
nature of organizing a funeral. The four most expensive – and time consuming – activities
are arranging a tombstone, selecting a coffin, organizing a tent/chairs and feeding the
guests.
Depending on the level of insurance coverage – defined largely by the monthly
premium rate and the length of time this has been regularly maintained – some or all of
these duties will be covered to various extents by a cash payout upon death.
The first things to be organized are a tent and chairs. Funeral tents are now a common
feature of the landscape throughout rural South Africa. During the week before a funeral,
friends, neighbours and relatives gather for a prayer service (thavheloni) at sunset in the
homestead of the deceased. The hire or borrowing of chairs and a tent must be taken care
of early enough to accommodate thaveloni in the days immediately after death, and they
are generally organized at a ‘community’ level. For example, the civic organization in the
village of Duthuni, collected R30 from each household during 2001-2002. With the money
raised, they purchased two community tents. In 2003, every house was requested to
purchase two plastic chairs. Today, when there is a death in the village, the tent and chairs
are brought the next day, free of charge. If there are multiple funerals on the same
weekend, then tents and chairs are hired, for variable fees, from neighbouring civics,
churches or traditional leaders.
In March/April 2009 a tombstone could range from R4, 000 to R40, 000. At the budget end
of the scale, the tombstone is a small, simple, rectangular granite affair with a black enamel
front and plain, white engravings. At the more exorbitant end, and in a choice of white,
black or grey, the tombstone resembles a grand marble alter, with four dominating pillars,
two thick slabs of stone on-top and below whilst – protected in the middle – a stone of
baroque complexity, often made specifically to order, is surrounded by outlandish built-in
flower vases.
Along with the selection and purchase of a tombstone is the need to source a coffin. Again,
this may be included in the insurance pay-out deal, but it may not. To purchase a coffin in
2009 cost between R15, 000 to R45, 000. For the destitute, a plywood box is available for
R350. For the rich, coffins can be made to order for upwards of R60, 000. In a similar
manner to tombstone makers, various small scale entrepreneurial outfits have emerged in
town and in rural areas, designing, manufacturing and selling coffins from their workshops.
Another major expense for a family hosting a funeral is the provision of food. The meal
after a burial is of central symbolic importance.
Without it, jealousy, suspicion and
witchcraft allegations are likely to emerge. Eating is fundamentally related to trust. Only
witches eat alone in public. At a time when death is looming over a family and blame is
never far away, it is of central importance that members of the family appear trustworthy
and innocent. By far the most convincing way to do this is to offer free food to anyone who
wants it. To be sure, competition has played a part in escalating the extent of these feasts,
but an elementary reason for their popularity is their success in ‘levelling things off’, and, in
essence, demonstrating to the mourners (who may well suspect various family members of
collusion in the death), that the family has nothing to hide.
The micro-economics of such transactions in the run-up to a funeral involve complex
processes of cashing in insurance policies, recalling old debts and borrowing to make new
ones. Burial societies are often central to this process, but if a member has not kept up with
their payments, they are as likely to be shunned as they are supported at the time of a
relative’s passing. Rich people host elaborate funerals and poor people get into financial
difficulties to ensure that their loved ones are laid to rest in style. In this sense, funerals are
closely associated with notions of shame, and people gossip about the relative merits – or
otherwise – of the day’s events.
Nonetheless, the pervasive and growing economic
inequality that characterises contemporary South Africa is reflected in the diverse provision
of burial commodities for the very rich and the very poor.
At the same time as funerals distinguish between income brackets, people are acutely
aware that by paying for a burial, they are enriching others. The accumulation of wealth
through death in this corner of rural South Africa has prompted a wide variety of sociocultural responses. Predominant among these are rumours through which funeral parlours,
and those who generate wealth from them, are constructed as immoral spreaders of death.
This social tension has given rise to numerous rumours in which funeral directors proactively
poison others to increase their sales – and the poison in question is usually thought to have
been derived from decomposed corpses. Other rumours currently in circulation make an
explicit connection between the conspicuous accumulation of wealth and the spread of
death. There are countless stories of men in luxury vehicles – often in hearses – seducing
young women with bundles of cash, only to leave them with deformed genitalia, leading to
their slow and painful death. Whilst this has obvious resonance with the transmission of
HIV, such rumours speak to a wider concern that things are not as they ought to be: they
provide an outlet for the prevalent anxiety that vast sums of money are being channelled
into individual bank accounts, often but not always related to the business of death, and
that the majority remain poor whilst a privileged elite entrench their advantage through
political connections.
In the full length version of this paper I analyse the connections between funerals, death,
wealth, eating and sex in more detail. But for now it can be summarized thus: Whilst
funeral services are accepted as essential, accumulation of wealth through them is tainted
with an immorality from the association between eating from (gaining from) other’s
misfortune. The rapid accumulation of wealth for those who provide funeral services has
been simultaneous to the conspicuous enrichment of a small elite, confounding the
perception on the ground that things are not as they ought to be.
2. THE MUSIC INDUSTRY: TENDERIZED PERFORMANCE AND SELF CENSORSHIP
I have also been conducting ethnographic research into the popular economy of informal
musical production. Running parallel to the well established music companies, South Africa
is host to an abundance of ‘informal’ recording studios. Whilst there are clear connections
between these and the more formal processes of musical production – and various sectors
where the boundaries between the two are blurred – the informal economy of popular
music has several distinguishing features. Central to its continued survival is the abundance
of relatively cheap second-hand computers, with accompanying pirated software. Illegal
copies of computer programmes such as Nwendo and Cue-Base are easily available, and
once installed they provide a virtual recording studio which, with practice, talent and a
reasonable microphone, can produce recordings that closely mimic a professional sound.
The informal scene is also distinguished by the ways in which money, trust and debt
circulate between musicians, producers and sponsors. Such musicians are not awarded
‘deals’, such as is common practice with established record labels. Rather, they pay a
producer directly – often through the assistance of a sponsor – and the quality of their final
recording reflects the resources available for the cash they have to offer. More often,
musicians strike a deal with a producer in which small amounts of cash are paid – often on a
song by song basis – until an album is complete. However, an album achieves airplay – and
thus generates publicity – only once it is released. The pressure to release often results in
albums being completed before the producer has been paid. Cycles of debt are accrued,
and if cash is not forthcoming then a musician may settle his bill by helping the producer on
a different project; for example as a session musician or on backing vocals for another artist.
Also, informal studios are rarely registered as businesses with SARS: They don’t pay tax.
This reflects the small profits accumulated in the industry, and the reliance on cycles of trust
and debt. Producers often intentionally neglect book-keeping responsibilities to avoid
potentially incriminating paper-trails.
My analysis of the music industry has two strands, the first of which comprises the nuts and
bolts of recording in an informal studio. The specific focus is on Tshivenda speaking reggae
musicians. Those who wish to record reggae in the region go to the Burnin’ Shak studio,
home of prolific reggae musician Colbert Mukwevho – for whom I have played lead guitar
since 2001. During this time I have also been a session musician in the Burnin’ Shak.
Whilst the Burnin’ Shak is associated mostly with Colbert Mukwevho’s distinctive brand of
Venda reggae, artists who use the studio are recorded and produced by his younger
brother, Mulalo, who is the bass player and sound engineer for Colbert’s band, and an
accomplished singer songwriter in his own right. He charges between R5,000 to R8,000
rand to complete a 12-track album, with optional extras such as special effects, session
guitar and live brass sections available at an extra cost. Although Colbert has purchased a
comfortable chair for Mulalo to work in, he insists on sitting on beer crates and old, broken
plastic stools. “It keeps me focussed”, he claims, “…and we don’t use a fan. We must sweat
when we record reggae, like we are working in the fields…that’s what gives Burnin Shak that
original feel…that’s where reggae comes from…we are burning hot when we work in here,
and the mix is sticky with our sweat.”
Widespread musical piracy and the expense of getting CDs manufactured on top of hiring a
studio and a producer means that any financial gain from CD sales is channelled directly
back into paying the debts accrued in making the album. Essentially, this is the same
principle that governs the formal music economy, except that record companies, not
individuals, front and recoup the cash. In the informal sphere, when a sponsor steps in to
invest in an artist – covering some of their costs and making profit more likely – the investor
expects a return. By no means, however, is a return guaranteed.
Of course, there is nothing distinctly South African about the distinction between formal and
less formal modes of musical production. But what does makes the South African case
distinctive, and interesting in the post-apartheid era, is the role of the state in regulating live
performance, and thus to some extent studio recordings, through the allocation of funding
for entertainment at government-sponsored shows.
The second, and connected, strand of my analysis, then, is the conversion of what social
scientists may call ‘cultural capital’ – mostly through radio airplay – into cash through
performance at government shows; a process I call ‘tenderiszed performance’. Without the
financial backing of a record company behind them, musicians in the South African informal
sector are forced to seek alternative means to make money from making music. The big
money is not in local performances, for which musicians often have to rent public space,
and can subsequently make a loss. Rather, more substantial financial reward is to be found
though participation in government shows, organized to celebrate South Africa’s numerous
public holidays, and other occasions throughout the year. The organization of these shows
is generally put out to tender.
In the full version of this paper, I argue that the financial necessity to engage with, and
perform for, the politically connected tenderpreneurs who hire and fire musicians for
government shows has led to the widespread practice of self-censorship among musicians. I
present an ethnographic analysis of the ways in which artists seek to convert their
popularity into a cut of tendered cash, and argue that their artistic freedom and integrity is
sacrificed in the process. The unequal relationship between musicians and government in
this regard has stifled creativity in the informal sector of music production, reminiscent of
the relationship between musicians and the apartheid state before 1994. During both of
these recent periods in South African history, a culture of self-censorship has been instilled
in musicians and producers, none of whom wish to be seen as opposing the ruling party, lest
they be expelled from the list of potentially paid performers.
In conclusion, my analyses of the music and funeral industries raises issues for each specific
sector of economic engagement, but they are connected through the ways in which they
demonstrate social, cultural and political interactions between those who have access to a
seemingly endless pot of cash, and those who have to scrape by for daily survival. South
African society is polarized by this economic dynamic, and it serves to remind us that the
study of local economies must be contextualized within wider, national, frameworks of
economic policy.