Music

Last week we went to a concert given by a famous Congolese singer Koffi Olomide, supported by his band the Quartier Latin. It took place in a thickly carpeted venue called ShowBuzz which doubles as a cinema. The event was billed to start at 10 p.m. but everyone knew that this was Congolese time, so not to be taken too seriously.

Seats cost $25, or $50 for the VIP section. We chose the cheaper ones – a wise decision as the VIP seats were around tables in the flat floor part of the vast room that didn’t look much fun. Instead, we sat in the front of the raked seating so had the best of both worlds. It gave us a front row view of the manoeuvering of the moneyed classes of Kinshasa, a game of conspicuous consumption writ large.

By the time we arrived just before 11, the place was almost full. The stage curtains were firmly closed. At 11.30, recorded music started from behind the black curtains, and fifteen minutes later a burly compere appeared to announce that the great man had arrived and the event would be opened by the Quartier Latin. They trooped in – a band of about ten people – and duly started. Their performance was treated as no more than background noise by the audience who continued their performance in front of us: gossiping, trying very hard to see and be seen, and making sure that their table seating plan was working well. Meanwhile, people were still arriving, and by now all the seats were full so it was standing room only in the aisles.

A photographer wandered around, promising that his photos would be available at the end of the show. We declined, but another photographer in a dinner jacket – so presumably part of the management – took multiple photos of us that will, no doubt, be used in future promotions.

Waitresses were active, soliciting us several times, but getting more luck in the VIP section. One of their offerings was a Moet et Chandon special at about $200 a bottle. Most people settled for something a bit cheaper, but one couldn’t avoid being impressed by their agility and efficiency.

At 12.45, the great man was announced, and as he walked in from the flies his voice was treated by whooping and screaming from the audience. The Quartier Latin upped the volume and a male dance troupe entered. This was followed at the start of the second number by a scantily clad female dance troupe. For most of the rest of the show they danced around the singer in a formation not unlike bodyguards protecting their star.

Much thought had gone into the showmanship, with elaborate lighting with frequent changes of colours and spots on key performers. But to be frank we had more fun people watching. The men were almost all in boring dark suits and ties, but the women . . . Never has so much been put into so little. There was massive competition to be the most conspicuous person: very long, very short, very tight, etc. Most has lost the bloom of youth so had to compensate in other ways, but there were a few young, beautiful and well-dressed girls.

At 2.30 we began to feel we had had enough. A couple of numbers had brought the audience to their feet and the room came alive, but for most of the time it was relatively unexciting. A big contrast with the atmosphere that Papa Wembe had created in his time. So we nudged our companion – let’s go! But she was determined to get her money’s worth so we politely grinned and bore it. Because by then it wasn’t much fun. Luckily, just after 3 a.m., the great man announced (in English, followed by French) that the show had come to an end, but he would be performing again late in the month.

The next day I was talking about the show to a friend. His comments took a bit of lustre off the event. “I wouldn’t go near him,” he said, “he’s a nasty man.” He went on to remind me that he was the musician who had been videoed kicking one of his female dancers at Nairobi airport, and whose show was immediately carried and he was deported. That was not a freak event. He had previously been sentenced to three months in Kinshasa for assaulting his producer. He was also convicted of statutory rape in France and sentenced for two years and required to pay €5,000 to the dancer. He was lucky: both prison sentences were suspended.