Parodying the Gospel of Prosperity

Essay

Zimbabwe has some of the richest pastors in the world who made their money by preaching the gospel of prosperity. Music has become an effective discourse for hegemonic constructions of the current social order. From the Norient book Seismographic Sounds (see and order here).

Like many Third World countries, Zimbabwe has experienced an unprecedented increase in the number of evangelical churches preaching the gospel of prosperity, particularly at the beginning of the new century. According to David Bishau’s essay «The Prosperity of the Gospel» (2013), what is preached is also known as the «the health and wealth» gospel. These prosperity gospel churches are mainly led by youthful, charismatic, and flamboyant pastors (prophets) who promise their congregants redemption and material prosperity. They use the gospel as a tool for fighting poverty which is regarded as a barrier to «living a full Christian life.» Inevitably their message has struck a chord with many poor people (and the rich who want to increase their wealth) in Zimbabwe against the backdrop of the more than decade-long economic crisis. According to the prosperity gospel, poverty is a curse from God and tithing or giving is revered. That makes—as they say—perfect sense because the Bible teaches us to give so that we receive. It is common to see congregants being classified according to the amounts that they give. Those who give more occupy a special position (both literally and metaphorically) in the church. However, the prosperity gospel has been received with mixed feelings; some argue that it is the solution to the growing poverty, while others accuse prosperity gospel churches of exploiting the vulnerable in a society that dreams of becoming rich. In «The Curse of Prosperity Gospel» (published in the Zimbabwean newspaper The Herald 2015) Wafawarova argues that:

«Today’s prosperity gospel fuels greed, it focuses in getting as opposed to giving. It is a selfish materialistic faith with a veneer of Christianity. […] It is an elaborate scam meant to railroad unsuspecting followers into parting with the little hard-earned cash at their disposal. […] It is like greed is now officially preached from the pulpit, and the disgusting phenomenon has spread into a cancerous pandemic in what are supposed to be God’s churches.»

This view projects prosperity gospel churches as commercial enterprises for enriching the unscrupulous church leaders rather than institutions fighting poverty among the poor. Critics also accuse prosperity gospel churches of moral bankruptcy in that they make bizarre promises to their congregants. There have been press reports where pastors promise their congregants «miracle money» will be in their bank accounts. David Bishau refers to a newspaper report on a woman who went shopping with leaves as «money» because she had been made to believe that the leaves could be converted to currency. There is a general perception that the only people who have benefited from these prosperity gospel enterprises are a few of its pastors. Some of them made it to the list of the «Richest Pastors in the World» or the «Richest People in Zimbabwe» on NehandaRadio.com.

This article examines the interventions of music in vocalizing the daily struggles and existential reality of ordinary Zimbabweans against the backdrop of the lavish lifestyles of the prosperity gospel pastors, and uses a discourse on money as a lens for this analysis. Material for this study is drawn from the lyrics of a video produced by a satirical musical group, Even Mo Li Little Swaggery, led by famous Zimbabwean stand-up comedian, Farai Sam Monroe aka Comrade Fastso (interview with Farai Monroe, May 26th, 2015). Monroe describes his musical group as «a fake wannabe hip hop group» denoting its satirical approach.

A Counter-Hegemonic Discourse

The video «Cash Moni» (satirically pronounced in a West African accent) lampoons the predatory tendencies of prosperity gospel churches. According to Farai:

«The song has very much to do with religion in Zimbabwe, particularly the gospel of prosperity. We realized that people are often attracted to church expecting to prosper, but at the end of the day we have pastors who exploit their congregation and make loads of money. We are singing sarcastically and jokingly about how it’s a great idea to become a pastor and make money for ourselves and our families-so the running theme is about how in such desperate times in Zimbabwe one available job that you can do is become a pastor and make money.»

Given the popularity of prosperity gospel churches in Zimbabwe and because they exploit people’s gullibility by promising them heaven on Earth, it is not surprising that they have become objects of lyrical banter. «Cash Moni» turns the logic of the prosperity gospel on its head by suggesting that when people go to church they expect to make money but end up parting with the little they have. The song says:

I need cash moni
I am embarrassed when the collector begins collecting
Pastor says if you are poor it is because of your sins
But I have been good
So please give me money
I pray to the biggest Lord
The most strength
For wealth of the spirit and the soul and for real cash
Like seven and half grand
I am going to be a Deacon
Angry for money collection

A Soundboard for Moral Change

The song thus projects prosperity gospel churches as exploitative enterprises meant to enrich the few. The reference to people who fail each other to become Deacons so that they can collect money exposes the avarice of this religious elite. Although the rich also get fleeced by these churches, foregrounding the poor as victims is a discursive strategy that exposes the moral bankruptcy of these churches. Because the church is perceived to be more lucrative than any other endeavor, everybody now wishes to be a pastor. To buttress this theme the song goes:

Me a grow up in poverty
But me want de money
Me try be an engineer
Me try be a carpenter
Me try as a waiter
In a pizzeria with a margherita
And a sicliana with an anchovie
But me forget me story
Yeah me want de money
Want de cheddar so me become a pastor
Not a rock star yes a pastor

«Cash Moni» alludes to the unfulfilled aspirations of many citizens in the context of the Zimbabwean crisis. It is not surprising that prosperity gospel churches such as Emmanual Makandiwa’s the United Family International Church (UFIC), Prophet Eubert Angels’s Spirit Embassy Church, and Walter Magaya’s Prophetic Healing and Deliverance (PHD) church are drawing huge crowds to their Sunday services. However, some critics have questioned the authenticity of their doctrines in the face of widening socio-economic inequalities. The video «Cash Moni» is one example of a social critique.

Through his music video titled «Amen» Ghanaian afro beat musician Yaa Pono, aka «The Pidgin Prince,» unmasks the hypocrisy of pastors who preach what they don’t practice. In «Amen» Yaa Pono lampoons a pastor who taunts the ghetto youth for wanting to make easy money and for indulging in immoral behavior while he himself makes easy money through the church and eyes skimpily dressed ladies in a nightclub; thus, the video exposes the duplicity of the pastor’s sermon. This example demonstrates that the issues raised by these youthful African musicians qualifies them to be soundboards for moral change on the continent.

In this article, I have argued that music can act as a counter-hegemonic tool for questioning the lopsided power relations in contemporary Zimbabwe, a country where the poor are at the mercy of the powerful and the rich become richer while the poor become poorer. For me, these acts demonstrate that constructions of Zimbabwean contemporary social reality by the religious elite are not invincible, but can be deconstructed and reconstructed again.

This text was published first in the second Norient book «Seismographic Sounds».

Biography

Tendai Chari is a Media Studies Lecturer at the University of Venda, South Africa. Follow him on LinkedIn.

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Published on September 25, 2018

Last updated on April 30, 2024

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Exotica in South African House Music

Short Essay

by Percy Mabandu

South Africa is awash with house music hits. Writer Percy Mabandu takes us through a maze of hit music videos to study the genre’s fascination with performed exotica. He asks whether these clips aim to please international audiences with African clichés, or represent a re-connection with tradition and the past by nostalgic modern taste-makers. From the Norient book Seismographic Sounds (see and order here).

There’s still something new out of Africa. These days, the continent’s metropolis beams house music videos with heroic DJs in animal skins, dancing to groove party lovers the world over. Hyper-sexualized bare feet maidens with dark complexions still walk village gravel roads to thrill; they wear tongue-rings and leopard print vests, all the while chanting verses about exciting BlackBerry messages, Jameson whiskey and happening party nights. The visuals unfold over the beat of the mythologized African drum – a kind of sonic code for notions of an authentic tribal sound in the electronic genre’s approach to rhythm. This code is evidence of a thriving appetite for exotic African things often co-created by natives for both local and international audiences. It’s as if the victims of old stereotypes about the supposedly dark continent have learned to profit from selling savage trinkets once used to malign them. This carnival of performed exotica is especially curious in a South Africa that just declared twenty-one years of liberation.

House music is king in South Africa – unlike in other parts of the world where it is a niche genre. In the land of Kruger Rand gold coins, the song of the year is more often than not awarded to a house music tune. Here, television screens beam more house music videos than any other genre. There are videos underpinned by displays of opulence and bling-bling with flashy cars, scantily clad girls, and flowing champagne; they are like the city settings of «Happy Song» by DJ Fisherman, or other videos driven by a linear story and some CGI effects like that of «Fairytale» by Liquideep. This bling-bling appeal is not unique. It’s a dominant theme everywhere in pop culture, from reality TV shows to hip hop videos.

Throwbacks to 19^th Century Human Zoos?

We are interested in music videos that seem to rely on tribal stereotypes to stand out. They are especially of interest because the lyrical content of these songs often has no connection to the exotic images made to illustrate them. Think here of Johannesburg-based producer DJ Cleo’s «Aaaiiiyyy.» The song is about nothing in particular, except a lyric that excitedly invites the listener to dance. The video, however, is set in a Zulu village where young men compete to win favor with some docile maiden’s father.

Another spectacular hit which relied on tribal imagery is «Xigubu» by DJ Ganyani featuring FB. It raked up over 2.3 million views on YouTube. The song is built on the iconic drum sound and a monologue of a girl whose night is brought to thrilling life thanks to a BlackBerry message from DJ Ganyani and his friends. They go to a party where she sees a hot brother on whom she makes a move. She tells of her wet nether area. The story is punctuated by declarations of how «xigubu», which in Shangaan translates to the drum or the beat, is amazing and thumping. Again, the men in animal skins and the village setting (let alone the bare foot maiden) have nothing to do with the content of the song they illustrate. The comment thread on DJ Ganyani’s «Xigubu» YouTube video foregrounds the problematic way in which black women’s bodies are consumed as curious sexual objects in these videos and in popular media in general. References to something sexy about the singer FB, who is described as otherwise ugly in part because of her dark skin, are debated with passion by commenters. It’s like a throwback to the 19^th century scandal surrounding the parading of Saartjie Baartman’s large posterior in Europe.

The music video to «Shonta Mu Mbingu» by Congo-born and Johannesburg-educated producer G’Sparks featuring Mustache and 3XTshi also relies on similar exotic stereotypes. However, the choreography by French-born dancer Lucie Bdt-Mikimi and her Congolese husband Tony Mikimi is obviously theatrical. The make-up, printed cloths, and smoke machines are more reminiscent of the theatre than village tribal life. However, its use of dark exotic figures is telling, too, especially the projection of a sensual European woman dancing wildly with verily muscular African savages. The contrast of her innocent white skin set against the corrupting, wild, and sex-crazed savages is a motif with a long history. Think of King-Kong and Caliban and Miranda.

Then there’s Big Nuz’s «Ntombenhle», which is Zulu for «beautiful girl». The video plays with tribal representations. However, it is done in a meaningful and believable way. The depicted rural scenes are not unlike how life is today. The video shows regular boys playing by the river with little girls coming to fetch water. The boys are taken by the beauty of the young girls. The story cuts to twenty years later and the boys are grown up enough to marry. Here we are given a parody of the dowry negotiation process with banks cards, eager elders and electronic pay points normally used at shops. The reference to village life here is not unusual. There is little embellishment in set and wardrobe. It is not unlike the way urban Africans maintain strong connections with life in their rural areas where many still have close relatives. Remember, for example, recent images of president Jacob Zuma celebrating the traditional wedding of his nephew.

The White Manager and the Black Creative Genius?

Without undermining the agency exercised by the chart topping DJs and music producers in the making of their music videos, it may also help to ask how much control they have over the designing of these images. DJ Ganyani’s «Xigubu» was, for instance, produced by Pilot Films, which is owned by Bruce Patterson who boasts of studying at the New York Film Academy. Could it be that the video represents more of Patterson’s «internationalist» white male ideas of what will help his client to stand out as «something new from Africa» in a global kaleidoscope of unceasing visuals? It’s a question worth considering. African art history has ample examples of these sort of power relations between the African creative genius and the all-knowing white manager. For instance, at the height of apartheid repression, as Sue Williamson observes in her book, Resistance Art (1989): «Dependent on sales through art galleries to a white market, black artists tended to produce carefully non-confrontational work—scenes of jostling township life or traditional rural vistas.»

Filmstill: DJ Ganyani feat. FB (Music), Pilot Films (Video): «Xigubu» (South Africa 2013)

A Celebration of Identity and Heritage?

However, it must be noted that house music videos are also spectacles of celebration. In fact, the depicted songs are often created with the aim of capturing the mood of celebrations across both the urban and rural African experience and the world at large. These celebrations, especially weddings, often among people who live thoroughly modern lives in big cities, reflect a fascination with traditional iconography in ways not unlike the house music videos. The wedding celebrations across Africa of today include both tradition and what is called a «white wedding», which reflects the modern lives of people involved. The marrying couple and their entourage will dress in their latest designer suits and wedding gown, then later arrive to the parade dressed in their respective traditional regalia. A Zulu man will wear his leopard skins and cow hide shield to receive his new wife. The bride may arrive in an equally colourful feminine equivalent in keeping with her particular ethnicity. Guests too often arrive at celebrations clad in a colourful array of traditional wear to join in on the celebrations. There’ll be tribal ululations alongside the latest international hit songs played by the local DJ.

In this way, the images of these weddings as they appear on the society pages of newspapers or on television shows – like the hit reality show Our Perfect Wedding – register a similar note as that of the house music videos. Hence, the perceptions of what is exotic in popular media sit at a place of tension within a post-modern African spectacle that borrows from its antique history; it also projects its modernity into the same picture frame. Hence, these videos emerge at the intersection of a living history of (post-)colonial power politics, its related visual culture, and a popular media economy built of parody, pastiche, and some lingering notions of African authenticity.

This text was published first in the second Norient book «Seismographic Sounds».