I watched Mumba Yachi last night at Alliance Française —he gave a stellar performance. But his boxers was a major turnoff. I kept wondering at what point he would get dressed.
The first time I watched Mumba was at the Stanbic Music Festival in 2014, alongside world-renowned artists Hugh Masekela and Oliver Mtukudzi at Levy Mall. He was phenomenal. I saw him again at a special UN event. He was in his element. Soon after, he was deported—purportedly for masquerading as a Zambian.
Fast forward to 2023, Mumba was among the top Zambian acts sharing the stage with Youssou N’dour at Ciela Resort—unforgettable. Mumba is a one-of-a-kind singer. A limited edition. He belongs in the league of PK Chishala, Mulemena Boys, and other greats. He is a thinker, a storyteller, and a songwriter with depth. He possesses a magnetic stage presence. His unique identity—both Zambian and Congolese—combined with his multilingualism gives him the versatility that sets him apart from his peers. But I don’t know when Mumba decided to rebrand himself as a clown in boxers and all bones, as his stage persona.
Look—I am a free spirit like Mumba himself. I am prone to defending artistic freedom and madness, such as Raff Kid showing up on stage in a coffin, because I believe artists must continually reinvent, shock and amuse society. So, when I first saw pictures of Mumba showing up on stage in his lithe—more specifically, emaciated—frame, wearing only boxers, I thought it was fresh, spontaneous, a deliberate move to shock the audience and get Zambia talking. And he did. He achieved exactly that—earning both love and loathing across media and social platforms. Feminists cited it as an example of how patriarchy tolerates poor behavior in men. Creatives applauded it as artistic. The religious condemned it. The masses made jokes about his protruding ribcage and overall unflattering ‘poverty stricken-like’ body. But overall, he remained unscathed. In fact, he influenced national discourse and renewed engagement on his socials. Then he did it again. And again. And again. Eventually, it lost its shock value. It stopped feeling spontaneous and became stale. An idiosyncrasy. A brand. He turned into a clown Hitherto Mumba’s drawcard used to be his trademark sound and magnetic presence, now it’s his bones and boxers.
Mumba should be packing auditoriums like his musical peers with half his talent. But he’s not. Why? Though his music has universal appeal, Mumba remains a niche artist. His base is 30s and older fans like myself, looking for the magic he already possesses—not the clowning around. And we—his base—are many with comfortable disposable income to pay and pack his shows. At both Stanbic and Ciela, Mumba was a warm-up act before the legends—Masekela, Mtukudzi, and Youssou N’dour. Despite being a much younger artist, Mumba held his on, an equal. Many would have paid just as much—if not more—to watch him headline. Mumba’s nondescript boxers add nothing to his performances. On the contrary, they take away from it. Last night, two men to my left walked out during his performance. Before that, like me, they kept asking, “Bushe Amayachi yalafyala?” After the break, Amayachi, tone deaf, returned—still in boxers. The men immediately left. I also noticed that the audience was reacting more to his absurd moves—exaggerated by his bones—than to his music. Performing in boxers is silly, arrogant, and disrespectful to the audience—frankly, it shows a lack of effort.
A performance is a complete package—visuals and vocals; flamboyant costumes, dramatic lighting, dancing, and stagecraft. Mumba Yachi, a well-exposed artist and a known admirer of Congolese legend, Koffi Olomide, should take a cue from him on stagecraft. Until Mumba puts back his clothes on, I won’t be showing up to his next concert.
By Sampa Kabwela
Sampa is a Publisher, Artist and co-author Insoselo na Mapinda
Follow her on X @ukusefya
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