George Sibanda: The man behind Gwabi Gwabi

Langalakhe Mabena, Zimpapers Arts and Entertainment Hub

IF you have ever overheard a group of children teasing each other or friends sharing something they are proud of, chances are you have heard the chant, Gwabi Gwabi! It’s a phrase that rolls off the tongue playfully and confidently, a local way of saying, “look what I have got!”

You might hear it when someone flashes a new pair of sneakers or even when a newly-engaged woman proudly shows off her ring. It has become a light-hearted, spirited affirmation of pride and a celebration of small victories.

But where does it come from? How did Gwabi Gwabi go from a simple song lyric to a phrase embedded in our everyday banter?

To understand that, we must travel back to the 1940s in Bulawayo, to the bustling bars and halls where a gifted folklore artiste named George Sibanda strummed his guitar and told the stories of his people.

Discovered by American ethnomusicologist Hugh Tracey, Sibanda rose to fame at a time when black voices were often silenced. He sang about life as it was, the struggles, the joy, the politics, the love, the longing.

With his acoustic guitar slung across his shoulder, he was both a griot and a gentleman, mixing sober truths with jovial township tales that made his music both meaningful and irresistibly catchy.

His rise was swift. Thanks to Tracey’s support, Sibanda became one of the first local artistes to be recorded commercially, with some of his earliest work produced at Gallo Records in South Africa.

And then came “Gwabi Gwabi”, a song that would become his signature, the anthem that immortalised him. Released in 1948 under the Decca Label in Britain as part of Tracey’s Music of Africa series, “Gwabi Gwabi” captivated audiences not just in Southern Africa, but across the globe.

It was reissued multiple times: first in Europe in the 1950s, then in South Africa as a 12-inch vinyl by Gallo in the 60s, and again in the early 70s.

George wasn’t a one-hit wonder either. His catalogue is a treasure trove of folklore gems. Songs like Ungahamba NoTsotsi, KwaNtu(thu), Chuzi Mama, Emely, Dali Ngiyakuthanda But Ha Ha Ha, Sake Sabotshwa, Gijima Mfana and Mami showcased his remarkable versatility and charm.

But it’s “Gwabi Gwabi” that continues to echo in taverns, townships and even American bars. It was reinterpreted by Western folk legends like Ramblin Joe Elliot, Taj Mahal and Arlo Guthrie, a testament to its timeless appeal.

In 2004, Dutch producer Michael Baird curated a 20-track anthology of George’s music, hoping to preserve his legacy. But while the music lives on, Sibanda himself remains an elusive figure.

Attempts to locate photographs or close relatives have yielded little. Even a call placed in Chronicle by Baird asking for help with locating an image went unanswered. Sunday Life also launched its own search for his kin, to no avail.

But then, a thread of hope appeared. Before his passing on, the late arts doyen Cont Mhlanga mentioned the name Simon Sibanda, a man who once shared the stage with George. Two years later, this reporter finally tracked Simon down. Now 95 years old, Simon lives in Makokoba and remembers George with great affection.

“I met George Sibanda here in Bulawayo. At the time, when boys became men, they’d leave the rural areas and come to Bulawayo, koNtuthu Ziyathunqa, to look for work in the booming industries. George was from Mbonqane in Nkayi,” Simon recalled.

He painted a vivid picture of their youthful camaraderie. After work, they would gather at the hostels in Makokoba, especially on weekends. Radios were rare, so they would entertain themselves with song.

“After our shifts, we would gather at our hostels (in Makokoba), particularly during the weekends to unwind, socialising over drinks and playing music on our guitars, as radios were rare commodities back then.

“In these get-togethers, Nela Tshuma was the expert on guitar chords, teaching us to enhance our jam sessions. The individuals I shared musical experiences with during that time included Mkhonto Ndlovu, Mjanana, Hadasi, Josaya Hadebe, Sabelo Mathe and George Sibanda, who was particularly admired by white individuals for his guitar prowess,” noted Simon.

A renowned herbalist based at the Makokoba traditional market, Simon said George’s songs captured the mood of the times, from the industrial boom, the train stations, to the longing of young men trying to save enough to pay lobola for their sweethearts.

“His music narrated tales of Bulawayo’s industrialisation during the mid-19th century, which is why his songs revolved around themes such as train stations, airplanes, stylish urban gangsters in their upscale attire, wild nights in segregated bars and the struggles of young men trying to gather the livestock necessary to afford the bride price for their hometown loves.”

Even though George was the first in their circle to go commercial, there was no jealousy, only admiration and inspiration.

Added Simon: “George was an exceptional musician, beloved by white audiences for his remarkable talent. In the 1940s, we performed at Big Bhawa in Makokoba and in Iminyela. From time to time, we toured mining towns and ventured into rural areas such as eGududu (Goodwood), KoMahamba and other settlements along the Tshangane River in Matabeleland North.”

He recounted how one Hugh Tracey discovered George performing at the mines leading to the recording of the hit, “Gwabi Gwabi”.

“A white man named Hugh Tracey once witnessed George performing at the mines and claimed to have discovered him. He later took George by train to South Africa, where the iconic song Gwabi Gwabi was recorded.

“The track gained immense popularity, resonating across Africa and even reaching audiences in America. That alone shows how influential George Sibanda was.”

This success gave his fellows hope and inspired both Sabelo and Simon to pursue music seriously.

“His success gave us hope. Thanks to him, both Sabelo and I eventually became among the first local artistes to record at Teal Records, later known as Gramma Records, Zimbabwe’s first recording studio.”

Sadly, like many African legends, George’s end is shrouded in speculation. Some reports claim he died from excessive drinking in the 1950s, unable to handle the fame. But Simon strongly refutes this.

“That’s not true. George didn’t drink heavily. He was a sharp, intelligent man who carried himself with respect.

Unlike those maskandi musicians who would drink all night and lose themselves in beer halls, George was different.

He was clean, admired, even by women wherever he went.”

And so, “Gwabi Gwabi” lives on, not just as a catchy tune or a playground chant, but as a symbol of joy, pride and artistic genius.

In taverns abroad, on YouTube covers by folk revivalists and right here in our townships, George Sibanda’s music continues to inspire. He may be gone, but his rhythm never left us.

Join us next week as we delve deeper into George Sibanda’s legacy through the eyes of his “discovered son,” Robert Sibanda.