Phumla Matjila. © Unknown.

'UMshini Wam' is sung more often than Nkosi Sikelel' iAfrika

Who could forget Marketplace, the haunting tribute to love by a younger, exiled, trumpet-blowing Hugh Masekela, completely bewitched by a Congolese nubile carrying a bag of vegetables on her head? It encapsulated the everyday moments of a virile man in exile and his needs, which are not bound by his geographical region, the state of his country's affairs or his wishes for a better South Africa. At that moment, only the woman with "corn-rowed hair in a million braids" mattered.

Don't get me started on the husky voices of dagga-smoking, township delinquents - whose contribution to the struggle was to occasionally interrupt their game of dice - belting out uMshini Wam' at a corner, with their jeans worn so low and their All Star tekkies worn out from running away from caspers and tear gas. What about Brenda Fassie's Black President?A wail to the destruction of black ambitions under apartheid.

Those were the days and that was the music. But times have changed and the music must change.

Mango Groove is back with a new but familiar sound. Will their new album, their first studio album in 13 years, pass the ultimate test - being blared from speakers perched on plastic chairs at weddings this December as well-wishers do the Codesa, the synchronised dance that rounds off every wedding held under a white tent?

Bra Hugh jams with young and old musicians, mixing the familiar with the new in an effort to keep his voice fresh. And All Stars tekkies now come in various colours and fabrics, and are worn not only by reminiscent adults and pickpocketers.

UMshini Wam' has been given a new lease of life; it's sung more often than Nkosi Sikelel' iAfrika.

As philosopher Francis Bacon once said: "He that will not apply new remedies, must expect new evils, for time is the greatest innovator."

I appreciate Mango Groove's, Bra Hugh's and Converse's efforts to apply new remedies to stay fresh and to move with the times. I think the time has finally come for our protests, marches and demonstrations to get a clue. Why are our protests and the songs that accompany them still so 1983?

All that singing, chanting, looting, damaging of municipal offices, defacing of buildings, burning of state and private property, putting other people's lives at risk, smashing of car windows and the burning of tyres make me wish there were guidelines on how to protest in the new South Africa.

I thought I was back in the 1980s this July when reports of violent service delivery protests in Balfour in Mpumalanga, Diepsloot north of Johannesburg and Thokoza in the East Rand dominated the news. And more recently, Sakhile in Standerton, Mpumalanga, left a bitter taste in my mouth.

How much do you think the damage caused by protesters costs, and where do you think that money comes from? So, instead of 40 RDP houses, we'll get 20 because the other half will be used to fix the council offices that have been burned down.

So, this is my plea to anyone contemplating a protest: If you need to be heard, get organised, decide what it is that is irking you the most. And, before you rip our posters off street poles to write an insult to political leaders you've voted into government, ask yourselves this: will my message to these leaders make the headline of this poster tomorrow and will it jolt those leaders to action?

When you've done all that, instead of belting out uMshini Wam' and stomping your feet, consider a silent protest. Stand in a line, in a semi-circle, and form the longest chain of messages we've ever seen. Stand in a V-formation, taking turns to come to the front to give your message visibility: "10 years, still waiting for RDP house", "Our children learn under trees", "15 years, no clean water", "Sick, no ARVs".

Just don't sing, chant, smash, grab, steal, loot .

And timing is everything in the art of protest.

When our leaders come to rallies at the townships in convoys of Beemers, Mercs and Range Rovers, dressed in the finest of threads, mineral water in hand, don't ululate and sing their long-forgotten praises. Stand in line with your message in hand. The time for song and dance is over! And if you must sing, sing Awulethi iJob yam'/Awulethi iRDP house yam'/Awulethi my ARVs wam!

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