By Kizito Makoye
DAR ES SALAAM, Tanzania (AA) – Just past the rusted metal bridge that marks the border of Dar es Salaam’s Tandale neighborhood, the capital’s chaotic rhythm finds its fiercest voice.
Between open drains and sizzling food stalls, a thumping beat fills the air – the unmistakable pulse of Singeli, Tanzania’s homegrown sound now making waves far beyond Dar es Salaam.
Children, barefoot and powdered with dust, instinctively break into dance. An elderly woman selling rice cakes, known locally as “vitumbua,” beams as she watches. “Huu ni muziki wetu,” she said in Swahili – “this is our music.”
Singeli is not polished, and it was never meant to be. Forged in street studios by self-taught producers using salvaged gear, this kinetic, high-tempo genre has become the soundscape of Tanzania’s underclass – a raw expression of resistance.
It emerged from the corners of Dar es Salaam’s most crowded slums – Manzese, Tandale, and Mburahati – where electricity is unreliable, water comes by the bucket and rent is often overdue.
Using secondhand laptops, pirated production software and cracked headphones patched with tape, young musicians began creating a style that matched their chaotic environment: 300 beats per minute, aggressive loops and rapid-fire lyrics in colloquial Swahili.
“Once Singeli starts, I forget all my problems,” Said Halfani, a 22-year-old apprentice mechanic from Manzese, told Anadolu. “I forget the rent. I forget hunger. I’m free – even if just for three minutes.”
- ‘No space for silence here’
Among Singeli’s pioneers are Seleman Jabil, known as Msaga Sumu, and Mohamed Hemed, aka Sisso – both of whom began in makeshift studios where leaking roofs and frequent blackouts were the norm.
“There’s no space for silence here,” Sumu told Anadolu, joking that his studio is so small he can cook and mix a beat without moving. “If your music doesn’t shout, it gets drowned out by life itself.”
Drawing from traditional Swahili rhythms like “mchiriku” and “segere,” early Singeli tracks gained traction at “kigodoro” street parties – vibrant, open-air gatherings celebrating weddings or community milestones.
With mattresses laid on the street and speakers aimed at the sky, entire neighborhoods would shake to the beat.
“We weren’t trying to make history,” Sumu said. “We were trying to eat.”
Though Singeli started as a male domain, women are now shaping its most powerful movements. Among them is 22-year-old Rehema Tajiri, a single mother who performs as Tajiri wa Singeli.
“The lyrics talk about our lives,” she told Anadolu. “Not everyone wants to hear about heartbreak in Paris. Some of us just want to survive the month.”
Her breakout track, Mtoto wa Kike, tells the story of a young woman abandoned after pregnancy. Other songs tackle issues like domestic violence and the societal hypocrisy faced by poor women.
“They said this genre was too wild for women,” she said with a smirk. “Well, I’m wilder.”
Another rising star, Young Duda, whose real name is Doreen, started as a peanut seller at the Ubungo bus terminal. Now 23, she records music on borrowed equipment and promotes her songs door to door. Her verses blend street wisdom with bold confidence.
“Singeli gave me a microphone,” she said. “I want girls to know: you don’t need permission to be loud.”
- From marginalized to mainstream
In Singeli’s early days, the genre faced resistance: police often raided performances, lyrics addressing sex, crime and street life were seen as threats to public decency, and artists were branded as troublemakers.
“People thought we were criminals,” said Jay Mitta, now a respected producer. “They didn’t see artists.”
Now, Singeli blares from government parades, corporate events and talent shows.
Even bureaucrats are beginning to understand what the streets have known all along. A government-led initiative, supported by UNESCO, is now seeking to list Singeli as Intangible Cultural Heritage.
As Singeli gains recognition at home, it is also crossing borders. In recent years, the genre has captured international attention, with artists performing in cities like Berlin and Paris.
“This music didn’t come from elite academies or air-conditioned studios – it was born in the dust of Dar es Salaam’s streets,” said Gerson Msigwa, permanent secretary at Tanzania’s Information, Culture, Arts and Sports Ministry.
“Singeli captures the rhythm of daily struggle and survival. It is a living archive of our people’s spirit, creativity and resilience.”
Despite growing recognition, Singeli artists still tread carefully in a country with a complex relationship with free expression. Musicians who stray into political commentary risk censure – or worse.
“We don’t poke the lion,” said Young Duda. “We talk about poverty, daily life. But we avoid politics.”