An ode to Sankomota

by

Ngoan’a Nts’oana

Kingsway should have been bustling with lines upon lines of mourners queing to
touch his casket; the airwaves should have been saturated with the beautifully-
haunting textures of his compositions; a public holiday should have been declared
just to honour his immense, immeasurable contribution to the art of music-making.

But alas, this is Lesotho, and we are not known for particularly admiring our heroes
– nor are we of recognising them. The 27th of November, 2003 marked the end of an
era; Frank Mooki Leepa, guitarist and awe-inspiring front-man of the band
Sankomota passed away. This happened a mere month before their planned
appearance at that year’s jazz festival.

The history of Sankomota is as long-winded as it is interesting; it is a tale of bad

timing, sometimes-terrible decisions (we all make them), and sheer bad luck. A
name-change from Uhuru, the original formation which was kick started in 1975,
meant that they had to re-think their entire strategy. It was no easy feat considering
that Uhuru had made a name for themselves at that point (1979); adoring followers
in both Lesotho and South Afrika could not get enough of them. Their groove-
oriented, Afrikan-tinged melodies and ‘get-up-and-dance’ song dynamic meant that
they were the perfect fit for any type of setting. That they were really good at what
they did, did not hurt either.

This is a band which has served as my sanctuary whenever music seems to loose
track; Frank Leepa’s arrangements, complemented by Ts’epo Ts’ola’s wailing,
substantial vocal intonations, are truly the stuff of legends. Erstwhile front-man
Ts’ola was to leave the band in 1991 to pursue a solo career, leaving Leepa to take
the reins – yet another blow. This, however, only seemed to inspire the ever-
changing cast – Black Jesus and Budhaza were members at one point – to soldier on.

They were still under the leadership of Leepa when tragedy struck yet again in
1996. This time around, it was a road accident which when the band were on their
way to Cape Town; some members passed away in that crash; I can still recall the
images – though slightly – on the news bulletin that evening.

My principal in primary school should have been quite the fan, for she spoke of the
name and its origins at assembly one day. ‘Sankomota’ she said ‘means “strong…
forceful…resilient”. I might be wrong. She might not have uttered those words. But
it is like that with everything that one has not heard in a while; if powerful enough,
the overall gist of the words sticks; the haze, the layer on top of the original
statement still remains. This fuzzy, almost-extinct memory reminds one of the
deeper meaning of the word; it acts as a conduit to unlocking long-forgotten yet
seminal events. So ‘Sankomota’ might not translate directly to what I have quoted
above, but it means something on the verge of those words.

Peter Schneider, a Swiss citizen (now living in Peru) who was the band’s first
manager, suggests in one article that Frank had mentioned the word Sankomota in
one of his songs, and thus adopted it when the time came to change their name.
This was due to a reggae group from Jamaica, already having elected a name
similar to theirs. This band was Michael Rose’s Black Uhuru.

To me, Sankomota represents memories of a childhood well-spent; the tapes on

long trips, the songs on a lazy Sunday afternoon, and the constant rotation of ‘Stop
the war’ and ‘House on fire’ on the radio. Sankomota’s music was significant in that
it seemed to unify an entire nation; their concerts are rumoured to have been
legendary.

They got their recording break through the recording label Shifty’s mobile studio.
Their first album, ‘Sankomota’, was recorded in Lesotho in 1983. My amusement a
few years back when an acquaintance showed me that very first album – an LP still
in mint condition – cannot quite be captured in words. They went on to release five
more albums, the last being ‘Frankly speaking’ in 2001. The album had its moments
(‘Another accident’, ‘Moonlover’ - which featured guest vocals from the late Nana
Coyote), and while Frank Leepa’s arrangement prowess still shone through ever so
brightly, the band had somehow disintegrated into a mere shadow of their former
self. Too much had been chipped away at the edges; too many struggles had been
endured; too much ‘seems’ to have been lost.

My favourite album to this day is ‘After the storm’. Its sleeve is forever entrenched
in my mind; every song evokes strong memories. It might not have been their best
work – depending on which vantage point one looks at it from – but it was my first
encounter. I was a youth in the early nineties, toying with sounds produced what
still is arguably one of the best musical exports to ever come out of Lesotho and
make an impact within the broader jazz community.

At his funeral, promises of an institute dedicated to his memory were made.

Delegates, musicians, and the laymen gathered to pay their last respects. In
retrospect, it may seem that we betrayed the memory of a legend. Yet with every
Sankomota song played, with every anecdote shared about the collective’s genius,
the legend that is Frank Leepa and the gargantuan force that is Sankomota’s music
lives on.

I shall finish my ode with these words from their song, ‘Malala pipe’: ‘I believe you
were born for greatness/ the light in your eye is [the] spark of god’.

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