by STEVIE NII-ADU MENSAH

A story told is a life lived. But what if that story runs through your mind over a thousand times within just a fraction of a lifetime?

Jeanne Bahati was a remarkable woman who had an angel-like presence during her short stay here on Earth. That is the kind of description you will get from anyone who had the pleasure of knowing her. Her riveting stories of Central African folklore, expressed through a serious-toned voice but coming from a tiny, beautiful woman with dark-skinned features and a larger-than-life aura, haunted me then and haunts me now.

The concept of Voodoo was introduced through her to me in my childhood home, then located in the west of Stockholm, with a backdrop of eighties pop culture, Madonna’s “Who’s That Girl” playing on the radio, and Prince making faces on the TV screen in the living room.

Bahati was in her twenties for the entire time I was a human being in her atmosphere. Seven-year-old me could never overstand what impact her storytelling abilities would have on me over 30 years later. There is a subtle tone of ‘eerie’ in my first released book, “IT’S COLD OO”, that is a straight-up nod to Bahati’s way of storytelling. Her sitting on the edge of the sofa with hands going up and down, left and right, and constant head movements to express the moments when evil forces possessed her characters led me and my older brother Francis to many sleepless nights.

The physicality displayed most likely had its roots in Jeanne Bahati being an amazing dancer with a similar artistic background as my mother, Clementine Akuyo Brown. When they first united in Sweden, they ventured into the art form of dancing with the theatrics behind it. The painted faces, the pulsating rhythms, the chants, the screaming and shouting and calling on ancestors. It was a show for guests, but even a quest for finding one’s inner self and not being regulated by Western societal norms that made me worship the aforementioned, even at a young age.

Bahati, left, Clementine (Mom), right, post-performance in a nightclub in Stockholm

Bahati was my role model in being Afro-Swedish. With the help of the Swedish Church, she left Burundi as a child to come to Sweden for a cleft palate operation. Yet her pride in her African heritage was always super present in everything she was and did, and she never forgot who she was even after separating from her initial home.

Bahati passed away at 28, but I never saw the burden that comes with death in her. Just a massive amount of life-fueled warmth in her last few months, weeks, and days had me believe we would be back to playing hide and seek in tvättstugan (laundry room). From the moment she was hospitalised at St Görans Sjukhus in Stockholm, I was there right beside her, seated by the foot of her bed, revelling in the fact that her spirit hadn’t changed one bit despite all that her internal sickness had been taking her through. She was a fighter in the truest sense. Teaching me about resilience and never giving up. A true friend indeed. A life lived within just a fraction of a lifetime.

On my new project, an homage to Bahati, I team up with my mother, who plays drums and percussion and provides additional ad-libs. Each song is a musical conversation with influences that have inspired my creative journey from my childhood until recent latter days but are no longer here in the flesh but warmly live on through the atmosphere that flourishes through passionate musicianship.