Being Heard :: Being Seen

Architecture & Extreme Environments

Being Heard // Being Seen SOUND AS A TOOL FOR VISIBILITY//PERSECUTION IN THE ACOUSTIC LANDSCAPE Jack Cripps

Architecture & Extreme Environments

introduction Chapter I

“Throughout this history, our senses and perhaps most significantly that of hearing, has always been a crucial and fundamental part of our everyday lives.

Sound, in its simplest sense, is an affirmation of life.�

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To trace our history of sound, as declared by David Hendy in his 2013 publication ‘Noise: A Human History of Sound and Listening’, is to follow a story of how we learned to overcome our fear of the natural world; how we learned to communicate with, understand and live alongside our fellow beings; how we have fought with each other for dominance; how we have sought privacy in an increasingly busy world and how we have struggled with our emotions and our sanity. [1] Throughout this history, our senses and perhaps most significantly that of hearing, has always been a crucial and fundamental part of our everyday lives. Sound, in its simplest sense, is an affirmation of life.

As stated by the Canadian composer, writer and acoustic ecologist R. Murray Shafer, we might think of sound as a way of touching at a distance. This notion clearly and beautifully encapsulates the ability of sound to travel further than the length of an arm, to tangibly arrive at one’s ear and trigger an emotional response and understanding of place in that person. In the same regard as touch, sound is a force – for better or worse acting upon individuals. [2] However, it is also too slippery a thing to remain in the control or governance of any one person or body. It has a fluid, free tendency to move through space. In that way, unlike the visual and literate world that tends to provide us only with a series of fixed landscapes and boundaries, ‘soundscapes’ – a term popularised by Shafer in the 1970s – “shift their size and shape and character moment by moment” [3], overlapping and seeping into each other in irregular and unpredictable ways. A soundscape, like a landscape, is both a physical environment and a way of perceiving that environment. As described by the American historian Emily Thompson it is “both a world and a culture constructed to make sense of that world.” [4] Although sound can be subject to manipulation and influence by those with the means to do so, by its nature it is never unavailable for inventive use by the dispossessed or any other deprived party. [5] If we look back through history it is undeniable, as I will present later on, that the poor and powerless have had considerably less say about the sounds to which they have been exposed. Who gets to make noise and who doesn’t, whose voice is heard and whose isn’t is of paramount importance because silence, as welcome as it is on occasion, can also be deeply oppressive. Yet, as it is, sound is always at some level common property. To briefly present an example of this, in Kolkata (Calcutta) during religious festivals, the poor make use of the possibilities provided by these events to make intolerable, sustained noise outside the houses of the middle-class as a way of seeking retribution to the injustices they are submitted to throughout the year. Sounds of demonstration like this, or equally a church bell ringing, a baby crying a bomb exploding are noise, and the presence or the absence of it is charged with meaning. Any noise made by a certain group or individual leaks out to anyone within range of that pressure so that very often it is through these sounds that we come to discover, become aware and understanding of other cultures.

That being said, this essay will direct its focus into exploring the social nature and implications of sound and less on the more technical aspects of it. This is not to say that the technical control and management of sound is not a worthwhile field of exploration but for example, as summarised by the writer George Prochnik, “Soundproofing is terrific like bulletproof flak jackets are terrific…but wouldn’t it be better still if we didn’t have to worry about getting shot all the time?” [6] The answer to this question has to be an unquestionable yes as I see it. Sound can only be addressed if we engage with in an ethical, social and creative manner. To cut certain sounds from our lives, thereby acquiring a level of deafness, means we might miss things that really ought to be heard. Throughout history, we have seen how the generation or repression of sound can dramatically shape the lives of the people inhabiting those soundscapes and the power struggles involved in all of these circumstances highlights the role that attempted control has in those disputes. One place where this has been and still is deeply evident is across the continent of Africa. We can observe countless of examples of this acoustic struggle from the early European colonies through to the years of apartheid in South Africa but it is still on-going today. Through this writing, I will present certain examples from history of these clashes before moving onto discussions within a contemporary African and specifically Tanzanian context. Through our social actions, our built environments, our political activities, we greatly affect our acoustic landscapes and the effects that has on certain individuals or groups of people can not be underestimated for the soundscape we all share is exactly that – shared.

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[1] Hendy, Noise: A Human History of Sound & Listening, x.

[2] Ibid, xiv.

[3] Ibid, 328.

[4] Thompson, The Soundscape of Modernity, 1.

[5] Hendy, Noise: A Human History of Soudn and Listening, xiv.

[6] Prochnik, In Pursuit of Silence, 197.

Architecture & Extreme Environments

The hum of the city Chapter II

the hum of the city passing by; the vehicular conversations, honkingly undertaken; confidences of the most delicate sorts shared across corridors, lanes, and lives;�

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When walking through the ward of Kariakoo in the Ilala district of Dar Es Salaam, Tanzania, one, like me – a stranger, cannot help but be absorbed by what there is to listen to. What sounds emerge out of nowhere, conflate and contradict each other, suddenly disappearing into another before emerging again seemingly with a singular purpose to disrupt and obscure, or equally to fascinate and enthral. One account by the author Tripta Chandola of the soundscape of Govindpuri – a collection of slums in South West New Delhi – is exceptionally enchanting in its observation of these densely populated territories and could quite easily be recounting the soundscape I experienced that afternoon in Kariakoo. Hear this:

Fig. 1. Govindpuri area outlined in white. Rich Greater Kailash region to the left and Okhla Industrial Area to the right.

“clanking of utensils; water filling plastic bottles; tender bottoms being slapped; grown-up cheeks struck; raucous laughter in the corners; coins being sorted; technologies of communication, communicating –phones, televisions, and amplifiers – creating, collapsing and distancing words and lives; sellers of wares, necessary, unrequired, and varied, dangling their goods through the prowess of their throats;…aazaan on the loudspeaker from the mosque in the corner defining the day for many;…the hum of the city passing by; the vehicular conversations, honkingly undertaken; confidences of the most delicate sorts shared across corridors, lanes, and lives;” [7] When reading this, I was reminded by the words of the American composer John Cage, who in 1937 said, “Wherever we are what we hear is mostly noise. When we ignore it, it disturbs us. When we listen to it we find it fascinating.”8 This noise described by Chandola is always around us but it is tolerable to many because it is for the most part sound generated collectively; it is the accumulated sounds of everyone in the street equally, not the outpouring of one dominant sound-maker. [9] There is a warm humanity that emerges from it – that affirmation of life. The sounds heard are of ‘us’, and not ‘them’. However, importantly, sound is absolutely subjective. ‘Noise’ is commonly defined as sound that is ‘out of place’ – unwanted, irritating and interfering.

Yet, one person’s noise can very easily be another person’s peace, isolation or refuge. Underpinning much of this struggle between wanted and unwanted sound is anxiety. Whenever we choose to withdraw into our own individual or smaller, collective soundscapes by soundproofing or relocation we discourage others from making themselves visible and felt, thereby making strangers of each other. [10] By this, I don’t mean the desire of a parent to seek a moments peace from a day of activity with their children or the need for a certain degree of ‘quiet’ when I myself am writing these words, but instead the sonic battles between groups and social classes of people. There is often a desire to create a ‘clean’ and sterile soundscape in this sense, but as I will argue, this can quickly become cold and dangerously dehumanising.

Looking again at the description of Govindpuri, it is suggestive of an incredibly dense and intense soundscape – and indeed it is. Govindpuri is a resettlement colony made-up of three individual slum areas and its

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[7] Chandola, I Wail, Therefore I Am. The Acoustic City, 212.

[8] Cage, Silence: lectures and writings by John Cage, v.

[9] Hendy, Noise: A Human History of Sound and Listening 329.

[10] Ibid, 331.

Architecture & Extreme Environments density is clear to see from the aerial image in Figure 1. Slums in India, as in Tanzania and any other developing country, are deeply marginalised spaces in the urban environment. As stated by Chandola, they “represent the perversity of a past (or present) desired to be conveniently lost: poverty, violence, unstructured growth, ‘over-population’, dirt, filth and noise.” [11] To be heard in these environments, both literally and politically, requires powerful sonic technologies and social actions or else your proclamations fall on deaf ears.

To those on the outside, anything heard from within these soundscapes is a cacophony of contaminated sounds. It is not conducive to conversations and therefore doesn’t deserve listening to but instead silencing.

For those within, they go on living in a perpetual state of chaos. Without the ability to be heard, how can they move forward towards auditory validation and a state of calm? Why are they deemed unfit to participle into the listenings of and in the city? According to Chandola, this is due to an “inherent moral and ethical corruptibility”. [12] The slums and their residents are seemingly beyond redemption and are therefore pushed to the side and denied recognition as citizens of the state.

Acutely aware of this predicament they find themselves in, these slum environments often then have their own internalized systems of distributing this violence and ostracism – and are thereby defining, like the city does to them, their own margins and allocations of what deserves hearing and recognising. This internalised marginalisation is manifest in countless areas of Dar Es Salaam. One of which is the place known as Hyena Square in a poor neighbourhood in the western ward of Manzese. Ask anyone here in Dar about Hyena Square (Uwanja wa Fisi) and you are warned of a place full with alcoholics, addicts and prostitutes. In this highly gendered area it is the sounds and voices – or lack thereof – of women and specifically female sex-workers that are muted.

These women are denied the techniques and platforms of others to voice their concerns and difficulties and therefore find themselves stuck in the dreadful cycle of selling their bodies for economic survival. Of course, this is a subject of deep complexity and to extend sound as its primary characteristic is not an attempt at over simplification. However, as I will present later in the essay with regards to Bongo Flava and popular culture in Tanzania, practices of free expression and the ability to be heard can be incredibly cathartic methods of alleviating ones struggles and an attempt to begin to resolve them.

One case of this in Hyena Square is that of Eliza, a young lady who was forced to turn herself into selling her body in Uwanja wa Fisi as a young teenager. Sold by her mother to be a house girl in Dar after her father abandoned the family, she was falsely accused of theft and spent three months in prison before arriving in Hyena Square. After spending several years in the grips of this industry, seeing friends die or disappear and contracting HIV she visited a local establishment nearby called Kiwohede. Run out of an old shipping container, Kiwohede (Kiota Women Health and Development Organisation), amongst other project, provides a space where these women are welcomed and encouraged to visit. Once there, much of the help they receive is simply being given the opportunity to talk and voice their worries but also their aspirations and hopes for the future. As vital as the health tests and accommodation is that Kiwohede provide, the cathartic value of offering the chance for someone in such a setting to speak about their situation cannot be understated. Whether these sounds, like in Kolkata, resonate through demonstrations or similarly beating drums in march, roundtable discussions, the ability to interrogate and audibly review your current situation and standing in society is often the first step in going about making a change to the situation. In that way, the contemporary platforms - although limited that are available to these demographics at least provides the opportunity for change and transformation.

[11] Chandola, I Wail, Therefore I Am. The Acoustic City, 213.

[12] Ibid, 215.

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Architecture & Extreme Environments

Sonic (de)Selection Chapter III

the hum of the city passing by; the vehicular conversations, honkingly undertaken; confidences of the most delicate sorts shared across corridors, lanes, and lives;�

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There are numerous examples throughout history that depict how the uneven distribution of sound affects negatively those in lower social classes and the most vulnerable in our society and I believe it is important here to present a case or two to reiterate the longevity of this discrimination and the recurrence of sound in the formation and resolution of this marginalisation. One example of this was evident in eighteenth century Edinburgh, Scotland. “I make no manner of doubt that the High Street of Edinburgh is inhabited by a greater number of persons than any street in Europe.” These words by Captain Edward Topham, stationed in Edinburgh in the 1770s, describe a place where after the Battle of Culloden and the demise of the Jacobite Rebellion in 1746, all inhabitants of Edinburgh – rich, middle or poor – were enclosed within the fortified city walls. For centuries, the people had clustered close to the castle for protection, but by the early nineteenth century the city’s wealthy would have turned their back and shut their doors against the noise and lewdness of their less fortunate counterparts. [13] For a time, living side by side was the natural order of the day in the Scottish capital. As the ground dramatically slopes away from the castle compound, houses also extend downwards, creating hidden stories and dark narrow passages where further buildings and walkways extend over the streets as the population continued to grow. This landscape of ways and holes as described by Robert Louis Stevenson, “was for all the world like a rabbit-warren” [14] vomiting noise in an endless stir. Both rich and those of more modest means would occupy tenements. Fishmongers, dressmakers, ministers, tradesmen a dowager countess, all inhabited one building and passed each other everyday on the common staircase. As one might imagine, this proximity between all distinctions of social standing was a noisy, chaotic environment lacking any real system of privacy. The soundscape of the street outside was equally raucous. Ironed rimmed carriage wheels roared against the cobbled stone streets where stallholders, musicians, shouting peddlers, tanners, hammering smiths all contributed to a tremendously loud acoustic landscape. For the richer classes, this social structure could not be sustained and in the 1750s a plan was drawn up for a ‘New Town’ in the city, which as was put, ‘was for ‘people of a certain rank and fortune only’. [15] This New Town, as it still is today, is a beautiful, well-planned mixture of neo-classical and Georgian architecture. By its completion, almost every wealthy citizen had left the Old Town in place of this new civil society, just the length of a bridge away. Now, each family had its own self-contained house of several floors and private staircase where this desire for isolation had finally been attained. They might leave this sanctuary and cross the bridge to Old Town to conduct business or shop, but this would be as observers. Due to their social standing they no longer needed to be participants in this cramped, noisy soundscape, struggling to breath amongst it all, night and day.

For the lower classes of eighteenth-century Edinburgh, this social soundproofing created a very stark and rigid class divide, but it couldn’t be considered a matter of life and death. Among African American slaves, their struggle to make noise and be heard against the white plantation owners’ intent to powerfully enforce silence would be defended and come to a challenge in the most brutal of ways. One example of this can be seen from the Stono Rebellion that began on September 9, 1739 in the British colony of South Carolina, which is considered one of the largest and most violent slave revolts in American history. A group of around 50-armed men marched against local plantation owners, killing around 20 white settlers before the rebellion was quelled and ruthless vengeance enacted. One account of the event recalls not just the gruesome details of violence but the way the slaves were walking and the sounds they were making: “they calling out Liberty, marched on with Colours displayed, and two Drums beating…on which they halted in a field, and set to dancing, Singing and beating Drums, to draw more Negroes to them”. [16] These drums and acts of dance and song were ways of the slaves announcing their progression as they called out to others in nearby huts and fields to join. For those men, these performances of sound were a means to express their freedom and liberty. Clearly undesirable, plantation owners and slaveholders enforced their

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Architecture & Extreme Environments power to impose silence on their workers, or equally at times demand they sing in order to improve efficiency.

In either silence or singing, it was those white overseers who were in control of the soundscape. [17] There were places however, like in Jamaica, where slaves found ways, every now and then, to make sounds and auditory gestures of their own choosing. The writing of Hans Sloane, who voyaged to Jamaica in the 1680s, offers a glimpse of such occasions:

Fig. 2. Edinburgh Old Town in the middle. The emergence of New Town at the top.

“The Negros…although hard wrought, will at nights, or on Feast days Dance and Sing…They have several sorts of Instruments in imitation of Lutes, made of small Gourds fitted with Necks, strong with Horse hairs, or the peeled stalks of climbing Plants…Their Dances consist in great activity and strength of Body, and keeping time…” [18]

Fig. 3. Representations of the dancing from the Stono Rebellion.

From these accounts of music and dance in Jamaica to the confusion and drum beating of the Stono Rebellion and further through religious preaching and singing all the way to jive, ragtime, blues, jazz, gospel and hiphop, “it’s not hard to look back and trace a rich through-line of aural history…which (has) become firmly established as a part of mainstream American culture.” [19] Indeed, those sounds of Southern slavery have shaped culture globally and one such way can be seen right here in Dar Es Salaam.

[13] Hendy, Noise: A Human History of Sound and Listening, 168.

[14] Catriona, The Works of Robert Louis Stevenson, Swanston edn, vol xi [London: Chatto and Windus, 1911], 8.

[15] Hendy, Noise: A Human History of Sound and Listening, 177.

[16] ‘Account of the Negroe Insurrection in South Carolina’, unknown author, c October 1739, reprinted in Smith, Stono, pp. 13-15.

[17] Hendy, Noise: A Human History of Sound and Listening. 2013, 194.

[18] Sloane, A Voyage to the Islands Madera, Barbados, Nieves, S. Christophers and Jamaica, Vol. 1 xlvii - xlviii.

[19] Hendy, Noise: A Human History of Sound and Listening, 199.

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BONGO FLAVA Chapter IV

“..popular music and performance not only reflect, but may also affect the socio-political reality. In this way, Bongo Flava has been a successful instrument of social innovation and affirmation.�

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Fig. 4+5. Screenshots of videos to Mwana Mkiwa (‘Baby Boy’) by K Sal ft. Feruz and Mkuki Moyoni by Afande Sele ft. Daz Baba depicting life as an orphan and the struggles of finding employment.

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In his 1952 publication Invisible Man, Ralph Ellison portrays the difficulties faced by African Americans in becoming socially visible and how developing an audible voice can put and end to that invisibility – as those drums at Stono Rebellion prove. In a similar sense, Bongo Flava in East Africa and Tanzania has been used to a similar effect. In the early 2000s, Dar Es Salaam saw the emergence of this new genre of music, a blend of foreign styles from hip-hop to reggae that is sung in standard and street Swahili. At that time, and still today, it is referred to as ‘the music of the new generation’ (muziki wa kizazi kipya), and is the preferred style for urban youths to communicate between generations. [20] As argued by the anthropologist Johannes Fabian in 1978, popular music and performance not only reflect, but may also affect the socio-political reality. [21] In this way, as I will go on to explain, Bongo Flava has been a successful instrument of social innovation and affirmation and a strong platform by which often silenced urbanities have been given a voice and a way to be heard. As noted by Hendy, “Democracy has always been, in part, an aural struggle – a struggle to be heard in ways of one’s own choosing.” [22] For those African Americans (although not a successful form of democracy), it was a long, slow struggle to turn those sounds once oppressed into an accepted, influential and now celebrated part of modern cultural life.

Bongo Flava, or “local flavour” as it began (fleva ya nyumbani or ladha ya hapa), was made possible and became significantly influential with the introduction of President Ali Hassan Mwinyi following the retirement of former President Julius Nyerere in 1985. Mwinyi brought into office an end to the Ujamaa form of socialist policies enacted under Nyerere and brought to the country the freemarket and the privatization of the media. With that came the introduction of televisions and the broadcasting of African American genres such as hip hop and R&B. Following this, since the early 1990s, these styles have weaved their way into the sounds and approaches of local artists and through their exposure have become influential in the everyday lives of Tanzanians.

Many of the artists performing Bongo Flava are young men in their twenties from diverse social and religious backgrounds – more often than not born in Dar Es Salaam and in it’s slums. [23] Initially, the genre targeted the young majority as according to the 2002 governmental census, over 63 percent of the country’s population was younger than 25. [24] Now, the audience is much wider in its demographic with young women, older generations and rural residents all sharing an interest in the messages it has to say. An imperative of Bongo Flava, especially since the late 90s, has been to ‘keep it real’. Lyrics are committed to reflecting specific local views and real urban living conditions. Songs are filled with credible social issues – mostly always found in slums - such as marriage, adultery, HIVAIDS, unemployment, poverty, drug abuse and bribery. [25] Bongo Flava, and music culture in general is seen as didactic in Tanzania. “People do want a message, not (hear artists) boast and celebrate sex and alcohol” [26], as one lyric describes in the song Darubini Kali by artist Afande Sele. This music has become a powerful instrument of expression for dissatisfied, low-income urbanities. Alike other rich Tanzanian artistic cultures such as ngona (traditional dance), dansi (urban jazz) and taarab (sung Swahili poetry), sound and performance are intimately related to politics of power and understanding dynamics of identity in Tanzania. According to Fabian, “popular culture opens up the possibility of a new analytical approach because it is implicated in networks and institutions that transcend the boundaries of culture tout court – not only in its production and distribution, but also at the level of meaning…popular culture in Africa can be seen as a diagnostic tool for the analysis of power.”

[27] What then Bongo Flava shows us is the significant relevance its songs have in the soundscape of Dar Es Salaam. As they are amplified from minibuses, cars, bars, restaurants and vendors they have paved a way for this often muted demographic to be heard – both literally and politically.

[20] Suriano, Music as Bricolage in Post-Socialist Dar Es Salaam. The Acoustic City, 124.

[21] Ibid, 124.

[22] Hendy, Noise: A Human History of Sound and Listening, 200.

[23] Suriano, Music as Bricolage in Post-Socialist Dar Es Salaam. The Acoustic City, 126.

[24] Government of Tanzania. 2002. Evaluation and Analysis of the Age Structure, 2 http://www.tanzania.go.tz/census/pdf/Evaluation%20and%20Analysis%20of%20the%20 Age %Structure.pdf (Accessed 09.12.17) [25] Suriano, Music as Bricolage in Post-Socialist Dar Es Salaam. The Acoustic City, 127.

[26] Afande Sele ft. Ditto, Darubini Kali.

[27] White, Singing the Praises of Power. The Acoustic City, 131.

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Architecture & Extreme Environments

Hearing positively Chapter V

“It’s what allows us to unravel what we might otherwise dismiss as meaningless noise and appreciate the dramatic tangle of social relationships it really contains.”

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If we consider then the relative success of Bongo Flava it is fair to say that there is no reason we are incapable of thinking positively with our ears. Listening allows us to navigate and be alert to the world around us. It is a profoundly active, skilful and ethical act. It’s what allows us to unravel what we might otherwise dismiss as meaningless noise and appreciate the dramatic tangle of social relationships it really contains. [28] By dismissing unfamiliar and undesirable sounds, we run the risk, as Joanna Burke presents, of developing a ‘psychological disposition’ towards suspicion and furthermore, hate. [29] By warning of the potentially dire consequences of social deafness, a history of sound - as was presented in the case of Edinburgh and the Stono Rebellion urges us towards greater mutual understanding. As told by the journalist Owen Jones in ‘Chavs: The Demonization of the Working Class’, if we avoid genuine engagement with social and economic problems within these increasingly poor environments, that class divide and inequality will continue widening. [30] Again, I reiterate that these issues are formed of a complex web of parties, interests and established systems that sound and a better social understanding of it cannot resolve single-handedly. Yet, if we approach these spatial-temporal-sonic grounds with open ears then we allow everyone a right to occupy our public spaces and will then provide a place where all may have their voice heard.

To reference David Mackenzie’s 2011 film Perfect Sense, it depicts a fictional virus spreading across the world that takes a person’s senses one at a time. When the characters are robbed of their taste or smell they remember the pleasure to be found in touch and the intimacy to be found in connecting physically with one another.

However, when this breaks and their sense of hearing and sound is stolen from them everything about the social order of the reality begins to fall apart. Communication breaks down and information and opinions become trapped and lost in the protagonist’s minds. It is at this point in the film that we see the importance of sound and the consequences that its elimination might have. Of course the visual world is vital in its explanation of our surroundings but hearing and sound provides textures and narratives that anchor the visual world that we perceive. Once that is taken away we are no longer able to understand past the immediate, visual surface of our experiences.

What I hope to have presented in this writing is a discussion that emphasizes the importance of sound and therefore the capacity of ourselves to hear and produce that sound. Perceiving the world through our ears I would argue, as I hope the case studies presented have also done, offer us a far more immersive and descriptive understanding of the world and people around us. It cannot be argued that world has become a progressively louder place. Technological advancement, growing population, media coverage all contribute to a far more confused and layered soundscape. Similarly, that progression has also provided us with the opportunity to reduce that noise significantly by the use of thicker walls, soundproofing, rubber tyres, traffic regulations and so on. However, to do so I would argue would be to overlook the richness and shared nature of our individual and social activities, let alone the imperative capacity to recognise and understand the voices of the most exposed and at risk in our society. To finish with the words of David Hendy, “(sounds) gave our ancestors – just as they give us still – a sense of place and time, a sense of danger and comfort, a sense of connection with other people. They have helped make us human. So instead of obsessing about sound in some abstract way, we need to recover a feeling for how important it has always been to daily life – and just what a great deal has been at stake in that apparently simple phenomenon, the soundscape.” [31]

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[28] Hendy, Noise: A Human History of Sound and Listening, 331.

[29] Bourke, Fear: A Cultural History, 353.

[30] Jones, Chavs: The Demonization of the Working Class, 8.

[31] Hendy, Noise: A Human History of Sound and Listening, 332.

Architecture & Extreme Environments

bibliography Appendix

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Askew, K. Performing the Nation: Swahili Music and Cultural Politics in Tanzania, Volume 1. University of Chicago Press, 2002.

Bourke, Joanna, Fear: A Cultural History. Virago, 2005.

Cage, John. Silence: lectures and writings by John Cage. Wesleyan University Press, June 1961.

Castro, R & Carvalhais, M (Eds.) Invisible Places, Sounding Cities: Sound, Urbanism & Sense of Place, 18-24 July 2014, Viseu, Portugal. Jardins Efemeros, 2014.

Charry, E. Hip Hop Africa: New African Music in a Globalizing World. Indiana University Press, 2012.

Deutsche Welle. ‘Bongo Flava – The Sound of Dar Es Salaam’ Accessed 19.12.17. http://www.dw.com/en/bongo-flava-the-sound-of-dar-es-salaam/a-19037677 Edinburgh New Town. ‘A History of Edinburgh’s New Town’. Accessed 19.12.17. http://www.edinburgh-newtown.com/history.html Fabian, J. Moments of Freedom: Anthropology and Popular Culture. University Press of Virginia, 1998.

Gandy, M & Nilsen, BJ (Eds.) The Acoustic City. Jovis Verlag GmbH, 2014.

Goodman, S. Sonic Warfare: Sound, Affect, and the Ecology of Fear (Technologies of Lived Abstraction). The MIT Press, 2012.

The Guardian. ‘An insider’s cultural guide to Dar Es Salaam: laid-back bustle and bonogo flava.’ Accessed 19.12.17. https://www.theguardian.com/cities/2015/dec/07/insider-culturalguide- dar-es-salaam-bongo-flava The Guardian. ‘Story of cities #10: how the dirty Old Town became enlightened Edinburgh.’ Accessed 19.12.17. https://www.theguardian.com/cities/2016/mar/29/story-of-cities-10- edinburgh-new-town-old-town-scottishenlightenment-james-craig Hendy, D. Noise: A Human History of Sound and Listening. Profile Books Ltd, 2013.

Hyena Square: Uwanja wa Fisi. Accessed 19.12.17. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yXS01i_Rnmk&t=1037s Jones, O. Chavs: The Demonization of the Working Class. Verso Books, 2012.

Kiwohede: Kiota Women Health & Development Organization) Accessed 19.12.17. http://www.kiwohede.org/ page.php?p=634 National Humanities Center. ‘Two Views of the Stono Slave Rebellion: South Carolina, 1739’. Accessed 19.12.17. http://nationalhumanitiescenter.org/pds/becomingamer/peoples/text4/stonorebellion.pdf Perfect Sense, David McKenzie, BBC Films, 2011.

Schafer, RM. The Soundscape: Our Sonic Environment and the Tuning of the World. Destiny Books, 1993.

Shuler, J. Calling Out Liberty: The Stono Slave Rebellion and the Universal Struggle for Human Rights. University Press of Mississippi, 2011.

Sloane, H. A Voyage to the Islands Madera, Barbados, Nieves, S. Christophers and Jamaica, Vol. 1 (London, 1701), pp. xlvii - xlviii.

Smith, M. Stono: Documenting and Interpreting a Southern Slave Revolt. University of South Carolina Press, 2005.

Suriano, M. Urban Youth Culture in Tanzania as Seen through Bongo Flavour and Hip-Hop. Swahili Forum 14: 207-223, 2007.

Thompson, E. The Soundscape of Modernity: Architectural Acoustics and the Culture of Listening in America, 1900–1933. The MIT Press, 2004.

Thomson Safaris. ‘Bongo Flava: The Rhythm of Tanzania.’ Accessed 19.12.17. http://www.thomsonsafaris.com/blog/bongo-flava-tanzania-music/

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Jack Cripps