Kasiva Mutua's long journey to success began when she was 6

Kasiva Mutua, professional percussionist. [Photo/Standard]

What would you do if you were told that the very thing you were born to do was taboo? How would you react if the world you were so determined to be a part of was just as determined to kick you out and shut the door firmly behind you? Many of us would dust ourselves off and find an alternative occupation, but not 29 year-old Kasiva Mutua. With music flowing through her veins from a young age, she defied the odds and proved that women too can be great drummers. She talks to Hustle about building a career as a percussionist.

When did your love affair with music begin?

When I was little, at around the age of six, I would spend time with my grandmother in Ukambani. In the evenings as she was cooking by the fire, she would tell me all these folk tales. But there were only so many stories she could tell so she would leave me hanging in the middle of a story and ask me to go to the goat pen to hear what the animal was saying.

I would rush there and I would listen so intensely that I would start to hear much of what was happening around me. I would hear faint sounds like people talking at a distance, crickets, footsteps, even the breathing of the animals.

There was a way that these sounds would crisscross and in that mix of sounds I would hear rhythm. Whatever I heard, I would try to replicate and that’s how I started playing.

Have you been making music since?

Yes, but things got a bit more serious in high school. When I joined Form One, there was a girl in my school called Michelle Mageyo who was a phenomenal drummer. I remember walking into church that first Sunday and hearing these beats.

I walked to the front of the church and saw this girl playing drums in the most amazing way and I was completely struck.

After the service, I asked her if I could play with her the next Sunday. She told me to go for rehearsals on Saturday and I could then play with her on Sundays. That’s how I started playing in church. She was in Form Four so when she left, she handed the baton to me.

How did it go from there?

In Form Two I went for my first drama and music festivals. I failed miserably because although I was a good drummer, I doubted myself. I was nervous and my palms were sweaty so my drumsticks flew right out of my hands and onto the adjudicators’ table. I walked out of the room and didn’t even go back to hear the results being announced because I knew that I hadn’t done well. I nevertheless went back for music festivals in Form Three with more courage and hand drums.

I figured that no matter how nervous I got, at least my hands wouldn’t come flying off like the drum sticks had. I made it to the nationals...and this is where all the problems began.

In what way?

This is the point at which I really started to feel like I was weird and there was something absolutely wrong with what I was doing. Women did not play drums! In all these competitions, there were no other girls, just me. As I was standing in the registration queues, I would see all these eyes on me.

I remember the last music festival I went to when I was in Form Four and this super drummer from a boys’ school walked up to me and told me “mimi siwezi shindwa na skirt”. He called me a skirt! I was determined to show him otherwise.

I went into that room and slammed the rhythm out of my drums, and I won the competition. I couldn’t help but walk up to him and rub it in his face.

Was it really that unusual to see a female drummer?

Absolutely! But I started looking into why I felt the need to explain myself in this particular space when I didn’t need to explain myself when I was in the kitchen cooking. I discovered that in Africa, drumming has been taboo for women for a very long time. It was considered sacred and older men would use drums in their ceremonies. Women were not allowed to be a part of this.

How then did you turn your passion into a career?

When I was done with university abroad, I came back to Kenya and one of my trainers from high school took me to an artist called Mutinda.

I joined the band as a singer but I had a plan: I was constantly watching his extremely talented percussionist named Isaac whom I learned a lot from.

During Mutinda’s album launch I begged Isaac to let me play one song, which he agreed. There I was with the microphone in my face, singing and drumming away. I gave it my all.

Word got out about my drumming and shortly after that Della called me to play with her. I was with her for about four years. The money back then wasn’t much but I loved what I was doing, so much that it didn’t really matter to me.

Are you now able to make a comfortable living as a percussionist?

Yes. I started getting more and more gigs. This year, I have toured in the United States from January to May, came back to shoot for Coke Studio, went to Germany for a show in between the Coke Studio gig, presented at Ted Global, was in the studio recording an album for a fellow musician and from there I am going back to the US to work on a month-long project on social change.

How has being part of these big projects impacted your career?

Being a part of these projects has been really huge for me. Coke Studio was something that I took very seriously because this is a platform that brings superstars together.

It is healthy for African music because it enables us to open our borders. We only consume our own music (and Nigerian music) but Coke Studio creates an opportunity to discover what the rest of Africa is doing.

Presenting at Ted Global was very intense for me as I had to dig deep to come up with the content for my talk.

It also pushed me out of my comfort zone and got me talking in front of huge crowds but from that, new doors will be open to me. I have also been involved with The Nile Project for the past five years and have a group of young female drummers called Motra who I mentor. Drumming isn’t what I do, it’s who I am.

I have found my purpose and by affecting people’s emotions with my music, I am doing what makes me happy.

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