Malian wassoulou singer Ramata Diakité died on October 30, 2009.  She was a trailblazer in West African roots music.  Her 1999 CD Na set a new direction for wassoulou music, electronic and contemporary in its sound and lyrics, but still deeply tied to traditions.  That recording led to collaborations with Toumani Diabaté, Taj Mahal and others.  Ramata went on to tour and record in the United States.  One American artist who worked with Ramata during those years was California singer/songwriter Markus James.  He sent us this remembrance.

It was just one year ago that Ramata wowed the crowd along the banks of the Niger at the Ali Farka Toure Festival in Niafounke, where she was the highlight for many people. Ramata was one of the most beloved Malian artists, an amazing singer, a beautiful dancer, an endlessly creative songwriter, a prominent bandleader, and a dynamic and fiercely independent woman.  She will be remembered by all who knew her for her big smile and laughter, her high energy, and her deep love of music and people. Ramata consistently won in Mali's national popular music awards, and she toured all over Mali every year.  Whenever she played in Timbuktu, so far from her native Wassoulou region, everyone dressed up to go to her shows, which were packed.  She told me that she especially loved to play in remote villages where she and her group would entertain people all through the night.

Back in 2004-2006, I was on several shows with her here in the US, and was also her road manager and driver as we were playing with some of the same musicians.  I remember seeing her in the rearview mirror, smiling in the midst of the constant bantering of the guys, happy to be on the road playing music.  One night she had the musicians leave the stage and she accompanied herself with only the calabash and it
just killed.  She had beautiful hands with long, elegant fingers that seemed to wrap around the calabash.  Audiences here loved her, and when she took off her shoes and started dancing barefoot, forget it—it was all over. 

We had always talked about collaborating, and once when we were both in NY, back in 2003 I think, I went over one morning to the apartment in Brooklyn where she was visiting and set up the portable gear while we waited for her to wake up.  She came out very sleepy, and so we said maybe another time, but she said "no, let's see."  She put on the headphones and started humming along with the music Mamadou and I had recorded, and she said, "my voice is still asleep, but let's see, sometimes that's good for a song."  We talked briefly about what the song was about, and in one take she put down a beautiful vocal; and when she was done she smiled and said, "look at my arm", and the hair on her arm was standing up.  With music, she was giving it all, all the time.  Ramata could make her voice do anything, from the most intimate, to belting it out.  She was one of those artists who was always at her best live. 

I remember back in 2001 going with Solo Sidibe to one of her shows outside of Bamako, where she was a big star.  Ramata casually showed up 2 hours early carrying a big bowl of rice on her head, to feed whoever was there.  She stayed with us here in California a couple of times and we were amazed at how easily she could change from beaming in the stage lights to thunderous applause, to insisting on doing the dishes.  When she talked about other people, especially musicians, she always talked about their heart; that was how she saw them:  "He plays well, and he has a good heart."  As an artist, and as a woman, she had to deal with so many challenging things; she was a great example of the power of the human will.  We'll always remember her forcefully expressing her strength, saying, "I am Ramata!" 

It's never easy to lose a friend, or a great artist, especially when they are still relatively young and thriving.  Here's hoping that her remaining recordings will see the light of day, and that Ramata's spirit will continue to inspire, especially the next generation of traditionally based Malian women artists. Ni Allah Sona.

Contributed by Markus James

First published: www.afropop.org