Embracing the Lady and the Boy: How this Kenyan singer is engaging queerness through music

There is nothing novel about the concept of art as liberation. 

All across the world, social and cultural groupings have leveraged the power of creation to offer accounts of themselves, their communities, and their aspirations for liberation. In Africa specifically, art has been a central pillar of some of the most consequential movements for social change, from the anti-apartheid struggle in South Africa through musicians such as Abdullah Ibrahim and Miriam Makeba, to the End SARS movement in Nigeria through artists such as Burna Boy and Falz. Art has also generated comfort in visibility for many – through writers such as Chinelo Okparanta and Nawal el-Saadawi, a range of communities have found characters and stories in which they have grown to see themselves, experiencing, for the first time in many instances, validation of their identities and experiences. 

A third form of social justice is one that, in its intimacy and vulnerability, is easy to overlook. It is a form of art that does not promise answers to the question of liberation or solutions to the problem of oppression. It is a form of art that says one thing: “Here I am. This is me.” 

In his debut album, Lady Boy, Kenyan singer-songwriter Jarel Nduba joins in that tradition, offering a poignant account not of oppression, nor the promise of liberation, but of himself. In it, Jarel narrates the experience of living as a gay man in Kenya – the microaggressions in being told to “not be so effeminate” and to “not use so many flamboyant hand movements,” the deplatforming of his experiences and the experiences of other queer individuals by radio and media, and above all, the question of self-identification, and of being forced to identify with a restrictive, inaccessible binary. 

In Jarel’s own words, “We all have the femme and the masc in us.” Lady Boy is an ode to embracing both the lady and the boy inside. It is, to Jarel, both a radical departure from the gospel of the binary, and “a middle finger” to those that oppose his right not only to exist but to exist on his terms. 

For much of his life, Jarel has been surrounded by music. Growing up in the coastal city of Mombasa, Jarel was immersed in the rhythms of Bango and Chakacha, which are the heartbeat of the city. When he moved to Nairobi, he got lost in the vibrant, live indie music scene of the city. Jarel holds a Bachelor of Arts in Music Performance degree that he obtained after he dropped out of law school at the Catholic University of Eastern Africa in pursuit of his true passion for the arts. 

Lady Boy is a labour of love. The idea of the album first emerged in 2018 through demos, private workshops, and experiments in live shows. When, in the wake of the COVID-19 pandemic of 2020, Jarel saw an ad for the New Arts New Audiences Grant, funded by the British Council, the concept of Lady Boy was concretised. With the aid of the grant, Jarel recorded the 12 songs that would form the album. 

“It was a very therapeutic process,” Jarel says. “There were many moments where I asked myself if I was truly on the right path. It got ugly very often.”

By the end of it all, however, there was a marked shift from uncertainty and internal conflict to certainty and security. “Look at yourself!” Jarel recalls saying to himself. “Look at the person you are, and the things you’re now so unafraid to talk openly about!” 

It was, as he puts it, “a soul-changing experience.”

Looking forward, he hopes to pursue a new project that will “borrow from and fuse with AfroPop music” from the late 90s to the early 2000s. “I’d like to incorporate these sounds into something fresh and interesting,” Jarel remarks, gleaming with excitement as he describes how he hopes to draw inspiration from the likes of Yvonne Chaka Chaka and The Cleptomaniacs in his upcoming work. More than anything though, Jarel remains radically committed to “openly owning” himself through his work, his communities, and his life. 

Lady Boy opens with ‘In the Fire,’ an uplifting autobiographical anthem. Jarel’s smooth baritone, singing “Bara bara bara bara bara bara,” bursts out of the mysterious choral-cum-percussive backdrop that opens the song. There is a sense of comfort that Jarel’s voice brings – a reassurance that everything is going to be okay as Jarel guides you from “up in the mountains,” through “the fire inside my soul.” The song is over before you know it, and soon you’re thrust into ‘Dua’ – a prayer. 

Jarel is not religious, and yet prayer seems to be the only recourse available to the question of “the burdens I wear.” 

As ‘Haya Mwanangu’ plays, you can’t help but sway to the Dodo and Chakacha-inspired rhythms of the raunchy tune. This is Jarel at his spiciest – we are witnessing him embracing his fullest self in ways that say rejecting the past is not an option. Mombasa and Jarel’s past will always be part of him and his music, and to him, rejecting the binary does not necessitate a rejection of the past in its entirety. By the time ‘Mabawa’ rolls around, Jarel has become Lady Boy, and unashamedly so. “Took my time to be who I be,” he croons to the backdrop of the danceable shanty. “I am my own responsibility.” 

And so, as Jarel holds the final note of the song and the album, we sit mesmerised by the transformation we have witnessed. We are assured that Jarel is better off as Lady Boy and that we are better off for having witnessed his metamorphosis. 

Download Lady Boy by Jarel via this link.

Edited/Reviewed by PK Cross, Caleb Okereke, and Uzoma Ihejirika.