The Democratic Republic of Congo is full of mind-blowing musical experiences, but it was in a remote village on the banks of the Congo river, surrounded by the Equatorial rain forest, that my mind was blown by something completely unexpected: A marching band of flutes.

We had been traveling up the Congo river for hours in a narrow dugout canoe, a motely group of journalists and doctors sitting precariously on a single row of plastic chairs. Our destination was the remote village of Yalikombo in Tshopo province, where a team of doctors had set up camp to test villagers for sleeping sickness, a terrible parasitic illness that my organization works on. 

We left the town of Isangi early in the morning to join up with the mobile team of doctors, motoring through the mists as fishermen pulled up their nets after a night fishing the impossibly deep Congo river.

The trip up the Congo river was uneventful – well as uneventful as any trip up the Congo river can be.  Except for the endless jungle and a few ancient riverboat wrecks, there was not much to see. We passed a few of the famous Kinshasa to Kisangani river “ferries,” which are actually a dozen or so barges tied together and filled to the brim with passengers, livestock, vehicles, etc. 

The river monotony changed as we approached the village of Yalikombo after a few hours. We knew that the villagers were aware of our arrival – the sleeping sickness mobile team had arrived a day earlier, setting up camp.

As we approached the village, deep jungle bush quickly opened into a clearing. We could make out little houses along the high banks of the river, and villagers running to a cut in the riverbank. Then we heard a single, deep pounding bass drum. And as we neared a sandy landing on the riverbank, we heard high-pitched flutes. Thankfully I captured our extremely cinematic landing:

As we landed and met the excited villagers (apparently many had never seen Mzungu, which explains their excitement) it became clear where the music was coming from. Perched on top of a riverbank cliff was what appeared to be a marching band – in full marching band regalia – all playing the same size flute. Upon closer inspection, the flutes were PCV pipes with holes cut into them.

After some formalities, the marching band – and about 100 dancing villagers – marched us up the riverbank and into the village towards the mobile screening camp. I’ve never experienced a welcome like this and probably never will.

The visit went fine – happily the screening team didn’t identify any sleeping sickness cases. We left later that day and made it downriver towards our temporary home in a dilapidated old Belgian convent in Isangi. I managed to purchase one of the seven-holed PCV flutes – which I learned were called “fluki,” but really didn’t have time to learn any more.

But over the next few days, I replayed my recordings of the flute band, fascinated where this music came from. I’m a massive fan of Congolese Rumba, and know a little bit about the many traditional songs and dances from Congo’s vastly diverse regions, but flute marching bands were new to me. I was intrigued by the mysterious fluki. From my sweltering room in the riverside town of Isangi I blasted out a few emails to traditional music experts, wondering if anyone knew of a link. But no one had heard of this Congolese fife and drum music.

Thou shall play flutes

One of the reasons behind my obsession: I’m a fan of another flute/drum tradition, something many fans of American folk music are aware of: African American fife and drum from the American deep south, mostly Mississippi and Georgia. Commonly known as a form of the blues from the rural south, fife and drum music features heavily syncopated snare and bass drum with a high-pitched flute carrying the melody.

Alan Lomax recorded fife and drum players in Mississippi a number of times starting in the 1940s, until the 1970s. One of his most famous recordings was of Otha Turner, in Gravel Springs, Mississippi. By the 1970s most of the fife and drum bands had died out, but Otha’s family carried on – and still do – the tradition.

Otha’s granddaughter Shardé Thomas is considered one of the last players of this genre in the USA. Her family has an annual picnic near their home in Mississippi, which is legendary among country blues enthusiasts. She is continuing a tradition that traces directly back to the “cane fife” of West and Central Africa.

Back to the DRC, I couldn’t help but think of the tantalizing links between Mississippi fife and drum and what I heard on the banks of the Congo. Clearly both music styles resembled each other – bringing together ancient European military music with syncopated African rhythms.

Futher trips to the DRC finally shined some light on this fife and drum tradition. It turns out Yalikombo village was home to a strong Kinbaugist mission. Thanks to Whattsapp, I was able to stay in touch with a few villagers and learn more about this purely “African” form of Christianity, which forms an important part of the social fabric in DRC, and is responsible for some of the amazing music – both instrumental and vocal – which I discovered on various trips to the DRC.

Kimbanguism has over 20 million followers in the DRC, neighboring counties, and in Europe where Congolese immigrants can be found. It’s a movement based on the teachings of Simon Kimbangu, a Congolese Baptist. He began a mass religious movement in the 1920 – he was said to raise people from the dead and claimed he was an incarnation of the Holy Spirit. The Belgian colonial authorities were suspicious and jailed the preacher for inciting revolt – he died in prison in 1951, before the country’s independence.

Today Simon Kimbangu is revered by his Christian followers, worshipped like Jesus and revered by millions.

So why the flutes? I spoke to a number of Congolese friends and contacts and have been able to piece together some information. According to a man I met in the village of Yalikombo, Simon himself was a flute player, and encouraged his followers to take up the instrument. The man explained that playing the flute is way to honor the Holy Spirit. Bamboo cane fifes have been used for centuries in West and Central Africa, from the coasts of Senegal and Gambia to the rain forest of the Congo. Surely there must be a link between this traditional African instrument and what you can find in Kimbanguist bands.

Music plays a huge role in the Kimbanguist church. The singing is in Lingala, the primary language of Western Congo. I was fortunate to attend a few hours of a church service in Bandundu, a remote town in along the Kwango river, one of the Congo’s tributaries. I’m no expert in church services, but it felt extremely unique and special.

It was a large open-air church, with parishioners gathered in several small groups which were arranged in a seemingly geometric pattern, with some sort of pulpit in the middle. Churchgoers were dressed immaculately – suits for men, and modest attire for the ladies with heads and legs covered. As with the fluki bands up in Yalikombo, I noticed many of the men seemed dressed for a military parade – some of them in uniform with medals, epaulettes, and other ceremonial ornaments. The groups of singers took turns singing, each group belting out extremely complex and beautiful harmonies:

Kimbanguist music is probably most well-known outside of Congo for its symphony orchestra – one of the few orchestras in sub-Saharan Africa and apparently the only one in Congo. A documentary was made on the orchestra and an award winning 2011 World Press Photo of a female cellist in Kinshasa has made the rounds.

Clearly there is much more to learn about this vastly important church group in Central Africa, but I was happy enough to discover the tantalizingly similarities between these different fife and drum traditions.