An estimated 100,000 people turned out for the weeklong Festival des Musiques Urbaines d’Anoumabo in Côte d’Ivoire’s economic capital, Abidjan. A raucous mix of music, debates on societal issues, sports, and even a Kids Festival planting kernels for the future. But this 17th edition of FEMUA turned more than heads: with road safety as its central theme and Guinea as guest-of-honor, the event danced on a tightrope suspended between music, civil society, and soft power politics. WMC correspondent Daniel Brown reports from Abidjan.
A trail of sound and images stretched from Alpha Blondy’s prophetic 1986 anthem “Boulevard de la mort” to the pounding stages of FEMUA 2025. In that song, Blondy evoked the infamous Abidjan expressway where factory workers and child food sellers risked their lives daily, darting across traffic with no pedestrian protections in place.
Moussô dôh dètchê la nibé Siraba kan yé/On that big avenue, lies the body of Mom’s little son
Akoun’ tchila, Aboro karila, mobiri tigui dôh léka nonni/Head fractured, broken arm, it’s a driver who ran him over…
…Kabini fadjêri dafê, Fôh kana seri fanan sé/From dawn to early afternoon
Founanguéni la ni bé sandji kôrô ninnin nan yé/The little soul lies under the rain and cold
Djon bé hinnin fangandan sou la/Who takes care of the body of a poor soul?
39 years later, one of Africa’s largest Francophone music festivals took road safety as its theme, forcing a reckoning with one of Côte d’Ivoire’s – and Africa’s – most persistent public health threats. “The road is not a playground,” said Salif Traoré, known to millions as A’Salfo, frontman of Magic System and founder of FEMUA. For him, this 17th edition is not just an artistic celebration but a continuation of a civic mission that began in 2008 with barely 45,000 euros and a few donated football jerseys from the Birmingham City’s ex-star Olivier Kapo. “What we do now is based on what we saw then. Back when our own children crossed the streets with fear.”
From the beginning, A’Salfo had made it clear that his idea of creating a festival in his own backyard had to have a social mission: “We built our first schools with our royalties,” he told me, seated in the buzzing backstage area of Abidjan’s Marcory district where the Institut national de la jeunesse et des sports (INJS) hosted the event. “From the start, the goal was never just to make people dance. We wanted to address current affairs with those who had never accessed it before.”
It is a mission that has evolved. From tackling clandestine migration to mental health, FEMUA’s themes have grown more pointed each year. But road deaths are different. “They happen every day – silently,” says A’Salfo. “The numbers are staggering, and yet we treat them as inevitable.”
“A Platform, Not Just a Stage”
The road safety crisis in Côte d’Ivoire is well documented. In 2023, the country lost over 1,200 lives to traffic accidents. In a long exchange, A’Salfo recounted witnessing his nephew nearly hit by a car last year, igniting his determination to dedicate the festival to this issue. His voice joined the rough-and-ready one of Ibrahim Cissé Bacongo, Minister-Governor of the Autonomous District of Abidjan. He bluntly linked the problem to systemic corruption, including that of the police: “When corruption touches licensing and traffic enforcement, we are essentially paving roads to death,” he quipped during a festival-linked opening of a fruit market.
Bacongo added: “How can we speak of development when road lawlessness kills more people annually than some diseases? We must train drivers, educate youth, and – yes – clean up our police ranks.” While government reforms have helped reduce fatalities, recent figures show a troubling uptick. And the young are disproportionately affected – the same demographic that flocks to FEMUA.
At ground level, the stories multiply. Ali, a motorbike courier, shared how his brother died after swerving to avoid a pothole. “No ambulance came. We waited forty minutes. Then a private car took him. He didn’t make it.” Aminata, a minibus conductor and mother of four in Abobo, told me: “We pay our way out of fines. No matter what the fault. It’s the rule.” Taxi driver Yaya, sighed: “Every shift, I kiss my children like it could be the last time. We need lights, signs, and respect. That’s it.”
FEMUA gave these voices a stage. For three days, civil society leaders like Diabé Aboubakar led discussions on peer education models and proposed using local influencers and radio broadcasts to instill safety norms. Doctor Soualio Diomandé highlighted the importance of youth integration: “Our kids want to ride, drive, work. But they need spaces to learn, not just to hustle. And they need to be protected from the ravages of the opioid pain medication Tramadol, which is devastating us.” Panels resulted in actionable items, including pilot programs for transport safety education in schools and a proposed network of driver accountability collectives. But the organizers admitted there is still a long way to go to answer the combined challenges of corruption, lack of education and poor infrastructure. And they pointed out that this is a global scourge: according to the WHO, road traffic injuries in the European Region, kill more than 62,000 people and seriously injure a further 892,000 people each year.
Fine Line Between Autonomy and Allegiance
At a fiery FEMUA panel called “Who Is to Blame?”, youth from Abidjan and beyond took the mic to confront officials. One asked why licenses are so easily obtained without training. Another denounced police corruption. Minister of Transport Amadou Koné, to his credit, listened. That, says Nigerian journalist Ahmad Adedimeji Amobi, who covered the event, is already a major difference from his own country. “The government shows up here,” he wrote in a round-up of the festival.
Still, showing up is not the same as showing results. Award-winning journalist Selay Kouassi put it plainly: “There’s a perception that FEMUA is too close to power, too curated. But can you hold an event of this scale in Côte d’Ivoire without political support?”
That tension – between autonomy and allegiance – runs through every aspect of the festival. FEMUA is undeniably a showcase of soft power. In the words of Kouassi, it “projects an image of Ivorian stability and leadership in a region otherwise marked by coups and crises.” Yet, with the country’s general elections months away, that status is under tension.
Guinea, Between Cultural Tribute and Political Messaging
Such tension was reflected by the recent history of the festival’s choice of guest country for 2025: Guinea. Still digesting the consequences of its 2021 coup, it mounted an impressive cultural offensive in Abidjan. Its artisans, dancers and musicians – reggaeman Takana Zion among them – shone during a dedicated evening at the Institut Français. Behind cultural ambassadors, the imposing image of Mamadi Doumbouya, Guinea’s military ruler, loomed in banners and displays. Guinea’s Minister of Education and Employment Aminata Kaba underlined the value of such exchanges: “Culture is a bridge,” she confided, “not just between countries, but across generations. It allows the young to reclaim pride in their identity, to see beauty in their roots.”
“It doesn’t matter who wears the uniform,” A’Salfo said when I brought this point up. “What counts is the vision. I sat with President Doumbouya last year. One hour. He talked more deeply about culture than many civilian leaders I’ve met. He wants his people to know their past is not a museum – it’s a tool.” The omnipresent images of President Mamadi Doumbouya – featured during the Institut Français gala – raised eyebrows. Some whispered about political co-optation. “No doubt, the cultural content is authentic,” said Fodéba Isto Kéïra, a veteran Guinean cultural administrator and former Minister of Culture. “But in 2025, everything public carries symbolism.” And yet, the critique from artists lingers. One Guinean performer, asking not to be named, told me: “We want to sing freely, not to be symbols.”
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Despite the underlying current of soft power, no one could deny the spectacular quality of the artists present at this FEMUA edition. They set the tone at the opening ceremony with the dancers from the Ballet National de Guinée taking the square behind the INJS by storm. They were followed over the six festival days by an impressive list of top Guinean musicians. There were the flamboyant rhythms of Queen Rima, an Afro-dancehall laureate whose set was a cultural handshake between Conakry and Abidjan; and Takana Zion’s bilingual reggae militancy, his growling presence on stage mirroring a slightly outlandish vision of his country’s current president: “The President right now in Guinea? He’s a Rastaman. Really. So, it’s a Rasta government rule in Guinea. Cool.”
Overall, the Guinean presence resonated with a feeling of rebirth. In a miniature way, it was akin to the development enjoyed by A’Salfo’s old hunting ground: Anoumabo.
Music, Memory, and the Anoumabo Rebirth
Once a neighborhood stigmatized by poverty and crime, this populous Abidjan neighborhood has left behind its reputation of a no-go area. Traditional leaders like Vincent Nanguy traced the shift since A’Salfo invested the streets he grew up in. “Anoumabo was seen as a danger zone,” Nanguy chuckled. “Now we’re visited by tourists, ministers and international journalists. All because some children from here dared to believe.”
FEMUA Tradi, an event the festival hopes will become its spiritual core, reflects this momentum. Only in its second year, it has already become a central gathering for elders, who contribute proverbs, dances, and visions for youth education. “We are not the past,” said the adviser for Anoumabo’s traditional chief Toba Médard. “We are the ones who ensure the past survives into the future. FEMUA gives us this moment to teach again.” These spiritual leaders’ wish lists include more investment in drainage systems, improved medical clinics, and a formal center for traditional arts and medicine. “We’re not just ornaments,” Médard insisted. “We are guardians of meaning and purveyors of development.” A role the FEMUA’s guest artists often tried to share on center stage.
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The Beat Goes On
Each of the five nights between April 15-19, the FEMUA stages at the INJS shook with heavy urban beats and militant voices mainly from the West African region. It also moved on to the central city of Daloa, for a sixth night in line with the festival’s outreach policy. The free entry shows crackled with energy, building into a crescendo as heavyweights from the rap scene weighed in. “On est partout, partout!”, chanted fans during the long-awaited set by drill-rap phenomenon Himra – his first free concert since 2024’s meteoric rise to notoriety. Security was ramped up, but Himra’s mix of gangsta codes, Abidjan nouchi street slang and Sénoufo attire kept the crowd in check. The charismatic rapper emerged from his heavily guarded Jeep at 3:30am, wrapped in Senoufo fabric, with diamond chains glinting, and launched into “Dagbachi”. This new hit from his latest EP has already become an anthem for Abidjan’s youth: “More dangerous than me, that’s blor [that can’t be], that’s Dagbachi [that’s bullshit],” chanted the thousands squeezed onto the front barriers. Bottles flew, bodies surged. Security doubled down. But Himra calmed the frenzy. “I stood where you stand,” he told his followers. “I waited like you wait. One day, it will be your turn. Work. Stay grounded.”
Before him, came Benin’s indomitable Angélique Kidjo. The ageless paragon of the Pan-African scene sang and danced as if half her age (64). Her repertoire hasn’t much changed either, as the New York-based singer continues to lean heavily on songs which brought her international notoriety decades ago. A well-oiled machine that has stood the test of time. The crowd, mostly teenagers, responded to her energy with Himra’s signature crossed-finger salute.
The following night featured Ivorian-born trap pioneer Kaaris and Burkina Faso’s Smarty – who called FEMUA a “democratic platform” that broadcasts across the region. The lineup underscored a distinct pan-African ethos. Former Yeleen frontman, Smarty, turned his set into a manifesto. “Don’t just sing the words,” he admonished the crowd during one of the festival’s highlight sets, “live them. Fight corruption. Build peace.”
Meanwhile, the local boy come good, Adeba Konan, belied his youth with precise, powerfully delivered verses on economic exile and homecoming. “We mix up our traditional Baoulé harmonies with electric guitars and a strong rhythmic section,” he told me backstage, clearly elated from this new experience. “I’ve only played twice in front of such a large crowd, and I can see it’s touching our youth.”
Shortly after, Guinea Bissau was represented by a dazzling set from another ageless singer, Eneida Marta. Her barefoot performance had echoes of another diva who once stamped Cape Verde on the music map. Marta bewitched the Abidjan audience with her blend of morna and militant pride. “I love these festivals because they mash up youth, engagement and music,” she said breathlessly after her one-hour set. “I’ve always wanted to sing the injustices of the world, defend the poor and ill-educated. The problem of deaths on the road is one we know only too well in my small country.” Indeed, the WHO ranks Guinea Bissau 23rd for accidents and victims in the world, proportional to its population of 2 million people. Marta, by the way, is marking her 25-year career in 2025 with a seventh album, featuring a duo with Buika and recorded in Lisbon and London. We can’t wait.
Not all artists shared Smarty or Marta’s sense of duty for the media. Josey canceled all press engagements. Himra skipped several scheduled talks. It frustrated journalists and disappointed fans. “What a shame,” murmured a veteran reporter. “I’ve never had so many unexplained cancellations. The young look up to them. They owe the people more.”
Forward Visions
So where does FEMUA go from here? A’Salfo, both idealist and realist, didn’t hesitate:
“We want 10 schools built in one year. Not someday – now. We want transport companies to adopt ethics charters. We want more public-private support. We want to take FEMUA to other African capitals. We want to track our impact.”
He pauses. “But above all, we want peace.”
In the final days of the festival, the singer convened a closed-door session with artists, NGOs, and security forces. Out of that came the Anoumabo Accord – an informal agreement to use art as a shield against electoral violence. Plans include a nationwide Peace Tour before the elections, music videos promoting civic discourse, debates hosted in high schools and partnerships with religious leaders.
“If we don’t do this,” A’Salfo warned, “then our silence makes us complicit.”
Ivorian reporter Selay Kouassi remained cautious. “FEMUA walks a tightrope. It can unify, yes. But it can also be used. The challenge now is to stay honest. So far, A’Salfo has managed this delicate balancing act” As Côte d’Ivoire approaches another contentious general election, FEMUA’s role as cultural mirror and soft power tool will come under greater scrutiny. But with A’Salfo’s plans on the table, and civil society invigorated, this festival edition may mark more than a crescendo of concerts. It might just begin a movement. For now, the beat still pulses. FEMUA remains one of the few places where every voice – from the minister to the moto-taxi driver – can still be heard. And in a place where daily life on the road can be fragile, that’s no small matter.
Author: Daniel Brown
Ever since his first interview of Burning Spear/Winston Rodney in 1991, Daniel Brown has been covering music for major media outlets, notably Radio France International, Songlines and the BBC. Based in Paris, Daniel produced the award-winning World Tracks feature on RFI for 15 years. His articles have accompanied Songlines Magazine since its inception in 1999, the latest featuring the homage by Ibrahim Maalouf to his father and his quarter-tone trumpet.