She has branded herself as a no-nonsense queen, whose swag and ego are larger than life. From taking inspiration from the 2015 era of Rihanna, to trying to replicate the bad girl image, she has sold herself as a carefree spirit.
Something she has successfully managed to sell to her audience, mostly young females. They show up like her, walk like her, dress like her, and want to dance the way Sheebah dances.
They are the people who showed up for Sheebah’s first concert at the Lugogo Cricket Oval last Friday. With alter egos Swag Mama and Queen
Karma, Sheebah has cultivated who gets drunk on her personality and likeness, whether they are male or female.
The fanbase has mastered an era of Sheebah from Ice Cream to Neeyanziza. In the audience, all sorts of outfits were on display—short shorts, leotards, miniskirts, mini dresses, facemasks made out of chains and latex… Technically, anything Sheebah has worn in public before was in the audience.
Some of these people were more Sheebah than Sheebah herself for the occasion. Sheebaholics, the dedicated fanbase of Sheebah, is a legion that brings together enthusiastic women and men who love the artiste. Most of the men who identify as Sheebaholics also dressed like her in one way or another, and often walked like either the ground was too soft or too hard.
Every now and then, these men would brush off an imaginary fly before using a sassy gesture to make a point. And where did they get those shorter versions of Elijah Kitaka shorts anyway?
These people came to the show to see Sheebah; for them, the artiste is more than a music vessel; she is a larger-than-life figure whose walk and speech they find important to replicate.
They study her music and when she performs, they don’t only hear what she outright says; they hear her ad-libs as well. For instance, when Fik Fameica joined her to perform Bwe Paba, some of these people were singing along to Sheebah’s ad-libs of ‘Bwe ahhh..’ in the chorus.
In the same breath, they are easily agitated as well. The Friday show started on time, but Sheebah only took to the stage at about five minutes past ten. Before that, however, some had started screaming, ‘We want Sheebah’.
Then she showed up; the stage lights had been off and all the screens covered to prepare for her grand entry. A number of balloons were on stage, flowers, and sort of a garden with a seat. In a sheer dress, veil, and exposed baby bump, Sheebah replicated Beyonce’s Vogue cover from 2017, when the American singer announced she was expecting twins.
When the lights went on and Sheebah was on stage with her bump showing, the Sheebaholics went into a frenzy, screaming, ululating, and some crying.
“Sheebah is pregnant,” one screamed, waving his full beer cup. That liquid ended up in the laptop of one of the Airtel guys. They were show partners; thus, one of the employees was updating social media in real-time when his keyboard was drenched.
Sheebah’s arrival was a menace in the audience; some were ecstatic while others were so hysterical they fainted, forcing the show to pause for some time to restore order.
When she started singing, things became interesting for ordinary music lovers; the Sheebaholics were a sight to behold, like everyone of them was Sheebah at the time.
It’s like there was a show on stage, but within the show, there was another show of a dedicated fanbase putting on mini performances in the audience and doing the dance moves the way they believe Sheebah did it in the video.
And the production by JJ sounds did not help matters; the LED screens, which had to stream to people standing far off the stage, were not effective. This gave us a chance to see a pint-sized young girl waving an imaginary gun before targeting something in space and saying out loud, “Kisasi kimu, telera nkwase…boom!”
It was surreal watching and understanding how much power Sheebah wields over other adults and how the rest of the audience became bystanders watching Sheebah perform for her Sheebaholics.
inarticle} inarticle}
