Totó la Momposina (1940-2026)
Colombia has lost a great cultural icon, Totó la Momposina, who leaves behind a huge musical legacy...
Wed, 20 May 26
Released 09 October 2026
Liner notes
I gathered my belongings into a small bag, not shedding many tears. As no one expected what would happen; no one foresaw all this separation. Three years have passed since then.
I carried laughter, conversations echoing in my mind, and faces in my memory, and songs I returned to whenever distance and exile grew heavy, songs that softened their grip and reminded me that I come from somewhere, that I have roots and meaning, that I am a daughter of all this beauty and love. I have always been drawn to the past, how people lived, how they loved, and what life meant to them.
Aba was a loving, wise, and gentle man. A man who loved without distinction, a friend to all. I witnessed his love for his daughters Shadia, Nadia, Hadia, Radia, Samia, and Maria, so complete that, as a child, I believed no father could love the way Aba did. Though I did not have much time with him, he left something enduring behind. A quiet breeze of love and admiration, carved into my soul early on.
I still see him clearly: lying in his bed, a small table beside him, holding the simple belongings of his life — brown glasses, a radio, and a hugga of tumbak (small box for chewing tobacco).
He looked like Sudan. The Sudan that lives inside me. A simple Sudan, generous, with a vast and open heart — the Sudan I loved, and never imagined I would one day see so changed.
This leaves me wondering: How do we carry yesterday’s Sudan into tomorrow? What stories do we pass on to our children, and to the world? How do we keep these meanings alive, when we are all scattered everywhere? These questions are one of the main reasons for this documentation, and to name the album ‘ABA.’
One of his daughters (Samia), who was deaf, called him Aba instead of Aboy or Yaba and the name stayed. These songs have always been my naffag, a small window into Aba’s world. Through them, I return to my Sudan. They are also part of what he left behind. It aches to know that everything he wrote lived in a single notebook, now somewhere in Khartoum. I do not know whether it was destroyed, taken, or simply carried away by the wind into the unknown. What binds these songs together is love, the timeless love that brought Eve to Adam, and that keeps Aba alive, now and forever.
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