When almost an hour-and-a-half passes without a sign of the man who has charmed the world with his mastery on the trumpet and flugelhorn, I start flipping through the pages of memory back to tales of tantrums and an arrogant sharp tongue that has sent even the toughest journalists packing.

In fact, just the prospect of interviewing Hugh Masekela, a man who falls in that elite category of music icons who have stood the test of time here at home and abroad, was a bit unsettling itself. What do you ask the man that he has not already been asked many times before?

I was as prepared as any journalist could be. I had after all read and re-read Still Grazing, Bra Hugh’s brutally honest tell-all autobiography.

But the one story my colleague told me about meeting Bra Hugh (as he’s fondly called) in the early 90s and being privy to one of his tongue-lashings made me wonder if perhaps dashing to the nearest pub to psyche up for the interview over a couple of stiff gin and tonics wasn’t such a bad idea.

My colleague and a young photographer eager to make an impression in his new career interviewed Bra Hugh in Johannesburg not long after he returned home from a 30-year long exile that had taken him to the United States, Europe and many parts of the African continent.

Things went fine until the young snapper asked Bra Hugh to pose for a few shots in front of his house. For no obvious reason, the brass player let rip with a tirade that left the photographer so rattled he even forgot he had a camera in his hands.

Lost in thought (should I stay or should I go?), I find myself suddenly face to face with the legend. I am so glad he can’t read my thoughts. Nervously, I stretch out my hand to greet him but he disregards my outstretched hand and moves a pace closer. Trouble? Not a chance. He gives me a brief hug instead and eyes me closely as if to say, “Hey, I’m just human, you know.”

So the picture of an arrogant, don’t-give-a-damn, egotistic superstar that has built up in my head over the years melts right there and then.

Did my colleague just happen to catch him on a bad day? No, I learn later from Bra Hugh’s manager, Josh Georgiou. Bra Hugh used to be very well known for his temper, but an exercise regime that includes swimming and the ancient Oriental sport of tai chi has seriously calmed him down.

“You can see he’s mellowed down now and is extremely fit,” Josh says.

First impressions last, and mine of Bra Hugh is of a gentle and mellow soul who loves people. He has the demeanor of a youthful and streetwise uncle a youngster can easily confide in on such taboo subjects as sex and relationships – an old-timer who still possesses that openness of youth.

And so the stories of tantrums fade away into nothingness as we begin speaking about all matters under the sun, including music, which has been one of his passions for as long as he can remember.

Perhaps it’s his love for young people that keeps Bra Hugh young at heart. Since his return from exile in 1991 he has collaborated with many young artists. This has increased his appeal among the young set, including people who weren’t even born by the time he left the country in 1960.

Bra Hugh himself was born on in 1939 in Witbank (now eMalahleni) where he began playing the piano as a child. But after watching the movie Young Man With A Horn, which tells the story of American jazz trumpeter Bix Beiderbecke, 14-year-old “Hughie” took to the horn like a fish to water – and life was never the same again.

He used this little instrument to worm his way into the hearts and minds of the peoples of the world, to soothe broken hearts and, most importantly, to tell the world about the plight of South Africans who were dying and struggling under the yoke of apartheid during his years in exile.

But Bra Hugh warns that while his music played a role in telling the world about the crime against humanity that was being perpetrated in South Africa under apartheid, music can’t solve problems all by itself.

“Music is often overrated when it comes to righting the wrongs of society,” he says.

“It’s inspirational, but we >>
 shouldn’t forget that it’s just entertainment. Okay, people like Bob Marley and Bob Dylan succeeded in using music to change the world, and I think South Africa managed to use music to alert the world to the evils of apartheid.

“But music alone cannot change things. It can only create awareness.”

Just weeks before the interview, Bra Hugh and other South African artists caused a stir to bring attention to the fact that local artists were largely being excluded from official 2010 FIFA World Cup activities. Despite the fact that Hugh was set to perform, he joined the mass action organised by the Creative Workers’ Union to stand in union with his fellow Mzansi artists. More international than local artists were on the bill for the opening and closing ceremonies of the soccer tournament, was the complaint.

“There weren’t enough local artists,” he says, adamantly.

But although he reckons the organising committee could have put in more of an effort to source local talent, he’s quick to acknowledge that the South African arts scene might have become a little too comfortable relying on the steady contributions from international players.

“We should reach a stage where we do things for ourselves,” he says. “Back in the 50s we created our own things. Every township had a band. We had dances and ngomab’sukus [all-night live music gigs]. It was all engineered by the community. We didn’t wait for handouts. I think we’ve lost that spirit and we need to rediscover ourselves because if we wait for handouts nothing is going to come our way.”

Still on the World Cup, Hugh is quite pleased that the euphoria around the tournament has once again united South Africans like in 1994 when Nelson Mandela became the country’s first democratically elected president. But this time, he says, he hopes the feeling of unity lasts longer than after the 94 elections.

“In 94 we were close to becoming a nation, but we squandered that opportunity,” he explains. “It’s been 16 years, and we’re still segregated. Look, we’re the only country that has had two opportunities like this in 20 years. It’s good that the spirit of 94 is back with us, but we need to sustain it. Now that the World Cup is over we must remain a nation and not retreat back to our small enclaves.”

Speaking of small enclaves, Hugh was born in one, eMalahleni. But from there he came to the big city of Johannesburg. In Still Grazing he writes that a large part of his childhood was spent in Johannesburg’s bustling Alexandra township. I ask him about this time.

“Alexandra is a perfect microcosm of South Africa,” he says. “Even Mandela lived there, and so did many other people who became known the world over. I am a proud product of Alex and SA. I have lived all over the world, but the music that I make comes from here. I’m proud to have lived here.”

He still visits old friends in Alex, and they reminisce about the good old days.

“I feel safe in Alex,” he says. “In fact, I feel safe everywhere in this country. But it shouldn’t be about me. It should be about everyone. I wish everyone could feel safe everywhere in this country. I watch people who stand in long queues every morning and evening to catch buses and taxis – these are the people who oil the economy of this country, and they should feel safe.

“Our biggest challenge as a country is that we need to lose the violence. Only in this way will we  become a nation. Diminishing the violence that afflicts our society should be the national priority.”

Of course violence is often linked to substance abuse, something that Hugh has first-hand experience of.

It’s well known that he blew a fortune on cocaine and Cognac while living in exile. But he managed to kick the habit and has founded Musicians and Artists Assistance Programme South Africa to help other artists who battle with addictions.

His efforts have gone a long way, but he’s concerned that the country continues to drown under the scourge of alcohol abuse.

“We’re a champion country when it comes to alcohol abuse,” he warns. “This is partly because liquor was for a long time prohibited and people began to drink as a form of defiance. In the townships people would be worshipped for their capacity to drink, and this became a culture.”

How does one change something that has become so entrenched?

“First we need to accept that we have a problem,” he advises. And then we need to get help.

“South Africa needs a counsellor in each and every home because almost each and every home has an alcoholic.”

He’s probably exaggerating a little, but his bigger argument is still valid – South Africa does have a problem with its drink.

And although he says music cannot solve social ills, I cannot help but think Bra Hugh’s soothing tunes can go a far way to make things better for us.