When violence breaks out, different headlines focus on numbers—how many were displaced and how much was destroyed. But what often goes unspoken is what’s lost beyond the physical: the history and traditions, the songs, stories, and sounds that hold a community together.

Insurgency and communal conflict has become a big thorn in our society, with almost every African country experiencing something similar. In this part of the world, 44% of the global total of displaced persons are from Africa, and 75% of these forced displacements are a result of conflict. This places a heavy burden on surrounding communities that must absorb these unplanned migrations.

In Northern Nigeria, for example, insurgency has stripped many communities of their cultural properties, both tangible and intangible. The Kanuri ethnic group in Borno State, Nigeria, for example, have experienced disruption of their traditional musical practices due to displacement caused by violence.

In Somalia, rich genres like Somali funk, which was once the biggest genre in Mogadishu, disappeared as artists fled or were silenced under religious rule during the civil war and Islamic extremist bans. The Fur and Zaghawa people of Western Sudan have seen their community scattered and music tradition disrupted due to the unrest of the Darfurian War from the early 2000s.

The Tuareg communities in Mali and Niger have experienced cultural disruption in their music and celebration like the Festival au désert due to Islamist insurgencies, which have led to bans on music in areas controlled by extremist groups, forcing musicians into exile.

In many parts of Africa, indigenous music is not limited to entertainment. In local communities, it helps move on the work and helps in conducting daily routines. It is used for recreational and religious practices. This music, the beats from traditional drums and sounds of instruments, sends a message while also reinforcing cultural expressions. And in locations torn by violence, this music can be one of the things to fall silent.

Just think about it, when families flee their homes, they can’t take their drums. When elders are scattered or killed, the songs they carry often die with them. And when a culture is deliberately targeted, its music becomes a casualty too—sometimes destroyed on purpose, other times just left behind in the noise of war.

Why does this matter? In every African community, indigenous music is the archive where the history, community values, traditions, stories, and language which does not exist in writing are embedded. This shows how important this is, and losing it means we lose their whole world.

With the consistent attacks and degradation of local basic amenities, rural dwellers tend to move to urban areas for a better future. This rural-urban migration often leads to the breakup of community music groups and other traditional networks, as members are forced to relocate, leaving behind shared practices, support systems, and cultural bonds. Over time, this weakens communal identity and makes it harder to sustain this music tradition and the institutions that once played vital roles in village life.

But even in the face of this loss, the story doesn’t end there.

In many of these conflict zones, you’ll find small pockets of resilience—young people using their smartphones to record elders’ songs before they vanish, displaced musicians finding ways to build new groups in refugee camps, and cultural activists sneaking instruments across borders for performance and preservation.

Now, local NGOs and non-profit organizations are beginning to recognize the importance of intangible heritage like music in rebuilding identity after conflict. Music therapy sessions in displaced communities, archives being built on cloud platforms, and digital storytelling projects are all part of a growing movement to protect what conflict and insurgency have tried to erase.

There’s also a growing trend of artists who are blending traditional music with modern forms, turning the sounds of the village and rural areas into beats that people jam in city clubs and across social media. It might not sound the same, but it carries a little element of what used to be. And through that blend, indigenous music finds a new home in young people, even if the original setting might be gone.

It’s very important to note that every rescued song, every saved rhythm or tradition, is a stride towards rebuilding not only the communities but the spirit of a people. In Somalia, for example, people have started submitting cassettes of their traditional music, including Somali funk and other indigenous music genres, to their libraries for documentation purposes. This is a powerful step towards preserving cultural heritage and ensuring that future generations can connect with their roots

Everyone should consider supporting local NGOs that are working on the ground to preserve cultural heritage. Share the stories and music of these communities on your social media platforms to raise awareness. Even educating yourself about the cultural heritage of conflict-affected regions can inspire action and support. Together, we can all ensure that the music and the stories of these communities stay with us and resonate, even in the face of adversity.

Many African communities have lost most part of their cultural heritage due to displacement during conflict.

Preserving Indigenous African Music in Conflict Zones

Many African communities have lost most part of their cultural heritage due to displacement during conflict.

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