Dar es Salaam – Four months after the deadly post-election violence that shook the nation, prominent comedian Evans Bukuku says that neither he nor the country has fully returned to normal.
The events of October 29, 2025, which resulted in hundreds of fatalities, have cast a long shadow over the nation, leaving a collective trauma that even laughter has struggled to overcome.
In a candid and wide-ranging interview with The Chanzo’s Khalifa Said, Bukuku described the period following the protests as being under a “cloud” or a “hangover.” He spoke of a pervasive “heaviness” as information was scarce and the true scale of the events was unknown.
“I haven’t returned [to normal],” Bukuku stated plainly. “I don’t think anyone has returned. To return means you have to be able to freely talk about what happened.”
He explained the difficulty of processing the events when many facts remain unknown and an official commission is still investigating.
For Bukuku, a return to normalcy is impossible without closure, which he likens to an unfinished court case. “You can’t just go back,” he said. “It’s like a court case that hasn’t ended.”
Despite the sombre atmosphere, Bukuku believes comedy has a crucial role to play in the nation’s healing process. He has consciously used his platform to provide “emotional relief so that we don’t fall into depression” and to gently remind people of their shared identity as Tanzanians.
“Comedy helps highlight,” he explained, noting that it can address sensitive topics indirectly. He uses his art as a “coping mechanism, that we laugh, but on the other hand, we also reflect.”
He stressed that no one wishes for a repeat of such events and that the nation awaits a “permanent solution” from the authorities to restore a sense of peace.
A lonely journey
Often hailed as the “godfather” of stand-up comedy in Tanzania, a title he humbly deflects (“I’m not a big title fan. I prefer action”), Bukuku has been a central figure in the industry for nearly two decades. He began his journey in 2009 when the concept of a regular stand-up comedy show was non-existent.
“There was no fixed place,” he recalled. “The culture wasn’t there.” Comedy was merely an add-on to other events, much like the comic relief character in a Bongo movie.
His early forays were fraught with failure. He recounted an early show on a makeshift stage—a cart with two barrels on the side—that “failed badly.” On another occasion, his trousers tore as he was getting off stage.
These experiences were disheartening, but a successful 25-minute performance at a blues night convinced him that a career in comedy was possible.
This pivotal moment led to the establishment of a regular monthly show, which has since grown into the Punchline Comedy Club in Masaki, Dar es Salaam, which now hosts up to nine shows a month. For Bukuku, one of his proudest achievements is creating a consistent platform for aspiring comedians.
“For the last two years, almost every Tuesday, there’s a chance for an upcoming artist to come,” he said. This has been instrumental in nurturing a new generation of talent and expanding the comedy scene to other parts of the country, with shows now taking place in cities like Sumbawanga and Dodoma.
However, Bukuku was blunt about the financial realities of the profession. “Stand-up doesn’t pay,” he stated, explaining that it is a “lonely journey.” The income, he clarified, doesn’t come from stand-up itself but from the opportunities it creates, such as MCing, radio hosting, and endorsements.
“It’s like going to the gym,” he analogised. The gym workout is the practice; the jobs as a bodyguard, bouncer, or actor are the payoff. He cautioned that anyone getting into stand-up for the money will be disappointed, as it takes decades to build a career where touring becomes profitable.
The art of laughter
For Bukuku, comedy is a powerful art form, a “very good place to calibrate yourself as a foreigner in a certain area or country.” He believes that by listening to comedians, one can pick up a multitude of cultural references and understand how people in a particular society live and think.
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He draws his own material from real-life experiences and observations, weaving in social and political commentary. However, he is acutely aware of the fine line comedians must walk, especially in a sensitive political climate.
“You have to read the room,” he advised, acknowledging that self-censorship is a necessary part of the job for comedians all over the world.
He cited the legendary American comedian Jerry Seinfeld, who admitted there are places he “can’t go” with his comedy, unlike his contemporary Dave Chappelle, who is a “master” at dancing “so close to power.”
Backlash, Bukuku noted, can come from all corners—the government, society, and even one’s own family.
“You have to be mindful,” he warned, especially when dealing with sensitive topics like politics, religion, or disability, as art is subjective and can be easily misinterpreted.
Future
Looking to the future, Bukuku is optimistic about the growth of comedy in Tanzania. He sees laughter as a fundamental human need that helps people live longer and better lives.
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His legacy, he hopes, will be in having “played my role… in lifting, sharpening, and making people believe in themselves in this industry.”
He envisions a future where Tanzanian comedians are respected globally, and international stars like Kevin Hart and Dave Chappelle aspire to perform at his club.
For him, the goal is holistic development—building not just successful comedians, but well-rounded, disciplined individuals.
“We want to have this one day, a huge comedian… says I have to perform at the Punchline,” he shared. “For us, that’s the epitome of where we need to be.”
