The Year Côte d’Ivoire Remembered Mathey

It began, as most viral content in this age of the internet tends to, with a dance trend on TikTok. The year was 2023, and Mathey, the Ivorian Queen of Zouk, was going viral for her 1996 hit song “Ameyatchi”. The song, which speaks of forgiveness and rising above gossip, had inspired a simple yet infectious dance challenge of at least 3 steps, highlighted by a sharp, side-to-side hip thrust.

At the time of writing this, more than 4 million videos had been made under this sound on TikTok, many of which were created during its period of virality. And not long after this, Mathey released a remix of “Ameyatchi”, building on the hype. To many creators making videos to this music, “Ameyatchi” was just another catchy beat perfect for a dance. This sentiment can be explained by the fact that the snippet of the song that was most viral was the intro of “Ameyatchi”, a snippet where Mathey’s lyrics, a mix of French and her native Balouè language, didn’t yet make an appearance.

That made it easy to dismiss the beat as a generic rumba-style sound without an origin story. But as many began to inquire into the sound, and other snippets of “Ameyatchi” began to resurface, so did interest in Mathey and thus the beginning of a year when the world remembered one of Côte d’Ivoire’s most important music artists. Yolande Kanga, one of Mathey’s older fans, remembers Mathey taking over radio airwaves in the 90s: “Her songs “Amour Incomparable” and “Cléio” were playing on RTI,’ Kanga tells OkayAfrica. “Back then, the whole of Côte d’Ivoire was dancing to them on the radio and at family gatherings.”

Gbayoro Pabelo Emmanuel, a communications officer and talent agent, confirms that Mathey was the soundtrack to Ivorian celebrations back in the day. “When I was living in Abidjan, I would hear her music at family celebrations (weddings, baptisms, birthdays).” Emmanuel, who is of a younger generation, didn’t put a face to the artist until much later in life. “I was familiar with her music without realizing it was hers. And since I’m someone who does a lot of digging through archives, it was while listening to tracks from the Afro-zouk era that I was able to put a face to her.”

Much of how Mathey is perceived now is as an icon, a legend, and depending on who you ask, one of Côte d’Ivoire’s beloved divas. But for young people, her music lands in different ways and for different reasons. 

A disappearing act

Mathey, born Marie-Therese Niambe, has always been comfortable with disappearing. She hails from the Abé people, native to the Abgoville region in Southern Côte d’Ivoire. 

As an artist, Mathey has never seemed bothered by stepping away from the spotlight and returning on her own time. Her success in music ran from the 1990s to the 2000s, with albums Clepo (1996), which includes “Ameyatchi” on its tracklist, Iyo (1999), and Lumiere (2006), all released under Lusaafrica. “Man, that was back when we used to hang out in the maquis in Abidjan,” Francois Ebenezah, another older fan, shares.

“Mathey took the country by storm in the ’90s. Her first album just blew everything away all at once.”

The next time the world would receive a new project from Mathey was in 2014, with Tu m'as dit. There’s hardly any public information about what she did during her hiatus, and there’s still little about her as an artist; yet her influence and regard are outsized. Her public biography is lean; before music, she served in the Côte d’Ivoire army. During that time, Mathey was a vocalist for the Orchestre de la Marine, founded in Abidjan in 1986. In her solo career, Mathey’s music reflected on the wide and often confounding experience of living and loving as a person. Her music combines social commentary with themes of love and relationships. Her ideas on devotion often overlap with her views on how women are perceived and treated, which also ties into her views on societal structures. Despite her sparse discography and penchant for disappearing, Mathey holds a special place in Ivorians' hearts. 

“She belongs to a generation of artists who have forged a very strong Ivorian musical identity,” Nathanaél Baudoua, a younger fan of Mathey, shares.  “To me, she also represents an era when artists could make people dance while maintaining a genuine cultural identity in their music.” 

Her music is a useful signpost for just how far Ivorian music has evolved. “It’s the Afro-zouk rhythm and the well-crafted traditional sounds. When the orchestration is rich with a beautiful voice on top, it can’t help but move your body,” Ebenezah says.

In an industry shifting rapidly towards Coupé-Décalé, Biama, and variations of Ivorian rap and drill, Mathey feels like a reminder of the country’s rich musical history.

A new generation of listeners

Many young Ivorians may not have listened to Mathey directly, but they likely heard of her through an older family member. “Ameyatchi” brought her closer to this audience, who discovered her only by proxy. “ I discovered Mathey mainly through the generations that came before me,” Baudoua explains. “She wasn’t necessarily an artist that my generation listened to every day at first, but her name—and especially some of her songs—were part of the Ivorian musical culture that we heard all around us.” Since “Ameyatchi”’s resurgence, Mathey has released two new songs, “T’es Yeye” featuring IMKA and Bato Mabè with Dory, each released in 2024 and 2025, respectively. So far, she hasn’t released anything this year. 

Mathey’s transition from the military to music is a radical redefinition that speaks to young people like Baudoua. Her commitment to upholding her culture is also a strong point of connection. “People who experienced her success in the 1990s obviously have a very nostalgic connection to her music. But what’s interesting is that young people have recently rediscovered her, particularly thanks to Ameyatchi and social media,” Baudoua says. “For me, it’s first and foremost her authenticity. Mathey doesn’t give the impression that she was simply trying to replicate a foreign musical style. She took zouk and truly adapted it to an African and Ivorian sensibility.” 

Kanga admits that, across generations, Mathey’s audience has mostly consisted of women.  “It’s mostly women of our generation—moms and adults who grew up listening to her music. But today, even young women enjoy her songs when they’re played at weddings.”

Mathey’s music resurfacing and finding younger audiences is a testament to the strength of her work. She may no longer mean the same thing she did to older audiences; her music may not have the same maddening effect, but she is undoubtedly an important part of understanding Ivorian music, and in an age where the zeitgeist keeps looking to the past for meaning, Mathey is one icon we shouldn’t forget.