I recall having a discussion in someones home with a group of people from various ethnic backgrounds. The subject was about finding ones roots and culture and redefining them. I always admired indigenous cultures, I felt somewhat left out. I’m a white girl whose roots were traced back to 1652 where some dude from Holland and a girl from France, met on a ship bound for the tip of Africa, now known as the Cape. They hooked up, married, procreated and here I am hundreds of years later. We don’t have song, dance, rituals, colorful art and beautiful stories told by our ancestors. To be honest, I secretly wished I was born an African girl with beautiful tanned skin. I’d have vibrant culture and rhythm and colorful children. Last Wednesday, I went to a fantastic concert. Ladysmith Black Mambazo. Wow, you have to be there to fully understand how amazing they are. I could feel their voices vibrate through my body, beating with the same rhythm as my heart beat. There is nothing like it. I smile thinking about their playfulness. Takes me back to a place and time in Africa, I used to giggle at a group of African gardeners having their lunch break. They can be so cute, very animated with zero inhibition. I do miss Africa, very much. I love tropical thunder storms. I love that smell when the first few raindrops hit the dirt. I love the unique sound of a sansa and bongo drums, the sounds of Africa that will always beat with the rhythm of my heart.
I do feel somewhat better as the day’s progressing. Perhaps I’ll attempt a cup of coffee. The Gremlins, I’m hoping have finally left me in peace.
