At first I thought it was a bird. The air is constantly filled with the sounds of chirping, calling, singing, whistling birds. I've recognized the call of pigeons and parrots. I've heard one bird that seems to sing the scales and it becomes clear where all of our inspiration for music comes from.
But the sound went on, coming closer until it passed my classroom windows. No bird, this. The notes took on rhythm and purpose. A song with so much feeling. True whistling is like playing an instrument, I realized. It was quite beautiful. And that's what gives Africa its life. There is always someone singing or whistling, tapping out a beat, calling a name. It is not the quiet, private, solitary street, the hurried-rushed-walk-to-work-with-your-head-down-eyes-averted street of American cities. It is instead the greet-my-neighbor-stop-to-talk-let-me-look-at-you street of an African city.
I walked to the market today with my neighbor and her baby. Women everywhere called out, "Baby, baby!" and came gliding up with arms outstretched to welcome the little one. It seemed as though they were about to scoop him up and surely would have were he not so snugly nestled in his wrap. Even men remarked on his interesting ride, "Est que il va tombe?"
The streets are always full of people talking and pointing, whispering and shouting. They are laughing and giggling and trying to entice- Come, come buy my things, come talk to me, come just to stand here next to me. Just come.
It is the stereotypical image of Africa but its more. It's the exact opposite of independent, soliatry success. It's human contact and social intricacy, and its what makes everything so complicated and hard to manage. It's what erases boundaries and blurs the lines.
And it is what I remark in the village too. I say I am going there to help them, but sometimes it seems I cannot bring them more than they can give to me. Because these boys, they break out in song with such clear, sweet voices. And it's all the spontaneous noise that erupts with such emotion that wins me over. It's why I can't go back, even if I'll never quite acheive it myself. I soak it up and it makes me well.
