the jungle is louder
The jungle is louder than I ever imagined. First day in Rwanda, out in Gitwe, 2 ½ hours southwest of the capital. Spent the day with a village boy who made good and moved to America, he returns every few months to help out and start projects. When he does, the prodigal son is welcomed with song.
Tonight the welcome song will be sung by 19 children and a cow. The youngest child is five and the oldest about 16. The cow is in its pen. There is a bonfire in front of the children. The moon is quite full. On either side of the fire is a raised log where the older folks sit. We are told that the children have been waiting. We apologize that our interview went so long and we are here after dark. Okay don’t worry just sit. Now the children aren’t ready. They confer amongst themselves. They don’t want to sing! They are too shy. The older folks shout. So the song begins. Slowly, haltingly, with sloping harmonies that slope at different speeds. It is a kind of cacophony that resolves itself unexpectedly into a rousing chorus. The oldest child sings a solo, then there is another chorus, then the youngest child sings, shyly, with lots of encouragement – I think I’m at Passover – then another chorus, and so on. The cow joins in in the pauses and everybody laughs. Later, the prodigal son translates the song. “The first verse,” he says, “tells the story of a woman who poisoned her husband because she was bored. And then she found that after he was dead, she was not only bored but lonely too! The second verse tells the story of a man who went to the bar to find love. But when he found her, he couldn’t afford to marry her, because he had spent all his money on drink!” and so on.
Afterwards the kids sing more and I walk among them with my long foam-covered microphone. Unfortunately they all hog the microphone like would-be rappers, distorting the sound, so the only solution is to hold the mic over their heads where they can’t get so close. Four little boys crane their necks upward, singing, like little birds. It is one of my favorite recordings I think I’ve made all year. Then the older girls start dancing and then everyone is dancing, I am dancing a little bit or at least moving side to side and they are clapping and the cow is mooing and the moon is looming and it seems not quite possible that some three days before I was in the back of a cab in new york.
Tonight the welcome song will be sung by 19 children and a cow. The youngest child is five and the oldest about 16. The cow is in its pen. There is a bonfire in front of the children. The moon is quite full. On either side of the fire is a raised log where the older folks sit. We are told that the children have been waiting. We apologize that our interview went so long and we are here after dark. Okay don’t worry just sit. Now the children aren’t ready. They confer amongst themselves. They don’t want to sing! They are too shy. The older folks shout. So the song begins. Slowly, haltingly, with sloping harmonies that slope at different speeds. It is a kind of cacophony that resolves itself unexpectedly into a rousing chorus. The oldest child sings a solo, then there is another chorus, then the youngest child sings, shyly, with lots of encouragement – I think I’m at Passover – then another chorus, and so on. The cow joins in in the pauses and everybody laughs. Later, the prodigal son translates the song. “The first verse,” he says, “tells the story of a woman who poisoned her husband because she was bored. And then she found that after he was dead, she was not only bored but lonely too! The second verse tells the story of a man who went to the bar to find love. But when he found her, he couldn’t afford to marry her, because he had spent all his money on drink!” and so on.
Afterwards the kids sing more and I walk among them with my long foam-covered microphone. Unfortunately they all hog the microphone like would-be rappers, distorting the sound, so the only solution is to hold the mic over their heads where they can’t get so close. Four little boys crane their necks upward, singing, like little birds. It is one of my favorite recordings I think I’ve made all year. Then the older girls start dancing and then everyone is dancing, I am dancing a little bit or at least moving side to side and they are clapping and the cow is mooing and the moon is looming and it seems not quite possible that some three days before I was in the back of a cab in new york.
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