Dancers in full celebration at the Kamina airfield As our little plane settled in front of the airfield in Kamina, in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, I was reminded why I love Africa so much. The little gang of eleven people from Ohio was welcomed like royalty. Our arrival felt like an awards ceremony at the Olympics. We lined up in a row and directly opposite of us were eleven beautiful children holding eleven freshly picked bouquets of flowers for us. That would have been enough, but it wasn’t the end. Just outside the gate, a crowd awaited with dancers, musicians and children who were obviously threatened not to touch -- or in any way harass -- the visitors.
The celebration grew louder and wilder once we joined the party. And, I loved every moment. A choir of women in matching African dresses sang and danced to the beat created by men with homemade instruments that resembled xylophones made from gourds. Male singers chanted into megaphones. As for the children, well, they strained to get as close to the visitors as possible without touching. They were under the watchful eye of a village elder who glared at them, and threatened in a language that meant nothing to me, if they got any closer than accepted.
Now, in Africa, you can’t just safely observe. The swaying choir women edged closer and closer. Without any warning, two women grabbed each of us by the arms, pulling us (still with our luggage in hand) into the crowd, and we too swayed to the music. Of course, I didn’t sway nearly as gracefully, but I still swayed.
The celebration grew louder and wilder once we joined the party. And, I loved every moment. A choir of women in matching African dresses sang and danced to the beat created by men with homemade instruments that resembled xylophones made from gourds. Male singers chanted into megaphones. As for the children, well, they strained to get as close to the visitors as possible without touching. They were under the watchful eye of a village elder who glared at them, and threatened in a language that meant nothing to me, if they got any closer than accepted.
Now, in Africa, you can’t just safely observe. The swaying choir women edged closer and closer. Without any warning, two women grabbed each of us by the arms, pulling us (still with our luggage in hand) into the crowd, and we too swayed to the music. Of course, I didn’t sway nearly as gracefully, but I still swayed.
Ready to shake and rattle And, then it was over. Way too soon!
We were supposed to file out of the crowd and get into our transportation. Well, it isn’t out of character for me to not follow the crowd. While everyone else headed left to the trucks, I went directly right to the percussion section still in full out concert mode. One woman had a basket, kind of like a purse, that she rattled away to the rhythm of the beat. I asked to borrow it and did my own rattling. Then, another woman indicated that I should do my rattling with the basket above my head. Now it is totally out of character for me to do that, but I rattled and shook things that rarely ever get rattled and shaken. I was welcomed into Kamina with a grand African experience. When I finished my moment, I joined up with the line to the transportation. Nobody in my group even saw what I had done. But I knew, before I left Kamina, I had to get myself an African rattle as my souvenir from the Congo.
I don't usually travel in groups. I was the only member of this gang from Ohio who had lived in Africa before. (Six years!) Most members had never visited the continent. And, on top of that, I was the only person who could speak any French. My French is absolutely horrible. I should probably apologize to my high school teacher, but at least I could communicate some. So, while most of the Americans depended on the group leader for their every move and every decision. I didn't. When I wasn't facing a mural wall, which was nearly every hour of daylight for ten days, I explored as much of the town of Kamina as I could.
As I remember, I rarely explored alone. My mural experience was 99% Congolese. (There was one other American, John, who helped me.) Most of my painters were children and young people associated with the orphanage where we painted. And, when I wandered the streets, market and area surrounding the orphanage, just like a pied piper, I had children following, guiding and watching over me. There were many moments that needed to be captured on camera, none more charming than this little girl in my drawing who wore a yellow ribbon.
The one time I remember wandering alone was in the wee hours of the morning, just before sunrise. There was no sleeping in while in Kamina. Every morning, I heard drums. As exotic and wonderful as it is to hear African drums, they really were not all that welcomed before sunrise. While I knew what I wanted to do at that hour, the good people of Kamina had other plans. They were at church, pounding the drums and preparing to start their day with some praise.
Nobody praised quietly.
On the morning that I gave in to the drums, I have no idea when the beat awoke me, but it was pitch black outside. Still, I decided to follow the music. I grabbed my flashlight as well as my basket rattle and prepared to feel the beat. It was the first time I ever located a church by the sound. And, I certainly located that church. But, just as I neared the building, the music stopped.
Undefeated, I listened and located a second church. But as soon as I found them in the dark, they also stopped singing and started praying. It was as loud as the music. Okay, I didn't shake my rattle or other things in the dark before sunrise. But, I did celebrate at church with my rattle before I left the Congo. However, it was in broad daylight and everyone had their eyes on the crazy "muzungu".
We were supposed to file out of the crowd and get into our transportation. Well, it isn’t out of character for me to not follow the crowd. While everyone else headed left to the trucks, I went directly right to the percussion section still in full out concert mode. One woman had a basket, kind of like a purse, that she rattled away to the rhythm of the beat. I asked to borrow it and did my own rattling. Then, another woman indicated that I should do my rattling with the basket above my head. Now it is totally out of character for me to do that, but I rattled and shook things that rarely ever get rattled and shaken. I was welcomed into Kamina with a grand African experience. When I finished my moment, I joined up with the line to the transportation. Nobody in my group even saw what I had done. But I knew, before I left Kamina, I had to get myself an African rattle as my souvenir from the Congo.
I don't usually travel in groups. I was the only member of this gang from Ohio who had lived in Africa before. (Six years!) Most members had never visited the continent. And, on top of that, I was the only person who could speak any French. My French is absolutely horrible. I should probably apologize to my high school teacher, but at least I could communicate some. So, while most of the Americans depended on the group leader for their every move and every decision. I didn't. When I wasn't facing a mural wall, which was nearly every hour of daylight for ten days, I explored as much of the town of Kamina as I could.
As I remember, I rarely explored alone. My mural experience was 99% Congolese. (There was one other American, John, who helped me.) Most of my painters were children and young people associated with the orphanage where we painted. And, when I wandered the streets, market and area surrounding the orphanage, just like a pied piper, I had children following, guiding and watching over me. There were many moments that needed to be captured on camera, none more charming than this little girl in my drawing who wore a yellow ribbon.
The one time I remember wandering alone was in the wee hours of the morning, just before sunrise. There was no sleeping in while in Kamina. Every morning, I heard drums. As exotic and wonderful as it is to hear African drums, they really were not all that welcomed before sunrise. While I knew what I wanted to do at that hour, the good people of Kamina had other plans. They were at church, pounding the drums and preparing to start their day with some praise.
Nobody praised quietly.
On the morning that I gave in to the drums, I have no idea when the beat awoke me, but it was pitch black outside. Still, I decided to follow the music. I grabbed my flashlight as well as my basket rattle and prepared to feel the beat. It was the first time I ever located a church by the sound. And, I certainly located that church. But, just as I neared the building, the music stopped.
Undefeated, I listened and located a second church. But as soon as I found them in the dark, they also stopped singing and started praying. It was as loud as the music. Okay, I didn't shake my rattle or other things in the dark before sunrise. But, I did celebrate at church with my rattle before I left the Congo. However, it was in broad daylight and everyone had their eyes on the crazy "muzungu".
Just a sampling of the homemade instruments to wake you up in the morning and keep you alert in church
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