Welcome to Djembe-L
onelover
Here is a story you might find interesting.
The Stealing of The Drums
By William H. Peck
Many years ago, there lived a strong and noble warrior. One day, as the
warrior was racing through the jungle, following the tracks of a sleek
and golden cougar, he heard strange sounds. Forgetting the cougar, he
stopped. Never had he heard such beautiful rhythms. Entranced by the
music, he turned and moved towards the direction of the sound.
Led by the music, the warrior crossed creeks, climbed over rocks and
swung through vines. With each step, the sound became louder and more
frenetic. Finally, he spotted a clearing. The music, he knew, was
coming from there. Hiding behind a nearby tree, the hunter stood in
amazement and watched.
There before him, a lion was swinging his wild red mane and beating
what seemed to be a magical gourd. With every tap on the gourd, the
lion created a rhythm that exploded in the night air like the
heartbeats of heaven.
And animals were dancing in a frenzy!
An elephant was dancing with a hippo. A crocodile was swinging a python
around his tail. A warthog was hopping beside a jigging baboon. An
eland and a bush cow were nuzzling cheek-to-cheek. A grouse was
strutting around a jumping guinea fowl.
>From behind the tree, the warrior tapped his toes. He wanted
desperately to join in the dance, but he dared not disturb such mighty
beasts. As darkness fell, the warrior left the dancing animals and
returned to his village. When he arrived home, he found the villagers
gathered around a bonfire. The women were crying: It was very late-the
warrior was not expected to be out in the jungle for so long-and they
believed he had been killed.
"There he is!" cried a young boy, as he saw the warrior approaching
through the smoky haze. The villagers rushed upon him, hugging him.
"We feared we had lost you," said the village chief. "What kept you for
so long?" The warrior told them of the dancing animals, the magical
gourd, and the rhythm that captured the heartbeats of heaven.
Hearing this, the people drew back.
"You lie!" said the chief angrily. "Do you expect us to believe your
story? What have you been up to?" But the warrior repeated his story,
saying, "It is true. What I tell you is true."
"Go. Leave this village!" ordered the chief. "You are not worthy to
live among us. We are an honest tribe. Go into the jungle with your
dancing animals!"
"Go!" shouted the villagers in chorus. Then they drew their clubs and
chased the warrior back into the jungle.
Alone in the jungle, the warrior sat down beside a banana tree and
tried to ignore the laugh of the hyenas and the squeals of the baboons.
Although he was a fearless warrior in the light of day, he was not so
fearless at night. "Was this day just a dream?" the warrior wondered to
himself as he drifted off to sleep. "How could so much change in just
one day?"
When the sun rose the next morning, the warrior traveled back to the
clearing where he had seen the animals. They had been dancing all
night. The warrior peeked once again from behind the tree.
"If only I had those magical gourds, the villagers would believe me,"
he thought. Then he had an idea. He burst from behind the tree
screaming a war song and charged straight for the mighty lion. He tore
the magic gourd from the lion's grip and raced back down the trail.
He ran all the way back to village. He was so exhausted that he fell
down to the ground. The people of the village gathered around the
warrior, staring at the strange-looking gourd. Gradually, the warrior
regained his breath and stood up.
"This, friends," he announced, holding the gourd in his hands, "is what
I shall call a drum."
Turning to a young boy, he ordered. "Bring me some palm wine!"
Within moments, the young boy came back with a bowl of palm wine. The
warrior then poured some wine on the ground-spilling much more than
tradition called for-as an offering to the ancestors.
The warrior tapped the drums lightly and liked what he heard. He tapped
harder, and the people liked what they heard. The hunter then beat the
drums with the frenzy of the lion.
And the people went wild!
Day and night they danced, barely stopping to eat or sleep. They danced
when they were happy, and they danced when they were sad. They danced
when they were at war, and they danced when they were at peace. They
danced when they were angry, and they danced when they were in love....
In fact, they are dancing even now.
ABOUT THIS TALE
"After installing a new water pump in a neighboring village, my wife
and I visited the village of Nsawkaw," says William H. Peck (Ghana,
1984-86). "There, the chief of the village, Nana Twum Barima, invited
us to attend a festival commemorating the 'stealing of the drums from
the animals.' He then told us the story upon which 'Stealing of the
Drums' is based." "'Stealing of the Drums' illustrates the reverence
that Ghanians have for drums," Peck adds. "They believe that drums are
magical."
Thanks for Everything!
Drumming Peace, R
<http://home.acceleration.net/clark/>
++++++
"Die Musik drückt das aus, was nicht gesagt werden kann und worüber
zu schweigen unmöglich ist." ("Music expresses that which can not be
said and on which it is impossible to be silent.")
- Victor Hugo
"Music is essentially useless, as life is."
- George Santayana (1863-1952)
"Drumming is the heartbeat of humanity.
It balances both positive and negative energies
in the individual and ultimately in the community.
Drumming heals."
-Maxwell Kofi Donkor
"The rhythm is below me,
the rhythm of the heat,
the rhythm is around me,
the rhythm has control,
the rhythm is inside me,
the rhythm has my soul."
- Peter Gabriel
djemb...@gmail.com
OneLoveR
I set this channel up as an alternate for djem...@yahoogroups.com
<http://www.yahoogroups.com/group/djembe-l>. So not much traffic here
and I don't check it often.
Thanks for Everything!
One Love, R
++++++
"Play exists for its own sake. Play is for the moment; it is not
hurried, even when the pace is fast and timing seems important. When
we play, we also celebrate holy uselessness. Like the calf frolicking
in the meadow, we need no pretense or excuses. Work is productive;
play, in its disinterestedness and self-forgetting, can be fruitful."
- Margaret Guenther in Toward Holy Ground
++++++
On Tue, 11 Jan 2005 00:52:44 -0800, djemb...@gmail.com
<djemb...@gmail.com> wrote:
>
> anybody here?
>
>