music flows through the streets of this city like the lifeblood of god penetrating humanity. it is what the people here live for, singing in the streets with a passion that is impossible to misinterpret. it is a perpetual festival, a land where the sound of song is pervasive and contagious::a creative force. in the absence of food and shelter and water, when one has nothing left but their own two hands to clap together, it is this rythm that sustains them: healing heartbeats through stomping feet and songs to save the days of the desparate.
and so it is what fills my days and my spirit here, synchronistic encounters with drum carvers and gnaoua players. i wander through the skinny alleys toward the sweetest sounds, and musicians pull me in because they know that i feel it, they see the light sparkling through my ears and eyes and heart. we're always in a circle; sitting on one djembe and playing another, castinettes clapping in both hands until their iron weight makes them fall. the rythm's always ascending, flying faster toward the impossible speed of sound, and my hands can hardly keep up. for hours we will play like this, after lunch, after sunset, after one song ends we start another. they teach me rythms and laugh and tell me 'good!good!' i feel like such a priveledged female, to be making music in this country where women go so unheard.
yesterday they taught me how to put the skin on a drum-i soaked the old goat in water until it sprouted, stretched it tight across this iron ring and tied the knots around the wood, balancing the circle and the tone. and then we played for all the gods. sometimes they all trance out in the rythm so intensely that the hoods on their jellabas fall over their shaking heads. really, the music is what saves me here. it is what calls me, what i always migrate towards, where i feel the deepest, what i can't resist, and what fills me more than food.
with magic, and more soon....
