طبل بودن

To be a drum

During a morning mist, the fog swirled up around Mat, Martha, and their daddy. And when they sat cross-legged, they couldn’t be seen from afar. But they were there. Then Daddy Wes told them a story in his soft voice, the voice that could tap, tap, tap Mat and Martha gently on their hearts.

Daddy Wes began. “Long before time, before hours and minutes and seconds, on the continent of Africa, the rhythm of the earth beat for the first people. The earth filled the air with spirit. The spirit rose on the wind and flew into our bodies. And our own hearts beat for the first time. We were alive! The beat moved through our bodies and pushed out from our fingers. That is how our drum was born.”

“With the drum we spoke to the animals and to the people. The earth’s heart beat out the rhythm of all there is. We listened, and sounded the rhythms back for her to hear.”

“Then men from another continent came. men who would not listen to the rhythm of the earth. They shackled us, the people of the earth’s color, and flung us into the bellies of ships, bringing us enslaved across the oceans and the seas. They tore us apart from one another and did not allow us to speak our own languages. We were a lost people. We were no longer free. We thought we were no more. Then they took the drums away. But cruelty cannot stop the earth’s heart from beating. The earth’s spirit moved through us still and pushed, not only out our fingers, but out our entire bodies. And we became the drums. Living drums, beating for the whole world to hear and see.”

“We were alive! We would be free. So when we worked in the fields, we made our feet drums. When we sang songs under starlit skies, we made our mouths drums. When we talked to each other, we made our speech drums. When we stitched our quilts, we made our hands drums. When we fought in wars, we made our courage drums. When we invented things, we made our minds drums. When we fought for our freedom and for our civil rights, we made our communities drums. When we created music, paintings, sculpture, dances, and dramas, we made our art drums. When we wrote down our wisdom, we made our stories drums. When we recorded our memories, we made our history drums. When we became farmers, scientists, teachers, leaders, entrepreneurs, and tradespeople, we made our dreams drums. We were the earth’s people. We were the living drums. We would always be free.”

Daddy Wes leaned over and whispered, “Listen, do you hear?” He stretched out on the earth, his arms spread like a bird’s wings. Mat and Martha lay down close beside and put their ears to the ground, too. They waited for the magic to be theirs. Waited for the hearing of the earth’s heartbeat. Waited to become.

“I hear it, Daddy Wes,” said Martha. “I don’t hear anything,” said Mat. “You got to let go, son,” Daddy Wes said. “Be quiet and still. You’ll grow to be strong if you learn to be still.” Mat let out a deep sigh. His body relaxed like when he floated on the pond. At last he heard the earth’s heartbeat. “I hear it, Daddy Wes, I hear it too!” he shouted. Daddy Wes smiled. “And what does the earth say?” Mat and Martha and Daddy Wes all drummed the earth’s heartbeat together, bum-bum, bum-bum, bum-bum.

“Now the both of you,” Daddy Wes said, “will always know how to beat out your own rhythm on the earth. Then Daddy Wes, Mat, and Martha took each other’s hands and strolled from the field with the heartbeat of the earth sounding their way. You, too, can be free. Become a drum.