There is a sound that is beyond description, above definition, a sound so primal, so natural, it is palpable. There is a sound drawn straight from the soul of a man, rich and creamy, raw and jagged, viscous and fluid. A sound so deep it wounds you, it breaks down fears and creates fissures in the walls of reason. There is a sound so pure and so true it seeps into the well of ones heart and makes the bitter waters sweet.
This is the sound of Africa, the cradle of all creation. I could try painfully and awkwardly to continue to explain what it is and what it does but no words I could ever fashion would do it justice, it must be tasted, experienced and lived.
I have this ever present concept in my life, moments to die in, it sounds morbid but is quite the opposite. A moment to die in is a moment so extraordinary and so rare that should all your living moments cease in that one it would be fine because in that moment you have lived the very best you can possibly ever hope to. I have had that feeling more in the last two weeks in Africa than in all the rest of my life combined and it is because of that sound. The people begin to sing, in different tones and keys but somehow every voice finds its exact right place and in your chest there is a rumbling, an overwhelming vibration that carries you into a place where breathing is a chore. Hope and sorrow, peace and war, love and hate, the entire wealth of the human experience exist in this sound and it resonates in your bones. Someone I love told me I would love Africa, I didn’t believe her but she was right.
