It's a fine Wednesday morning and what I have for you? I have tea and talk. The day was Friday. I got 'dragged' to an event by a lively bunch. An hour in and a music group is introduced. I hear 'choral music' which means it's our native music. Our music, that is from my particular ethnic group, is usually loud and one must admit, it is sometimes noisy. Every other day I would not mind but not this day when I have not slept in over 24hrs, it was not with a warm welcome when the group took center stage.
Anyway, let me give a run down of the 'procedure' songs take. The male lead starts with a spoken introduction. It is the purpose of the song, it is the lesson to be learnt, it is the situation it applies to....it is the story. Every now and then the narration is broken by a short song response by female singers. At the final round of response, there is a short pause, then the metal bell starts playing followed by rhythmic claps that slowly build momentum. Then the song really starts with drums and other accompanying instruments.
Now,there's something about this union that is pleasing when done right. On this occasion, it had everyone up and dancing. I got up too because I was in good company. Naturally, I'm just clapping and moving my body a little to the beat.
Here's the curious thing that happened. From nowhere, I feel compelled to do more than average. My mind says "no way, not happening" but I feel my ancestress, Osayemen wanting me to dance with her in a demonstration. Really, that's our native dance. There's nothing pretty about it. No moving like a swan or flamingo or breeze on trees or ...you get the drift. No, it is wild. Losing 10 calories per minute wild. Our dance is termed a demonstration. My ancestress was calling. Of course I answered!
And that's all for now folks. I have in mind a new portrait collection. Update soon.
Take care and stay safe
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