songs for the road

When I look back at the time I spent volunteering in Salvador da Bahia, Brazil in 2006, it seems so natural, so inevitable that I would end up in there at some point in my life. I often forget about what drew me to it in the first place: Banda Didá, an all female drumming ensemble that is based there. Before learning about that group, I hadn’t even heard of Salvador, an Afro-Brazilian city in the northeastern part of the country.

Music as it pertains to social movements or social justice has always been a topic of interest for me. When I came across a documentary called Girl Beat: Power of the Drum, I was automatically drawn by the synopsis. It highlighted the Banda Didá organization and the work it did to empower females of African descent in Salvador.

Banda Didá was powerful. I couldn’t believe this group of women whose hands and arms pounded out the rage of the remnants of European enslavement to the beats of West Africa. At the same time, their bodies moved fluidly and rhythmically and their faces beamed with pride in their heritage.

The documentary revealed another world, one that I had not yet been privy to, but in which I felt I likely belonged: Afro-Latin culture. In mainstream grade school education in the United States, the fact that Africans were enslaved in many other parts of the Americas is often ignored. The vivacious modern cultures of Latin America and the African influence on many of them is often overlooked. At that point in my life, I was vaguely aware of Afro-Latin America, but that was the first time I’d seen it so tangibly.

As the daughter of immigrants from a small West African country, I’d grown up on the periphery of belonging. I’d accepted that position at that point. But Salvador da Bahia seemed like a place where the distinct mix of cultures that went into my creation was very much the norm in a very visible way. And sure enough, it was.

There’s a bit of drumming at the beginning of this, but skip to 1:00 for the good stuff. Those drums are heavy, and these women make dancing with one attached to your hips look easy.

I saw Banda Didá for the first time in person just a few days after I arrived in Brazil. Every Tuesday night from August until Carnival, they have a big party in Pelourinho, Salvador’s historic center. They call it a “rehearsal” for Carnival and it’s an insanely fun night of government sanctioned partying. There are concerts, street food and drinks, and baterias (drumming ensembles) marching down the cobblestone streets.

A drum circle with an intrinsic sense of spirit and all kinds of soul.

{ 6 comments }

Today was a day of everyday markets. Today was a day of sipping Oaxaca hot chocolate and dipping airy sweet bread in it. Today was a day of city squares where people gather as if it were an extension of their living room. Today was a day of sitting on a crowded bench at a street food stand and enjoying a memela. Today was a day of mezcal that tasted of agave and earth in the best way possible. Today was a day of learning of the Oaxaca state I have yet to see and wondering when I’ll get a chance to explore lesser known Oaxacas. Today was a day of wishing yet again that I had more time. Today was day of thinking, “I’ll stay another day.” Today was a day of reminiscing about a year ago today in Oaxaca when I was consumed by the energy of the potential of state elections and the energy of the fellow travelers I’d met. Today was a day of wishing that those travelers were all back here again. Today was a day of remembering the two influential travelers I met here last year who’ve passed on and I’ll never see again. Today was a day of being thankful for the ones who are now no longer travel friends but simply friends. Today was a day of indulging in chicken drowned in mole negro, stuffed with plantains and served with a side of garlicky rice. Today was a day of indulging in Oaxaca, trying to absorb up every last bit of its enchantedness before my inevitable departure.

{ 6 comments }

I frequently find new songs to add to my music collection, but it’s not often that I come across an artist that I can fully get behind. Though finding a new artist is obviously not as exciting as traveling to some out of the way destination, when I do, I feel a delicious sense of discovery akin to exploring a new place.

A few months ago, I discovered and fell in love with the folksy Americana music of Nathaniel Rateliff. I downloaded his album, In the Memory of Loss, and have been listening to it regularly. It’s the kind of album that I like more with each listen.

Whether he’s singing in his Jonny Cash-esque low range or wailing at the top of his range, his vocals are piercing. With a unique and solid voice, his songs are free to be bare, minimally produced, and gimmick free.

A few weeks ago, I saw him perform in San Francisco when he opened for another artist. There was a loud audience that wanted to talk until the opening act came on stage. Despite the noise, he gave an impressive solo performance using just a few guitars and his voice. He is legit.

Many of the songs on his album have a gorgeous and gritty melancholy edge to them, but one of my favorites is the most upbeat, a song called “Laughing”. It’s the perfect song for movement, for taking off, for being unconfined — even when you’re tied down.

So far it’s been my Sunday afternoon anthem. I listen to it as I fold laundry, wash dishes and try to make the most of mundane tasks and the few hours of the weekend I have left.

Now, my summer break and travel are quickly approaching and I wanna listen to it on road trip with my windows rolled down. I wanna listen to it at the airport surrounded by the energy of the coming and going. I wanna listen to it on the roof of a hostel over a local beer while surrounded by an international crew of travelers who’ll be my friends for a moment or maybe more…

And in a more lighthearted setting, complete with a chorus of hippie/hipstery friends:

{ 0 comments }