One of the past mornings I stepped out from the velvety of my sleep missing the sound of African drums. When I came to live in Mozambique, hardly a day went by without the frenzy of beats. Echoes of drums, deep silences and exotic birds perching on the cloths of unoccupied fields are gone. Today I hear playful children and small birds singing, when the city buzz allows it.
Drums represent an important part of Mozambican culture and tradition. They used to be frenetically beaten by people of the surrounding neighbourhoods to express either joy or sadness: births, weddings, illnesses, deaths…
Yet while I mentally bridge past and present of this town, a different kind of throb grabs my attention. For the first time in weeks my heart is beating with its usual energy. No wonder the drums reverie!
Paul’s reaction to the good news:
“Great! I was afraid we had to use electrical stimulation to keep it working properly!”