FROM CHRISTOPHER HIBMA:
At the moment, I'm sitting in the lower level of Akili, the gorgeous studio that Wayne MacGregor has given us to use for the Theatre Lab. He and his partner arrived on Sunday for some rest and relaxation. I am listening to the Tanzanians sing with their robust and unadorned voices next door, punctuated by their staccato Swahili (a beautiful language). For the last few mornings, around 7:45am, Mrisho has wandered through Diamond Beach gently waking us up with his singing. What a fantastic way to greet the morning. In the studio above me, I hear the Rwandans sending their stark and haunting voices into the morning air. Last night as dinner was being cleared away, I walked by the kitchen and the staff were singing at the top of their lungs as they washed our dishes. Smiles blazing in the dark night. Daily, I pass a small girl about three years old playing by herself in the beach sand with her imaginary friends. Her friends must like to sing, because she sings all day long to them. Music oozes from the pores of our friends here. Even nature is making its own music. We have been drenched with short periods of rain over the last few days. Then, bright sun appears briefly between the clouds before the rain continues its patter. And now, between the showers, I hear the wind pick up then slow down as it prepares for another downpour. Even the mosquito bites on my legs remind me of the nubs on the drum of a player piano. Am I delirious? Music indeed.
