Drums of the Soul

Being raised in tradition is different from your regular daily life as an African American. My mother is from the Islands and she was adamant about keeping the same teachings of her home in her household. It was hard enough going to school in dashikis every day when crop tops were the latest fashion trend. But then my mother found a new love, drugs. Life got hard after that, very hard. That's when I was introduced to my passion. Dance.

African drums are the doorway to our history. It's hard to explain what I mean until you experience it firsthand. I was ten when I went to my first African dance class. Well, actually it was an old friend of my mother who remembered the dance of her home. She felt pity for me and used to let me stay at her house when my mother would pull one of her disappearing acts and be gone for days at a time.

I had taken interest in all the wooden statues she had all over her home. So she would tell me stories of her time with my mother in their village. One day she asked me if I wanted to learn to dance and I said yes. She took me to her basement; curtains covered the windows, candles were lit everywhere. Heat pressed against me, like the heat of early May trapped in a room, trapped with the scent of beeswax and lemon oil and the faint trace of bayberry and spices. A young boy, her son, sat in the corner, a set of drums in front of him.

She made me bow my head before handing me a small wooden bowl full of tea. It was pungent and strong, burning my throat on the way down but I was told to drink it all.

Sit, she said, we must meditate.

Dum, dum, dum. The slow beating of music the only sound in the room. I sat on the floor, trying to get my breathing to slow. It wasn't going too well, I couldn't focus, my mind was full of so much turmoil and stress. Even at age ten, I knew my life was not as it should be for a child.

Close your eyes, she said, breathe deep. Dum, dum, dum.

I shifted on the soft rug I was sitting on, trying to loosen some of the tension in my shoulders, trying to get more comfortable. Focus, I thought, find your center. I steadied my breathing, trying to ease my mind. I shifted again, trying to find my zone, this wasn't working.

Our music is tied to our past and future self. Dum, dum, dum, dum.

My head suddenly felt heavy. Time has slowed and everything was hazy. I opened my eyes thinking I might be sick. Colors were spiraling and my vision was blurry. I closed them again to stop the spinning.

Focus your heart to open the door. Dum, dum, dum. And see who you were and what you can become.

I felt a sudden wind and I was somewhere else. A graveyard. The sky was dark and stormy, lighting flashing brightly and the thunder a vibrating bass, welcoming and therapeutic. I heard drums, the rhythm bumping through the entire graveyard, something fast, something exotic.

I started to bob my head to the beat only I can hear. I moved quickly to the fast tempo, swaying and two-stepping the night away. Shadows moved, ascending from the graves to watch me. I was in the spotlight. Eyes were on me, the only person moving, but I liked it, that feeling of being watched. That physical weight of attention, something I was not getting at home.

The beat changed to something faster, something more demanding, but I was too lost in the rhythm, my body moving to the fast beat. Swinging my head, I flipped my hair, getting more and more into the beat.

Something was pulling at me, whispering to me. Shadows moved closer, forming the shapes of people. The bass sounded louder, vibrating against my skin, thumping with the pounding of my fast heartbeat. The temperature was rising, a heat surrounding me and still, I kept dancing. I moved faster to the beat, swinging my arms and spinning in a circle. I couldn't stop, the heat thickened, seeming to suffocate. Whispering getting louder, clearer.

For a second I thought was that the lyrics to the song? I kept dancing. The words of the song seeming to be whispered into my ear as I moved. But I couldn't understand the hisses or the language. Abruptly I stopped dancing, eyes going wide at what I was seeing.

I turned, realizing I was surrounded. By me. A lot of me. Headdresses and warriors and crowns. Shamans and preachers and generals. Lab coats, streetwear, and suits.... all of them were me. Slowly and simultaneously they bowed like I was taught just minutes before. A light shone, scattering the shadows back to their homes. I opened my eyes, sweating, gasping for air.

It's been 20+ years since that first lesson. And now when I dance, I feel the love of my future self watching me. As of the wisdom of my past self guiding me. I learned strength and self-love through dance. And I continue to practice that confidence every day. Dance saved my life in every way a life can be saved. It taught me truths about myself and who I wanted to be. It taught me that being raised with nothing is okay as long as I continue to pursue a better future. It taught me that being different is okay, and standing out is okay. Dance was the father I never had and the mother I always wanted. Dance should be in every household. Dance will forever be the calm to my soul.