A traditional drum set is composed of two
solos, two midranges, a medium and a bass. That is what could be made from
animal hides apart from other uses. Long before tin drums, logs could be
drilled and form the old sukuti set. Unlike the drums, sukuti's full
set has a concoction of one main and two kids with a bell, a bottle and
scrubbing iron, jingles and a kayamba. It needs men to make a village dance.
All times were not the same. How a circumciser
hit his small drum as he ran down the ridges to meet boys with long foreskins
is not the same pitch a death announcement would be made. Wrong drum beatings
activated the spirits of not their time and this could anger them like to cause
death because mourning spirits were awakened. Never mess with a circumciser at
such moments for the point of his drum stick is the greatest curse of a time.
Never lie to him- he knows lies by the reply of his drum. A beat after every
small task.
In religious practices, drums could evoke
salvation mood. Some traditional practices are in the modern churches of
dancing by the tune of the drum. Keyboarding and guitars are too solemn to
evoke spirit dance. Men and women, revered by their power to tune a round song
to a rising pitch of drum beats leave the body refreshed and dust resettling on
newer surfaces. The power of drums.
One has to survive the stench of wet skin
and the process of its drying. Flies are as many as there could be. Expertise
is to know what a drum it will be while still holding on a fresh animal skin.
Soaking softens the skin and makes it easy to cut. To avoid bruises from the
drying skin strips a sisal sack is placed round where the body is in contact
with the drum. A small incision on one side of bass drum is to allow vibration-
an exhaust. It is on this side that the palm of the hand is applied as the
other side may even suffer stick beatings. And when it is tight, water is the
lubricator. Injury on the dead skin is survived by a puncture repair.
Next time, away from the loud speakers of
the city, take me to a village burial ceremony and allow me to join the night
drums. Let me shake my waist to the sting of death and piss on it. Let me mock
it as I live. Let the man beating the drum never tire in awakening the ancestral
spirits. This is that by the time I too close my eyes in sleep, I'll have
danced to the true ancestral spirit that sends people peaceful in a world of no
sickness.
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| Courtesy of Peter Mugoywa, a drum hanger. |
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