We drove slowly through the streets of Masiphumelele, a South African township, ever so slowly and carefully. Its residents filled the narrow streets, men hanging out in bunches on the street corners, women bustling to and fro seeming to be doing all the work, and children, as usual, playing their fast and furious street games excitedly and joyfully.

The poverty was everywhere like I knew it would be. The homes were, in fact, nothing more than corrugated cardboard lean-tos with occasional tin roofs, if they were lucky.  The electricity, I could see, was hand connected to each “home” by a naked wire that ran up to a main cable stretched overhead.

Many homes had no front doors to speak of and so I could just look right into the semi-privacy of darkened living rooms. An occasional out-of-place pink stucco house would bless a street, but more often a ruin or two, too dilapidated for anybody to live in, sat empty and rotting.

(Watch the video we made… Siyahamba Project on YouTube)

Initially known as Site 5, the township was renamed Masiphumelele by its residents, which is a Xhosa word meaning “We will succeed”. In 1990, about 8000 residents lived in the area, mostly in shacks, but by 2005, it had grown to 26,000 people.

I needed to see this place. It was an experience I had to have. I was both fascinated and deeply saddened to see our brothers and sisters living in these conditions.

Two total anomalies: Every home seemed to glow with the blue light of a television and every person over the age of 14 seemed to be carrying a cell phone. I was told that these were the status of success.

In this village there is an arts center for the children run by a wonderful man named Chris April. They say when this man walks down the streets of Masiphumelele, he is just a kid magnet. In each block the kids drop whatever they’re doing and run to meet him shouting his name and walking the block with him, behind him, around him.

Every Sunday he piles about 40 of the kids into two beat-up old 9 passenger vans and drives them to the Sunday School where today I am recording them singing their hymn, Siyahamba, in their native language, Zulu. When they arrive it’s like the little clown car at the circus where the clowns just keep getting out one by one until you wonder where they are all coming from. I expect to see a manhole under the car when it drives away to park.

They had rehearsed their song for weeks with Chris and had brought their drums to play. I met Chris then, a man of around 50 years with a twinkle the size of the Milky Way and a shock of white hair on top and chin. He could have been a trim Kris Kringle.  He governed his kids with an air of disciplined seriousness that totally meant business – clearly the patriarch of this family.

After church the children joined the adults in the main church edifice for the recording.  We put the kids in the first 4 or 5 rows with the adults filling in behind. We tried to mix the white and black, but the black clearly out-numbered the white.

I was the Man From America that they had heard about over and over – the man from America who was coming all the way across the world just to record them. They stared unabashedly at me as if I were some god come down from a cloud. When I put my headphones on in front of them, there was a soft “oooh” of deep respect and awe.  I was so “awesome” that they could not look me in the eye even for a second.  As I spoke my opening comments to the gathering, 40 kids watched the floor.

I explained that we would start slowly and go over the melodies of the hymn so that anybody who didn’t know it to begin with could catch up. I played the full track so that they could hear the other churches singing their parts. That only seemed to make them more nervous, hearing the reality of what they were about to do, what they were about to be a part of.  I said that when we got to the African section, they could sing along if they knew the song and I would conduct them in with a 1, 2, 3.

I played the track and when we got to their section they all joined in softly. I knew immediately that they clearly knew the song and resolved to ease them out of their shyness by rehearsing the song several times, concentrating on the adults.

After this first playing I congratulated them for learning the song so well and began to address the adults.  In the 3rd row, Chris raised his hand somewhat impatiently. I called on him.  He stood up and sternly addressed the children.

“I stand here deeply ashamed of you today,” he said. “This man has come all the way from America to hear you sing and record you and for what? Why did we rehearse for those three weeks to have you sing like this? Where is your spirit? We are Africans! Do you not realize this? Today you shame me. Now this time through please sing like we rehearsed and do not forget. We are Africans!” Then he sat down and turned my rehearsal back over to me.

Well there went my plan for easing them into it. So I stuttered, “Well… OK… Let’s uh… Why don’t we just take it from the top and uh… try it again, this time with a little more energy. Let’s just work on the African section of the song now.”

I started the track. Chris stood them up with a wave of his hand. When we got to my “1, 2, 3” they opened their little mouths and blew the roof off of the church. They were African. They were Africa. The sound of their voices singing in their native language of Zulu immediately filled my eyes with tears. It was a sound of ancient joy coming from the mouths and hearts of the children of Africa.

As we finished the chorus I said “Well let’s just start recording right now.” And so we did.

I was told later by several of the adult church members that though the church had long been a mix of black and white, that after the service there was always an awkwardness among the black and white adults – nothing that you could quite put your finger on, just the result of years and generations of inequality. There had previously been little socializing between races beyond warm and polite small talk.

Those barriers were broken down through the singing of this song. The black men were turning to the white men after each take and helping them with their pronunciation of the Zulu, encouraging them with their words, laughing together at their mistakes, working together to one purpose.

Afterward, as a little food was served, they all mingled and talked excitedly about what they had done together, how they had worked together, how they had so impressed the American with the beauty of their voices. The church had never been closer. This hymn about walking ‘in the light of God’ and being ‘in one accord’ had unified a church and dispelled a historic South African problem simply through the act of singing together.  The children, with the help of Chris, had led the way. “And a little child shall lead them.”

That day, I was also told, three of the black men filled out membership applications to the church.

As I packed away my equipment for the last time in the now empty church, I stopped and looked around at this hallowed little space. Today it had been filled with song. Now it was empty. But now it was different. Now it was a place of unification. That day, those children, that proud African named Chris, shall remain in my memory forever.

Today we had made music together, and today we had all walked together in the light of God.

**If you’d like to watch the production of the Siyahamba Project on YouTube, please click on the link.

For more inspirational music and news, please visit us at Watchfire Music.

Even More Inspiration

• Siyahamba-1st Installment
• Africa
• Gettin’ It Done
• Looking Back on 2010
• The Ira Awards Part 1
• Who Knows Where The Time Goes

I’ve worked on a thousand musical projects in my lifetime. Some didn’t turn out so well – the result of myriad reasons. Most, gratefully, went well and we achieved what we set out to do. I’m always grateful for the high quality of professionals that I’ve had the opportunity to work with. They always make success possible.

Occasionally the outcome actually surpasses the dream. Yesterday I had such an experience.

Several months ago I was asked to produce a fascinating event for the annual meeting of a major international church. The concept, developed by executive producer, Norm Bleichman and me, was to go around the world and record various churches singing the beautiful South African hymn, “Siyahamba”.

(Watch the video we made… Siyahamba Project on YouTube)

Each location would sing a different verse or chorus and each would be sung to a track recorded in the style of music related to the culture.  The music would then be assembled with video and performed at the church’s annual meeting with the “whole world” singing together in one grand finale.

Siyahamb’ ekukhanyen kwenkhos

Translated from the original Zulu, it means, “We are marching in the light of God.”

Some of you may have seen the wonderful video that raced around the internet based on the song, “Stand By Me”. If you saw this, you’ll understand the concept and the possibilities for high inspiration. If you haven’t seen it, check this out.  It was the inspiration for the Siyahamba Project.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FnRpMYaUZZw

We put about half of the project together and performed a pilot for the board of directors of the church a couple of months ago and it went flawlessly – so flawlessly that at the end of the presentation there was such a deep sense of peace and promise that everyone just sat quietly for a long and sustained minute or two contemplating prayerfully what they had just seen.  By the end of day we had a “go” on the project.

In the studio I then produced and orchestrated an 8 minute pre-recorded track of the song which moved through the various styles of music – folk, small church Fender Rhodes piano arrangement, large church 4 manual pipe organ arrangement, African instrumentation and Bossa Nova. It would end with full symphonic orchestra as the moment moved back into the original church for the grand finale with 2000 attendees singing.

We decided to kick it off and end the entire piece with Julia Wade, the mega-church soloist, opening and closing and setting the theme singing in Zulu.  She would also conduct the 2000 attendees.

Laying the whole piece out in the studio was a massive undertaking. Keys and key changes had to be decided for 6 different congregations including children.  I decided to stay with one constant tempo throughout in order to maintain the groove of the song and build the musical tension rising to the climax. It turned out to be a good choice. I also had to write transitions between each style of music making things work seamlessly and imagining the time it would take to move from place to place through the video.

Usually the video is finished and then the composer scores his music against the video, but in this case, because the video would not be shot until we went around the world, I had to imagine the moments and the timings and then the video would be laid in against the music. So in this project, the music was to be the master, not the picture.

We also had to develop a portable recording studio that I could carry with me in two hands. For budgetary reasons it was decided that I would attempt this by myself without an assistant and that I would need to both teach and conduct the church congregations and be the recording engineer and producer of the sessions at the same time. This is normally about a 4-person job. I decided, with the help of the good Lord and technical consultant, Noel Flatt, I would try to do this all myself. So I set off with Mac laptop, 2 excellent AKG 414 mics, mic pre-amp, headphones and cables all in two shoulder bags.

We decided to try to record the congregations with live speakers playing the tracks and rented the speakers at each location. Normally, this is not the way to record. For isolation purposes, one always uses headphones, but how could we possibly carry 200-300 sets of headphones for the congregations? This was probably the most difficult technical challenge of the project, because we had to keep the musical track coming from the speakers down to the lowest of levels so that each congregation would barely hear the track to sing with and we could keep the speaker sound out of the mics in order to isolate the voices.  In the end result, it worked, but was extremely tricky in each location under constantly changing room acoustics.

Over the next couple of months I journeyed around the world recording six various churches – a Sunday school in Boston, a storefront church in San Juan Capistrano, California, a college youth organization in the Midwest, a church and African Township youth organization in Cape Town, South Africa, and a church in Sao Paulo, Brazil in South America. Besides each church’s designated verse or chorus I had them all also sing the finale  choruses so that all voices would sing together at the annual meeting in Boston.

While we were recording each church we also either hired a local videographer whom we trusted or my fellow producer, Norm Bleichman came along and shot the sessions himself. Norm handled the coordination of this huge effort meticulously along with editor, Morgan Anderson, and that took a tremendous load off my already overloaded shoulders.

When the recording was done I brought the entire project back into my studio in NYC and dumped it all in my computers from the laptop. I have never done a piece of music with more than 60 tracks and I have produced some huge projects with full orchestra and chorus. Siyahamba was 190 tracks and required 3 Mac computers totally maxed out to mix the project.

I then spent 3 weeks meticulously cleaning and balancing voices, choosing takes, editing and re-balancing the voices with the original music tracks. I went back and forth to Boston from New York several times just to hear my mixes in this huge 3 domed church.

What I heard in the studio was just not what I heard in the church – the reverb in the church playing havoc with my mixes. The bottom, the bass, the bass drum and timpani became mush in the domed rooms and I had to re-think the mixes over and over again also trying to imagine what the presence of 2000 people in the room would do to the sound and adjust for that as well.  In the end, we got it right.

In the end this 8-minute piece simply worked beyond expectation. I, along with my buddy Norm and many others, had poured 4 months into this unforgettable project, traveled around the world to 3 different continents, and met thousands of wonderful people who shared the same love and commitment for their church that unified us all. Then, for one incredible 8 minute stretch, we all sang together and loved one another.

Julia kicked it all off flawlessly setting the theme and then taking us into the journey. Our musical trip around the world elicited constant joy, appreciation for our fellow man, laughter and quite a few tears as we journeyed from place to place. Then it came time for the 2000 to sing. In an explosion of energy the entire congregation jumped to its feet and joined the world in song. The moment was one I shall never forget.

As I stood in the back of the church directing Tim Malone, the sound man, and the voices rose up together, I leaned back against the wall of the church and thought, “It worked.”

During the final singing of the finale I walked down one of the aisles and turned back and faced the congregation and watched the tears stream and the people hug and the voices unite. They blew the roof off that old church. And then Julia closed it down in quiet reverence to a silent prayer.

In that silent prayer, I stood and thanked God for this moment, for the gift of this idea, for the loving input of so many people. I thanked God that our dreams were realized. And I thanked God for the unifying spirit of people, the oneness of mankind, the love of these people for their church, for the goodness of all involved.

Technically, through the care and hard work of hundreds, we were flawless.  How could it be otherwise with such an endeavor? Spiritually we went beyond the dream, beyond the imagination. The unifying effort of all took us there.

**If you’d like to watch the production of the Siyahamba Project on YouTube, please click on the link.

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• WFM Listening Room – Series II – Event 4
• You Must Remember This!
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Nelson Mandela

It was done as a tour de force production number at a time when the focus of the world was on Nelson Mandela and the historic happenings at the end of Apartheid.  Each night when the song was passionately performed, the audience, black and white, would rise to their feet in full-throated exuberance at the end.  It was one of the power point moments of The Jenny Burton Experience.

Under the heading of “You Probably Know This But…”, I thought the following info was worth repeating:

Apartheid — An Afrikaans word meaning ‘apartness’

During most of the 20th century, South Africa was ruled by a system called Apartheid, which was based on the segregation of races.

During the 1960s, racial discrimination applied to most aspects of life in South Africa and Bantustans (territories set aside for black inhabitants of South Africa and South-West Africa, now Namibia) were created for Blacks. The system had evolved into ‘Grand Apartheid’. The country was rocked by the Sharpeville Massacre, the African National Congress (ANC) and Pan Africanist Congress (PAC) were banned, and the country withdrew from the British Commonwealth and declared a Republic.

During the 1970s and 80s Apartheid was reinvented – a result of increasing internal and international pressures and worsening economic difficulties. Black youth was exposed to increasing politicization, and found expression against ‘Bantu education’ through the 1976 Soweto Uprising. Despite the creation of a tri-cameral parliament in 1983 and the abolition of the Pass Laws in 1986, the 1980s saw the worst political violence by both sides.

In February 1990 President FW de Klerk announced Nelson Mandela’s release from prison and began the slow dismantling of the Apartheid system. In 1992 a whites-only referendum approved the reform process. In 1994 the first democratic elections were held in South Africa, with people of all races being able to vote. A Government of National Unity was formed, with Nelson Mandela as president and FW de Klerk and Thabo Mbeki as deputy presidents.

At that time, the end of Apartheid was changing the world for the better.  It struck me that the litmus test for the racial progress that had been evolving in the U.S. would always be judged by the progress of equality in South Africa.  We, as a people, could rise no higher in thought than what we allowed to happen in South Africa.  Hence, we look to South Africa to see the true nature of our progress.

Now, more than a decade later, it is worth reinvestigation.  My trip to Cape Town and my subsequent visit to its African Township, Masiphumelele, revealed to me that, though things are better, there’s still great work that must be done and enormous progress yet to be made.  The relevancy of this song to the world today is still vital and it’s impact still potent.  The great need for this cry for true freedom still exists.

Like I said, progress has been made, but we still got a long way to go, bro’.

SOUTH AFRICA

Music and Lyrics by Peter Link
Zulu Translations by Jimmy Mgwandi

We come from Soweto
We come from a great confusion
We come from the ghetto
We look to South Africa
We look to South Africa

We come from Zimbabwe
We come from the streets of Harlem
We come from a new age
We know where the times have gone
So we go where the lines are drawn

We come from Botswanna
We come from a deep frustration
We come from Atlanta
We look to South Africa
We look to South Africa

Ah there I see in the great Serengeti
The hope of our ancestors
Standing before me
I see in the ancient still mountains
And shining blue waters
The strength of Mandela
And still in the shanties of Cape Town
The voices of children sing
“Power to the people”    Amandla  awaytu
“Power to the people”    Amandla  awaytu
“Power to the people”    Awaytu

We come from Uganda
We come from the mask of slavery
We come from South Central
We look to South Africa
We look to South Africa

And now we look to the slums of Pretoria
To show us the way
As the straw shows the way of the wind
For there in the mood of South Africa
Lies a measure of truth
The writing is there on the wall
Where it always has been

We come from the bread lines
We come from the blackboard jungles
We rise from the confines
Impelled by the hand of God
We look to South Africa

Ah there I see upon Kilimanjaro
The souls of our forefathers
Standing before us
The mem’ries of Medgar
And Malcolm and Martin
Run deep in our blood
The fires of apartheid
Still burn through the tears screaming
“Power to the people”    Amandla  awaytu
“Power to the people”    Amandla  awaytu
“Power to the people”    Awaytu

We come from Soweto
We come from the Zulu nation
We come from the ghetto
We look to South Africa    Oomzahntsi Africa
We look to South Africa    Oomzahntsi Africa

We look to South Africa    Oomzahntsi Africa
We look to South Africa    Oomzahntsi Africa

Amandla awaytu
Amandla awaytu
Hiee hiee hiee
Ah su gah mahn!

Amandla awaytu
Amandla awaytu

Geen goo bah nee me
Nah gahn gah
Pahn dleh gko baba

Gee ah bongah weh baba
Gee nee geze incooluleco

Oom zahn tsi  afreeca

We come from the bread lines
We come from the blackboard jungles
We rise from the confines
Impelled by the hand of God

We come from Soweto
We come from the Zulu nation
We come from the ghetto
We look to South Africa!

Zulu to English Translations:

A-MAN-DLA   A-WAY-TU           (Power to the people)

OOM-ZAHN-TSI   A-FRI-CA         (Down in South Africa)

GEEN-GOO-BAH-NEE-ME
NAH-GAHN-GAH
PAHN-DLEH-GKO-BAH-BAH           (Who am I without God and freedom)

GEE-NEE-GEZE  IN-
COO-LU–LE-CO               (Give me freedom)

GEE-AH-BONGAH-WEH-BABA         (I thank you Lord)

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Africa

Land of mystery
Magical land
The last continent
Cape Town
The end of the world
With names like Zimbabwe
Botswana
The Ivory Coast
Egypt, for God’s sake
Not to mention Cameroon
Ethiopia
The Congo
Tunisia
Words that roll off the tongue
Words that make me want to go
Just so that I can say
“I went to Mozambique”

Africa
She calls me back
I’m here
She’s there
I brought a piece of her home
I left a piece of me there
She wakes this morning in the mist
Another day in poverty
Another day in clouds
Another day in her riches
In her diamond mines
In her human stink
In her magnificence
I in my bathrobe
Her in her nakedness
Petals of Africa
Left scattered on my pillow

Africa
Wild and free
Yet not
Dichotomy of our Earth
Even the animals no longer run free
The child in me calls out
“Oh, let’s say the names of the animals!”
All right then
Hippopotamus
Rhinoceros
Wildebeest and Ostrich
Cheetah
Giraffe
Antelope and Baboon
Lions and tigers, but no bears
Something’s missing here
In the largess of this great land
Even its indigenous people are yoked
By poverty and AIDS
Slavery and their white masters
Still…

Africa
10,000 cultures
Speaking in 2000 languages
By 922,300,000 people trying to co-exist
And live for another day
In a land that is 11,668,545 square miles
Bigger than Europe, The USA and China put together
They don’t make ‘em any bigger
On this, our little Earth
There are no bigger problems on Earth
Than Africa
There is no bigger hope on Earth
Than for Africa
The chain is no stronger than its weakest link
Mankind should be judged
Not by the strong
Not by its triumphs
But how it handles the lowly
The weak, the impoverished
The unfortunate
Africa is our opportunity for greatness

Africa
Let us turn our eyes to Africa
To the great heart of Africa
To its confusion
To its wonders
To its tragedy
To its magnificence

I’m going back

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No matter what treasures the rest of the world offers, it’s always good to go home.

The ordeal of flying: Time spent in airplane/airports this leg – 24 hours! Cape Town to New York City. 24 hours to get home. Strangest part of the trip was that 23 of the 24 hours were in darkness. We followed the sun, but never caught up until the end, the last hour, and the sun rose over NYC – hidden by the rain.

Meanwhile, I’m trying to get home…

Four movies later and 20 hours fighting a cramped airplane seat, we landed and I was home. Or was I?  Grabbed a cab from Kennedy.  7:00 am to 9:00 am – NYC Monday morning traffic in the rain. Two more hours to get home.

Carrying precious cargo: Pillowcases of maroon, yellow and black with elephants of purple and gold, silk scarves for Julia of zebra, lion, leopard to match her hair, hippopotamus sculpture of pale green soapstone that is pure pleasure just to hold the little fat fellow in your hand, carvings and masks in mahogany and ebony, sculptures in rich green verdite of lion and rhinoceros, and la crème de la crème – a serpentine rock sculpted by John Nyakusengwa from Bubi, Zimbabwe, the size of a football with elephant head emerging into life from within.

When I first saw it, I knew not what it was and moved on to others, but it drew me back again and again until I just had to have it – as each time the elephant further revealed itself within its hiding place in the stone.

Precious cargo. Gifts for loved ones who could not go. Memories of Africa. All in a suitcase stuffed with bubble wrap and prayers.

Trying to get it all home…

The worst part: A 3 hour layover in Jo’burg. So tired I could have slept on the floor, but what if I missed my call, missed my plane? Can’t read – just makes me sleepier, can’t walk, carry-ons too heavy, can’t eat, spent all my South African rand, and so I sit and watch the hours go by, minute by minute, going a little nuts.

Trying to get home…

Finally decide to practice what I preach. Consider Eckhart Tolle and The Power of Now. Then I’m all right. I’m not there yet, but I’m on my way home as I watch the beautiful people of Africa all heading off to places unknown.

Passing the time…

Trying to get home…

The best part: Playing “Peek-Around-The-Seat” with a 3 year old black African boy who was fascinated with the American in seat 54A. The game lasted intermittently for 20 hours. His sweetness and curiosity brought great joy to my going home.

With two rolling suitcases filled with precious cargo and recording equipment and two overstuffed carry-ons passing through customs unmolested, I grab a cab, fight the traffic, and then finally stand in the rain in front of my apartment building paying the cabbie, turn and walk through a busy Monday morning lobby. Then the elevator ride to the 38th floor. Then the long walk down the hall to my door. The walk, pulling my precious cargo, seemed to take as long as Cape Town to NYC.

A note on the front door: “It’s open. In the shower”

I clumsily manhandle my bags through the door, trying not to break something in these last 3 steps. The house is quiet. Only the sound of the shower.

“Honey, I’m home!”

For more inspiring thoughts, music you can download,
and information about Peter Link, please visit Watchfire Music.

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I opened my shotgun door while Norm quickly turned off the engine and grabbed the video camera. I stumbled to the edge of the cliff [below was Cape of Good Hope], still refusing to take my eyes off the scene below for fear that it all might somehow slip away and disappear.

But that was not to be. I had missed many a great shot for the last several days driving and focusing, frustrated and missing the moments as they rushed by. But this one would be different.

We had been driving down the mountain, end of day, hurrying to get home for a dinner in our honor given by new South African friends. As we came around the bend, there was the shot. God’s masterpiece of the day painted before us.

Sometimes it’s best to just let the camera go and just drink it all in. Nothing captures the moment of light and color quite like the human eye, and here I realized that this was a moment where time slowed and God proudly allowed it all to be taken in, moment to moment, with no pressure, no rush.

Below us, to our left, lay one of Cape Town’s many coves and harbors. We stood high on a cliff on the side of the mountain overlooking a wash of green African treetops that fell down the mountainside before us. Panning to the right and then straight ahead was the sea, the Cape of Good Hope stretching on endlessly. On the left, thousands of houses dotting the cove, and straight on and right, the blue-green Indian Ocean meeting a yellow-orange setting sun. But cove, harbor, houses and sea were, alas, only to be imagined.

For there, below us, lay upon earth and sea, harbor and cove, the top of a cloud that had slid in noiselessly and now spread its whiteness over all below. It’s not often that one can stand upon the earth and look down upon a cloud. It’s not often that we can witness a setting sun painting that white rolling canvas with its setting reds and oranges from above. We stood breathlessly above an expanse of white marshmallow, fired by African oranges and reds and framed by a blue sky above. God was actually showing off – laughing and painting madly in His end of day spurt of flaming creativity.  We shot frame after frame trying to keep up, trying to capture what lay so far beyond our technical capabilities.

I could show you my stills. Norm could run the scene before you in living color. We could share with you an imperfect piece of the experience. I could score the film with enchanting music that represented all that I felt through it all, or try, as I’m doing, to describe it to you in my best prose, hoping that your imagination could somehow see what we saw. But ultimately, it was God’s moment, much bigger than any of us – much more beautiful than can ever be captured and described by words, music, film or human endeavor.

We stood in awe. God shrugged and said, “Aw, I got lots of ‘em.” But we were there for this one – witnessing Mind at work with its tools of light, contrast, color and surprise. We gave it our best shot and He actually gave us the time to try to capture this timeless masterpiece. We got a little piece of it and I know I got nearly all of it burned somewhere here in my own mind.

But then the sun slipped down below the edge of the world into the Indian Ocean. We drove down into that cloud and there was, in fact, a harbor and cove and ocean below it. By the time we got home to the side of our mountain there was only the darkness and the stars. The cloud had slipped away leaving the burning lights of the homes and harbor – and God still dabbling away. But that moment on the mountain was the climax, perhaps the climax of our entire trip.  That was the masterpiece of God’s creation.

We were there.

For more inspiring thoughts, music you can download,
and information about Peter Link, please visit Watchfire Music.

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There are long cloud shadows on the plains of Africa

But no rain
The red earth cries for water
But to no avail
The patterns of the landscape are nature’s
Not the checkered tablecloth of man
Africa does it her way
And none to argue

In the airport in Jo’berg
A hooded woman in black
With only her eyes exposed
Follows her master obediently
A black man so black and so beautiful
I cannot take my eyes off him
A tribal prince in modern dress
Chinese Egyptian
Man from Mumbai
Mozambique child in a Gap shirt
Sad-eyed priest from the Ivory Coast
American composer drinking it all in
All heading down to the end of the world
A meeting tonight in Cape Town

There are baboons in my back yard
And walking the streets of Simon’s Town

Mburra from Zimbabwe hawks her wares
Sells me soapstone hippopotamus
And lies when she says she made it
I can see it in her eyes
Somebody told her to do so
I don’t give a damn
I must have this hippopotamus

We drive on the ‘wrong side’
And laugh at the consequences
Flying hubcaps and bushes in my teeth
Takes all the concentration we got
Just to stay alive
Lost in Constantia
Funny man and straight man praying
Show us the way to Fish Hoek
Dear God
Show us the way to go home

There are baboons in my back yard
And walking the streets of Simon’s Town

The beauty and wonder of this magical city
Are more than I can bear
God in His infinite humor
Has created this implausible place
Out of the leftovers of His greatest work
Africa
And plopped it right here
On the end of the world
Cape Town

The great Mandela waiting in his prison cell
Zuma and his nine wives and countless children
A Zulu nation standing with the giraffes
The surfers searching the perfect wave
Lost seals washing ashore from Antarctica
All looking to the discombobulation
That is Cape Town South Africa

There are baboons in my back yard
And walking the streets of Simon’s Town
Fifteen baboons or more
Father Mother baby on her back
Climbing the fences
Swinging from trees
Hanging on gates
Prowling the sidewalks
Scaring the tourists
Looking as if they belonged
Acting as if they owned the joint
With their red butts indelicately bare
Out for a stroll on the end of the world
In the genteel streets of South Africa

For more inspiring thoughts, music you can download,
and information about Peter Link, please visit Watchfire Music.

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Nothing but ocean below. Night. Outside air temperature minus 70 degrees.  Whoa baby, that’s cold, fast and high. Pretty amazing when you think about it.  Way to go, humans!  You’ve come a long way.

We’re pretty tough on the airlines these days. Truth is, we’re pretty spoiled. Consider the Spanish and English and Portuguese in their little ships.  Consider the pioneers in their wagon trains. Drive across the U.S. even today. It’s a long haul.

I have 15 movies to choose from. The food wasn’t bad, and I didn’t even have to kill it. My biggest worry was the seat next to me. Would it be filled? It wasn’t, so I can put all my stuff around me ‘cause, god knows, it’s a real pain to have to get up and get my computer out of the overhead.

I have no idea what keeps us up here. Something about aerodynamics… We put a lot of trust in this guy called “The Captain”. Actually, I think we fly because we humans deemed it so. Really. Why should this mammoth metal 747 stay up here? Because we say it should, by golly, and so it does. We’re just all makin’ it up as we go along. We need to fly, so we figure out how to fly. We want to talk long distance so we do telephone. The postal service and the library system start slowing us down so we imagine something better. We imagine a cyberspace and build a new web of communication which spans the world rather instantly. What can’t we do?

Have permanent peace, that’s what. Oh don’t get me started.

I fly in my dreams. Used to be I always did the breaststroke to get around. Then one night I was flying through some rather complicated tree branches and I noticed that when it got kinda tight, my arm just passed right through the branch. I watched it! Right through the branch. I instantly reasoned that if my arm passed through the branch, then pulling the air to move forward in my breast stroking manner wasn’t really making me move forward because the matter around me was not substantial.

So I just put my hands down at my sides and thought my way forward. I didn’t have to steer with my hands any more. I just looked to where I wanted to go and went. Interesting thing is, I learned this so well in that dream that ever after that, when I have flying dreams, I fly with the new and improved method.  I remember the correct method from dream to dream. Now there’s a concept worth exploring.

Maybe that’s really what our Captain is doing. Or maybe that’s what he’ll be doing 50 years from now.  “What are you doing tonight, Betty Jean?”

“Oh, I’m gonna think my way to Africa.”

Most of the time while flying in a jet I don’t even know I’m flying. But get me into a Piper Cub and start butterflying through the air and baby, then I know I’m flying.

We’re just off the coast of Africa now. It’s warmer outside now. Probably because of Africa. It’s now minus 57 degrees. Whoa… Gonna be a hot one.

The stewardess just walked by with a tray full of pure bottled water and it’s 4:15 am. The American pioneers are up there laughin’ about us complainin’ about the airlines.

Think I’ll put on my headphones and listen to some classical music. Maybe a little Bebel Gilberto or Beyonce. Everybody else is either asleep or watchin’ movies. Ah, here’s some Siphokazi – appropriate  African groove for this journey through the sky.

It’s quiet in a noisy sort of way. The roar of the jet you get used to and it’s now a quarter to 5 and most folks are asleep. Perhaps I’ll try. Africa awaits us. Pretty cool…

For more inspiring thoughts, music you can download,
and information about Peter Link, please visit Watchfire Music.

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