Africa, anyone? I lived in Africa, in fact for a period of two years. My parents made the incredibly wise decision to join the Peace Corps so in November -76 the family of six moved to Botswana. Which is where I evolved into music.
Unlike the other “white” kids who went to a european/american boarding school in the capital city Gaborone, we luckily attended local schools. We lived about 40 km north of Gaborone, in Mochudi, a village with six primary and two secondary schools. I am personally a proud graduate from Isang Primary School 1978. One of the mandatory subjects was apparently choral singing, and all the schools met, twice a year I think, in a singing competition at a local church, a kind of battle of the choirboys (and girls).
We had a fantastic, enthusiastic, vibrant lady as a conductor. My African mom: Mrs. Hersey. I can’t remember exactly the different melodies we performed but the mood they created as well as the indomitable enthusiasm and faith dear Mrs. Hersey diligently and pure at heart spread upon our world will always remain at the base of my character and help me define myself and my surroundings.
We were quite successful my choir, winning prizes and actually moving on to the national finals. You can imagine: School uniforms, girls in green dresses and all the boys in khaki shorts and short-sleeved shirts. And in the middle, first row, a little to the left, Grim, blond hair, blue eyes, red sunburnt skin. Sore thumb?
I know where I belong. To live and learn you have to live at least a little.
I’m glad in any case to have been there and there. And I’m glad I’m here. And wherever I am at anytime really. Man, I hope that’s what I learned from this. That would make a great story.
