There
is a tribe in Africa called the Himba tribe, where the birth date of a child is
counted not from when they were born, nor from when they are conceived but from
the day that the child was a thought in its mother’s mind. And when a woman
decides that she will have a child, she goes off and sits under a tree, by
herself, and she listens until she can hear the song of the child that wants to
come. And after she’s heard the song of this child, she comes back to the man
who will be the child’s father, and teaches it to him. And then, when they make
love to physically conceive the child, some of that time they sing the song of
the child, as a way to invite it.
And
then, when the mother is pregnant, the mother teaches that child’s song to the
midwives and the old women of the village, so that when the child is born, the
old women and the people around her sing the child’s song to welcome it. And
then, as the child grows up, the other villagers are taught the child’s song.
If the child falls, or hurts its knee, someone picks it up and sings its song
to it. Or perhaps the child does something wonderful, or goes through the rites
of puberty, then as a way of honoring this person, the people of the village
sing his or her song.
In the
African tribe there is one other occasion upon which the villagers sing to the
child. If at any time during his or her life, the person commits a crime or
aberrant social act, the individual is called to the center of the village and
the people in the community form a circle around them. Then they sing their
song to them.
The
tribe recognizes that the correction for antisocial behavior is not punishment;
it is love and the remembrance of identity. When you recognize your own song,
you have no desire or need to do anything that would hurt another.
And it
goes this way through their life. In marriage, the songs are sung, together.
And finally, when this child is lying in bed, ready to die, all the villagers
know his or her song, and they sing—for the last time—the song to that person.
You
may not have grown up in an African tribe that sings your song to you at
crucial life transitions, but life is always reminding you when you are in tune
with yourself and when you are not. When you feel good, what you are doing
matches your song, and when you feel awful, it doesn’t. In the end, we shall
all recognize our song and sing it well. You may feel a little warbly at the
moment, but so have all the great singers. Just keep singing and you’ll find
your way home.
