‘THE BOWL OF MUSIC’ !

By Omoseye Bolaji

It was gripping, coruscating music! Right in the heart of this South African tavern! I must confess that what remains of my hair stood on end; spine tingling, just listening to the music as it billowed forth.

By the way, how do the aficionados of music decide the best scintillating music when it comes to their awards? As far as I was concerned the music in the air was nonpareil. Or was I exaggerating things?

Not judging from the reaction of the denizens here now, though! It was clear everyone was enjoying this superb, stirring music. The women were on their feet dancing away; - even the often strait-laced proprietor who incredibly in his modesty often doubled as a waiter – they were all on their feet dancing. It struck me that though right now there were diverse people from a number of nationalities here, they were all now united in enjoying the music!

Two women who had hitherto appeared to be bastions of respectability, chatting outside this ‘joint’ suddenly entered into the main floor here upon hearing the music. They danced with gusto, with unbridled abandon and glee.

But the most spectacular,  and impressive sight –testimony – to how the stirring, galvanic the music was here now was an old man at least in his late 70s, grey all over and seemingly shrivelled, emaciated and weak. The ‘papa’ was fully on his feet dancing away in fine fettle with incredible agility! Most of the people stared at him, collectively realizing that this was wonderful music indeed.

And moi? Actually I was the only person who still remained sedentary, still perched on my seat – but even in my case I was nodding my head appreciatively to the  melodious music and my fingers were also busy in collective approbation, as it were. It suddenly struck me that I was the only person still remaining seated as this particular magical, melodious music was belted out.

As the music petered to an end I saw a rather young lady (around 26 years old) approaching me; she was smiling. It took me a few seconds to realize that this was a woman I had not seen for at least four years. I remembered she had once politely requested me to sign one of the copies of my books for her (autograph) I found myself hugging her now and almost simultaneously we both asked: why the long absence? 

This was Lizzie. Of average height, “coloured; dimples on her cheek, not unattractive. But to my chagrin I realized that she was now somewhat shop-soiled – she was always one for partying and drinking.

“Ah” she said. “One only hears – reads - about you from the papers these days. I am happy that you are still managing to write. I saw a very new book just two weeks ago where some essays were written about you; the one edited by a lady, a black lady,” I nodded. "I have largely retired now,” I said.

She shook her head. “You are still the same,” a deprecating note crept into her voice. “You are the only person we know who can sit down alone at a shebeen, continue going through documents, writing – whilst still drinking and enjoying loud shebeen music at the same time!” Her eyes twinkled. “That very sweet music of some minutes ago! Is it Shakespeare that said something about if music be the bowl of food, play on?”

I grinned; thinking: If music be the food of love, play on. But Lizzie went on: “At least even you enjoyed that wonderful music, even if you were the only one still seated,”

“I assure you I enjoyed the music very much,” I said honestly; by now another piece of music was being played.

“Will you like to dance with me?” she said, her eyes still sparkling.

“I have been told by many people that an elephant dances much better than I do!” I said.

“Let me be the judge of that,” the woman said. “Or you don’t want to dance with me?”

I danced with her.