Jabbar, master drummer in Hopkins Village, Belize
My hands come down on the once-soft animal skin, now stretched tightly over a tree trunk, producing a deep bass tone that momentarily takes me to West Africa.
The rhythm is familiar to one I learned from a Guinean master drummer once—one that would call upon the spirits of the ancestors during certain types of celebrations.
Yet as I follow the lead of my teacher, master drummer Jabbar, I’m reminded of the fact that we’re on an entirely different continent, playing drums with Latin names. I’m laying down a bass line on a primero and he’s soloing on a primero, which has a higher sound.
Would They Jam with Me?
We wrap up my third and best lesson so far and I feel a longing to play more—to jam—with him or other drummers. Would they stick to set rhythms or perhaps break out? Would they want to play with me, a white woman?
I’d been trained to play West African style, where the protocol and etiquette tend to be strict. The men run the show and women—especially non-Africans just learning—generally follow their lead. It’s a world where you must be humble and know your place in the hierarchy; one doesn’t just ask to ‘jam’. Here though, in Hopkins Village, I wonder if it might be allowed.
Maybe later, I think. I grab a drink to stay hydrated in the coastal heat and look over at the turquoise water of the Caribbean and the sun, which will soon be setting. I’d almost like to go and take a swim.
Mama, Garifuna Historian and Cultural Preservationist
But instead, in a few minutes, I’ll be riding my slightly rickety one-speed bike down the street over to Jude’s seafood restaurant. I’m craving fresh snapper and fries—and more importantly, a chat with her and ‘Mama’, a heavyset black woman with a warm, yet intense eyes. She’s a historian and town elder of sorts, who loves to talk about her culture….their culture. That of the Garifuna.
Where Am I?
Am I in Africa? No.
Latin America? Yes, technically.
But Hopkins Village, Belize, which is a bit off the beaten path, feels like something else—a world in between the two. It’s one of several places in this country where one finds the Garifuna, descendants of ship-wrecked slaves, and their unique culture.
Hopkins Village: A Small Town Off the Beaten Path
Hopkins is a small town where everybody knows everybody. English is spoken, as well as tribal Garifuna, and some Creole, as well. And there’s Spanish, of course—although I didn’t hear much of it. Located in Southern Belize, Hopkins is off the beaten path, with some tourists (but not too many—back in 2008 anyway) and ex-pats and welcoming locals.
“We are Garifuna and we want to preserve our culture,” says ‘Mama,’ who seems to be at the center of the cultural preservation. She looks serious as she speaks. “It’s very important for us to keep it alive.”
At dinner, while enjoying enjoying snapper and fresh crab that I saw one of the locals catch during the day, Mama extends a special invitation to me and my traveling companion, Krista, to attend a special cultural night. We immediately accept.
Jude’s seafood restaurant
Two hours later, we’re sitting in a large room with about 100 people, learning even more about the Garifuna and who they are.
Moving Beyond Words and Into the Music
But, as one soon sees, experiencing the heart of this culture is only partially about the words. It’s mostly about the music—the drums, the dancing and the traditions—and the sense of aliveness they bring.
The door opens and a procession of dancers, including Miss Belize 2007 (who was Garifuna), enter the room and the party begins. Two drummers, local teenagers, begin to play a rhythm whose groove makes people in the audience (me included) want to dance while it simultaneously brings on a slight trance. The dancers begin to move and the fun begins.
And hour later, I’m smiling inwardly and on outwardly. It’s felt amazing to watch. I then get a giddy feeling, which I sometimes get when I know there’s something I want/need to do that might be amazing if it happens.
“Um….hi. Great job tonight. Loved the music you made,” I say to the two drummers. They’re teenagers, possibly brothers or maybe just close friends.
“Thank you,” they say, still tapping. I sense they might want to keep playing. Meanwhile, people are clearing out of the room. Perhaps it’s now my chance.
The Drumbeat + the Heartbeat = a Door Into the Culture
“Would it be OK if I try your drum? I’ve taken some lessons with Jabbar and know a couple rhythms,” I say nervously. I prepare myself for a possible ‘no.’
“Yes, of course,” he says, smiling and moving his seat. “Let me find another drum, so all three of us can play.”
Soon, I’m playing the segundo, the large drum, with these Garifuna kids and feeling connected to them in a different way than I did when I was just listening. Together, we share musical moments and create them for others to enjoy.
I’m now a bit blissed out and don’t notice that a small crowd is forming around us. We’re playing one of the rhythms I learned earlier in the day and it’s getting good. (Unfortunately, due to a weak camera battery, I have blurry photos, which I can’t post.)
“I also play African,” I say to one of the boys after we finish the song and the people around us applaud. “Would you like to try and make up some of our own stuff—you know, jam?:
“Yes, let’s try it,” the older boy says, nodding enthusiastically. “Show us something African!” I’m relieved that they—the Garifuna—are easygoing and more flexible than the West Africans I’ve played with. I show them the rhythm and they quickly pick it up since it’s so similar to theirs.
I then change what I’m doing, making the rhythm my own, so to speak. I create a layer, which they jump into, and then I layer over it. Our unique connection deepens in that certain unique musical way and I feel grateful.
‘Are you a Garifuna?’
Soon, there are about 15 people standing around us, smiling. The groove picks up and the music takes us to another place—the undeniable heartbeat that one hears and feels as part of the drumbeat. And I’m happily in the moment.
Watching is good, but playing along is even better.
“I see you’re a white girl, but are you a Garifuna?” one of the other boys says, laughing. “I think you’re from Belize…you can play our drums!”
I smile, feeling completely blissed out by what he said and the unique connection we’re sharing. “No, I’m just an American who likes to drum and happens to love your drums!”
We finish our jam and say goodbye and I feel full of joy, the kind one gets from connecting through music and culturally. I know I’ve traveled in the truest sense of the word from the heartbeat into the drumbeat…and back again.
And to this day, I’m still grateful for visiting—and being welcomed into—the Garifuna culture. I thank the Garifuna people, of course, and their ancestors–the people of Africa.
Click here for part 2 of this series, which includes a slide show set to music played by the Garifuna of Hopkins.
How About You?
Have you taken any music lessons while visiting another country? What was it like? Have you ever been to a place like Hopkins Village, where there’s a unique cultural hybrid that makes you feel like you’re in two different countries at the same time? Please share your thoughts in the Comments section.
These are the Lebeha Drummers jamming outside (video credit is not mine). Enjoy!
Link Luv
Lebeha Drumming Center: This is where I took my lessons from Jabbar, the master drummer. When I was there, performances were held once-weekly.
Garifuna Music: Explanation and history of the music of this culture.
Welcome to Hopkins Village: The official website of the village, created by the Garifuna people themselves. Includes information about food, lodging and tours.