I have always wished to do this, but I have lacked the time and vigour to do it; starting a review column in the blog. Today, I have mustered some bravado. I just hope that you will not laugh at me. In fact, you should clap for me, to encourage me.
You know how you encourage a toddler once they start making faltering baby steps? Do you laugh at them? No. Do you boo them? No. Then , do not do it to me. Because I am just like that toddler. I am just starting something new, something out of my comfort zone. My comfort zone, if you didn’t know, is writing about squirrels in the choir, squirrels like me or Serengeti. Today, I write about lions in the choir. And you can guess that a squirrel writing about a lion is deemed to be scared stiff. So I am scared stiff.
I will ensure that what I write about this lion is true and sober. So today, do not laugh. Do not laugh even when I fart writing. Do not laugh even when I write in Engrish instead of English. Just read. Read dryly. Without a smile. Do not even show this blog your teeth. Because the story is about a lion. A lion in the choir,who composes beautiful songs and could roar at your teeth if you showed him.
From stage left, enter Bernard Mukhasa. Of late, I have been listening to Kidole juu, a song by this genius composer. And the song is so beautiful. I have the song in both my smartphone( by the way, I bought one. Read smartphonology) and desktop.
My attention towards the song was first drawn by Fr. Kanja (former parish priest of St. Paul’s). Fr. Kanja always loved the song. And we loved Fr. Kanja so much that whatever he said, we always followed. So I started searching for the song when Fr said that he is inspired by the song. I also wanted to be like Fr, not to wear white robes and be transferred from one parish to the other, no, I wanted to emulate his composure and wisdom. So I searched for the song online and from friends with smartphones. You know how birds of a feather flock together? I could not have possibly approached Ritho, my friend, for the song. He doesn’t have a smartphone. His game isn’t that up! I went to other guys who are urbane, more urbane with smartphones and mega pixels on their cameras.
I also started keenly listening to the St. Paul’s choir as they hit those Kidole juu notes. And the song touched me. Touching and touching me in a way that I almost thought it had hands. Touching me so much that I almost complained of molestation.
The starting beats of the song beckon you. Then the words follow. To bewitch you, to seduce you to listen more. The deep bass voice of the soloists is inimitable. The tenors then follow in beautifully. A perfect blend of all the four choral voices is realized in the chorus that follows shortly after the beckon.
|Even squirrels love Kidole juu|
The female voices then sing three nicely organized stanzas. Yes, three only. Three but they are worth ten stanzas in other funny songs that my ears have been subjected to listen to.
After these three stanzas, the choir comes to a peaky crescendo. Here, all rules of calm music are broken as the choir sings in a real African way. You know what is the real African way of singing? Singing with force. Yes, we Africans know what a climax should be. We do it energetically unlike how whites do their classical pieces.
'Kidole juu' is about humility. Bernard Mukhasa preaches that we should be humble despite our inimitable talents. That in spite of all that we have, we should recognize God as the one and only greatest. Mukhasa, I will buy you coffee from Java when we meet because of the ingenuity in relaying that message.
The crescendo of the song urges us to respond to God’s call. That when he calls us, we should not tell him that we are busy boiling beans, or brushing our shoes with lude shoe polish. No, we should respond. And not respond non-commitally, respond willingly with eagerness. With our fingers pointing up. Saying 'kidole juu'. Have a 'kidole juu' day.
NB: If you are interested in getting the lyrics of the song, visit this site: Gafkosoft. It is maintained by Munywoki. You remember him?