Tiyeni Tiimbe

I sing A LOT here in Zambia. My love of singing has been a great cultural bridge to get to know my community and to share myself with them. Sometime I just learn praise/gospel songs with a few guys in an empty classroom. Sometimes my sister will teach me songs while we are cooking dinner during power outages over the charcoal brazier. I am a member of Mighty Angels, the youth choir, and the Praise Team, which sings more contemporary gospel songs. Mighty Angels practices every Tuesday, Thursday, and most Saturdays. Praise Team sometimes practices on Friday and Saturday as well. That means only Monday and Wednesday are my days off from formal group singing.

A lot of the songs are in local languages. Luckily African language center on vowel sounds which is great for singing. Even though I can’t quite get the words down I can follow the general vowel sound and remember the tune so I blend right in with the choir. Unluckily for me, I’ve pretty much failed at learning the chinynaja language and this results in hours of my time every week mouthing words I don’t know and having NO IDEA what I or anyone else are saying.

Even when the songs are in English, I have trouble catching the words in a Zambian accent. The other week I asked a friend to confirm the lyrics and I was very surprised by his assertion.

“The words are: Jesus Christ, Breast Savior,” he said with a completely straight face.

“Breast Savior?” I repeated for confirmation.

“Yes, Breast Savior”” he verified with confidence.

I stood there for minute wondering if I had heard him correctly…Did he just say “breast?” What the heck is a Breast Savior? Is this some feminist Jesus I haven’t heard about before?

Then it clicked…The infamous L-R syndrome was at work here. Many Zambians have trouble hearing the difference between the L-sound and the R-sound and will easily confuse words like “rice” and “lice.” Mmmmm, I sure do love eating lice!

The words weren’t “Jesus Christ Breast Savior.” They were “Jesus Christ BLESSED Savior.” Ohhhhhh now I get it. And then I had a nice laugh.

Anyway, most of the songs are completely in vernacular. It takes constant effort to tune my ears to try to hear each consonant, and since I usually fail at that, I just focus on the vowels. Singing in vernacular is an interesting practice of relationship building and patience. It requires me to give up on understanding and just try to join and do.

There’s never time to learn the language from singing because I don’t want to interrupt formal practice time, nor prolong the already lengthy meetings. It’s not just a few words I’m fuzzy on. Explaining three verses of fours songs after singing for two hours usually seems like too much in the moment. So I’ve resigned to do my best to pronounce the best I can and relish in the community around me.

It takes a lot out of me to give up my control and understanding and attempt to match the mouths and movements of those around me. It takes a lot of concentration to try to remember what word comes next or guess by the shape of someone’s lips. It takes vigilance to make sure my arms and legs are moving in the right direction. It takes coordination to keep the dance step moving even as we move down the steps in the church hall. And it takes some serious fortitude to keep up the motivation to sing this much this often.

But I always muster the energy because my actions are an important symbol to myself and hopefully to those around me. Singing in my community is an act of camaraderie directed at the culture around me. Each time I get up to sing in front of the 80+ congregation I have no idea what song I will be singing or if I can remember the moves. I position myself in line with the sopranos as an act of faith, praying that I’ll remember enough and that my community will be forgiving of the misplaced dance move. I don’t know what I’m doing, but I know it’s important that I do it. It’s important that I dance and sing with my Zambian friends. It’s important to learn to harmonize with humanity. It’s important to do things that are scary and out of your comfort zone. It’s important to give up on maintaining a flawless, perfect image. It’s important to let go and sing!

While I never know what I’m literally saying, I do know what I am personally saying. I am saying I care about this community and I want to be a part of it. I might not even agree with everything theologically coming out of my mouth, but this act of unity is more significant than any debate. The music coming from my soul is saying you are all my family and friends. Singing across cultures is an act of solidarity. I might not always understand you, but I’m with you.

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The Mighty Angels in uniform, after a CCAP competition