Drum making was hard work but I didn't mind it. I hated being paraded around while I watch everyone around me working, so I jumped right in it. Muhammad was by far my favorite Rasta. He was always chill, watching and observing but not saying much unless it ment something. People say thing just to be part of a conversation and those empty words often have little to no meaning..Its kind of hard to put the experience into words. When you meet people of your same caliber you just click. It was like hanging out with my big brother at home. Plus Muhammad looked like a lion.
He offered to teach me how to play all of his home made instruments but Tuesday was the Gods day of silence. No one was to be drumming or making load nosed on the beach. I figured the ecological reason may have been to give the marine life a chance to replenish in an effort to avoid over fishing. Mean while Rachel was banging away at the drums in another Rasta hut off in the distance...-TRYING- to rap with some Rastas who had already been smoking and drinking all day and who, unfortunetly for me, had been feeding into her ego all day..
We had long conversations, the Rastas shared theories on everything. I admired them for their simplistic way of live which I what I aim for at some point.
At the end of the day my arms were so sore but I was happy about it. In return for my apprenticeship Muhammad asked me for something in return. Not money, but something from the heart, a token of humility and gratitude from student to teacher cause he didn't have to show me his secrets, skills like these are apart of the culture passed down in families..which ment so much more to me because I hate giving have hearted gifts. Everything has a significance to me and it was the same with him. I didn't have much so I slept on it. It had to mean something, something he could use and something I'd miss.
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