The Rhythm of Reconciliation:
A reflection on drumming as a contribution to reconciliation processes in Burundi and South Africa
I start to breathe hard. Sweat is covering my brow and my muscles are heating up. It's been more than an hour of uphill climbing in the steep hills of rural Bujumbura. The same hills that I see every day from a distance, looming like a bodyguard over the lakeside capital city of Bujumbura, dotted with brown mud houses, perched on the steep slopes, surrounded by green banana trees.
I follow Edouard's robust stride. He is in his milieu and walks this narrow path so elegantly I imagine he could do it blindfolded. Then, as we turn around a bend, I hear the sound. Ka goo goo Ka goo goo Ka goo goo Ka Ka Ka Ka Ka Ka goo. No drummers in sight. The rhythm continues, echoing off the steep hillsides all around, making it impossible to localise the source of the rhythm. At one point, the banana grove looks as though it is quivering in time with the rhythm; maybe the drummers are nestled amongst the banana stalks?
A few more uphill strides, the drum sound grows stronger, and we are there, at the top of the mountain. There are the drummers, in a circle on a dirt and rock-littered patch of earth in front of a broken down building belonging to the local authority. The drums are assembled around a makeshift flagpole proudly flying the red, green, and white of a faded and tattered Burundian national flag.
Playing each of the fifteen massive Burundian drums there are at least two or three drummers. Normally one drum would be played by one drummer, the thirst to beat out the rhythm is visible in the intense, focused expressions on the drummers' faces. They pound the rhythm with the sticks, until their turn to dance the rhythm. Then they explode with unimaginable smiles, grins, winks. When they return to join the rhythm on the drums, the concentrated look reappears.
It's only their third rehearsal in nearly five years. This is Rural Bujumbura: the province hardest hit by Burundi's civil war. Each of the drummers has had to flee his home over and over again, often spending months and even years as a displaced person. When the National Liberation Forces (FNL) rebel movement implanted itself in Bujumbura rurale in 1995, fighting between the rebels and the government army became a daily reality. The population was considered by the army to be complicit with the FNL, accused of harbouring the rebels, supporting them, feeding them, and failing to alert the military of impending ambushes. Was this true? Ask anyone living in a war zone how much margin of choice they have whether or not they "support" a rebel movement or the military. "Cursed if you do and cursed if you don't," is often the response.
True or not, the Burundian military, after years of being accused of either deliberately targeting civilians or taking little care to avoid them being caught in the crossfire, decided on a third option: remove everyone from their homes, and leave Bujumbura rurale empty so that the army and the FNL could have it out once and for all. The term "regroupment camp" was invented, meaning a camp where all the population is forced to live, leaving their fields and homes and livestock behind, under the control of the government.
For many, these regroupment camps more closely resembled concentration camps. There was a sense that the population was being punished, that they were to blame for the existence of the rebels in their communities. Conditions were abominable and the government authorities cooperated reluctantly if at all with local and international organisations attempting to bring food, water, and other essentials to the camps. Not until 2000, when as part of his role in negotiating a peace accord for Burundi, former South African President Nelson Mandela visited the camps and condemned them outright, did they slowly begin to be dismantled. When the drummers returned to their homes, absolutely everything had been stolen or destroyed by the military or the rebels. "Everything had been stolen from our houses, even the roofs. The fields were ravaged," remembers Edouard, the leader of the drumming group. "And our drums, which we had left in the school and in our homes, were completely destroyed, even burnt. I wasn't in peace after that."
Rebuilding their life from nothing, one might not imagine that drums would a priority. Some of the answers emerge as I ask the drummers how they feel now, reunited with their drums. Drummer Donatien Manirakiza explains, "I can't lie. Before, I was someone who didn't want to be with others, I preferred the solitude. I was always sad without knowing why. But I've learned to be with others through the drumming. With this crisis, there are so many problems and rumours, sometimes it's just important to go and play drums to rest my head."
Emmanuel Nshirimana agrees. "Before, I was someone who stayed alone, avoiding others and even staying away from home. But now, with the drums, I have friends around me, we help each other, and we share songs that we have amongst each other. The drums bring us together again." The drummers are not the only ones smiling. Around their circle of drums and drummers is another circle: one of women, men, children looking on eagerly, smiling. Scattered around, looking on with a observable yet subtle interest, are members of the CNDD-FDD rebel group now in control of this part of Bujumbura rurale following a cease-fire with the government six months earlier. The weary-looking soldiers with patched up rifles, Aks, and rocket-launchers strapped around their bodies look on with empty expressions. Their tattered uniforms are wrong-sized, boots too big for many of them who are clearly less than 18 years old. The rebel leader in the area, clad in a casual track suit with guards in the shadow, inquires about our visit, and laughs when we ask whether he'd like some of his rebels to join the drummers. "Maybe, yes. But the drums have brought people together in this community, and that's a good thing."
"It is so good to have the drummers playing again. It is a moment for people to relax," adds the village mayor (Chef de Zone). "For so long people have been so rigid, mistrustful, scared, traumatised. It is good for them to be able to come together and watch the drummers, and just relax a bit. It's been so long."