September 26th, 2011
An American journalist I know flew to northern Africa to write about refugees fleeing the war in Eritrea. Once she landed she traveled by bus for several more hours, and then walked for a few more before she reached the camp where she would stay. It was night when she arrived, and she collapsed from fatigue onto the cot in her tent. Her reporting about the suffering of the refugees would begin the next day.
But before she could fall asleep, sounds of the camp seeped into her conscious mind. She got out of bed, out of her tent, and followed her ears. It was singing! Her guide said that the people were singing about their history, their customs, their traditions, their laws. That way, the younger generation would know the story of their people. Because they were refugees, they didn’t have libraries or other archives to tell them the story. The elders told them through song so the others wouldn’t forget.
“Who can proclaim the mighty acts of the Lord?” We can.