The orphans love music. They love to sing. And they love to hear other people sing. In fact, the price for listening to them sing is a chorus of friendly, smiling faces looking up and saying, "Mr. James, you sing for us in English."
I was not expecting this when I was preparing for my trip, so I found the first request rather disconcerting. It isn't that I am afraid to sing out loud. I no longer have that fear. The problem is that I can't remember the lyrics to any songs. It must be a sign of old age.
The fact of the matter is that while I sing along to the various CDs in my collection, I do so almost unconsciously. In fact, I found myself in the embarrassing position of having to stop several songs prematurely before I actually found one I could sing all the way through.
I have gotten better, in part through forcing my poor brain through a virtual ringer and in part by suffering the painfully slow internet connection to research lyrics, but I now have a song book of about eight songs that I can sing for them. The choice is not exactly top ten material, though, since I don't really listen to that format. Instead, the songs I have sung for them are "Down in the River to Pray", "Greenwood Laddy", "Briget O'Malley" (only two verses), and "Farewell to Nova Scotia".
The girls seem to enjoy my singing, although I think it is more a tribute to my fearless volume rather than any melodious charms, and several want me to teach them the words. Who knows, maybe one day a volunteer from Halifax will be greeted with the haunting words, "The sun was setting in the west, The birds were singing on every tree, All nature seemed inclined for to rest, BUt still there was no rest for me."
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2 comments:
couldn't you throw in a little Gord Lightfoot just to give them a truly Canadian experience?
Surprisingly, I hadn't thought about Lightfoot. I had considered Stompin' Tom Connors, but the only song I can remember is my favourite - "Algoma Central 69" - and I doubt that Sister Mary Stella would appreciate the girls singing "It was on a bar-hopping spree/Back in Sault Ste. Marie". I had tried to teach them Stan Rogers' "Barrett's Privateers" - with the critical line changed from "God damn them all" to "God bless them all" - but I can now tell you that particular song goes down better with university students who have had a few beers than it does with female Tanzanians living in an orphanage run by nuns.
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