Song of life.

There is a tribe in Africa where the birth date of a child is counted not from when they were born, nor from when they are conceived, but from the day that the child was a thought in its mother’s mind. And when a woman decides that she will have a child, she goes and sits under a tree, by herself, and listens until she can hear the song of the child that wants to arrive in her womb.

And after she has heard the song of her child, she comes back to the man who will be the child’s father, and teaches it to him. And when they make love to physically conceive the child, some of that time they sing the song of the child, as a way to invite it.

And when the mother is pregnant, the mother teaches that child’s song to the midwives and the old women of the village, so that when the child is born, the old women and the people around her sing the child’s song to welcome it. And then, as the child grows up, the other villagers are taught the child’s song. If the child falls, or hurts its knee, someone picks him up and sings its song to him. Or perhaps the child does something wonderful, or goes through the rites of puberty, then as a way of honouring this person, the people of the village sing his or her song.

In the African tribe there is one other occasion upon which the villagers sing to the child. If at any time during his or her life, the person commits a crime or an aberrant social act, the individual is called to the centre of the village and the people in the community form a circle around him. Then they sing his song.

The tribe recognizes that the correction for antisocial behaviour is not punishment; it is love and the remembrance of identity. When you recognize your own song, you have no desire or need to do anything that would hurt another.

And it goes this way through their life. In marriage, the songs are sung, together. And finally, when this child is lying in bed, ready to die, all the villagers know his or her song, and they sing—for the last time—the song to that person.