the good old days

We went to a lecture on Friday about music throughout South Africa's history at the University of Cape Town. The audience was mostly older, white people. The lecturer talked, among other things, about how music enabled resistance to apartheid. He played us clips that gave me goosebumps. One involved a lone female voice ululating. During questions, a white-haired lady commented, "That last one--it reminded me of the old days on the farm. The woman who sorted potatoes used to sing like that. And really, it was about the together-ness of it all."

A few minutes later, he played a song that nearly brought tears to my eyes. The words were those of a slave or maid, telling her female master, "Instead of asking me how your children are, why don't you ask me how I lost mine?"

"I wonder," said my friend Jill, "if that one reminds her of her days on the farm?"