TOMA CHOCOLATE, PAGA LO QUE DEBES
An essay by percussionist Carmen Arrojo, "Musicians use music as a way to keep both their ancestors and the legacy of great musicians of the past alive."
When I dig out my old white Samsung, feeling its chipped edges and revive it on a charger, I go straight to the audio list. There, I find two recordings of Abuela (my grandmother) and me in conversation about Villas Clara, Cuba. Since she passed away in 2018 at the age of 97 those old recorded conversations sound like music to my ears. Some of my favorite memories include singing old Cuban classics with Abuela at the Castle Hill Nursing Home. Our favorite was “El Bodeguero” by Beny Moré. I would sing the part about drinking chocolate, but she responded with the part of paying what we owe.
Abuelo (my grandfather), who died in 2013 at the age of 93, made sure to call us every year to play Happy Birthday on harmonica, even though he lived close by. He could play a melody after hearing it once, he was also a beautiful painter. We always loved his mini holiday concerts, surrounded by the Christmas regalia he so proudly put up.
It was six of us in a one bedroom apartment. My sibling and I were raised on arroz con frijoles, pan con mantequilla in the mornings and biweekly visits from cousins. The soundtrack in Abuelo’s Toyota was a mix of classical music, salsa, American pop, and timeless 70s disco. The car was cramped to say the least.
I remember one tiny moment of solitude in my grandparentsʼ bedroom. The black radio on the dresser, with its worn out dial, led me to 94.7. Through the static of the speaker, I heard a song that was not in Spanish or English. All I remember was that it sounded African and my ten year old self sat mesmerized.
Years later I was on a path to study Music Education through classical percussion. These times brought lessons I was grateful for but left me yearning for music rooted in my Latin American heritage. I left the confines of the practice room for the rush of a day job to carve out more time for musical exploration. During this time, I lost my grandfather and a few years later, my grandmother. I was not prepared for the other types of losses that followed.
During those subsequent years I lost sight of why I loved music, close friends, and students. I became wound up in the dynamics of manipulative romantic partners. I lost the little time I spent with my father in person. My wounded spirit began to reach out. My wounded spirit yearned for guidance amidst gargantuan emotions and grief.
I never imagined the wonderful company this part of the journey would bring. Along came new teachers, bandmates, friends and opportunities. The bands Mother Tongue, Inti and the Moon, The Hiban and others taught me so much about music for the people and music from the Earth. Artists like Heather Maloney, Iron and Wine, Ibeyi, Marta Gomez, Fatoumata Diawara, and so many others carried me through long hikes in Hudson County, New Jersey and NYC. These experiences of playing, walking and listening provided the space for me to process past grief. Another way I have processed grief is through learning about my Cuban , Peruvian roots.
On a cloudy October day in 2015, past a door with slightly rusted hinges, I received my first cajón lesson. Sebastian Guerrero told me the Afro Peruvian story of Amador Ballumbrosio and the legacy that followed through his large family in El Carmen, Perú. He taught me the dance in rhythms such as festejo and lando. I loved falling in love with rhythms that echoed those who came before us. Mauricio Herrera from Holguin, Cuba, gave me a thread of Yorubaʼs cantos that I still carry with me today. Valerie Naranjo taught me of Ghanaʼs history in gyil music and how they celebrate their ancestors by playing it.
I am now a musician and a preschool teacher. My early childhood students have given me a space to create songs, stories and games that center Afro Latin folklore and ancestry through percussion.
Musicians use music as a way to keep both their ancestors and the legacy of great musicians of the past alive. As Ganavya sang, musicians “draw something beautiful in the holes that were punched into your heart”. As a musician, I hope that I can draw something beautiful in your heart no matter how great the loss or how crippling the grief.
Carmen Arrojo is a percussionist, singer and preschool teacher. She was born in Jersey City, New Jersey to a Peruvian father and a mother of Cuban descent. Carmen started her musical journey at the age of fifteen through marimba and went on to play Latin percussion professionally with bands such as Inti and the Moon . She uses her percussion experience to provide positive experiences for children. She is on the path to creating a curriculum for young ones and adults alike centered in ancestral music from different parts of the world and hopes to also contribute to local communities amidst the ever changing nation.
You can learn more about Carmen’s work on her Instagram: @CarmenArrojo and Youtube Channel: @CarmenArrojo1583
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