Amid layers of cultures, I teared up at the performance of five Slavic men singing a cappella.
I'm standing in an ancient Roman palace that has evolved over the centuries into old town Split in Croatia, and a group of a cappella singers are promoting their CD and showing off their traditional song. They were on a break when our walking tour passed by, but our guide asked them to give us a sampling and they responded with enthusiasm. They smoothed their cumberbunds, put away their smart phones, gathered themselves and launched into a rousing song.
The look on their faces is one of concentration and purity. For some reason, people tend to pinch their eyebrows while singing. It makes them incredibly honest-looking and endearing. Here in this open dome, built thousands of years ago, these men are making art and culture. What they are doing has nothing to do with survival or putting food on the table. It strikes me hard as a reminder of what I fight for. I am on 10 days' vacation between a posting in Chad, trying to contain first an epidemic of meningitis, then, when that died down, an epidemic of measles, and my next posting in Democratic Republic of the Congo to fight the Ebola outbreak in a war zone.
My life has become an experience of dusty roads, no running water, intermittent electricity and patchy, haphazard interpersonal relationships. I give up a lot. But confronted by culture, even a glancing encounter in a ruined vestibule of a former palace, I get a dose of motivation and perspective. Life is not about torturing bitter plants out of sandy soil. It's not about planting four posts to hold up a tarp to give shelter to a family. Human life is about something more, be it dancing at a funeral, telling stories around a campfire, playing games as a group, or making music. Even when the most urgent of human needs take precedence, when survival itself is threatened and the only hope is external humanitarian aid, aid for the basic human condition given freely by strangers, humans are more. Humans need art, creativity, culture. And finding that in unexpected places reminds me how rare it is. How in the life of the beneficiaries of the aid we provide, in the life of my patients, they lack for food and water, medical care and shelter. But they lack for laughter and art too. They need it, they are capable of it. There is so much more work to do. And I mourn that.
I'm standing in an ancient Roman palace that has evolved over the centuries into old town Split in Croatia, and a group of a cappella singers are promoting their CD and showing off their traditional song. They were on a break when our walking tour passed by, but our guide asked them to give us a sampling and they responded with enthusiasm. They smoothed their cumberbunds, put away their smart phones, gathered themselves and launched into a rousing song.
The look on their faces is one of concentration and purity. For some reason, people tend to pinch their eyebrows while singing. It makes them incredibly honest-looking and endearing. Here in this open dome, built thousands of years ago, these men are making art and culture. What they are doing has nothing to do with survival or putting food on the table. It strikes me hard as a reminder of what I fight for. I am on 10 days' vacation between a posting in Chad, trying to contain first an epidemic of meningitis, then, when that died down, an epidemic of measles, and my next posting in Democratic Republic of the Congo to fight the Ebola outbreak in a war zone.
My life has become an experience of dusty roads, no running water, intermittent electricity and patchy, haphazard interpersonal relationships. I give up a lot. But confronted by culture, even a glancing encounter in a ruined vestibule of a former palace, I get a dose of motivation and perspective. Life is not about torturing bitter plants out of sandy soil. It's not about planting four posts to hold up a tarp to give shelter to a family. Human life is about something more, be it dancing at a funeral, telling stories around a campfire, playing games as a group, or making music. Even when the most urgent of human needs take precedence, when survival itself is threatened and the only hope is external humanitarian aid, aid for the basic human condition given freely by strangers, humans are more. Humans need art, creativity, culture. And finding that in unexpected places reminds me how rare it is. How in the life of the beneficiaries of the aid we provide, in the life of my patients, they lack for food and water, medical care and shelter. But they lack for laughter and art too. They need it, they are capable of it. There is so much more work to do. And I mourn that.
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