The wind whispers the voices of those from far away, whose voices yearn to be heard. Songs that they wish to share but are too embarrassed to do. The wind bursts with these, but no-one has ever heard them. Not until I came along, with my antenna-like giraffe ears that were larger than the others.
I knew I was different from the start. When I was a calf, all the other calves would run around playing tag while I stood rooted to the spot transfixed by the stories the wind murmured. The others found me odd and perhaps I was. But I found that it’s better to ignore what other say about you and continue being who you are, otherwise, you aren’t yourself.
As I listened to the voices that travelled on the breeze, I longed to help their owners share the songs and stories they created with the world. But I never got the chance until I heard Halima.
One muggy afternoon, I was munching on leaves and listening in rapture to faint whispers of a story about a boy, when suddenly a voice breaks in.
It’s a woman singing. Her voice is melodious, singing about a young woman who fled from her village to escape a war, her hope for peace clearing a path through the jungle and leading her to a peaceful town at the edge of the savannah. I’ve never understood the metaphor “Music ignites the soul” until now, as a spark jolts my chest and my body tingles with excitement. The wind only carries the songs of those who long to be heard. This means that I can find this woman and help share her songs with the world. I assumed the song she sang was based on her own experience, so the town on the edge of the savannah is probably the one 20 miles east of here. I gallop in the direction of the village.
It takes me 5 hours to reach there, the woman’s song echoing in my ears. By the time I reach the village, I’m panting so hard that I earn more curious glances than an ordinary unsweaty giraffe would. Few people follow me, ducking behind huts each time I turn around.
My hearing is sharp and in no time, I hear the woman singing. I follow the sound of her voice until I see her sitting cross-legged outside her squat mud hut. When she sees me, she smiles and starts to sing a lively song about giraffes dancing. The people concealed behind another hut stare in mesmerisation as they probably have never heard her sing. Suddenly she notices the people and stops singing.
“Halima, your voice is amazing,” someone says. “You really think so?” she asks, amazed. They all nod, so she begins singing, and her shyness has evaporated. It’s a magical moment, and we all stand there transfixed. Humans and giraffe connected by music, our souls ignited, weaving an unbreakable bond.
Written by Annika Shetty from Bangalore, India
