Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
just entertain; it soared. As it weaved itself immediately into my psyche, I could hear a
more intimate song, that of the adventurer's soul, of people who had seen too much pain
and had traveled too far from home.
After they finished collecting money from the café patrons, I approached them. Both
wore gently used clothes, but I could see that they prized the guitars that surrounded them.
“Guys, that was absolutely phenomenal,” I said, unsure if they spoke English. “You lit-
erally just changed my whole day.”
“Thank you,” replied Finesse, the taller of the two. He had long dreads and a wide smile
and the charisma of a man who loved to perform.
Knowing we at least shared a language, I continued, “If I had any money I'd give you
some, but I don't. I just wanted you to know that was really beautiful.”
I quickly found out that Finesse and Tchale, who was short and slight and less outspoken
than his friend, were both from the African country of Benin.
I told them about my travels, and then basically invited myself to coffee with them.
Thankfully, they agreed not only to chat with me, but to pick up the tab, too.
As we walked to a café together, Finesse told me, “Our dream is to one day become big
stars—big singers, to get a message to people. A message of love.”
Finesse and Tchale had been performing on the streets of the world for twenty years,
surviving solely on euros tossed into hats and fees from the small gigs they were able to
book, even sending money home along the way. But their real income was the love they
derived from making music.
Some scientists say that human DNA can actually be reduced to musical notes, meaning
that our whole being—the way we think, the way we feel, the way we act—is actually a
previously written symphony, unique only to us. We have rhythm in our souls, but even
more, we are literally made of music. Finesse and Tchale understood that, and they wanted
to share that music with the strange and wondrous world around them.
We found a quaint sidewalk café with woven chairs and marble tabletops, and they
offered to buy me lunch. Two practically penniless Africans taking me to lunch? Suddenly
my crappy day was turning around. All those unpleasant thoughts I had about mankind
were being reversed over a two-course meal of chicken and ice cream. After lunch, Tchale
and Finesse invited me back to their small, one-bedroom apartment. They slept in the same
bed out of necessity. It didn't take long for them to pull out their instruments, and engage
me in a really terrible jam session. Not their fault at all, of course, but mine. Thankfully my
terrible voice didn't prevent them from offering me a place to stay for the night.
