Library no. 552

The story of a TAMBU

Copyrighted by
the ®Wicked Mind’s Eye
Of Captain don/
Bonaire na - 1993
wds. 27749


November 1962

Twice upon a time there was a man they called Ephraim.

It really surprised me that Percy and I were still on this rock of an island. Six months on Bonaire was like six months in no where’. However there was something about the place that held us like a mat of tangle foot. We were eating. making friends and there was no hostility shown us from any quarter. It might have been like we had been here forever.

Karl Mayer, an Austrian left over from the WW II internment camp days. Married local, had two kids. a Suzy and a younger brother Leo. Karl ran the Ford Service station on island and considering Bonaire was with only a few auto’s this was a very impressive station. He owned one of the few automobiles on island, It was a 1951 sedan and ran fine but seemed to be missing the floor boards which had rusted completely away. Rather interesting as you could watch the road speed beneath you.

I had known his daughter Suzy while we were the short time in Curacao, She worked for a travel agency that had sold several sailing trips for us. Therefore Karl must have felt some special friendly-ness toward Percy and I, He, on one stifling hot afternoon, muggy to a point of suffocation. Weather suggesting a hurricane making, offered Percy and myself a tour of the south end of the island.

The southern tour he said, let s you view the famous, salt flats. Flamingos, and the slave huts also the Willemstoren light house, and what ever else might be discovered that day.
Karl, turned serious, and the conversation drifted to the business of the slave workers in the salt flats. "I had wondered about that too. , and I was sure that being a slave was serious business."

Karl put his attention to Percy, studying him for a moment. "Where you from Percy?"

"Aruba! "Percy proudly announced, his handsome face puzzled. "My parents are from British Guyana.

Then Karl slipped into Dutch with Percy of which I knew not a single word. They spoke together for a few moments then Karl slipped back into English, then apologized saying "Sorry. I am not goot met English and Percy’s Dutch is very goot." He watched me for a moment then continued." There is a story that the slaves went home to Rincon every week end... That’s a fifteen kilometer walk each way. And,,, met salt soaked feet." He looked at Percy. "Vot you think"

Percy looked at him and said "Bull ••••!"

I snickered. Percy was starting to sound like an American. I loved it. Karl went on to explain he thought the entire crew of salt workers lived at the flats during the entire harvest period. The best behaved were shipped back to the village of Rincon to be with the ladies when the harvest was over. To make more baby’s of course and work the aloe fields around the village of which there were many. Bonaire’s Aloe has always been in big demand.

Karl told us that he sometimes times take tourist out to the site to get a few photo’s of the flamingo’s which by the way Bonaire has one of the largest ‘Rookeries’ in the western hemisphere. And the Flamingos ,like the slaves going to Rincon, flew to Venezuela every day to eat then returned home to Bonaire for the night. Percy had an expression for that one too.

Karl in his wonderful way with his flowing accent of his homeland told us folk stories that he had come to know during the twenty two years he had spent on Bonaire. He told of a young man called Ephraim who lived in the village of Rincon and computed daily to Playa for work. Ephraim. (A very common name by the way.) was a drummer of some magnitude. Before Rhum. women. work or play his soul was fed by the hammering beat of the "Tambu" Well really,,, a little Rhum did help maintain the athletic tempo of the rhythm. He belonged to a group of locals which made music, more often than not. Village festivities and similar happening’s.

Karl’s story was really about a drum which was called. A Tambu. The word Tambu I came to discover simply meant Drum, It however is often used in expression a dance. Or Tambu music. never the less. It was the Drum, not the drummer that Karl had in mind for his story.

I was told the village of Rincon was at its onset was the propagation center of all the slaves of Bonaire. History has been tampered with mostly to make the Dutch slave owners appear more tolerant when dealing with their slaves. And hopefully they really were. Anyhow. One favorable report was that there never was any record history of a slave up raisings here on Bonaire when it was a very common event through out the rest of the Caribbean. Being no expert I let the matter drop. The point of Karl’s story was a bout a very naughty drum, which really had nothing to do with slavery anyhow. It was about a very misbehaved, Tambu’ which found its self locked up in jail cell one dark night..

"When can I hear the balance of the Tambu story?. Tambu. did I say it right.?"

"Vot you here six months and don’t speak Papiamentu yet?" and he laughed. "I haft to go Rincon Saturday morning. you vill go met me, Ja?"

I really like this old Krout. He wasn’t as pretty as his daughter Suzy, but more fun. I had to think about that one for a while. Well anyhow. "Kaptain Don," he would say. "You look like FIdel Castro met de beard. Has anybody told you dat?"
My thoughts hurried back to Cartagena where I was told that every hour. Comparing the whiskers on my chin with that of a dictator was an insult. I made a habitat of carrying a few American copper pennies in my pocket to compare my chin what that of Lincoln’s. Saturday morning Karl was out in front of the Photo shop. Percy had declined the trip in favor of a, of all things a girl who owned a parrot and thought Percy looked like Belafonte. Well,,, in a way he did. However Percy op-ed wishing to spend time with his new romance and Karl and I started out for the long haul to the village of Rincon.

The trip to the village took over an hour. Winding road, which moved through the country side like an unkempt rope. A goat trail which often narrowed to a single car only. The terrain was striking. green and lush. We had been in the rainy season since October and as long as Hurricanes were spinning about we were most likely to have more moisture. My god, what a far cry from the tinder dry undergrowth of June.

"Do you think this is the trail that the slaves used on their week end teak’s?" I glanced side ways at Karl who was busy holding the auto on the road .It was fortunate that he was the island mechanic because that trip to took some years off his already old car. Every rut. sink hole, and pile of coral rubble wanted the wheels of that automobile. "Well do you?"

"Vot?"

"The salt pan slaves , do you think this is the path they use when they came home for the week ends.?"

"Vot,,, you joke met me?" he grew serious " Ve vill not talk more about slaves. " and he looked hard at me from beneath lowered brows. " No more slaves,,, ja Karl did mentioned that he at times take tourist out to the site to get a few photo’s of the flamingo’s which by the way was one of the largest ‘rookeries’ in the western hemisphere , and like the slaves they flew to Venezuela every day to eat then returned home to Bonaire for the night. Percy had an expression for that one too.

The village of Rincon. ( Corner in Spanish) was lovely. I felt as if I had been whisked back into time as we entered the town. How is it possible that I have been on island for the six months and had not visited this place. I saw no sudden motion any where. Movement was as if the spring had wound down. The village was a quiet place as it had been since its conception more than three hundred years ago. It had been well placed in a shallow valley well back from the sea for worry of pirates and kidnappers entering the village to steal the slave’s which had constituted most of the populace. As a matter of fact it had been a village composed mostly of females, the men of course were off working the salt field in the south. The people appeared to live in harmony. The few whites who had settled here have adapted well.

Karl looked at his wrist watch which I noted was big, round and apparently old.. "Vee are early,,, I show you houses now." He pulled off the pavement onto a dirt road that lead away from the center of the village. I saw a lot of mud and wicket houses with thatched roofs. I asked Karl to stop so that I could study the architecture. These houses must have been standing her for years. And I saw no new construction anywhere. I was told that electricity had come to town but was only in the plaza. Kerosene lanterns had been used since memory so there was little reason to change now just because a simple gasoline generator came to town. It made enough electricity for three electric bulbs in the plaza. However only for a few hours. Water was still lugged up and over the hill with donkey power but the government was busy installing iron pipes from the cistern a top a knoll which got its water from the well on the other side of the hill called Dos poss. (two wells.) The Dutch influence from the beginning has been strong. the streets are clean. and safe of crime. There is no obvious poverty here. And in 1921 a single phone wire threaded its way through the bush into Rincon. At least a phone for the Priest and the police station. .

"Sweet Pete Karl,,, what is that?" I pointed to a weird sort of contrivance. A structure standing tall by a front entrance. Seemly assembled from a Donkey’s skull, goat ribs and a managery of other unidentifiable stuff.

Karl laughed. " It keep away bad things and how you say,,, Ja Evil eyes."

"Well" I replied ," Wishing I had a camera. "If I ever came up on that fellow some moon lit night I know for sure it would not be me giving he evil eye but that guy spooking me for the rest of my life."

Karl turned serious for a moment. "Ja it is horrible to fined some night."
I thought about that for a moment. then looked around for some more exciting things to see. Snaking back toward the center of the village he stopped in front of a typical house. "This is the old police house.." He thought for a moment then continued. "Ja,,, Station." Chuckling to himself and remarked. "This is where the story of Ephraim is."

"What,,, Ephraim what? I don’t understand Karl."

Ephraim met de Tambu."

Then the penny dropped. " Yes,,, Yes Ephraim the boy with the drum."

"Ja"

"That house?" and I pointed to a tin roofed house that must have been considered pretty modern in the olden days. A tin roof, not straw, pretty good, and this is where Ephraim got himself into trouble, Huh? Why not finish the story now Karl?" and I looked at my watch seeing that he still had a few minutes before he had to meet his customer. I think he was happy to get off the subject of slaves.

He smiled and adjusting himself comfortable in the drivers seat. "Ephraim liked parties. More than any thing in the vorld he enjoyed a goot party. The Tambu as you might’ve have guessed was the center of the whole thing. Music is nothing met no Tambu." He paused looking at me, observing if I was relating to what he was talking about. "Ja,,, met out de drum there could be no party. But Ephraim every night could not haf party. But Ephraim met little Rhum in his stomach one night decided there was to be a party. Dis was about two o’clock met morning. He sit on that big flat rock over der and starts to bang on his Tambu."

He lost himself in thought for a moment. "The noise was awful and the leaves in the trees shook. The soon you hear the sound, tink a de -tink a de and a man with the triangle comes to the sound of the Tambu. And about the same time the Ah,hoo of the Conch shell come from the other side. Now this was two o’clock met morning and you could see lamps being lit in the houses near by. This was two o’clock met de morning and people had to get up at five and wanted sleep. Vell I vant to tell you der was some excitement going on der."

I sat in absolute in awe looking toward the flat rock willing myself to see Ephraim huddled over his drum hammering the skin with the flat of his hands. The other musicians sneaking in to join him. The crecha ta crecha ta of the Raspa , ( a carrot shredder stoked with bicycle wheel spokes.)the twang of an old Quarto who’s stings were being scrubbed hard like scratching a head full of lice. The pounding of the long bamboo’s on the ground Yes,,, Yes I could see it all. But frankly had trouble seeing the kerosene lanterns being lit as it was still mid day and very bright. Hanging on to every word I motioned for Karl to continue.

"Vell,,, it is like I say. The Cahunto she come together and the noise was terrible. Den the Police man come. He tell the Cahunto to stop but they don’t listen so he reach out and grabs the drum away from Ephraim. Der is much loud talking but in the end the policeman take the drum to his station and locked it up in met cell. The party is over. The lantern’s go out and the Cahuntu goes back home and fall in bed. The man met the Raspa sat down on the flat rock next to Ephraim neither of them talking because it was such a sad thing. The man with the Raspa had a bottle in his pocket and he and Ephraim sat drinking until the bottle was empty.. Then the man with the Raspa, very wobbly, started walking home"

"Ephraim was as sad as he was mad and he ran over to the Police station looking through the heavy iron bars in da window of the cell. His drum was standing in the center of the room. He hung from he bars like a monkey. He hung and swung while he lamented. Groans from deep inside of him escaped loudly from his mouth and the Policeman said. "Epa…Bo shomoul, pa keko de bereto. (Translation not necessary.)

The policeman grabbed Ephraim by the arm and drug him into the station and roughly shoved him in the cell. It was a hard push and poor Ephraim fell on the floor. And when he opened his eyes, even the dim night light he saw his best friend. Standing there along side of him.
Even if it were only three thirty in the morning Ephraim was not very tired. So he pulled his friend over to him, sliding him between this knees and caressed smooth skin of the Tambu. Then on a moment he heard the drum scream out to him… " Hit me. "

The sound that first stroke vibrated out and across the valley. It was like thunder in a tea cup. A magic rumble that crept into every open pore in the valley. Found every crack and every open shutter…Then from a far a ‘tink a da -tinka a da" could be heard hurrying toward the Police station. And from very near by Creach ta Creach ta of a very well played Raspa. ∆ ∆ ∆ ∆ ∆

Fin

I loved that. Thanks Cap't Don

fabulous as usual.
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