Bakaly Camara

For the last few days my mind and spirit have been split between here and Guinea, West Africa. So many images, sounds, people and memories from West Africa, drown out what is happening in the present. On Sunday my friend and balaphone teacher, Alkaly Camara suffered what appeared to be a heart attack at home in Conakry. He died before arriving at the hospital. Although we are not sure how old he was, our guess is that he was in his 70's. Sadness at the loss of this gentle spirit and amazing musician comes in waves. I have been listening to a CD of his music that my son produced, and the fact that his music remains eases the grief.

His students and friends called him Bakaly. Ba is a term of endearment and respect similar to saying, "honored Grandfather." Bakaly played the ancient balaphone, ancestor to the xylophone and marimba. He was one of the most respected and honored bala players in the world. He had traveled around the world playing with two incredible touring ensembles, Les Ballets Africains and Percussions des Guinee.


I met Bakaly in 2000 when I traveled to Conakry to see what help I could be to a small school for Sierra Leonean refugees that my son had come to know. Tiani studied balaphone with Bakaly and jembe with other master drummers. Bakaly would arrive at our small two room home with his bala, having carried it for a couple of twenty minute walks on either end of a mogbana ride, taking more than an hour to get to us. [A mogbana, a van converted to seat a couple dozen people, is the cheapest form of vehicle transport in Conakry.]

Tiani and Bakaly would take their balas and walk behind the house down to the river's edge overlooking mangrove forests that wound to the Atlantic Ocean. There, under a single towering tree and seated on a large rock, they would play together. Sitting with them and listening to the two hour lessons is one of my happiest memories. Bakaly loved playing with this student who learned so quickly and loved the instrument and its music. Tiani delighted in the process of understanding the melodies and how they combined to create such beautiful songs. The vibrational tones of the bala mallets on the wooden keys creates a childlike sound, light and wistful. The two men played together was like two dancers in a ballet. They did not speak. They were of one mind, spirit and time. They communicated through the music and the movement of their mallets. A couple of times in Guinea, I took a lesson with Bakaly. It seemed to me a waste of his time as my abilities were limited, and I was quite intimidated by his skill and very presence. It seemed wiser for him to teach my son who could then teach me! But today, with his absence so palpable, I am glad to have risked being his poor student.

Later, Bakaly came to the US and stayed in our home, lived for nearly a year with our son, and even played bala at his wedding. I was able to take bala classes with him and to listen to him play many times. He was a quiet person, never demanding but always strong. His dedication to his music and the balaphone came from a deep passion and loyalty to its tradition. He lived simply and wanted to provide a better home for his family. He smiled a lot. He had few comforts and by our standards, the quality of his everyday life was poor. Twice the Guinean government took land and a home he was building to construct a road. Never was he compensated. In the last three years he was building yet another home in hopes that he could move his family out from Conakry.

As I write this my balaphone sits beside me. It belonged to Bakaly and is the instrument he played to record the CD. Some dear friends bought it from him to give to me as a surprise gift. That night, he played Douba, a favorite song of mine. I thought the song played for me was the gift. When they told me the bala was mine, I could not believe them. Finally Baklay stood up with the bala, walked over to me and put it on my lap. His smile was so big. My eyes filled with tears and my heart with gratitude. Just like right now.