Dr Borinson's Son Travels the World
Parenthood is never easy and can be fraught with aggravations severe and trivial. Even for Dr. Borinson fatherhood has been a struggle and brought pain and anguish as well as delight and pleasure. I well remember when my son Nathaniel brought home his first school project, a recreation of his five year old impressions of a brontesaurus. Still, it's not all bad, and the lorry hire wasn't that expensive. It is with both sadness and pride that I include the following in the Borinson pages. I believe it offers some insights into the varigated life of this planet we call earth, and some of the wisdom of the race we so mistakenly call man.
Recently Nathaniel undertook a journey which was to take him to many of the four corners of the globe. He was in search of indigenous music as yet unrecorded by modern technology. His brave venture was considered ill advised by many and the BBC refused to assist with funding even though his proposals included such unique adventures as the recording of the songs of the Bigfoot of Northern America and the Yeti of Nepal. I hesitate to criticise that august organisation but I cannot hold back from suggesting that in this instance they were being petty and short-sighted. As it has since befallen the results of these expeditions have been lost, if indeed they were ever found by Nathaniel. Of this we perhaps will never be sure, because his future, and indeed his present is in doubt. On the penultimate leg of his journey it seems that my son was taken captive by the curious Watisit tribe of central Africa, probably in a skirmish that was part of an inter-tribal war. Whether Nathaniel remains alive is unknown and even if he is alive it is doubtful that he will return to his native home because he surely will have lost his train fare by now. However, by some miracle, parts of the journal he kept have been recovered and it is my duty, I feel, to publish the suitable extracts here. I hope we can all learn from the silver lining to this unhappy cloud.
Here I include the first episode:
I have finally reached the lands held by the Watisits, the curious people. As for warned I have avoided making contact with them, but have already managed to observe one of their amazing rituals. In a small clearing yesterday afternoon I almost bumped into a group of four or five adults who were out foraging. Secreting myself, I could, after I'd cleaned up the mess, watch their behaviour and was rewarded for my care and patience by an amazing sight which I am sure has been seen by no white man before or since. The group, having collected together, one individual, I guess to be the youngest, picked up a hollowed wooden stick about four feet in length. He ran his hands carefully along the wood as if to ensure that there were no flaws in the material and then, by eye inspected each end of the tube. His companions had by now began to devote their whole attention to this activity and by the pleasure they showed I began to suspect that I was privileged witness to a coming of age ceremony, for the boy was chanting the tribe's name repeatedly, as he did so the laughter and joy of his comrades increased. Soon I was to see a most fascinating part of the ritual as the young man first blew into one end of the tube. With a puzzled expression he then turned the tube around and blew into the other end. His friends were jumping up and down, then bending over at the waist, still laughing and shouting their encouragement. Again they boy chanted the tribe name, "watisit, watisit, watisit", then as if with a revelation of spiritual guidance he regained confidence in his task and began to blow down the pipe but now with pursed lips. He maintained his efforts, to the joy of the others for some five minutes producing a noise similar to that of the Australian didgeridu but without sustaining the note as is done in that land. Eventually the spiritual power of the ritual overcame the boy and he collapsed exhausted on the ground, whereupon his fellows bore him away in their arms, still full of joy. I cannot express the wealth of emotion I felt at seeing this event, so important in the life of the tribe.
what was this rubbish called again?