Meklit Jazz

I was staring at her. I mean, I was trying not to stare at her, but she looked familiar. And once I scoured my brain for who I thought she was I felt the need to confirm that she was who I thought she was. To do that I'd have to get a closer look, and given that I was staring, a closer look also meant I'd need to speak. But I couldn't remember her name. Crammed into an overcrowded room in the Turkish airport awaiting my flight back to San Francisco, with time to kill, what else was there to do.

"Excuse me, you sing don't you?" I felt sheepish and probably looked and sounded a little crazy, but I'd started so what else was there to do but dig in. The woman, short afro with coils springing off in different directions and a guitar resting by her side, offered a small- and I imagine strained - smile and nodded her head affirmatively.

 "I  love your voice," I started and then raced quickly on. "And the lyrics to I like your Afro...'sweet as tej and delicious as injera'." I was paraphrasing what I'd read the lyrics (originally in Amharic) meant.  I had watched I like Your Afro before I left for Turkey and fell in love with the song as much as the video. It was all sexy and fun. And I knew Meklit- her name, I looked up once I had access to the internet, is Meklit Hadero- from Copperwire. I fell in love with her voice in Stories. It was like the coolness of a breeze on a sweltering day, you just want more of it. 

I walked away from her after my gushing moment, leaving my crazy level where it was and not ratcheting it up any further. Imagining how strange it must feel to have someone know who you are completely out of context. Seeing her inspired me though...more live music, more fun things that keep me grounded and happy like my trip to Turkey had been.

Last night I saw Meklit at SF Jazz Center. Her big smile and lilting voice accompanied by bass, trumpet, drums, and the occasional trombone was such a delightful treat. After I settled back into my non-vacation routine (once my sickness finally subsided and I stopped lamenting the absence of Turkish breakfasts waiting for me and hours to loll away on the Aegean sea) I had looked up Meklit's performance information and tried to herd my friends into going...to no success. I went by myself.

I didn't know most of the music. Some of the songs were in other languages. But her voice was still silken- still breezy - still nuanced. And her smile was still broad. She danced and fluttered her fingers in time- or maybe to subtly direct - the other performers on stage as they took turns in the spotlight. 

A few people up in the balcony area stood up and danced. I bobbed in my seat and rocked myself back and forth to the rhythm the group was laying down. But we dancing ones were few. I stared, mystified at the statue like heads, erect ad listening but not even the faintest sway in her breeze. Did they not hear her; were they not moved by the trumpet that conjured up memories of kissing my first high school boyfriend and almost made me blush?

They all clapped. When Meklit offered us her final song the crowd even moaned their sadness that it was over…but still they didn’t dance. We all experienced her in our own ways I suppose.

I stood in line to greet her in the lobby after the show. She must have been exhausted but she held actual conversations with people, took pictures, smiled brightly. I couldn’t decide if I should mention the Istanbul airport, would that be scary would I sound like a crazed fan? Ultimately, I offered in passing that I’d seen her in the airport a while back and her face, rather than darkening in fear, brightened in recognition. “That was you?” 

I nodded. 

“Well we’ve come full circle and now I’ve met you properly,” she said. 

I came home and listened to more of her music, deciding which versions I preferred. Comparing the arrangements they’d done last night to the older ones. And I was happy to have cause to revisit my time in Turkey and to cool myself in the breeze of Meklit’s voice.