“Silent night, holy night,” goes the iconic Christmas carol, and “Hark the herald angels sing,” runs another. To “hark” is to listen to and hear a sweet sound.
Unfortunately, however, we are not likely to have a silent night this Christmas or to hear the sweet sound of “music coming from afar,” as the Caribbean carol has it.
The infuriating reason is loud and clear. Our countries are literally drowning in toxic noise. I am writing this just after 1.30am, what we would call the wee hours of the morning, but the din and racket from every side of my house is infernal, hell-like.
Nor is it likely to cease or decrease as the hours tick along. This tumultuous and cacophonous sea of noise is a 24/7 way of life (or is it death), threatening to drive those of us with frail constitutions either to heart attacks or to mental breakdowns.
Strange as it may sound, my house is now sandwiched between, or among, three day-and-nightclub style bars, a vehicle washing bay, from which a recklessly driven tractor recently gashed a hole through my perimeter wall, and two shanty-like “churches”.
Like all vigorous and assertive enterprises, all these establishments are in strong competition with one another to attract the most customers. They do this mostly through heightened sound vibes or, simply, noise.
I am learning, painfully, that among the modern “saved” adherents of these churches, worship means ear-splitting shouts with thunderous accompaniment, sermons barked and growled roars and prayers blood-curdling screams and howls.
I will not comment on the exorcisms and “devil-chasing”, lest they haunt me for the rest of the century. A disturbing and disappointing trend is that even the conventional churches, instead of offering a viable alternative, are aping the shouters and joining in the yelling matches.
You can quote me on this. If there is no way of getting to heaven except through noise-making, then, please, count me out of the faith. Nor will I join the hollering for all the “good reasons” (shopping lists) for which today’s “believers” go to church.
I will not abuse my God-given natural voice and ears in the frantic search for the miracles of healing, partners, childbirth, visas, financial breakthroughs or the destruction of my rivals and enemies.
Noise and pandemonium, especially those of the selfish, exhibitionistic type that shows no consideration for our neighbours, cannot be divine. “Pandemonium” means not only noise but also the collection of all demons.
As for the merry-makers of the boom-boom, doom-doom nightclubs, matatus and, increasingly, private vehicles, as I hear from the washing bay and on the roads, the situation is completely out of hand.
When, where and how did music turn into the hellish noise that now floods most of our places of entertainment and spews, flows and flies out to pollute all our neighbourhoods? In the past, sane, times, pubs, bars and restaurants, were places of relaxation, where friends would go for refreshments and quiet social interaction. Music, when it was played, was of a strictly controlled, serene, soothing nature.
Later, as younger and more mobile people began patronising entertaining facilities, their energy sought expression in creative physical interaction, like dance. This led to the establishment of dance clubs and discotheques.
But these were restricted to properly sunken and soundproofed basement spaces, to guard against the possibility of noise pollution. This, I believe, is still the legal requirement, although no one seems to observe it, as you and I know.
Today, it appears, anyone with a noise-making machine, a “ghetto-blaster” as I believe the Jamaicans call it, can pitch it anywhere, in a hall, a home, a public service vehicle, or even on a pavement, and blast away without a care in the world.
Into this pernicious situation comes the lethal mixture of socially irresponsible shenzis and the scourge of electronic amplification. I have mentioned these evils in our previous chats and I need only a few words to tell you how they combine to create hell-on-earth for you and me.
To begin with the people, the shenzis now appear to be a whole generation of characters totally lacking in social sense, respecting neither themselves nor other human beings, bent on only their pleasure and profit.
They derive their weird pleasures from various addictions, including the addiction to noise, which they mistake for “music”. Scientists measure the intensity of sound in units called decibels, and above a certain number of decibels, the sound cannot be music. It is noise, with all its attendant evils.
Anyone trying to protest to the noise-addicts about the rackets from their ghetto-blasters is dismissed as “madharau” (arrogance), as I told you.
You would have seen this on the matatus, if you travel on them, as most of us do. In the bars and nightclubs sprouting like mushrooms in our neighbourhoods, the situation is aggravated by the competition for zombie-like addicts seeking the loudest outlets to hit their already damaged and impaired eardrums. You, in your miserable home or hospital bed, are collateral damage.
The noise-production gadgets, with their digital sound sources, cordless microphones, ultra-powerful amplifiers, speakers, boosters and woofers, play directly into the hands of the noise purveyors.
Most of them seem to think that the volume controls on the machines turn only one way, upwards. What happens to our sleep, our peace of mind or even the human level conversations in our homes is none of the noise-addicts’ business.
How long are we going to put up with this madness? The health hazards of excessive noise are well known. Its social and psychological inconveniences, including subjecting us to sleepless nights, are no mystery.
The nuisance and security dimensions of noise pollution are no secrets. There are laws in our lands against excessive noise. There are agencies, including the Police and National Environmental Management Agencies (NEMAs), charged with protecting us against noise. What are they doing?
Have we completely given up on combating the noise menace, and surrendered ourselves to our fate? Woza (arise), John Michuki!
