Where Are My People? A Reflection on Bomba and Memory

There are moments in life that define us, that sculpt into our spirit something permanent, something that endures. 

Bomba was one of those moments for me. When I discovered Bomba, I wasn’t just discovering a rhythm; I was discovering a lifeline, a pulse that had been beating long before me, waiting for me to listen.

I was a child then, a boy who filled his diary with daily routines, song ideas, and dreams that I barely understood. 

My childhood was often lonely, but it was also full of poetry, of folkloric music, and even the rebellious energy of Venezuelan SKA. And then, there was Bomba, this deep, ancestral call that reached me like an echo from the past.

The Cepedas, the guardians of Bomba, became part of my world. 

I knew them. I remember their hands, the weight of their presence, their voices carrying the legacy of a people who refused to be forgotten.

The smell of Cuban cigars and patchouli lingers in my memory, blending with the rhythms of the drum. I remember private recordings, voices etched into history, moments I long to preserve before they fade into the blur of time.

Bomba was more than music. It was mercy. It was a response to the disintegration of Black civilization, a defiant heartbeat in the face of erasure. I found myself in Bomba, in the way it lifted me, in the way it made me ask: Where are my people? And yet, I knew the answer. They were in every drumbeat, every syncopated step, every voice calling and responding. 

And then, there was that day in the studio in El Coquí. I was present, listening, absorbing, becoming part of something greater than myself. The song in Calinda/Güembe, was more than lyrics, more than melody. It was a prayer, a lament, a search.

“Miserere congo misie

Dónde está mi congo laré?”

A question, a plea, an echo across generations.

I close my eyes, and I am there again. The Masters are playing. The spirits of the ancestors move through the air. The drum calls out, and the voices answer. I inhale, and the past and present merge.

Blessed Saint Barbara, guardian of the storm and the drum, I offer this memory to you.

I found myself in Bomba. I found my self in Cunyabe and in the student strike (2017). I found, I found and Bomba found me. 

-Elvis Rafael

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CALINDA/ GÜEMBE

MISERERE

MISIERERE CONGO MISIE

DONDE ESTA MI CONGO LARE? (CORO)

DONDE ESTA MI CONGO CONGUITO

DONDE ESTA MI CONGO LARE

(CORO)

DONDE ESTA QUE YO NO LO ENCUENTRO

SI LO BUSCO LO ENCONTRARE

(CORO)

DONDE ESTA QUE YO NO LO ENCUENTRO

DONDE ESTA QUE LO QUIERO VER (CORO)

SE FUE PA DENTRO SE FUE PAL MONTE

DONDE ESTA MI CONGO LATE

(CORO)

DONDE ESTA MI CONGO LARE DONDE ESTA MI CONGO MISIE (CORO)

DONDE ESTA MI CONGO LARE

MI CONGO LARE

(CORO)

EN LA SEMILLA DE LA BARRACA

AHI ESTA MI CONGO LARE

(CORO)

EN LAS PALABRAS DE LOS POETAS

AHI ESTA MI CONGO LARE

(CORO)

DONDE ESTA MI CONGO CONGITO

SI LO BUSCO LO ENCONTRARE

(CORO)

DONDE ESTA QUE YO NO LO ENCUENTRO

DONDE ESTA QUE LO QUIERO VER

-Rafael Cepeda

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