《雨后》写的是一个生活在圣保罗的女人。白天，她是城市里无数疲惫的白领之一；夜晚，她来到伊比拉布埃拉公园，在树影、雨后的泥土和鸟鸣之间慢慢找回自己的呼吸。

尼迈耶留下的白色礼堂像一只停在绿地上的翅膀——她喜欢它的曲线，也无法忘记，在它出现以前，这里曾经有更开阔的天空。

这是一首关于城市、建筑与自然之间微妙矛盾的波萨诺瓦。没有争论，也没有答案，只有一个女人在夜色里放慢脚步，试着听见：究竟是城市在改变自然，还是自然仍在悄悄挽救这座城市。

“Depois da Chuva / After the Rain” follows a woman living in São Paulo, one of many exhausted office workers moving through the city’s concrete rhythm by day. At night, she returns to Ibirapuera Park, where rain-soaked earth, rustling leaves, and distant birds give her a few quiet minutes to breathe.

Niemeyer’s white auditorium rests above the green like a wing. She loves its curves, yet remembers the wider sky that once occupied the same space.

A soft, jazz-tinged bossa nova about the quiet tension between city, architecture, and nature. There is no argument and no easy answer—only a woman walking slowly through the night, listening for the small breath of a park that still remembers the sky.

--

[Verse I]

Depois da chuva,
as folhas brilham baixinho,
um sabiá rouba a tarde
do bolso do meu caminho.

Corro sem pressa,
o vento penteia meu cabelo,
e entre as árvores
a cidade parece longe.

[Verse II]

Lá vem a lua,
branca na curva do concreto,
como um barco encalhado
num mar de folhas verdes.

Eu gosto desse desenho,
tão leve, tão impossível —
mas meu caminho de ontem
dorme agora atrás dele.

[Chorus]

Ah, meu Ibirapuera,
onde o céu cabia inteiro,
hoje há uma asa branca
descansando sobre o verde.

And I still love the shadow,
I still love the silver line,
but somewhere a little bird
has lost its morning tree.

[Verse III]

Meu crachá no bolso,
meus olhos cheios de luz,
dez horas de elevador,
dez minutos para mim.

No escuro das árvores,
um passarinho não pergunta
quanto tempo eu tenho.

Ele simplesmente canta.

[Bridge]

Maybe the city needs music,
maybe the trees need silence.
Maybe both can live
under the same blue night.

Eu não digo nada.

Só corro mais devagar
quando passo pela curva
onde antes havia céu.

[Outro]

Depois da chuva,
a cidade cheira a terra.

E o branco do auditório
fica quase azul.

I keep walking.

Um pássaro atravessa a noite.

E por um segundo,
o parque respira comigo.

一南 | Yinan

Niemeyer 如何让一座建筑看起来像来自未来，以及一个小女孩如何因此相信未来真的会来到地球。

一首以 MAC Niterói（尼泰罗伊当代艺术博物馆）为灵感的都市波萨诺瓦男女对唱。

歌曲回到1990年代的尼泰罗伊。1996年，Oscar Niemeyer 在瓜纳巴拉湾边的 Boa Viagem 岩石悬崖上完成了这座著名的当代艺术博物馆。面对狭窄、被海包围的场地，他没有让建筑与岩石对抗，而是让一个巨大的圆形体量从地面升起，向海面伸展。白色的混凝土、圆盘般的轮廓、环绕的玻璃与红色坡道，使建筑既像一朵从岩石中生长出来的花，也像一艘刚刚降落在海边的飞碟。

歌曲中的女声是一位出生于1990年前后的年轻科学家。六岁时，她亲眼看见这座建筑落成，从此把它想象成一艘来自宇宙的飞船；成年后，她成为研究外星生命的科学家，而童年的幻想却始终留在她心里。

男声则不完全是一个具体的人物。他既像海风，也像 Oscar Niemeyer 的幽灵般的回声——那个相信建筑应该拥有诗意、曲线和自由的老人。两种声音在歌曲中交替出现：女孩仰望星空，建筑师俯视海面；她寻找宇宙中的生命，他寻找混凝土中的曲线。

音乐采用慵懒、精致的巴西波萨诺瓦，以尼龙弦吉他、柔和爵士和弦、轻微的拉丁打击乐和近乎耳语般的男女声演唱。

歌词在英语与巴西葡萄牙语之间自然切换。

海在两者之间缓慢呼吸。

而那座白色的建筑，仍然像一艘停在悬崖上的飞船，等待着下一次起飞。

A dreamy, intimate Brazilian bossa nova duet inspired by MAC Niterói, Oscar Niemeyer’s iconic contemporary art museum overlooking Guanabara Bay.

In 1996, Niemeyer completed the museum on the rocky Boa Viagem promontory in Niterói. Faced with a narrow site surrounded by sea, he responded intuitively: instead of fighting the landscape, he allowed the architecture to rise from the ground and spread outward. Its white concrete body, circular silhouette, panoramic glass and red ramp make it feel at once like a flower growing from the rocks and a spacecraft that has quietly landed above the ocean.

The female voice belongs to a young scientist born around 1990. When she was six, she watched the strange white building appear above the sea and became convinced that it was an alien spacecraft. Years later, she became a scientist searching for extraterrestrial life, but she never completely abandoned the imagination of that little girl.

The male voice is less a literal character than a presence—a mixture of ocean breeze, memory, and the imagined voice of Oscar Niemeyer himself. The duet becomes a conversation between two kinds of imagination: the girl looking toward the stars, and the architect looking toward the sea; she searches for life in the universe, while he searches for poetry inside concrete.

The arrangement should feel distinctly Brazilian: soft nylon-string guitar, sophisticated jazz harmony, understated percussion, a slow and sensual bossa nova groove, and close-miked male and female vocals delivered almost as a whisper in a late-night Rio café.

The lyrics move naturally between English and Brazilian Portuguese.

This is not really a song about aliens.

It is about how Niemeyer made a building look as if it had come from the future—and how a little girl, seeing it for the first time, believed that the future might actually come to Earth.

The sea breathes quietly between them.

And the white museum remains above the cliff like a spacecraft,

waiting for its next departure.

(Bossa nova — slow, intimate, almost whispered)

[Verse 1]

Quando eu tinha seis anos
eu olhava o céu do cais
e aquela nave branca
parecia não tocar jamais

I thought it came from somewhere
where the moon forgets to sleep
I whispered to the ocean
“Is there someone there with me?”

Na janela do meu quarto
eu desenhava uma luz
um círculo sobre as pedras
e um caminho que me conduz

[Pre-Chorus]

Eu dizia: “um dia ela vai voar”
bem baixinho, pra ninguém escutar
e o mar, com seu jeito de respirar,
parecia querer me contar

There are things we cannot see,
but still they call our name.
Maybe every distant star
is dreaming just the same.

[Chorus]

Ah, meu amor,
que céu tão devagar...
a cidade dorme
e eu converso com o mar

Fly me slowly through the blue,
I have been waiting here for you.
If you come from far away,
I will know what you will say.

Ah, meu bem,
não tenha medo de chegar
há uma nave sobre as pedras
e uma menina a esperar

[Verse 2]

Hoje eu visto um jaleco branco,
mas ainda sou aquela menina
que procurava entre as estrelas
uma pequena luz clandestina

Agora eu conto as luas,
os planetas, o silêncio,
procuro sinais de vida
no escuro do universo

I learned the language of the stars,
the numbers, dust and light,
but nothing ever felt as close
as that white ship at night.

Porque a ciência me ensinou
uma coisa muito simples assim:
quanto mais longe eu olho,
mais o infinito olha pra mim.

[Bridge]

Talvez não exista ninguém
do outro lado da imensidão.
Talvez exista um mundo inteiro
esperando uma canção.

Maybe we're not alone,
maybe we're only early.
Maybe the universe is young,
and every silence is a story.

E se um dia eu encontrar
uma voz no céu chamando por mim,
eu vou responder sem medo:

“Eu sempre estive aqui.”

[Chorus]

Ah, meu amor,
que céu tão devagar...
a cidade dorme
e eu converso com o mar

Fly me slowly through the blue,
I have been waiting here for you.
If you come from far away,
I will know what you will say.

Ah, meu bem,
não tenha medo de chegar
há uma nave sobre as pedras
e eu ainda gosto de esperar

[Outro — quase falado]

Hoje eu sei...
aquela nave nunca voou.

Era só uma casa branca
parada diante do oceano.

Mas quando a noite cai
e o vento passa devagar...

I still look up.

Porque algumas meninas
crescem...

mas não deixam
o céu para trás.

Boa noite, estrela.

Boa noite, mar.

Maybe I'll find you someday.

一南 | Yinan

1989年的一个巴黎夏天，一个六岁的小女孩，总喜欢跑去家附近的一座白色建筑下面玩。

她不知道建筑师是谁，也不知道这里的大人们为什么总是聚在一起说一些听不懂的话。

在她眼里，这不是一座严肃的建筑。

它像一只倒扣在广场上的巨大白碗。

天气热的时候，她躲在“碗”下面乘凉；下雨的时候，她把这里当成秘密基地；傍晚，她坐在起伏的地面上，看着街灯一盏一盏亮起来。

她不知道自己每天玩耍的地方，正在悄悄收藏一个时代的影子。

这首波萨诺瓦写给那个小女孩，也写给那座白色的“碗”。

法语是她在巴黎的声音，几句轻轻飘过的葡萄牙语，则像来自家里的另一种温度——也许是妈妈唱过的歌，也许是她自己都还不懂的血缘。

没有宏大的叙事，没有答案。

只有一个孩子、一座建筑、一整个夏天，以及她临走前对妈妈说的：

“我可以再玩五分钟吗？”

--

Paris, summer 1989.

A six-year-old girl keeps running to a strange white building near her home.

She doesn't know its architect. She doesn't understand why grown-ups gather there and talk about things that sound important but make no sense to her.

To her, it isn't a serious building at all.

It is simply a giant white bowl turned upside down in the middle of the city.

On hot afternoons, she plays in its shade. When it rains, it becomes her secret shelter. At dusk, she sits on its undulating floor and watches the city slowly light up around her.

She doesn't know that the place where she plays is quietly holding the memory of a disappearing era.

Le Grand Bol is a bossa nova song about that little girl, that strange white “bowl,” and a summer that she doesn't yet know she will remember for the rest of her life.

French carries her Parisian voice. A few soft Portuguese phrases drift through the chorus, like a trace of another inheritance carried quietly inside her family.

No grand explanations. No history lesson.

Just a child, a building, a summer, and one last question before going home:

“Can I play for five more minutes?”

Bossa nova — Paris, été 1989

[Intro — parlé, très doucement]

Maman dit :
« Ne va pas trop loin. »

Mais je connais le chemin.

Je vais jusqu'au grand bol.

[Couplet 1]

Il y a une maison blanche
au bout de ma rue,
elle n'a pas vraiment de fenêtres,
elle regarde le ciel.

Moi, je l'appelle le grand bol,
le grand bol à l'envers.

Quand il fait chaud,
je cours dessous,
je tourne,
je tourne encore,
et mes chaussures font
toc, toc, toc
sur le sol.

Papa dit :
« C'est la maison du Parti. »

Je ne sais pas ce que c'est,
un parti.

Je sais seulement
que le dimanche
il y a beaucoup de messieurs
qui parlent très fort.

[Refrain]

Meu amor, vem cá,
fica comigo, devagar.

Grand bol blanc,
ne pars pas.

Meu amor, vem cá,
fica comigo, devagar.

Je suis petite,
mais Paris est grand.

[Couplet 2]

Sous le grand bol,
il y a de l'ombre
même quand le soleil
est très chaud.

J'aime cet endroit.

Je peux m'asseoir par terre
et regarder les gens
sans qu'ils me voient.

Il y a des chaussures noires,
des chaussures rouges,
des chaussures qui courent,
des chaussures qui s'arrêtent.

Une fois,
j'ai trouvé une pièce
près d'un mur.

Je l'ai gardée
dans ma poche
toute la journée.

Le soir,
je l'ai donnée à maman.

Elle a ri.

[Refrain]

Meu amor, vem cá,
fica comigo, devagar.

Grand bol blanc,
ne pars pas.

Meu amor, vem cá,
fica comigo, devagar.

Quand je ferme les yeux,
je suis déjà loin.

[Pont — presque parlé]

Ils disent des mots
que je ne comprends pas.

Révolution.

Travail.

Peuple.

Liberté.

Moi, je connais
d'autres mots.

Chat.

Pluie.

Glace.

Maman.

Et le nom
du petit garçon
qui habite au troisième.

[Couplet 3]

Un soir de juillet,
le ciel devient rose.

Les fenêtres s'allument
une par une
dans les immeubles.

Je cours encore
sous le grand bol.

Maman crie mon nom.

Je fais semblant
de ne pas entendre.

Elle crie plus fort.

Alors je m'arrête.

Je regarde une dernière fois
la grande chose blanche.

Elle ressemble à une lune
qui serait tombée
dans notre quartier.

Je lui dis tout bas :

« À demain. »

[Dernier refrain — très doux]

Meu amor, vem cá,
fica comigo, devagar.

Grand bol blanc,
reste là.

Meu amor, vem cá,
fica comigo, devagar.

Je suis petite,
Paris est grand.

Devagar…

Tout doucement.

[Outro — enfant, parlé]

Maman…

Je peux rester encore
cinq minutes ?

一南 | Yinan

1988年的巴西利亚，一位年长的女记者重新走到国会大厦前。

二十多年前，她曾在这里采访重要人物，记录一个年轻国家关于未来的谈论；那时的她二十六岁，有一本采访本、一袭蓝裙，还有一个等她下班的恋人。

如今，穹顶依旧托着月光，两座高塔依旧站在蓝色天空下。城市变了，时间变了，而有些记忆却停在一场雨里。

这是一首关于建筑、青春、时间与失去的波萨诺瓦。国会大厦没有说话，却见证了她生命中最明亮的年代，也见证了那个时代悄然改变之后，她与爱人之间再也无法回到的距离。

她最后合上采访本。

建筑留下了，人走远了。

而巴西利亚的天空，依然那么蓝。

In 1988, an aging woman journalist returns to the National Congress in Brasília.

More than two decades earlier, she had walked through these halls with a notebook in her hand, asking questions about tomorrow. She was twenty-six then, wearing a blue dress, with a young lover waiting outside for her.

Now the domes still hold the moonlight. The towers still rise beneath Brasília’s endless blue sky. The city has changed, time has moved on, but one memory remains suspended in an afternoon of rain.

CONGRESSO NACIONAL is a bossa nova about architecture, youth, time, and loss. The building never speaks, yet it remembers everything: the bright promise of a young country, the quiet turning of an era, and a love that could not find its way back.

She closes her notebook.

The building remains.
The people move on.

And above Brasília, the sky is still blue.

一南 | Yinan

1970年的巴西，新的首都已经在高原上拔地而起。那些白色的曲线、巨大的广场和开阔的天空，曾经象征着一个年轻国家对未来的想象。然而在那个年代，城市的喧嚣之外，也有许多声音逐渐变得轻微，许多年轻人开始学会谨慎地生活，远方、沉默与离别，成为这一代人共同的记忆。

Lúcia 出生于萨尔瓦多，是一位有着非洲与葡萄牙血统的年轻摄影记者。她的父亲是一名码头工人，母亲是一名教师。她从小生活在海洋、音乐和街巷之间，成年后进入大学，接触到当时流行于年轻知识分子中的社会理想。她相信人可以改变自己的命运，也相信一个更加公平的未来终会到来。

1970年，她来到巴西利亚进行一次摄影采访。

她走进尼迈耶设计的巴西利亚大教堂时，被眼前的建筑击中了。

巨大的混凝土曲线向天空张开，彩色玻璃让阳光变成蓝色、红色和金色的光。

那一刻，她想到那些已经离开的人，想到那些无法再说出口的话，也想到自己曾经相信过的未来。

她开始相信，希望有时候并不需要名字。

它可以只是一束光。

穿过混凝土。

落在人身上。

《Luz》是一首关于希望如何在沉默的年代里继续存在的歌。

而尼迈耶的教堂，恰好成为了这种希望最美的容器。

Brasília, 1970.

The new capital had already risen from the vast Brazilian plateau. Its white curves, monumental spaces, and endless skies embodied a young nation's dream of the future. Yet beneath that sense of optimism, the country was entering a quieter and more uncertain chapter. For many young people of the time, distance, silence, and separation became part of everyday life.

Lúcia was born in Salvador to a family of African and Portuguese heritage. Her father worked at the docks; her mother was a schoolteacher. She grew up surrounded by the sea, music, and the sounds of the streets. As a university student, she became drawn to the social ideals shared by many young intellectuals of her generation. She did not believe in religion, but she believed in human dignity, in change, and in the possibility of a better future.

In 1970, she travelled to Brasília on a photographic assignment.

She entered Oscar Niemeyer's Cathedral without looking for God.

She simply found herself overwhelmed by the building.

Great concrete curves open toward the sky. Colored glass transforms the sunlight into blue, red, and gold. And inside a cathedral, an atheist discovers something almost sacred—not in heaven, but in the human capacity to create beauty.

For a moment, she thinks of the people who have left, of the words that can no longer be spoken, and of the future she once believed in so completely.

She does not become a believer.

She simply begins to understand that hope does not always need a name.

Sometimes, it is only a beam of light.

Passing through concrete.

Falling softly on a human face.

Luz is therefore not a song about religion, nor is it a song about politics.

It is a song about the way hope survives in quiet times.

And Niemeyer's cathedral becomes the vessel for that hope—a place where architecture, light, and memory briefly become one.

--

《曲线》是一张以巴西现代主义建筑师奥斯卡·尼迈耶（Oscar Niemeyer）的一生为灵感创作的概念专辑。

从二十世纪五十年代到二十一世纪初，从建设巴西利亚到流亡巴黎，再回到里约热内卢，尼迈耶的建筑见证了一个国家的理想、动荡与重生。他曾说：“我不喜欢直角，我喜欢自由而性感的曲线。”这些曲线不仅存在于混凝土之中，也存在于山脉、海浪、音乐，以及每一个真实的人生里。

《曲线》并不是一张关于建筑的专辑，而是一张关于人的专辑。

八首歌曲，八位女性，八段发生在不同年代的生命故事。她们有人来自巴西东北部的旱地，有人站在新首都的工地，有人在巴黎记录流亡的岁月，有人在海边等待一座建筑落成。她们未必真正认识尼迈耶，却都生活在他的时代，也都被他的曲线所改变。

每一首歌对应一座建筑，每一座建筑对应一段人生；建筑成为记忆的容器，而Bossa Nova则成为时间流动的声音。

《曲线》试图在建筑、历史与音乐之间，寻找一种共同的节奏——一种属于巴西，也属于每一个普通人的温柔弧线。

一南 | Yinan

《曲线》是一张以巴西现代主义建筑师奥斯卡·尼迈耶（Oscar Niemeyer）的一生为灵感创作的概念专辑。

从二十世纪五十年代到二十一世纪初，从建设巴西利亚到流亡巴黎，再回到里约热内卢，尼迈耶的建筑见证了一个国家的理想、动荡与重生。他曾说：“我不喜欢直角，我喜欢自由而性感的曲线。”这些曲线不仅存在于混凝土之中，也存在于山脉、海浪、音乐，以及每一个真实的人生里。

《曲线》并不是一张关于建筑的专辑，而是一张关于人的专辑。

八首歌曲，八位女性，八段发生在不同年代的生命故事。她们有人来自巴西东北部的旱地，有人站在新首都的工地，有人在巴黎记录流亡的岁月，有人在海边等待一座建筑落成。她们未必真正认识尼迈耶，却都生活在他的时代，也都被他的曲线所改变。

每一首歌对应一座建筑，每一座建筑对应一段人生；建筑成为记忆的容器，而Bossa Nova则成为时间流动的声音。

《曲线》试图在建筑、历史与音乐之间，寻找一种共同的节奏——一种属于巴西，也属于每一个普通人的温柔弧线。

Curves is a concept album inspired by the life and work of Brazilian modernist architect Oscar Niemeyer.

Spanning from the 1950s to the early twenty-first century, the album follows the arc of Niemeyer's journey—from the construction of Brasília to his years in exile in Paris, and finally his return to Rio de Janeiro. His architecture witnessed the dreams, upheavals, and reinvention of an entire nation. Niemeyer once said, "I am not attracted to straight angles or straight lines. I am attracted to free-flowing, sensual curves." Those curves exist not only in concrete, but also in mountains, waves, music, and the lives of ordinary people.

Curves is not an album about architecture.

It is an album about people.

Across eight songs, eight women inhabit different moments in Brazilian history. One arrives from Brazil's drought-stricken Northeast to work as a draftswoman. Another watches a new capital rise from the plateau. One documents exile in Paris, while another waits beside the sea for a building to be completed. They may never truly know Niemeyer, yet each of their lives is quietly shaped by his work.

Each song corresponds to one building, and each building becomes a vessel for memory.

Through Bossa Nova, architecture and history dissolve into intimate human stories, where every curve is also a journey through time.

--

1957年，一位年轻女孩离开巴西东北部，来到刚刚动工的巴西利亚。

她成了尼迈耶事务所里的一名绘图员。

每天，她用墨水描绘一条又一条曲线，却不知道自己正在参与一个国家未来的诞生。她画过无数建筑，却从未留下自己的名字；她描绘别人的梦想，也把自己的青春留在了一张张蓝图之间。

这首歌对应的是尼迈耶设计的黎明宫（Palácio da Alvorada）——巴西利亚最早建成的重要建筑之一。"Alvorada" 在葡萄牙语中意为"黎明"，象征着一个新首都的开始，也象征着一个年轻女性人生的起点。

她来到这里寻找工作，却在一条条优雅的曲线中，慢慢学会了梦想、孤独，以及成长。

In 1957, a young woman leaves Brazil's Northeast and travels to the vast plateau where Brasília is only beginning to exist.

She is neither an architect nor an engineer.

She is simply a draftswoman in Oscar Niemeyer's studio.

Day after day, she traces graceful curves in black ink, unaware that she is helping draw the future of an entire nation. She gives form to buildings that will become icons, yet her own name never appears on the drawings. While sketching someone else's vision, she quietly leaves her youth between sheets of blueprint paper.

The song is inspired by Niemeyer's Palácio da Alvorada (Palace of Dawn), one of the first major buildings completed in Brasília. "Alvorada" means dawn—the beginning of a new capital, and the beginning of a young woman's own journey.

She arrives looking for work.

Without realizing it, she begins to draw not only buildings, but the shape of her own future.

--

(Bossa Nova, slow tempo)

Verse 1

I was born where the morning opens slowly
Where the sun paints gold across the plain
Where my mother hung the white clothes in the wind
And sang softly through the summer rain

The river was a silver line in the distance
The sky was a cathedral without walls
Every stone beneath my little footsteps
Held a story, held a voice, held it all

Pre-Chorus

Before I knew the world was wide
Before I dreamed of leaving home
I learned the language of the earth
I learned I was never alone

Chorus

Oh, red earth beneath my feet
Terra vermelha, meu coração
You are the song I carry with me
You are my first and oldest song

Ô minha terra, minha vida
Sertão de luz e solidão
I may walk a thousand roads someday
But I will carry you along

Verse 2

My father kept his books beside the window
He taught me every letter, every name
He said, "A girl with a curious mind
Can build a future from a flame"

My mother smiled and touched my forehead
"Menina, escuta o vento cantar"
She said the wind remembers everything
Every dream, every tear, every star

Bridge

There are cracks upon this land
But flowers still grow through the stone
There are seasons of waiting
But nothing living waits alone

Eu sou filha da terra
Eu sou filha do sol
Tenho raízes profundas
Mesmo quando vou

(I am a daughter of the earth
I am a daughter of the sun
I have deep roots
Even when I leave)

Final Chorus

Oh, red earth beneath my feet
Terra vermelha, meu primeiro amor
You gave me strength, you gave me rhythm
You gave me my own voice and color

Ô sertão, guarda meu nome
Não me deixe esquecer
For wherever the road may take me
I will always return to you

Outro

Red earth...
Terra vermelha...
My first home...
Meu coração...

一南 | Yinan

音乐剧《河口之处》第四部

第八曲

全剧终

--

《Grandmother's River（外祖母的河）》

时间：2003年，第二次刚果战争结束后，和平协议签署之际。

恩萨拉已经离世两年。她的外孙女正值青春年华，即将步入婚姻。在村庄重新恢复平静的日子里，她一边编织嫁衣，一边唱起外祖母童年时教给她的歌。歌中没有战争，没有仇恨，只有河流、树木、飞鸟、雨季，以及一个普通女人对家庭、土地和未来最朴素的期盼。

然而，观众知道，这份来之不易的宁静只是短暂的停歇。远方再次传来的枪声预示着新的冲突即将降临。年轻的歌者仍沉浸在对婚姻和未来的憧憬中，正如半个世纪前的恩萨拉一样，相信生活终将胜过苦难。

《外祖母的河》既是一首献给恩萨拉的追忆之歌，也是一首献给刚果无数普通女性的歌。她们在时代的洪流中养育生命、守护家庭，把希望一代又一代地传递下去，如同奔流不息的刚果河。

Grandmother's River

Set in 2003, shortly after the signing of the peace agreement that formally ended the Second Congo War.

Nsala has been gone for two years. Her granddaughter, now a young woman preparing for marriage, sits weaving her wedding cloth and softly sings the simple song her grandmother taught her as a child. It is a song of rivers, birds, mango trees, rain, and home—a song untouched by politics, spoken in the language of ordinary life.

Yet the audience knows what she does not: the peace is fragile. Beyond the village, the echoes of violence have not disappeared. As the melody unfolds, memories of Nsala's youth merge with the granddaughter's dreams, revealing how hope survives from one generation to the next, even as history threatens to repeat itself.

Grandmother's River is both a remembrance of Nsala and a tribute to countless Congolese women whose quiet resilience has carried families, communities, and memories through decades of conflict. Like the Congo River itself, their stories continue to flow long after they are gone.

--

Grandma said,
wash with the river.

Grandma said,
sing with the birds.

Grandma said,
never count sorrow.

Count the children.

Count the stars.

Chorus

River, carry me home.

River, carry my name.

If I forget,

you remember.

River,

remember me.

Grandma laughed

under the mango tree.

Grandma danced

before the rains.

Grandma loved

one quiet man.

She made a home

with empty hands.

(Chorus)

Now I weave

my wedding cloth.

Now I dream

my wedding song.

I wear her beads.

I wear her smile.

I think the road

is kind.

(Chorus)

But the birds

fly all at once.

Mothers listen.

Dogs grow still.

Somewhere far,

the earth remembers

another gun.

(The chorus returns very softly.)

River,

carry me home.

River,

carry my name.

If I forget,

you remember.

River...

remember me.

音乐剧《河口之处》第四部

第七曲

--

《Little Weaver（小织巢鸟）》是一首温柔而安静的摇篮曲，由恩萨拉的小女儿唱给自己已渐渐恢复健康的孩子。夜深人静时，她一边轻轻哄着孩子入睡，一边回忆起几年前那个改变整个村庄命运的下午：当一位前来研究怪病的医生被愤怒的村民包围时，她的母亲恩萨拉第一个站了出来，卷起衣袖，请医生先抽自己的血，用自己的勇气为科学与信任打开了一条道路。如今，身为母亲的她更加懂得了当年母亲勇敢的做法。在她心中，母亲是一只总能在困苦中歌唱、为他人编织希望的“小织巢鸟”。

"Little Weaver" is a gentle lullaby sung by Nsala's daughter to her own child, who has finally been saved and is beginning to recover. As she rocks the child to sleep, her thoughts drift back to a day several years earlier, when her mother, Nsala, stood before an angry crowd that had surrounded a doctor seeking to study the mysterious illness affecting the village. Rolling up her sleeve, Nsala became the first to offer her blood, transforming fear into trust and opening the way for the research that would one day bring hope to their children. Now a mother herself, Nsala's daughter understands the courage behind that quiet act. To her, Nsala is more than a courageous woman—she is the "Little Weaver," a village nickname evoking the African weaver bird, tirelessly weaving nests and hope even in times of hunger and fear.

--

Little Weaver, little Weaver,
Who stitched the morning to the trees?

Little Weaver, little Weaver,
Who laughed before the honeybees?

The cooking pot was empty then.
The cassava came too soon.
My husband counted hungry days
By the shape of the moon.

My baby held the dust for toys.
She dreamed of running free.
Each dawn I rubbed her silent legs—

Little Weaver,
sing to me.

Little Weaver, little Weaver,
Who can quiet frightened men?

Iron flashed like silver fish.
Dust forgot the rain.

A white-faced stranger held his breath.
No one heard his name.

Only you walked through the shouting,
Carrying no spear,
Only those old laughing eyes
That never learned fear.

You said,

"Did medicine fall from trees?

Did healing grow like grass?

Someone must ask why children fall.

Someone must let him pass."

Then like peeling cassava,
Slow,
Without hurry,
Without shame,

You rolled your sleeve.

The whole village
Forgot its anger.

Little Weaver,
teach me still.

My child is five.
She cannot run.

Every night
I stretch her feet
Toward tomorrow.

Every morning
The same sun rises,
The same hunger waits,
The same road stays long.

But I remember—

You never argued with fear.

You fed it your courage
Until it starved.

Little Weaver,
laugh once more.

Laugh over dry fields.

Laugh over empty pots.

Laugh over sleeping legs.

If laughter can cross the hills,

Perhaps

One morning

My daughter

Will follow it.

一南 | Yinan

音乐剧《河口之处》第四部

第六曲

--

时间：1985年
地点：扎伊尔（今刚果民主共和国）一个普通村庄。

经历了1983—1984年的严重干旱之后，雨水终于重新降临。田地开始恢复生机，但对于许多家庭来说，灾难并没有真正结束。粮食歉收、贫困和长期的经济衰退早已改变了村庄的命运。许多农民因为土地无法维持生计，被迫离开农田，前往矿山谋生。

恩萨拉（Nsala）四十多岁了。旱灾期间，她已经年迈的丈夫为了养活家人，不得不离开世代耕种的土地，到矿山做一名矿工，却最终死于一次矿难，再也没有回到家乡。

如今，恩萨拉的女儿再次怀孕。前两个孩子都在饥荒岁月中夭折，这个即将出生的孩子，承载着整个家庭重新开始生活的希望。

歌曲中，恩萨拉一边准备一家人的晚饭，一边依旧乐观地唱着简单而轻快的劳动歌。

歌词里还夹杂着几分朴素的讽刺——远方的人们谈论国家的财富和繁荣，而村庄里的人们依然守着空空的锅灶，等待一条迟迟没有修好的道路。

Time: 1985
Place: A small village in eastern Zaire (now the Democratic Republic of the Congo).

The great drought of 1983–1984 has finally ended, and the rains have returned. Green shoots rise from the fields once more. Yet for many families, the disaster has not truly passed. Years of crop failure, poverty, and economic decline have driven countless farmers away from their land and into dangerous work in the mines.

Nsala is one of those who remain. A hardworking and optimistic village woman in her mid-forties, she has endured more than most. During the drought, her husband, already in his fifties, could no longer support the family through farming. With no harvest left to sustain them, he left for the mines in search of wages. He never came home, losing his life in a mining accident.

Now Nsala's daughter is expecting another child. Her first two children were lost during the years of famine and hunger. This unborn baby has become the family's promise that life may begin again.

As she grinds dried cassava into flour to prepare the evening meal, Ensala sings a simple work song. She remembers her husband, but refuses to surrender to despair. The rhythm of the mortar keeps time with her hope that the rains have truly returned and that a new generation will survive.

Hidden beneath the song's cheerful melody is a quiet irony. Far away, officials speak of the nation's wealth, while in the village the cooking pot is still nearly empty and the long-promised roads have never arrived.

--

Song 6
(1985, A village in Zaire)

(Nsala grinds dried cassava into flour. The pestle keeps the beat.)

VERSE 1

The rain is back.
The dust is gone.
The little stream
Is singing on.

Grind the cassava,
White as the day.
Cook it slow,
We'll eat today.

CHORUS

Grind and sing,
Sing and grind.
Leave the hungry days behind.

Rain above,
Fire below.
Little child,
Come and grow.

(Repeat)

VERSE 2

My old man
Went for stone.
The field was empty,
He walked alone.

The mountain kept him.
He came no more.
Now I hear
His feet in the mortar's roar.

CHORUS

Grind and sing,
Sing and grind.
Leave the hungry days behind.

Rain above,
Fire below.
Little child,
Come and grow.

VERSE 3

My daughter smiles.
Her hands are warm.
A baby waits
Beyond the storm.

Two little stars
Went up too soon.
Now one comes back
With the rainy moon.

CHORUS

Grind and sing,
Sing and grind.
Leave the hungry days behind.

Rain above,
Fire below.
Little child,
Come and grow.

BRIDGE

They say we're rich.
Where is the road?

They count the copper.
We carry the load.

They praise the nation.
We stir the pot.

The rain remembers.
The rulers do not.

FINAL CHORUS

Grind and sing,
Sing and grind.

Hope is small,
But hope can shine.

Rain above,
Fire below.

Little one,
You're coming home.

Grind and sing,
Sing and grind.

Morning comes
One day at a time.

Rain above,
Fire below.

We are still here.

We are still here.

一南 | Yinan

音乐剧《河口之处》第四部

第五曲

--

20世纪70年代中后期。故事地点仍然是开塞河（Kasai River）岸边的村庄。这时，恩萨拉已经三十五六岁。她24岁结婚，比她大十几岁的丈夫是一位善良、勤劳的农民，虽然腿有些跛，却是种地的一把好手。婚后，她生下四个孩子，但长子因疟疾和长期营养不良去世，只剩下三个孩子。为了让一家人活下去，恩萨拉每天都要到河边清洗木薯、晾晒、捣成粉，再做成木薯饼。这首歌便诞生于妇女们一起劳动的节奏之中。

1965年，蒙博托发动政变上台。1971年，他将国家改名为扎伊尔（Zaire），并推行"Authenticité（真实性）"运动，要求人民放弃欧洲名字，恢复非洲身份。他本人也将名字改为：

Mobutu Sese Seko Kuku Ngbendu wa Za Banga

（意为："无敌的勇士，凭借坚定的意志，从胜利走向胜利，所到之处烈火燃烧。"）

对于生活在偏远乡村的恩萨拉来说，这些口号既遥远又荒诞。她不反对非洲名字；她只是觉得，无论国家叫什么，无论总统的名字有多长，村里的土地依旧贫瘠，孩子依旧挨饿，木薯还是要一杵一杵地捣。

这首歌是一首充满幽默和生命力的欢快歌谣。恩萨拉一边干活，一边调侃那些高高在上的政治形式主义，把普通妇女的智慧、乐观和坚韧化作朗朗上口的歌声。这种笑声，也是普通人在艰难岁月中最顽强的抵抗。

"Pound the Cassava" takes place in the mid-to-late 1970s in a small village on the banks of the Kasai River. Nsala is now about thirty-five or thirty-six years old. She married at twenty-four. Her husband is an honest and hardworking farmer whose leg was injured, yet he continues to cultivate the land with determination. They once had four children, but their eldest died from malaria and chronic malnutrition. Three children remain, and every day Nsala struggles to keep them alive by preparing cassava—the staple food of the village.

The song is built around the rhythm of women pounding dried cassava into flour, turning daily labor into music.

During this period, Mobutu Sese Seko ruled the country after taking power in 1965. In 1971 he renamed the nation Zaire and launched the Authenticité campaign, encouraging Africans to abandon European names and reclaim African identity. Mobutu himself adopted the famously long name:

Mobutu Sese Seko Kuku Ngbendu wa Za Banga

—often translated as "the all-powerful warrior who goes from conquest to conquest, leaving fire in his wake."

For Nsala, however, these grand political gestures feel distant from everyday reality. She does not reject African identity. Instead, she quietly questions whether changing names can change empty bowls. While leaders debate symbols, village women still pound cassava, bury children lost to disease, and hope the next harvest will be kinder.

Rather than an angry protest song, "Pound the Cassava" is a lively work song filled with humor, resilience, and quiet irony. Through laughter, rhythm, and shared labor, Nsala reminds us that ordinary people survive history not through slogans, but through work, courage, and an unbreakable will to live.

--

(Women's Work Song, late 1970s)

Verse 1

I pound.
You pound.
Dust in the air.

The river runs.
The children wait.
The pot is bare.

One child gone.
Three still cry.
So lift again.

The sun is hot.
The hands are hard.
Tomorrow then.

Pre-Chorus

New words.
New flags.
New names to say.

Old hunger
finds us
every day.

Pound, pound,
don't stop now.
Pound till the flour is white.

Laugh, laugh,
don't fall down.
Morning will come tonight.

River flow.
Children grow.
If they eat, we sing.

Pound, pound,
don't stop now.
Life is a stubborn thing.

Verse 2

The chief says,

"Use African names!"

Good.

The river
never cared.

The cassava
never cared.

Can a long name
fill a bowl?

Can a speech
feed a soul?

Bridge (spoken over rhythm)

His name grows longer.

My hoe stays the same.

His papers grow thicker.

My children stay thin.

Well—

Give me short names.

Give me full bowls.

Then I'll clap for everyone.

Pound, pound,
don't stop now.
Pound till the flour is white.

Laugh, laugh,
don't fall down.
Morning will come tonight.

River flow.
Children grow.
Hands are strong again.

Pound, pound,
don't stop now.
We'll start again.
Again.
Again.