Before catching the plane to Jordan, we had an interview with the Boulder Weekly Newpaper, they were interested in our trips to the Middle East, especially the one that we're planning to make now.
The newspaper
wrote:
South America,
1968.
On a mid-’60s
mountaineering expedition through Peru and Bolivia, Cameron had become
fascinated with Peru’s six million Incas, and returned to the United
States to study anthropology and linguistics–specifically the Inca
language–at the University of Colorado, Boulder.
Back and
better armed for what was his third tour, he struck out with a six-string
upriver into a Heart of Lightness.
"I walked
through a village that was a three days walk from the end of the nearest
road," Cameron recalls. "I was the first foreigner ever to enter
that village. It was because I was carrying a guitar and I began singing
music that I was accepted instantly."
Almost 40
years later, Cameron, known to most locally as the oud- (Middle-Eastern
lute) bouzouki- (Greek street instrument), and guitar-playing vocalist
of Sherefé and the Habibis, a local Balkan and Middle Eastern music
and dance collective, plans on adding more diplomatic credentials to his
extensive résumé. His background includes an Inca immersion
program at Cornell University, a doctoral stint in a University of California,
Berkeley, linguistics program, and a year learning and performing music
in Athens, Greece, followed by stops in Egypt and beyond. Add Greek and
Spanish fluency on top of the ability to sing in eight different languages,
and you’ve got some serious world music creed.
Four years
ago, Cameron retired from the day-job world, which included running various
construction companies and doing computer-aided mechanical design, to
further follow his bliss.
"In
a village up the Nile–these are poor folks, you know, taxi drivers,
the workers, people who make the country run–I was hanging out in
a village with them, attending one of their village parties," Cameron
says of a 1996 trip to Egypt. "I had 400 of them singing along with
me, because I know their music. That’s the strongest hit I’ve
ever gotten was that trip to Egypt.
"I’m
doing more good on a people-to-people basis than those politicians and
diplomats do reading speeches in their offices, because I’m with
the people," he adds.
• •
•
"They’re
turning this whole thing into a soap opera," Cameron, talking on
his cell phone while driving around Boulder, says of the mainstream media’s
coverage of U.S. vs. Iraq.
He’s
digesting a Friday afternoon falafel and a Fox newscast he consumed at
a University Hill restaurant, the din of which he’s left to address
his latest destination: Baghdad. According to the plan, Cameron and his
partner, Kristina Sophia, will leave Nov. 25 for Amman, Jordan, by way
of DIA and Europe. Once there, they’ll apply for visas, which he
hopes will be granted in less than 48 hours. Then, they’ll make
their way to Iraq’s western-most border.
"The
first Middle Eastern friend who ever helped me with the Arabic lyrics
of a song back in the mid 1970s was an Iraqi," Cameron notes on his
website, cameronpowers.com, which includes information on his trip. And
since the mid ’80s Cameron has been singing and performing Iraqi
songs.
A few months
back, before the media boom on the U.S.-Iraq standoff, Cameron was planning
on a goodwill trip to Egypt, and perhaps Syria and Jordan, to show the
Arab world he loved their music and people. "Then it just struck
me," he explains. "I should just go to Iraq and the West Bank
and Gaza and sing with those guys that are in the real hot spots. It doesn’t
mean that I’m trying to support any particular government. I just
find that these people who are under such pressure to be such beautiful,
friendly people."
Besides possibly
being caught in the middle of a war zone, there are other risks. Criminal
penalties for violating the Iraq sanctions include, but are not limited
to, up to 12 years in jail and $1 million in fines, according to U.S.
Department of the Treasury spokesman Tony Fratto. "For anyone traveling
to a country where there are travel restrictions, like Cuba or Iraq, what’s
important are financial transactions related to travel," Fratto explains.
"Except for certain very narrow cases, like journalists and some
of the U.N. Security Council exceptions, we won’t issue any documents
to further help someone go to Iraq." A five-spot buried deep in the
pocket of a U.S. visitor would technically be a violation. But the department
is much more likely to pay attention to gross violations, such as oil
transactions involving large dollar amounts, Fratto says.
Cameron and
Kristina should be quite safe trading in music.
Also, Cameron
will rely on the contacts provided by his U.S. network of Iraqi friends,
who have offered to set him up with their family and friends in Baghdad.
"I really just want to be in the restaurants, on the streets, and
just play the way I have in Morocco and Egypt," he says. "Let
fate determine where the connections will form, because it’s so
easy when you play their music."
• •
•
"Please
take off your shoes, unless you can float," reads the sign on the
front door.
Other than
the note, and the pile of shoes in the doorway, the first thing Cameron
and Kristina supporters notice when entering the posh north Boulder abode
is the small table bearing a donation bowl and CDs for sale. It’s
later that Friday at the duo’s Iraq music trip fund-raiser, hosted
by a friend. While some mingle by the large kitchen sampling hummus and
talking current events, others of all ages lounge about the living room
beneath now-dark skylights or in front of the fire.
Cameron,
a gentle, slender giant in his red- and black-patterned vest, silver-framed
glasses and gray hair, towers over Kristina, to his right, and percussionist
Daune (Sabaah), to his left, both beautifully adorned in sensual gypsy-style
belly-dance outfits. He explains the first song–one, appropriately,
from Iraq entitled "Fogi Naheo," about a 16-year-old boy from
a village outside Baghdad who consults a village priest on lost love.
"The
boy, singing, compares the beauty of his love object’s cheeks to
the moon," Cameron explains. "And in the song, the lights of
Baghdad are mentioned in the distance."
Accompanying
his ebb and flow of vocal emotion, Cameron plucks his oud with a long,
skinny pick, a plectrum, building and easing tension. Late in the song,
Kristina layers her voice on top of his, as Daune intensifies the sound
with a riqq, a tambourine-like percussion instrument. (She also plays
the darabukkah, an hourglass-shaped drum.)
Heads stop
bobbing and eyes open only after the song ends to applause.
Next stop,
Lebanon, and Khalil Gibran’s "A’tini Nay" ("Bring
the Flute") for which Cameron plays the flute-like Nay, followed
by guitar. Then Greece. Followed by Egypt, care of a song written for
the goddess-like Um Kolthoum, on which Cameron employs mystical Middle
Eastern quartertones.
Daune dances.
Others float.
• •
•
Cameron and
Kristina, who met a few years back through singing circles, are neither
soldiers of the U.S. Army’s Psychological Operations Battalion intent
on blasting Jimi Hendrix’s "Star-Spangled Banner" across
a desert-scape pockmarked with tainted water wells, nor subversives with
savior complexes.
Boulder activists
Elizabeth Roberts, Elias Amidon and Dan Winters, in conjunction with the
Chicago-based Voices in the Wilderness pacifist organization, recently
departed to protest potential "U.S. aggression" and the long-standing
U.N. economic sanctions from inside Iraq, ostensibly willing to protect
Iraqi civilians from a potential U.S.-led invasion.
Cameron and
Kristina are just worldly, a bit like Palestinian oud and violin player
Nabil Azzam–a good friend of Cameron’s–who has thawed
the world’s worst differences through musical collaboration. "In
my heart, I support the anti-war movement and the people who are going
over to Iraq right now or to the West Bank or Gaza to be human bodyguards,"
he says. "But what I do in my life is something a little bit different.
It actually creates a connection on another level. It’s a music
and dance level, with people.
"The
same thing that the mystics and the yogis say about meditation is actually
very accessible through music and dance," he adds. "In other
words, there’s a space beyond words that’s very accessible.
When you’re in that space, then there is no duality. There is no
‘them’ and ‘us,’ and everyone dissolves into unity."
He says,
"The only problem I have with staying for along time is that things
tend to fall apart back here if I’m gone for too long. I have an
87-year-old mom in my house that I care for. I have a care-giving team
together, but I have to run all the financial stuff. I have two kids going
through school.
"I’m
needed over here."
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