Photos by Elizabeth Gelineau
Wayne Curtis bows to thread his head through his djembe straps and raises his drum to his waist. He steels himself to play it with a drag of wind, hardly tilting his chin skyward. His exhale rushes to his palms and casts a hollow, sonorous rhythm as pervasive and dense as Southern humidity. Beats move his body, his frame compelled to echo his hands. The stroke of his fingers across hide hushes his percussions. Intuition guides his meter. His mind follows the tempo elsewhere, and his eyes wander to points between points in the ether. To watch him play is to abandon yourself — to be guided into liminality between reality and illusion. For his students, his drumming is more than a mesmerizing performance. It’s a living narrative of heritage and history.
Even as a child, Curtis felt called to rhythm. He just needed to channel his talents into the right instrument. “I’ve been drumming since I was a young kid — about eight or nine years old. I used to beat on everything, and my parents would have to tell me, ‘Stop beating all over the place,’” Curtis laughs. “But I realized after I started playing the drums that I had been doing it because rhythm relaxes me. Once I went to Booker T. Middle School and joined the band, I learned to play the snare drum and other drums like that. Then I heard groups like the Last Poets and the Watts Prophets when I was 12 or 13 who were rapping along with their music, and later I started listening to stuff like War and Carlos Santana — groups with heavy percussions that I could stay with. That’s where everything began right there.”
Curtis’s talents grew as he did, anchoring his life of service in percussion. “Wherever I went, I always played music,” says Curtis. “I went into the Navy and was part of the drum and bugle pool, and I got to learn different rhythms in areas. Later, I got to go on missionary journeys with churches and with grassroots organizations down in Haiti and the Caribbean, and I always sat and played with them and learned different rhythms from there. I’ve performed at the National Black Arts Festival in Atlanta, and I like to take classes with different African nations that will come to that and offer workshops. But I see these experiences as a form of talking — reaching people. I get to get away from ‘talking points’ that people like to use and have real, organic conversation.”
Curtis teaches life-long friend Wayne Matchett how to keep rhythm. Opposite page Matchett tasting Curtis’s pear and blueberry pie, made with fresh ingredients from the local farmers market.
Curtis holds the same reverence for community and connection as he does rhythm, seeing them as inextricable extensions of music. “When I think about teaching percussion, I like to think about my childhood. I learned a lot by attending what I like to call ‘Front Porch University,’” says Curtis. “I’d sit on my front porch with my cousins and my grandparents and, you know, great aunts, and maybe we’d be shelling peas or shucking some corn. But we weren’t just talking. We were telling a story about heritage and family and history. That’s had an impact on how I teach people. I’ll be out on the sidewalk at Art Walk with instruments and there will be all these teachable moments. I’ll tell them, ‘This is how you play this. Try this now.’ And you’ll have all different ages and ethnic groups joining as one and communicating with each other because of rhythm. That’s what we call a ‘gumbo’ in music.”
Rhythm as communication is a concept that long predates Curtis, but it has galvanized his bond with both music and his heritage. “When I heard The Last Poets back in ‘68 or ‘69, I really got interested in playing the congas instead of just the snare drum or the bass drum,” he says. “After that, since I am a geek and a clinical laboratory scientist, I had to research the history of drumming. That’s when I learned about the African tradition of drumming. One thing that really stood out to me was the Stono Rebellion, when the slaves in the Carolinas decided to go down to Spanish-owned Florida where they could be free. And they planned their uprising playing the drums like Morse code. They were having discussions — conveying messages through rebellious rhythms. So, that was one motivator for me because, historically, that was our way of rebellion. Another one was learning about a rhythm from the west coast of Africa called Kuku. You know how in Bayou La Batre they do a blessing of the fleet? KuKu is like that. It tells fisherman, ‘Be careful. Come back safely.’ So, different rhythms, different songs, they mean something.”
As steeped as drumming is in history and culture, it is also deeply rooted in science and human behavior. “With my background in science, I’ve discovered that there is overlap between art and the brain,” says Curtis. “Growing up, I just knew that rhythm relaxed me. Then I started to learn what anxiety does to you physiologically. Mental trauma can be just as devastating as physical trauma, and when you experience anxiety or perceive a threat, the amygdala releases a hormone called cortisol. Your heart rate increases. Your muscles tense up. And those hormone levels come back down very slowly. If you’re still in that excited state and something bad happens, those levels will spike again. People cope with that feeling in different ways. I play drums. It’s a thing called therapeutic drumming. Particular rhythms and doing brain and hand coordination alone bring those levels down. That’s my release.”
Curtis finds serenity in rhythm beyond hide and hardwood. When he doesn’t have his hands on an instrument, he finds meter in nature. “One thing I really like to do is go to the beach and listen to patterns,” he says. “I listen to the waves and count them as they come in and go out. Then maybe the seagulls go by and let out a little ‘quee quee’ on three. Then a fish’ll come and jump in the distance every other rhythm. You’ll have children laughing in the background. And it all just comes together. Another one we forget about — what do you think is a baby’s first rhythm? It’s his mother’s heartbeat, right? It’s simple, but we all experience it. We have so many distractions in life that clutter our minds. We need to just listen — to play the rhythm.”
Curtis founded the Mobile Alabama Africatown Drummers to help children in his community learn about culture and stress mediation through percussion, giving to them what he had to discover on his own. “My main goal is to teach young people. I believe that if you know more about something than someone else, you’re obligated to teach them,” he says. “I know the kids love drumming. It’s relaxing to them. It’s rough out there for young people today with social media, drugs, gun violence — people don’t know how to resolve conflict. I know what happens physiologically when you play rhythmic patterns. Once students feel that and lean into that, they release their stress and feel so much better. This big smile comes across their faces.”
Offering children practical life skills is as integral to the core of Curtis’s teaching philosophy as drumming. “I use drumming as a vehicle to reach students. We live in a society where kids need to have skills,” he says. “I get them to do the marketing, the pamphlets, the social media, the advertising, and hopefully I can get someone to do the accounting one day. That gives them business opportunities at the same time as they learn drumming. I remind them where I come from and that, even though I wasn’t expected to do anything in life, I grew up and worked hard and eventually lectured at the CDC and the National Institute of Health and Medical Research. I own a business. I show them I have the credentials to give them advice and help them along. So, teaching them all these skills supports them in their journey to knowledge and purpose. It gives them a sense of pride. That’s why our motto is ‘history + knowledge = future.’”
Curtis is as grateful for his students as they are for him. “In Mobile, I haven’t always been accepted, and I like working with young people because they are more receptive to people who are for real,” he says. “They start to trust me, and when they start to trust me, they start to treat me like one of them. They’ll play little tricks and jokes on me and laugh at me, and I laugh with them too because we’re all just having fun.”
There have been moments when Curtis has even felt blessed by his students. “Just the other day I had a moment with a young girl with a disability that restricted movement in her right arm. I called her over and she just started playing with her left hand. I tried to show her what she could do, but she kept doing her own thing. And I realized something. She was playing the offbeat. And that was a good thing! She hit it just right and we started playing freestyle. I looked at her and said, ‘You are awesome.’ She got the biggest smile on her face. Well, I prayed and said, ‘Lord, I understand why you brought me here today.’ I had to stop what I was doing and thank her for blessing me that day. That will stay with her. It’ll stay with me too.”
Curtis’s dedication to his students and his community transcends teaching rhythm — it instills a sense of purpose and belonging. Through the Mobile Alabama Africatown Drummers, he is creating a space where culture, heritage and personal growth intertwine. His story is a testament to the power of perseverance, passion and the transformative impact of one person’s commitment to making a difference. As Curtis continues to share his gifts, his legacy of rhythm and generosity will undoubtedly live on through generations to come.
“My family and I cook from intuition, and the way we cook gets passed down through the generations.”
– Wayne Curtis
FOR CURTIS, FOOD IS JUST AS INSTRUMENTAL IN FOSTERING COMMUNITY AS MUSIC IS. HE AND HIS FAMILY PREPARE MEALS TOGETHER USING SEASONAL INGREDIENTS FROM THE FARMERS MARKET, PASSING DOWN RECIPES AND COOKING TIPS FROM ONE GENERATION TO THE NEXT. CURTIS HAS GENEROUSLY SHARED TWO OF THOSE HEREDITARY RECIPES SO THAT OTHERS CAN TASTE A SLICE OF HIS LIFE.
Vegetable and Chicken Soup
Serves 6-8
4 tablespoons olive oil, divided
1 cup carrots, diced
1/2 cup celery, diced
1 1/2 pounds Russet potatoes, peeled and chopped into 1-inch pieces
1 red onion, roughly chopped and divided
1 teaspoon salt
1 teaspoon pepper
4 cloves of minced garlic, divided
4 cups vegetable broth
2 medium yellow squashes, diced
1/2 cup cremini mushrooms, quartered
1 red bell pepper, roughly chopped
1 yellow bell pepper, roughly chopped
1 orange bell pepper, roughly chopped
1 green bell pepper, roughly chopped and divided
1 tablespoon dried basil
1 tablespoon dried rosemary
1 tablespoon dried oregano
1 boneless, skinless chicken breast, chopped
1 boneless, skinless chicken thigh, chopped
2 tablespoons honey
1. In a large pot, heat 2 tablespoons of olive oil over medium heat. Add celery, carrots, potatoes, 1/2 of the chopped onion, salt and pepper. Cook for 8 – 10 minutes or until the onions are translucent, stirring constantly. Add half of the minced garlic and cook for an additional minute.
2. Add the vegetable broth, squash, mushrooms, red bell pepper, yellow bell pepper, orange bell pepper, 1/2 of the green bell pepper, basil, rosemary and oregano to the pot. Bring to a simmer.
3. Meanwhile, in a separate skillet, cook the remaining olive oil, onion, garlic and green bell pepper for 5 minutes over medium heat. Add chicken breast and chicken thigh to the skillet and cook for 8-10 minutes or until just cooked through and tender, stirring occasionally. Do not overcook the chicken as it will continue to cook in the soup.
4. Pour the contents of the skillet into the large pot, including any juices and caramelized bits in the pan. Add the honey. Cover and let simmer over low heat until the chicken is cooked through and the vegetables are tender, about
8 – 10 minutes.
Chef’s note: Add a cup of water to the broth if you want to dilute the spices
Pear and Blueberry Pie
Serves 8 – 10
3 medium to large Bartlett pears
1/2 lemon, juiced
1/2 cup sugar
1/2 teaspoon ground cinnamon
1/2 cup fresh blueberries
1 prepared pie crust
1. Preheat the oven to 350 degrees. Peel and slice pear into wedges.
2. Heat a skillet over medium heat. Add pears, lemon juice and sugar. Allow pears to caramelize for approximately 10 minutes, stirring occasionally. Add cinnamon and stir. Let cook for 5 minutes.
3. Remove the skillet from the heat, add blueberries and stir. Transfer the mixture to the pie shell. For an extra-flakey crust, reserve some of the liquid in the pot.
4. Bake for 10 to 15 minutes, or until crust is golden brown.
