“Every time we worked on a song, we were listening,” Omar says. “Sometimes it was a little hot, so we opened the windows and heard the sound of the sea. It’s one of the most beautiful sounds. A perfect sound. A meditation.” In that sound there are two voices. The voice of the captive going, unhappily, into slavery. The voice of the migrant setting off, also unhappily, to find a new life. Two different angles. Call and response. Question and answer. The newer voice is hopeful; the older voice, that of the slave, is lost. “It’s hard to separate the two,” Seckou says. “They’re spiritually connected. The first voice didn’t want to leave, but was forced into it; the other voice wasn’t forced, but wanted to go because where he’s coming from there’s nothing left for him.” For all its calm, its gentle murmur at sunrise, the sea sings in its chains. Of the leaving, the never coming back. “The ocean can bring a lot of sadness to a lot of people,” says Omar, “Not only black people. What about all the people who die trying to emigrate from Cuba to America? But I can say it’s important to transform this journey into hope and optimism. If we continue to carry all this weight, in the media, in our souls, we’re never going to move on, my brother.”