The news delights Viola as she reads an article in L'Osservatore Romano. One of those unscripted moments her little sister Mimosa loves so much: "Two little girls run into the Pope's arms after playing for him. It's not normal. Protocol doesn't allow for it. But the young musicians of the Sinamume Orchestra—an acronym for Sistema Nacional para Niños Especiales—are special in every way. They live with disabilities of various kinds, they play music, often beautifully, and they break the rules, almost always."
Viola is surprised. She found news of the Sinamume Orchestra's concert only in L'Osservatore. Yet she had followed the Pope's long journey through South America carefully on television—a journey home, in a sense, for a man who came to Rome for a "meeting" and never returned to his city. The thought gives her chills. So the girl decided to track his travels on the map her mother gave her, step by step. She wanted to see whether the joy of being among his people again, hearing his language, showed on Pope Francis's face.
It was the evening of Tuesday, July 7, the newspaper reports, when in Quito, the capital of Ecuador, in the Church of San Francisco—part of that remarkable architectural ensemble called the Escorial of the Andes, built by the sweat and labor of countless workers who raised the oldest religious structure in Latin America—Francis listened to a concert performed by a group of young musicians with Down syndrome.
Around the world, there are different projects built on the conviction that music is a fundamental tool for intellectual and human development. The project realized in Ecuador—now for twenty years—seems particularly successful. The Sinamume Orchestra, which performs throughout the country and abroad, has a distinctive character: moving and informal in its manner and musical style. The orchestra's founding idea is simple: proceed without rigidity, breaking through cultural barriers before even addressing the challenges of Down syndrome or blindness. You make music together, and you make it well. But if someone wants to laugh, they laugh. And if a passage doesn't reach perfection, you move ahead anyway. What matters is the experiment itself, and then the emotions that music awakens.
Over time, the repertoire has grown to include Ecuadorian melodies—Farrita quiteña and La morista, Ángel de luz and Ñuca llacta and Culla quiteño.
But the orchestra doesn't abandon classical works, like Brahms's Hungarian Rhapsodies. The steady, confident hand guiding them belongs to a seasoned musician: Edgar Palacios, born in 1940, an Ecuadorian composer and conductor who has written more than 150 songs, many with social themes. His prolific work has yielded over 40 recordings and more than 2,000 concerts conducted. In 2006, this achievement earned him the Eugenio Espejo Prize for his contribution to Ecuador's cultural heritage.
"The work is immense," L'Osservatore concludes, "and the goal is clear: create a group that works on a specific project with a universal aspiration. Recognize talent, wherever it is found."
Giulia Galeotti, 2015