Griots and Storytellers

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=95Khdd3PskE

I have always loved stories. My grandmother is a storyteller, making up stories of fairies who lived in the foxgloves in my back yard and animal families that shared a tree. My father is a storyteller as well, and would weave tales of magic and adventure, of orphans who ran away from orphanages and princes in search of some lost totem. There were true stories thrown in there as well, such as the story of my birth, of his first date with my mother, of the adventures of his own childhood. My childhood was composed of stories, brick by brick, the line between reality and fiction rarely clear.
So when I heard about our chance to help with laying down the stories of an older generation, whether it be our professors or the elders of the Richmond community, I felt like I had come home. I feel as though so often people, especially in an academic setting, worry so much about writing that they forget the story. In my History of Africa course last semester we learned about oral histories, about the griots that stood as the libraries of the community, memorizing and cataloging story after story, stories of magic and of childbirth, of wars and of love, of everyday life and of extraordinary lives. The clip above is from a movie we watched about griots in Mali, specifically the training of a new griot. The relationship between the old and the young and the passing on of information along a channel of stories is what intrigued me the most. This is what we're doing with our professors, and what we'll be aiding at UR Downtown.
How to write a story is also intriguing to me - what voice do you take? What are you trying to illicit from the listener? All questions I look forward to finding the answers to.