Today is Presentations Day at the Sundance Institute Theatre Lab on Manda. I am kind of incredulous: How did we get here? Through very hard work, indeed. In 2003 I make an initial visit to East Africa and this journey is set into motion. Several trips later over several years, and many East African visitors to Sundance shapes our decision-making. Amazing to remember that just two weeks ago, we sat for the first time as a group here on Manda, introduced ourselves and spoke about our hopes and aspirations for our time together and for our various projects. Since then, entire plays have been written, re-written, conceived, composed and staged.
We started the day at Diamond Beach with warm-ups. You could tell that everyone was jazzed, nervous, a bit tense about this special moment. I tried, best I could, to remind everyone that this was really a series of ‘open rehearsals’, and yet, these Africans LOVE to perform and I could tell that the joy of being onstage in front of an audience, and not just rehearsing behind closed doors, was very important to them. They spoke of wanting to be proud of their work.
The first project, Sitawa’s new play, BLACK MARIA, did not exist 10 days ago. Sitawa had discarded the work she had come with (a wonderful collection of poems that she had already performed many times in one format in Kenya) to start something brand new. This is the definition of “risk-taking”. She had never written a play before and she sat before us, resplendent in her turquoise African robe and matching head covering and began to read. Her story has two sections that alternate back and forth, beginning with a night just before her college graduation when she found herself the victim of police brutality, being arrested for walking with friends through a red light district of Nairobi, accused of prostitution. She is separated from her friends and thrown into the back of a ‘paddy wagon’ – a Black Maria – and a nightmare begins. This story alternates with her first semester of college, coming from a very privileged home and not understanding yet the breadth of Kenyan life. We laughed at her learning to wash her clothes, and cringed when she described her defending the family driver coming to pick up her dirty laundry. And then we were held fast by the saga of that night in the Black Maria. How she wove the two tales together was masterful and moving. Everyone celebrated this achievement with long applause. There is work ahead and many questions, but she is well on her way.
Then we moved from the “Blue Moon Bar” where Sitawa had read, to the Yoga Studio at Diamond Beach, where the first scene of Adong Lucy Judith’s play, SILENT VOICES was staged, a play about the legacy of violence in Northern Uganda. Five actors played a variety of roles in this multi-genre piece and after the first scene was viewed, we all moved back to the Blue Moon Bar for a reading of the entire one-hour play. How Judith had gently and utterly re-organized the piece she had come with did not escape anyone’s notice. Her play, which was originally chronological now followed a mysterious emotional arc, filled with suspense and layers. Most moving to me were Judith’s remarks following the reading – her thanking of the cast, the advisors and Sundance for giving her ‘that space between idea and production’ where she could truly experiment. That brought tears to my eyes.
After lunch, we moved to yet a third space, Akili, to watch the Rwandan project, THE BOOK OF LIFE. These particular artists never fail to provoke tears. With original choreography, music, gorgeous singing, we observe two real life letters, adapted for the stage, that tell the story of widows, remembering the happy times and their loved ones before the horror of the Genocide. I look to see tears streaming down the eyes of many participants, even though the play was in a language almost no one understood – Kinyarwanda. The power of theatre defies merely the spoken word. The complexity of emotion comes through the notes and the dance just as well. I will never forget the image of Deborah Asiimwe walking across that large wooden dance floor, and one by one discarding into the air bits of paper, of memory perhaps?, and walking out the door into the light.
After tea, we met for the final presentation of Mrisho Mpoto’s adaptation (along with co-writers Irene Sanga and composer Elidady Msangi of a letter of Nigerian activist Ken Sero-Wiwa. They had created a site specific event in the bottom floor of AKILI, with rope defining a jail cell. Having translated the originally English text into Kiswahili, Mrisho inhabited the character and with his customary larger than life performance, railed at us from behind the bars, made us smile and cringe. Music composed by Elidady floated in from behind a wall and at the end, the three musicians entered, with drum and guitar and played together. Original melodies that galvanized the crowd. A few subtitles were projected on the wall alongside the action, but this piece was entirely in Swahili. Afterward, the director Gilbert Lukalia, a Kenyan, gave us a short re-cap of the story. For a time no one moved. I think we all got this moment – we were done with this chapter of the Lab; we had shared in the difficulty and the glory of coming to this moment, and before we moved on to analyzing and discussing in the days ahead, we wanted to bask in the accomplishment.
For my part, I dove into the Indian Ocean and watched a sunset while a DHOW glided past me, it’s billowing sail full with warm wind. I can’t really express the emotion of this all. Not yet.
