Running errands Niger-style

...yesterday was supposed to be my last day in Niger, but I'm still here. I showed up at the airport at 3am this morning to find out that my flight to Casablanca had been cancelled. I hadn't thought to call and confirm, and apparently they had notified me via email but not until last night...and there is no such thing as demanding to be put on the next flight when there is only one flight per day at best...so I'm leaving early tomorrow morning instead. It's a bit surreal because I had kind of wrapped everything up yesterday and now I have more time...but, as with all unexpected changes of plans that happen when one travels, I see it as a gift.

So yesterday was the day to get everything done, which is no easy feat here. I started off with my to-do list (those who know me well are fully aware of my obsession with lists...), first stop being the bank. Niamey is quite spread out, and I am staying in a neighborhood a few miles from the city center, so I needed to take a cab.

I haven't talked about the Niamey cab system yet, which is fascinating and infuriating at the same time. First you flag down a cab and tell them where you are going--but you can't give an exact address because, first of all, the streets are not well marked and second, none of the taxi drivers here seem to know addresses anyway, so you have to give them a landmark, which is tricky if you have only been here for a few weeks--then they tell you whether they can take you or not, depending on the direction they are headed, the other passengers in the cab (because they pick people up until the are full), often by either nodding or grunting. The fare is generally 200 francs but if you are going further out they'll ask for more, and of course they never have any change. So basically I spend a lot of time standing on street corners saying "Quartier Dar Es Salaam, deuxième pavée?" in a hopeful tone to a number of taxis before someone agrees to take me.

Yesterday I didn't have anything smaller than a 10000 franc bill, (about $25), which is very hard to change...I started walking in hopes of finding a place to get change, went to several hotels en route but no one could help me, so halfway downtown, after walking for half an hour in the heat, I bought some useless product at a pharmacy just to be able to find a cab...out on the road again, I tried to flag a cab but an older man and a teenaged boy in front of me flagged it first, and as the car came to a stop they lifted up a goat and put it in the trunk, then got in and sped away. I decided it wasn't worth my time to share a cab with several people and a goat.

So I finally got to the bank and waited for half an hour before I was informed that they would not exchange my dollars there, I had to go to the central branch. That necessitated another taxi, and therefore some kind of idea where that was...I got to the central bank, stood in line for another half hour, finally changed my money, then foolishly determined that I had enough time to stop by a tailor to pick up some clothes I had made before meeting my friend Ali. Bad idea. I had the directions to the tailor written down, but when I got into the cab, it became clear that the taxi driver had no idea how to follow them. I finally had to call Djibrine and have him talk to the driver, at which point he realized that he was going in the wrong direction...then the other passengers started to complain, but not to him. They got mad at me. The old woman next to me said, "you can't just rent this taxi, you know!" I said it's not my fault that the driver got lost, but then the driver started getting annoyed with me too. So I got out, because it didn't seem to make sense to stay in a cab with three haters. In the end, I got to the tailor's shop, but it took two and a half hours to run two errands.

Today I have no errands to run...the only items on my agenda are to eat, do a little work, and hang out on my last (no, really my last) day in Niger.

Rien n'est simple...

So, the rest of my time in Maradi involved...a lot of waiting around. Things just don't happen quickly in Niger. Nothing starts on time, nothing is ever simple...

Thursday was the last day of the workshop, and my understanding was that a final presentation would happen that morning. The ten groups of students, led by pairs of teachers, had done varying amounts of work over the course of the week; some groups had fully-realized plays and others had pretty much sat around all day. The participants also frequently had to wait for hours for their meals because the mafia-affiliated food service people took their sweet old time in showing up...unfortunately RAV is forced to use them, last time they did a workshop in Maradi they tried to talk to them about stepping up their service but in the end they are stuck with them.

In short, I waited around for two hours for the workshop to start and it didn't, so I went to the cyber café and then took a walk around the market and commercial district in Maradi...then came back, only to wait for three more hours, this time we were waiting for some Unicef representatives who were coming to see the presentation (this whole workshop was funded by Unicef). So they finally arrived in a spanking white 4x4 (quatre-quatre) at about 4:30 and the presentation began, first with some drumming and dancing and then with the two groups who had actually done their work. The reps seemed to be pleased...

And that was just Thursday...Friday we were supposed to leave early in the morning to drive back to Niamey, but as always there were errands to run, and then Djibrine wanted to drive across the border to Nigeria to get gas...let me explain. There are gas stations in Niger, but also tons of roadside stands where people sell gas in used bottles. So in most cases filling the tank means pouring gas from a coke bottle into the tank using a plastic funnel. This is one of the many things that I have strangely stopped noticing. And gas is half the price in Nigeria. We debated me coming but in the end were told that we'd run into serious extortion at the border given my whiteness, so I went to hang out with the workshop trainers, which entailed drinking some tea, politely declining to join them in eating some animal intestines and then sleeping on a creaky bed for several hours...all in all we didn't leave Maradi until 2pm, for a 450-mile trip. This time Check Kotondi, the director of a theater company in Niamey and the lead trainer, was with us, which turned out to be very very fortunate. The trip went fine for the first half...we chatted and listened to my iPod (I can't tell you how surreal it is to be driving across Niger, passing through little villages that consist of some mud brick houses and granaries with straw roofs, a few food stands built out of wood, some goats and a tiny mosque, listening to Steel Pulse, the Strokes, and Culture Club)...then, at about 11, we drove through a huge pothole (calling it a pothole is not really doing it justice, more like a crater) and blew not one, but two tires at the same time. So here we were in the middle of nowhere (en plein brousse, or in the bush) with two flats and only one spare. It was decided that we would flag someone down who could take Djibrine and the two tires back to the last town to fix them while Check and I stayed with the car. I have had many adventurous moments traveling, and this was certainly one of them, but for some reason I wasn't really scared. It was a beautiful night, you could see all of the stars and the milky way, and all you could hear were some frogs and occasionally cars. So we sat, and waited. Once the tires were back on, I took over driving for the next several hours...at one point, we stopped at a toll booth (which consists of a rope stretched across the road, attached to two barrels with condom ads on them), and a large man with a machine gun asked for the car's registration and then my driver's license. So I pulled out my California license, which he looked at carefully, turning it over and over before finally handing it back and letting us continue. We all agreed that it was without a doubt the first California DMV-issued document he had ever seen and the novelty of that probably helped. In the end, we got back to Niamey at 6am. Needless to say, I am still very very tired...

Power Cuts et les Pauses

...two things. First of all, there are intermittent power cuts every night in Maradi. This creates a problem when you are trying to sleep in comfort, because if the AC doesn't work your two options are to open the windows and invite in the malaria-carrying mosquitos or to sweat it out...the night before last I opted for option number two in addition to a cold shower, but then the hotel's generator kicked in which meant that I had AC but also what sounded like a huge idling lawnmower right outside my window. And since I had cranked up the AC I found myself freezing in the middle of the night.

The upside of this is that during power cuts the numerous outdoor bars and restaurants in Maradi that are situated in gardens are much more pleasant...there is not a lot of ambient lighting in Niger, so to cut it off altogether makes for a more peaceful Bière Niger drinking session. Speaking of, Bière Niger comes in big bottles, because why bother with a small bottle when you can have big, and is pretty strong...

Second, every morning I go to the RAV workshop early in the morning to discover that it hasn't started yet...apparently the woman who has been contracted to provide the coffee, tea, food, and beverages for the workshop is mafia-connected, so her prices are way too high but there is no other option, and on top of it she is always late. So everything gets started late...no big rush. But the thing is, the work has been done, two groups of students will present their forum theater pieces this afternoon.

But in any case things here definitely move slowly, and service is a whole other issue. Yesterday we were at a restaurant trying to order some food but they were out of almost everything, so finally we just asked for a salad with whatever they had...after probably 45 minutes they came back with potato salad. Enfin bon. The other day I went to a restaurant that specializes in a Nigerian milk/yogurt thing, but when I ordered it they were out...how do you run out of your house speciality?

On Tuesday afternoon I went to a forum theater performance with Clemence, the wife of Djibrine's colleague Bernard at GRET, a Paris-based development organization. Clemence had never seen a forum theater play; this was in Hausa so neither of us understood the details but she at least got the sense of how it works. While waiting to meet her in front of the bank I made friends with the guards who offered me a seat and some tea.

In general I like Maradi--it's relatively calm, although the motorcycle/car/donkey/camel traffic on the main drag can be intense...I'm going to take a second tour of the market today, since we head back to Niamey tomorrow...

Forum Theater in Maradi

Today is the second of a five day training sponsored by RAV here in Maradi. A group of teachers are being trained in the principles and structures of forum theater, and at the same time a group of about 150 students ages 13-15 are engaging in theater exercises...today they broke into small groups, each one run by one or two teachers, to start creating forum theater pieces. The themes are prevention of STIs/HIV/SIDA; women and children's rights; educational rights, particularly for girls, and...I forgot the last one. I floated around and observed the small group work--it was particularly interesting watching the groups rehearse and seeing how much I understood even though the plays are in Hausa. Theater is best when it is clear, visual, and emotional, so to take language out of it is a good test.

The youth participants are focused in their work, but honestly, all the same, they are like teenagers in the US...I love watching them interact. Most of the girls wear colorful veils and the traditional two piece costume, although some of them are now starting to appear in sweatpants, t-shirts, even shorts.

Observing the process of "teaching teachers" is always helpful for me...I've been thinking about how much of this process to codify, how much to leave to the individual participants to discover on their own...

Otherwise, Maradi is a pretty decent place to hang out for a while. I've been catching up on sleep and trying not to let my digestive system go haywire on me.

Road Trip to Maradi

On Friday, the workshop culminated with a demonstration for RAV's board and some of the artists in the network, as well as administrators for some local NGOs. It went really well--the participants described the process, we showed various steps in the creation process, including tableaux, and then presented one of the short forum pieces and two of the participants, Rachid and Edouard, joked the forum together. Everyone agreed that it went really well. This group was challenging in a way that the group in Ouagadougou wasn't in that they are all so experienced that at first I think they felt like they didn't need another workshop, that they knew everything already, but by the end, they were really appreciative.

Friday afternoon we left Niamey for Maradi, the third largest city in Niger and the commercial center. It's about 10 miles from the Nigerian border. RAV has been supervising a training conference in forum theater there for the last several months, so a team of trainers needed to go back to provide additional training and observe the work that the local teams had accomplished.

So a road trip in Niger is very different than a jog from SF to LA in the United States...the highway is two lane (barely) with stretches where they are repairing it and you have to drive on a dirt side road, cows and goats in the way, huge trucks that seem to break down everywhere with no shoulder, etc etc etc. Maradi is about 450 miles from Niamey but it tooks us more than 12 hours altogether...the first surprise for me, though, was how beautiful the landscape is, particularly because it's the rainy season. The land is very flat, with an occasional red dirt hill, so you can see for miles...red earth and very green trees, fields of grasses and vegetables, and grass huts with domed roofs that ended at a point like a meringue...at night we saw incredible lightening storms miles away. At sunset we were passing through a nature preseve and Djibrine told me to turn around...and there was a giraffe hanging out on the side of the road. I think I read that Niger has one of the only remaining giraffe herds in West Africa.

We arrived in Doutchi, the halfway point, late at night, in the rain...and once stopped, the car would not start. Long story short, after trying to push start it and then wandering around for a while and finally hiring some local boys with motorcycles to drive us around, it was clear that a mechanic was not available until morning. So we left the car and found a hotel.

It took most of yesterday to fix the car, turned out it was the alternator. Now I have a bunch of new french vocab...car parts! We got on the road again late yesterday afternoon and arrived in Maradi at 1am this morning. Driving across Niger, through tiny villages and towns, was fascinating. There were times where we stopped the car to buy food or drinks and I sat there, surrounded by crowds of people going about their small town Africa Saturday night business with nothing but flashlights to light the way, speaking Hausa, and realized that I was the only white person for miles...but aside from the occasional crowd of kids begging, just like in Burkina, people are so welcoming...you never just say hi when you see someone, you ask them how they are, how their health is, how their family is, how they are dealing with the heat, if they slept or ate well, etc etc.

I have also eated some seriously interesting roadside food. Here it's grilled meat here there and everywhere...we stopped for some, guess what, grilled meat, and the first thing I noticed was a cow tail sitting on the grill. Apparently that is put out so that you know what animal is currently on the grill, kind of like a little advertisement or menu...

So this morning I am going to observe the training. I like Maradi so far, it's more calm than Niamey, but has an energy all the same...fewer cars and more motorcycles, white sand instead of red, and it's not as hot.

So, more from Maradi later...

La Patronne

I am fighting a stomach ache that I got from an extremely spicy meal I am partially responsible for preparing...yesterday evening Sara, one of the workshop participants, invited us to her house for dinner, and I helped her make it. This was after an afternoon spent sitting on the patio at my guesthouse with her and a henna artist who created an incredibly beautiful design on my hands and feet. It was nice to spend time with two women when so much of my time here is spent with men...the majority of the workshop participants are male, most of the people I know here are male...it's so complicated. Polygamy is legal, fewer women work, the debate is framed differently...but then again the women I have met here are strong.

The workshop ends tomorrow--we are going to finish with a demonstration of one of the short forum scenes created, this one about a female boss whose power is undermined by a manager below her. Different cultural context, but not an unfamiliar problem...it seems like the workshop participants have gotten something from the workshop, and I have certainly appreciated the theoretical exchange that we have each morning, followed by getting up on our feet.

This afternoon I went to a birth celebration--big tents were set up outside the family's house, where guests come, sit, listen to music and stories, eat (I had just eaten lunch but when the food was put in front of us, Edouard, a theater director who is in the workshop, said here we eat even when we're not hungry...so I ate), and generally pay their respects to the parents. I'm glad I went, even though I stuck out like a sore thumb (an expression that I attempted to translate with little success).

Tomorrow I am going to Maradi to observe a training mission with RAV; so I'll experience a road trip, Nigerien style...

Taking Tea and Making Theater

I spent yesterday afternoon and evening with Ali, a friend that I met in Burkina, the master tea maker...we sat outside his house (not exactly a stoop, more like a dirt front yard) on a mat and drank tea and hung out with various people who came and went, including Nanna, who is in the same theater company. We then piled onto motorcycles and went first to a Senegalese restaurant (I think my body is still battling the oily food I ate there...) and then to an open air bar with trees and sand. I tasted my first Bière Niger, very good.

This morning the workshop went really well. We created short forum theater scenes and talked about ways to convey clear messages. The group is working together really well and I feel more comfortable...the huge advantage of working with people who already have a lot of theater experience is that they know exactly what to do! It's not often that I have that chance...

Another thing I noticed in Ouaga and here is that West Africans joke around a lot...I don't really think the word plaisantrie translates well, but I really appreciate that people don't take themselves too seriously.

Bienvenue au Niger

It took my plane an hour to land in driving rain...for a second as we got tossed around I thought maybe my number is up but since I trust in this vague, all knowing universe that has some plan for me I decided to trust it.

The delay in landing was matched by an immigration and customs process that took about five times as long as it needed to. But patience is a virtue...

The only other West African capital city I have to compare to Niamey is Ouagadougou--Niamey is on the banks of the Niger river, so it's more green. We went down to the banks on Saturday, people were fishing in it (last night I ate some river fish which was the best-tasting thing I've eaten so far in West Africa) and there are villages along the edge, houses made of brick, gardens where plants and flowers are cultivated, and riverside restaurants and bars. The river is huge, muddy right now because it's the rainy season, but beautiful.

Niamey is also more spread out and calm...I'm still pretty disoriented, trying to recognize the street I'm staying on amongst all of the others...I'm driven around more than self-directed, but I'm starting to find my way.

One thing I have noticed is the mix of people...Taureg men in turbans and veils, some women in veils, many in beautiful fabrics, people with lines on their faces from the purposeful scarring...

Saturday night I went to an open air concert...it was a beautiful night, which was especially noticeable when the power went out, the group had to continue acapella, and I could see the stars...which I will never stop remarking, look the same everywhere in the world, we are connected by the sky.

Today I started the workshop for Réseau Arts Vivants. We are going to start each day with a presentation by a different participant on a specific aspect of Theatre of the Oppressed and Forum Theater, this morning it was Alfred Dogbé, who presented a beautifully succinct (not surprising, he is an important writer here) assessment of what the group should consider...this group is different than the one I worked with in Ouaga: quite a few of them know each other, most of them have a lot of experience with forum theater, and there is a desire to examine, critique, and innovate...I am looking forward to this process, the exchange...it's so interesting doing the workshop again, remembering the first time I did it in French, in Africa, how scared I was...now I'm not as afraid but I have different challenges: to manage the fact that I really feel like an outsider, to be respectful of their needs as a network of professionals who want to continue this work after I'm gone...

This afternoon we all went to lunch together--of course, even though I am eating much better than I did in Ouaga, I still can't keep up...this is remarkable in a culture where women are supposed to be a bit rounder. But I'm trying, and Djibrine is making sure that I eat...but in the end, I'm a skinny white girl, right? Mais merci à dieu for drinkable yogurt, beer, and ice cream...

Chillaxing in Casa

The cheapest route to Niger is with Royal Air Maroc; the only downside is a 12 hour layover in Casablanca. But I don't really see the opportunity to see a tiny bit of another country a downside. It was surreal getting off the plane, realizing that I was back in Africa, feeling the hot air...

Casablanca is a huge city. It seems that everyone has a satellite dish, even people living in tin and wood shacks. The mosques here are different than the ones I saw in Turkey, with a single tall minaret/tower. I went to the Grande Mosquée, which I believe is the biggest in Morocco if not Africa period...it is stunning, built around a huge plaza on the edge of the sea. I got lost in the medina, tiny streets with piles of spices, lots of live chickens, cafés and vegetable stalls...and then realized I was exhausted and decided that the best way to spend the rest of my day was to treat myself to something truly relaxing after the incredibly busy period I've been through recently.

So I found Hammam Ziani, thanks to lonelyplanet.com. Hammams are baths and steam rooms, separated by gender...I went to one in Turkey where I got a very rough massage from a large Turkish lady but I was willing to try again. I went for the full treatment, which meant that I had one woman who took care of me for two hours. She started by soaping me up with fragrant olive oil soap, had me sit in a steam room, then rinsed me off, and proceeded to sand every last dead skin cell off of my body with a loofah/glove implement, then she covered me in hot clay and wrapped me in plastic, leaving me to marinate for half an hour...then she rinsed me and gave me a full body massage. All of this for 300 dirhams, or about forty dollars. I feel like a new person.

The other thing that I loved about the hammam was the fact that, in a muslim country where (even in a cosmopolitan city like Casa) some women are veiled and the cafés are filled only with men, this was a women's space. I was befriended by a mother and two daughters who were there together, and I will forever remain grateful to the woman who took such good care of me. I felt like she knew how much stress I had been carrying.

The other thing I noticed in general was how incredibly warm, friendly, and helpful people were. I have heard so many horror stories of western women travelling alone, but for my brief visit, besides a few instances of "salut, ma fille, tu es seule?", I was left alone. All in all, a good way to spend a layover.

Niger

Some information about Niger courtesy of Wikipedia:


http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Niger

Back to Africa

So I am going back to West Africa in July...this time, to facilitate a Forum Theatre/Joking workshop for the Réseau Arts Vivants, a non-governmental organization in Niamey, Niger that uses the performing arts to raise awareness about social issues such as HIV/AIDS, girls' education, reproductive health, and early marriage. I was invited by my friend Djibrine Mainassara, who participated in the Forum Theatre workshop I taught in Ouagadougou in February as part of the International Festival of Theatre for Development. The workshop I'm teaching in Niamey will be based on that one. Needless to say, I'm thrilled to have the opportunity to return to West Africa, to see a new country, Niger, and to connect with more theatre makers and artists. I will definitely continue my blog when I'm there...

Community-Based Theater in Chicago

Lynn and I are spending this week in Chicago, talking to theater colleagues and learning more about community-based arts here. In three days I've had so much stimulating dialogue about how to engage audiences in true dialogue with theatrical works, working with youth, the role of theater and performance in our society now, at this juncture. I talked in my last post about making this kind of theater as an act of love, and here I have connected with so many dedicated and intensely creative people who see it that way too, in a diversity of ways...

Among them is Michael Rohd, artistic director of Sojourn Theatre, a Portland-based company who creates work based on diverse community perspectives that inspires dialogue. He is a fiercely curious and creative person who I admire greatly and whose work I have adapted (e.g. ripped off) on many occasions. He is currently a visiting professor at Northwestern University.

...and Paula Gilovich and Megan Carney, who have both directed About Face Theater's youth program, which creates original works that are performed as mainstage shows in the company's season. They are one of the only professional queer youth performance projects in the country. Megan is currently working on an oral history/performance piece in my hometown (and hers) Pittsburgh...

...and Nicole Garneau, an actor turned performance artist who is dedicated to public performance...talking to her made me want to reconnect to my performance art roots, to the idea of art as a happening.

It feels so exciting to connect into the web of performing artists who have dedicated themselves to pushing the boundaries of performance in service of increasing our connection to one another, to build community in a culture where we are encouraged to stay isolated and fulfill ourselves through buying and having things. But the feeling we get from making meaning and having others resonate with those meanings, you can't buy that and you can't take it away.

All About Love

I am currently re-reading bell hooks' book "All About Love". Let me start by saying that, from the moment I opened "Ain't I A Woman" in college, I have been in love with bell hooks, or at least, in love with her words. Whether about race and feminism, education, or aesthetics, her writing satisfies me completely. Many years ago, I had the opportunity to hear her read...it was truly a spiritual experience. Her voice is calm and comforting, yet so powerful, the perfect match for her words. They fulfill me on both an intellectual and spiritual level.

So, "All About Love" is a book that everyone should read, point blank. It examines love in all of its facets: romantic, spiritual, familial, communal...reading this book again, at this point in my life, three things stand out for me:

...that the deep fulfillment I feel in making theater in community is, in fact, an expression of love. I have recently admitted to myself that I am in love with my work. Theater is communion, it is a deep and lasting love affair.

...that I am more spiritual than I used to believe, that my desire to find spirituality in nature has helped and soothed me, that I see theater as my church, and that I am seeking a conscious practice that is, in some way, an expression of my own faith.

...that I am always in the process of developing self-love, and part of that process is keeping in close, intimate touch with my own personal truth, and being fully who I am.

Thank you, bell hooks, for sharing your thoughts on this incredibly important topic...we all need to spend more time thinking about how to love more.

Art Without Borders

I've been thinking about international collaboration lately...how does it work? Envisioning ways to create work across culture and geography that result in something richer, something new. When I went to Africa, I had the chance to exchange ideas and techniques with other theater artists, even the opportunity to work on a new play. But what would a larger-scale project look like? What would the result be?

So the SF International Arts Festival is on right now, and I went to see "Yes, Yes to Moscow", a collaboration between American and German artists that premiered in Berlin last year. It's an ensemble physical theater piece in both languages, based on Chekov's Three Sisters. Experimental, yet charming. Seriously. Great aesthetic and movement, so many well-crafted moments, never took itself too seriously...and it felt cross-cultural somehow. I enjoyed it, even without understanding the sections that were in German and not remembering most of the Chekov plot...

This is a Woman's World...

I've been thinking a lot about women. As someone who was never afraid to call myself a feminist, even as we continue to experience a backlash (and it has gone on and on, in a myriad of subtle and not-so-subtle ways) in this country, and who has devoted most of my visual art and theater practice to issues of gender, it's always on my mind in some way, shape, or form. Right now I'm thinking about what women carry...we do have the weight of the world on our shoulders. The emotional space we occupy, the deep love we feel that makes us that much more vulnerable to guilt, pain, and sorrow. The circumstances we find ourselves in that pit us against each other, even when that is not our wish. It's a question of systems and values, and it's global. No one is immune.

But I also am reminded constantly how strong we are and can be--how we step up for each other, without expecting anything in return, the inner resources we think we don't possess but that we find just when we least expect them to kick in. It's a gift.

In discussions about gender, I've always said that never in my life have I ever wanted to be a man. That is true. It's no reflection on manhood or men; it's more that I have cherished the fact that I am a woman, it's everything that I am and can be.

Standing on their Shoulders...

When Lynn Johnson and I started OutLook last year, we wanted to launch the company with a long-term project, one that we felt passionate about. We had both been reading articles about the building of LGBT Senior Housing communities in the Bay Area and beyond, and were fascinated by the fact that the people who would potentially live in such communities are members of the first openly gay generation in the United States. We both feel a profound respect and admiration for these community elders, and also a desire to hear their stories, to learn from their experiences.

So we decided that OutLook's inaugural project would be built around the personal histories of Bay Area LGBT seniors. Lynn and I devised a short "prologue" piece, both as a way of developing our collaborative process, but also as a means of exploring our interest LGBT seniors--asking ourselves "why do we care?"...we performed this piece for an invited audience in November 2007. In January 2008, OutLook established our first community partnership with New Leaf Outreach to Elders (www.newleafservices.org/services.htm).

In the past week, we've finally had the chance to begin connecting directly with LGBT Seniors. We've been waiting for this opportunity for so long, speculating about what it would be like...last Friday we attended the Lavender Seniors of the East Bay monthly lunch. It was the day after the California Supreme Court's historic decision in support of same-sex marriage. One woman got up at lunch and made a toast; another person said "I didn't think I'd see this in my lifetime"...I felt so honored to be there, and moved to think that this is a moment that they have been waiting for for decades. It's because of them and people like them that this has happened.

This past Friday Lynn and I facilitated our first OutLook "Speak Out" at New Leaf. The goal was to begin meeting local LGBT seniors, to hear more about what issues and themes are important to them, and begin gathering little pieces of their histories. We performed a staged reading version of our prologue piece: I have to say that I was terrified to perform a piece that explored how I feel about aging and old people in front of a group of...old people. And it was definitely humbling--they didn't hold back in their critique, but as scary as it was, I was grateful for their honesty. And their stories were incredible--I am so excited to get to know them better, and to meet more and more people and hear their stories, and honor them by creating this piece.

But I think ultimately the lesson learned, or reinforced, by the Speak Out is that, when working with a community of people different from you (in this case, separated by age), you have to come to them with humility, curiosity, transparency, and integrity. That is how connection across social barriers, and thus true dialogue, happens. As one woman left, she said "Thank you. I really felt comfortable sharing my story here." Engaging in a process without pre-conceived notions of what it will become because it must continue to change and adapt to fit the needs of its participants and contributors is critical. Entering into a space with people different from you who may suspect your motives because they have been mis-represented, spoken for, or discounted in the past, without imposing an agenda on them is scary, but necessary. I consider myself lucky to be part of this ongoing challenge.

...the Journey continues, even at home

I have now been back from Africa for as long as I was there, and have barely posted since that time. I started this blog as a chronicle of that journey, and once home, have been unsure as to what I'd have to say now that I'm back. But, as the aim of this blog is to "share thoughts on art and culture, travel, and life in general from a theater artist's perspective". So I will continue to do that...

A Week Later

So I'm finally on my way to getting over the jetlag, which was much harder to shake this time...I think it's a combination of factors, not just the time difference but the cultural difference, the difference in me...before I went on this trip, many people said "this is going to change your life!" and it has, but I don't know exactly how. I don't think I'll ever be able to put a finger on it, it's more profound and intangible than that. Back in the United States, things look different. I see certain things more than I did before, certain things less. I feel wide open to new possibilities, new ways of seeing, new ways of creating. I know this is vague, but how to explain a personal transformation when you are in the middle of it?

It's certainly clear to me that this trip came at a time where I was already moving into a different space, a different set of priorities. The timing, the place, the experience--it was meant to be, and whatever comes from it is also meant to be.

In any case, I've gotten a lot of positive feedback on this blog...I'm glad that people have enjoyed it. I will keep writing, maybe I'll start to figure out how all of what I posted so far carries me into the next phase of my life as an artist....

Reentry

I am back in the United States after 30-plus hours of travel...suffering culture shock, to be sure. I spent the last few days in Africa in Cape Town, which is without a doubt the most stunningly-located city I've ever seen, but also provided a convenient cultural buffer. It didn't feel like what I think Africa to be at all. South Africa, overall, is a surreal place--I hate to make that claim without thorough explanation, but I've certainly tried on this blog. I've met many white South Africans who seem intent on letting me know over and over again about how absolutely fabulous it is there, with their insecurities and worries spilling out between every word...clearly they are anxious, or at the very least have an inferiority complex. Understandable, it's a country in the midst of upheaval, very much in transition, and no one knows exactly what will happen. It's strange to see fancy suburbs butting up against informal settlements where wood and tin shacks crowd up against one another for miles and miles...it's strange to sense that white people are still running the show in many respects...

Nonetheless, when the plane took off, I felt such sadness to leave--in French, to take off is "decoller", literally to unstick. When we unstuck, I thought of the times when I'm trying to peel off an adhesive label and some stubborn white fibers always remain behind...I think I left some small pieces behind, which is not a bad thing--it means I have to go back, and it means that a part of me will always be there, and will continue to remind me of the profound experiences I had, the lessons learned.

Now I feel my job is to hold onto those lessons and integrate them with what I love about being here--always tricky when I first get back to the States from a trip abroad to a culture or cultures that invariably values things like family, community, and the arts more highly than we do here...but there is so much to love here as well--that I can do what I love and find the support for it, that I have the opportunity to travel as an artist...the list goes on and on.

So what are the lessons learned? I'm still working on formulating those in a neatly packaged format...to be continued...

Elections in Zimbabwe

So prior to leaving the United States we planned our trip to Botswana, ending in Victoria Falls, which is just across the border in Zimbabwe. Of course, given how pitifully little information we receive in the United States about African politics, I didn't realize that we were to enter Zimbabwe on election day. And this is no ordinary election. Robert Mugabe has been in power since 1980--he started out as a revolutionary, someone who the people looked to with hope and admiration, but since then things have changed dramatically. Zimbabwe experiences some of the highest inflation in the world. A product at the store may cost more in the evening than it did in the morning. People are lining up to purchase gas. The stores have almost nothing on the shelves. When I was in Johannesburg, people estimated that one million Zimbabweans have fled the country into South Africa. I have watched a lot of South African coverage of this upcoming election, which many people have predicted will be rigged to allow Mugabe another term even though the country is suffering horribly under his rule. I heard rumors that 8 million ballots were printed for 6 million registered voters, that although international observers from several countries, including South Africa, were allowed in, that poll workers and police were "encouraging" people to say that they were blind and "needed assistance" voting.

So it is in this climate that we arrived at Victoria Falls on March 29th. We were told by some British tourists we had met in Botswana that going to the craft market would be difficult--the tactics used by the vendors there gave the term "hard sell" new meaning. But, after a day at Victoria Falls, which is admittedly unbelieveable, and a walk across the bridge into neighboring Zambia (where we saw a bunch of Australians bungee jumping into the gorge between the two countries...if someone asked one of these outfitters what they did for a living they'd say, "I get paid $90 a pop to push white people off a bridge, and they love it!"), we decided we needed to walk around town a bit and check out the market. Neither Inna nor I were prepared for the level of desperation we encountered--people chasing us down the street offering to unload carvings for nothing, and when we told them we didn't have any more money or couldn't purchase something, they said, "just please help me get something to eat", and then they started asking for our shoes...they wanted them in exchange for goods. But it wasn't just shoes, it was old t-shirts, even old socks. I have never been asked for the clothing off of my back. It was heartbreaking.

I was nervous to ask people about the elections, things had seemed so grim and I couldn't bear the thought of upsetting people by discussing it, but the day after the election, a man working at our hotel mentioned it so we took the opening...apparently, it looks like one of Mugabe's opponents, Morgan Tsvangirai, is winning. His party has taken many seats in the legislature, and according to word on the street he has won the election. Given what I have seen and the little I know, I hope and pray that they are right...this country deserves a chance. One young man said to me, "welcome to the new Zimbabwe!" It seems to me that if Mugabe has indeed lost, with all of the international attention, he will be forced to step down, and that will be another victory for African democracy.

Botswana

This morning we probably saw at least a hundred elephants, giraffes, a buffalo, hippos in the water, warthogs, dozens of beautiful birds, a crocodile eating a bird that it had caught, baboons, huge lizards, herds of various antelope...all in a stunningly beautiful setting along the Chobe river on the border of Botswana and Namibia. Yes, now I am a tourist, a vacationer, driving around in safari trucks with other tourists, capturing animals as fast as we can with the telephoto lens...but the experience is incredible. To sit and watch these animals, to have them watch you, it's unforgettable. We have visited three different areas of Northern Botswana, each with different vegetation, different ecosystems...from dryer bush to the Okavango Delta to the Chobe river...

The transition from the cultural exchange portion of my trip to the tourist part is strange, I admit. My interactions with Africans are now relegated to them providing me services because I've paid a lot of money...not really genuine. I now realize how unbelieveably lucky I was to have the experience I did. But I am also lucky to be able to see what I'm seeing, and glad to have some down time to prepare myself for going back to the US, which is happening a lot sooner than I would like. But I have so much to bring back with me...

White Girl in Soweto

Soweto is huge--2 to 3 million people huge...it's made up of many different communities, which range from big houses to squatter camps, sometimes side by side. I was fortunate to be able to visit with Mary and Sweetness, two colleagues from Themba, who drove me around many of the areas. I met Sweetness's grandmother, who lives in a tiny government built house, went to two of the new, glitzy malls, had braai on Friday afternoon amongst the cars pumping out house music, groups of guys drinking away their public holiday, and piles of meat and pap...for those of you who have never had pap, it's a maize and water concoction that is eaten with meat, sauce, just about everything...and is eaten with your hands. I have photographic evidence of my poor pap-eating skills. At the braai we met a young man who had already consumed a lot of beer and delivered what must have been the strangest pick-up line ever...he looked at all five of us and said, "I like how you ladies chew!" Yesterday evening I attended a church service/concert for good Friday, it was very musical and very participatory. Today I went to some of the famous sites in Soweto--the Hector Pietersen memorial museum, on the site where the Soweto student protests turned bloody. I will never understand what motivated the police to open fire on children...then we visited Nelson Mandela's house, which is tiny. He has long since moved to more comfortable digs.

It was a fitting close to my time here in Johannesburg to see Soweto, and to notice the stares that accompanied me everywhere I went...apparently it's not too often that a white person hangs out there. I am grateful to Sweetness and her family and Mary for hosting me and allowing me the opportunity...

Tomorrow we're off to Botswana, a country with arguably many more animals than people...a completely different experience, but one I'm very much looking forward to.

Last Day at Themba

My work with Themba is finished, at least for the time being...they seem very interested in having me back, which I would love. They now have a rough draft of a new play, and hopefully some new exercises and ideas...I certainly do.

We had a little party this afternoon to say goodbye to me and to their training manager, Thecla, who has to go back to her native Zimbabwe to start the work permit process all over again, her papers not having gone through...the situation there is very difficult, skyrocketing inflation and for many people, little hope for electoral change because, despite having two challengers, president Robert Mugabe will probably steal the elections in April.

At the party we did a closing exercise where Thecla and I sat in chairs, and each person at Themba came up to us one at a time and confidentially, in our ear, shared with us what they wanted to thank us for. It was a very moving way to end my time here...I received so many kind words about what people had learned, but also what people appreciated...one person said to me, "you know that in this country we have a legacy of apartheid, which was created and perpetuated by white people, but I want you to know that you are a white person who doesn't see us as black, you respect each and every one of us as people, you respect our beliefs and opinions without judging, and I thank you for that." I am definitely feeling a sense of sadness and loss--the opportunity I have had is so precious to me, and now I am no longer anchored to a community of people here...I have to hold what this trip has meant to me very close, so that I don't lose it when I return to the United States.

Some Great Pictures...that I didn't take

It has been challenging, with slow computers and slow internet, to get my photographs up on the web, much less on the blog. But my friend Whitney, who also attended the FITD in Ouagadougou, has sent me her picasa link--there are some really nice photos of the festival, of the workshop I taught, and Ouaga, and I was with her most of the time so they do capture my experience there...I will pass along my own album soon.

The link is: http://picasaweb.google.com/whitneyhuss

The Darker Side of Load-Shedding

Yesterday I got a large dose of Johannesburg-style chaos...and it all starts with load shedding. Load shedding is the term for alternating, scheduled power outages--at the end of apartheid, in 1994, only 30% of South Africans had electricity; now, 70% do, and the South African government did not adequately plan for this huge increase (they certainly had a lot of other things on their plate). So now parts of the city go dark...this has been exacerbated by several straight days of rain. Yesterday started out innocently enough--I attended a Themba performance at a local high school, which was very interesting because up until now I had only seen them perform at the jail. On the way back to the office in Eric's car, the traffic lights went out, and in the resulting standstill traffic his clutch started to burn out. We waited two hours for a tow truck, and were then driven to his house, since none of the taxi companies were answering their phones and I had no way to get home...

Since my first days in Johannesburg I have been repeatedly warned about one neighborhood: Hillbrow. It is a no-go zone...so yesterday evening, in our tow truck with Eric's car hitched to the back, we went straight through...Hillbrow. If I didn't know to be scared, I wouldn't have necessarily, because there is no way to tell that it's not safe, really, but I did know and I was scared. At 9:30, when I finally managed to track a cab down that would take me home, I instructed the driver to make sure to avoid a second trip through...the drive home was truly surreal. Johannesburg is deserted, every other block is pitch black, the days of rain making already drab settings even more so...it felt almost post-apocalpytic in some ways...as we turned down my street it was clear that the power was out in Melville as well, driving through a dark tunnel to my guest house and climbing into bed in a freezing room with no heat...I saw something different in this city last night, the flip side. There is much optimism here, but a not insignificant pessimism too...

I have only one full day left with Themba, which is sad...I will miss it here. Today I was interviewed by a staff member, what have I learned, what have I taken away about Africa? So much. I still have a trip to Soweto, a safari, and Cape Town ahead of me, but the transition from traveler to tourist will certainly be interesting...

Risk and Privilege

I've been thinking more about what leads people of privilege to take risks...in thinking about all of the major social movements...of course led by people who stood up against their oppressors, often in the face of great odds and at risk to their lives, but then there were also the people who could have done nothing but chose to stand beside...I think about the level of privilege I enjoy, and how I can use it to stand beside, even in some small way.

This morning I was waiting for the bus in the cold rain (of course we are having unseasonably cold weather here in Joburg...it's as if the SF winter rain followed me here), and an English woman who I'd seen on the bus one time before drove up in her car and offered me a ride. She is here on a journalism fellowship at Wits University, and as we made our way through horrible traffic, we spontaneously had a fascinating conversation about race, especially about her frustration with white South Africans who aren't holding themselves responsible to undo their racism--and then later this evening, another one over email with a friend from West Africa who expressed a frustration with the simplistic idea that white people are to blame for the challenges Africa faces...what am I saying? That it's complex, and fascinating, and that the most important thing is to engage fully in the dialogue...

Sharp, Sharp and Sophiatown

...one of the other South African phrases that took a little while to get used to is "sharp" or "sharp, sharp". The former, I think, means, "okay, good", while the latter means "see you later"...

So, sharp--today I went to Sophiatown...before Apartheid, this was an area that was known for being very racially diverse--sometimes it's called the "Harlem of South Africa" because many artists and musicians lived here. In the late 50's, I think, around the time of the Group Areas Act, the Apartheid government decided that such an integrated community wasn't acceptable so they moved all of the black, coloured, and indian residents, basically all non-whites, and tore it down to create a white neighborhooed. But the church that I went to has been around since the 1930's--the pastor was a major ally of the ANC and the anti-apartheid movement. There are pictures of him all over the place...I went because my colleague at Themba, Tshepo, runs a weekly drama group with some youth there, and today I was the guest artist. We first watched a concert, which, interestingly enough, was a cultural exchange with the Sophiatown choir and a quarter from St. Petersburg, Russia. So there was a big African choir and then four Russian guys--both were very good, but what an interesting combination.

Then I worked with the youth--we created a short play about teen pregnancy...they have been working with Tshepo for a while now, and it shows--they had some good solid skills, and were just like teenagers in the US, just a different accent. Different, but the same.

This coming week is my last with Themba--the time is too short...I can't believe that I've been in Africa for four weeks already. But I think I've learned and accomplished a lot.

Back to Prison

I paid a second visit to the Johannesburg Correctional Center today...this time the team had to perform outside on the edge of the soccer field, and the audience members kept interrupting the play with urgent questions like, "what's the risk for HIV with anal sex?" The actors politely asked them to hold questions until the end. Next week I have a chance to see them perform at a school, which will be very different. After the play, I accompanied two actor/educators who held a session with a group of inmates who they have trained as HIV/AIDS peer educators. We did some image theater together in a bare, musty smelling cement room with a few old pieces of weightlifting equipment and a sad ping pong table in the corner. Nonetheless, everyone participated and afterwards a few men told me how they are forming a theater group inside to create their own plays, and want to continue working when they are released. Everyone keeps asking me if I'm scared to be at the prison, but I'm still not...the facilities are much more run down than SF County, that's for sure, but otherwise, it's the same game.

I have now taken the minibus taxi home a number of times now and can honestly say that I could probably figure it out on my own, although it's much better to go with my chaperone, Tsepho. I am always the only white person in the taxi, with a strange accent no less, so it causes some curious sideways glances. But I've figured out when I need to get out, when I need to announce that I need to get out..."after robots". The strangest South African lingo thus far--they call traffic lights robots. Makes no sense.

The Rainbow of Desire...

This week we have continued our work on the play about gay and lesbian issues...one of the central scenes is about a teacher who can't be out at work and the struggle he faces when a student who is questioning confides in him. This plot line speaks to me, for obvious reasons. I also taught a TO workshop focusing on Rainbow of Desire...we worked on two women's stories about the challenges they face with their families' expectations...also a deep and universal theme. I am also learning more about the dynamics of the lesbian community here through talking to the women at Themba, and am reading a book about lesbians throughout Africa. Needless to say, life is very hard for them--the governments say it's unAfrican and a western import, and the church (itself a western import) says it's wrong in God's eyes. They can't win. But there is a community here and I'm glad to have a connection to it.

Weekend in South Africa

Yesterday I spent the day with Eric, the Managing Director of Themba, and his partner--we went out to Magaliesburg, an area of beautiful flat-topped mountains, rolling fields, rivers. The countryside of South Africa is stunning and diverse--I hope to see more of it. We were driving along and I was thinking that the scenery reminded me a bit of Northern CA, and then a huge baboon came out of the bushes on the side of the road, and we passed an antelope crossing sign...no, I'm definitely in Africa. This area is also called the "cradle of humankind", because human life essentially began here. We all come from these hills in one way or another...back in Joburg, Eric lent me a number of books, including one that presents an analysis of why South Africa is so violent...I have almost finished reading it. I'm fascinated, given that the US has its share of problems with violence. Of course, it's extremely complex. I remember the first day at Themba when I told some staff members that the US locks up more people than any other country...they were surprised. Most people are...the author of this book refuses to pin violence to poverty, rather he ties it to inequity, along with the legacy of racism, the tearing apart of the fabric of family and community, etc, etc. Sound familiar?

Today I visited the Apartheid Museum--definitely a worthwhile trip...also an extremely complex situation--just as the Holocaust didn't arise in a vacuum, neither did Apartheid (this is not to compare two very different things, but to consider the historical and cultural contexts surrounding two horrible things that happened during the 20th Century). And the dynamics between the English and the Afrikaners, the ratcheting up of increasingly oppressive laws when the existing laws didn't achieve the Apartheid government's goals, and the numerous resistance groups, including many multi-ethnic movements...on my way home in a taxi the driver told me that he grew up in Soweto, and stopped going to school in 1976. The year that the student protests happened--so I asked him if that was why...I have been told by multiple people that it is okay to ask such questions, that people want to talk about it, that it's important for them to share with the rest of the world so that we all understand. He replied that he had to leap over a six foot fence to keep from being shot by the police. And there you have it. It is so recent, everywhere you go there are people who have lived it.

A new play for Themba

Yesterday I we started work on a new play about homophobia. We did a lot of work discussing issues related to homophobia, exploring our own personal beliefs, and creating characters that represent diverse points of view around the issues...what was remarkable to me was that the issues here are not that different. It boils down to cultural beliefs and how people view culture...does it stay the same or does it evolve? The artists at Themba are extremely open to deep discussion about this subject, and several identify as LGBT, thus breaking the stereotype that many people hold that being gay is "a European white thing". I am so excited to be part of this process from the beginning...also had lunch with a Themba board member and learned more about the organization's history and values. It really is a model in many ways--I have much to learn from them about structures as well as content.

Today I am taking a tour of areas around Joburg, thus having a chance to see the countryside which looks so beautiful on TV, but I haven't had seen it in person...

Making Theatre

I have just finished two days of workshops with the Themba team...it seems like they got a lot out of it. They are on the whole very strong actors and have a lot of good ideas, so it truly feels like an exchange, a group of colleagues working together...and most of them are quite a bit younger than me, it's very impressive. My creative wheels are spinning and the dialogue is getting deeper and richer...I already have many ideas for the work I want to do when I return to the US. And tomorrow I begin working with them to develop a brand new play about homophobia and HIV/AIDS. I am excited and honored to be here at the beginning of the process and will be even more excited when they finish and begin performing this play and I'll know that I was part of it. I also realize that every second here I have the privilege and opportunity to immerse myself in theatre, nothing but, nothing else, no other day to day things to worry about. It's truly a gift.

Speaking and Singing

Some more random notes from Joburg...first of all, this is a multilingual city. Everyone here speaks at least two languages. Signs are printed in English and Afrikaans, the two white languages, but the Africans switch between Zulu, Sesotho, Xhosa, sometimes Venda, often in the same sentence. At the jail yesterday the Themba actors and facilitators took responses to their questions and interventions for their play in at least four languages. It's incredible...of course English is the main language, but the facility with which people move between the others is amazing to me. I feel proud to at least be ahead of the American curve with two and a half languages...

The other thing that strikes me about Joburg is the birds. Sometimes it's easy to forget that I'm in Africa...Joburg generally looks like your average run down, fading middle american city, it's just bigger, but then you turn a corner and there are the birds...the kind you'd think to see on a safari, brightly colored or with curved, spooned beaks, pecking at the grass in front of the university, or the weaver birds that have made their teardrop shaped nests in the trees at my guest house. Previous to this I've only seen them in National Geographic and now here they are literally in my back yard.

I taught my first workshop at Themba today--they are a smart group and we got into sophisticated work very quickly...I used some exercises I learned from FoolsFury and Michael Rohd, thanks to you both! All of this to prove that theater artists are connected in a web, across the globe...

Tsotsis and Share taxis...and a new handshake

On my second day at Themba I went with them to the Johannesburg correctional facility, e.g. jail--they kept asking me if I was okay and not freaked out and I reminded them that I'd been in jails in the US already and that we are the premier nation of incarceration...Themba performed their play in two units, and it was very well received. The men asked lots of questions and intervened in the play. They are just like the men I meet in SF County Jail, honestly, we just have spiffier facilities in San Francisco. I have already been invited to dinner by Themba's board and to Soweto this weekend with several women on staff who live there...they have been so very nice to me, as has everyone in Africa, again and again. This afternoon I experienced my first combi ride, along with Tsepho from Themba--there is no way I would have done it alone...combis are beat up minibusses with no markings as to their route and they leave when packed with people. People get on and off when they want. A true African experience. Tomorrow I teach a workshop, and am hoping that I'll be able to share something valuable...

Themba

So I started my work with Themba today and feel so much better. It's really a great organization--they have created a number of interactive plays based on forum theater techniques, psychodrama, sociodrama, etc about HIV issues that they perform in schools and correctional centers (e.g. jails). I'm going to a jail tomorrow with them to see them perform...I watched a rehearsal today and was so impressed by how they integrate the interactive components and different theatrical styles and reflection and dialogue. And I am excited in turn to support them in using more TO techniques, more gestural work, etc. They also provide interactive training to companies and community based orgs, so I'll go with them to some trainings and provide feedback. Their structure seems really solid--they hire youth as peer educators and then promote them up through the ranks and into managerial positions. The organization was founded by two British women who have now stepped out, and it is run by South Africans, although it receives funding from a lot of Europeans sources, including the Elton John AIDS Foundation...there is a pic of him on the wall with the Themba team...I am also going to work with them on developing a play specifically addressing homophobia, which will be very interesting. I have already had some discussions about this with various folks there--there is much more openness here than in West Africa, but still lots of prejudice...we'll see how that develops. My favorite moment today was sitting in on a training staff meeting where they were discussing program logistics and had a lengthy conversation about how to ensure that they had enough penises to keep at the office and then take to their sites...I mean practice penises to demonstrate proper condom use but they kept saying, "well there's a box of penises in the closet", "but are there enough penises to take to the center tomorrow?" "I think we need to go out and get a few more penises"...but the thing is you have to be completely frank about sex to teach people about safe practices and thus lower the rate of infection here, it's imperative. So tomorrow me, a team of actors, and some penises will be going into the jail. Wish me luck!

Culture Shock

So I expected this to happen when I returned to the States, not when I arrived here. I am realizing that I understand so little of what happened here...centuries of work to create a European mini-state here in Africa. I am trying so hard to reserve judgement and I know that things will change when I begin my work with Themba tomorrow, so I will restrain myself, but my first impression is not great. The place I'm staying in is very nice, though, and I'm finally starting to eat and sleep normally despite being told some horror stories by a drunken Afrikaaner last night about tsotsis breaking into people's houses....buildings here are encircled by high walls, razor wire. I know that some people find this analysis simplistic, but when you feel the need to build walls between people there is a great injustice happening. I spent much of my time at the Accra airport reading a memoir written by a black South African who grew up in a township near Joburg; I thought I knew about the realities of apartheid but I was too young I think to grasp it as fully as I can now. It's horrifying, and it will take years and years to undo, because it is the belief system that will take the longest to dismantle. And then who am I to say, coming from the United States--we didn't take over the land from Africans but we brought them here as property as we took the land from the people living here. Not much better. Last night someone told me that I should visit the Apartheid museum because he said, quite sarcastically, "you know we're all bad, bad people, and the only way that our image will improve is if we put up monuments to show how bad we were and how sorry we are." I was disgusted but kept quiet because I need to know more before I speak up.

So there you have it. Much, much more to come.

Leaving Burkina

The festival ended last night, and early this morning I left...the city disappeared quickly into the red dust, which still covers my clothes and hair and nails and is lodged in my nose and throat. For the last four or five days I have had problems with my voice, which is a challenge given that I need to talk a lot. The workshop ended well with a presentation which I think was very successful--the participants certainly seemed proud and they have told me that they learned a lot. The friendships that I've made during this festival have affected me profoundly--when you spend so much time with people and have a passion in common it facilitates things. During the after party last night one of the workshop participants was asking me if there are regional community theater troupes in the US that travel around performing shows about social issues. I said, well, there are a few but not too many. Why is that? Being around hundreds of people who believe, as I do, that theater is a critical key to affecting personal and social change, I can't quite figure out why it's still on the margins in the US.

I'm now at the Accra airport trying to kill many many hours before my flight to Johannesberg...I'm too tired to try to figure how to store my luggage and go into Accra--it's big and polluted. So we'll see how many activities I can come up with in a 10 hour time span, yes, 10 hours. Thankfully I have nothing to do tomorrow but to start planning my workshops for Themba and sit by the pool. I feel like I'm back on the roller coaster--after arriving in Ouaga and feeling so lost, and then feeling so found, now I'm lost again and Joberg is a whole different story. But I am excited about my work there and hopeful that this part of the trip will yield as much discovery as the last.

Taking Tea

I have now learned the More word for white person and when I walk down the street its Nasara, Nasara...the little kids yell it out...some of them come up and take my hand...this weekend I stayed up late one night discussing politics and the reasons why I dont yet have a number of children with some friends...I am asked do you have children and when I reply no the next question is always but why?? I also attempted to explain the concept of Ms. to someone and the response was tu est vraiment une femme trop moderne...I visited the center of Ouaga on Sunday, going very slowly because it was probably 95 degrees, bought some beautiful fabric...the fabrics here are stunning...everywhere I see women in colorful prints with babies strapped to their backs. The fabric is also topical...the newest prints celebrate international womens day. Speaking of, I have seen some interesting plays about womens rights including one that featured chickens and ducks doing African dance, and the little Forum Theatre scene that we have created in the workshop, which is about a father that promises his 14 year old daughter to a rich businessman to whom he owes money for sacks of corn. There has been a lot of dispute about how much the father owes...the participants want to show how poor the father is so we arrived at about $20. I showed the participants how I joke a forum play, I know that this makes no sense to non theatre people but it involves very quick thinking and improvisation and I was terrified to do it in French but I think it worked...I hope that people are learning, I think they have gotten a lot from it. I certainly have. I saw another play produced by an organization in Togo who works with street children...the piece they created was an exceptional work of storytelling and physical theater. That, in my opinion, is truly theatre for development.

A couple of days ago I went to the artist's housing to have tea with two guys from a Nigerien--not to be confused with Nigerian--theatre company...it's a long process that includes swinging a basket/stove with wood charcoal around and pouring it again and again from great heights...the tea itself is strong and bitter, but I liked it which is apparently unusual for a blanche. As we drank the group grew to the point that some guys from Cote D'Ivoire pulled out their drums and a cultural exhange of song and dance commenced. I am learning to distinguish different styles of dance, all of which are absolutely amazing to watch. I tried a little bit and like a typical whitey I don't move my back very much, nor could I offer an engaging American song and dance.

The workshop finished yesterday and we did our presentation this evening. I think it went really well, and the participants felt good about it. We showed our scene and did some interventions, I was the joker along with Alfonse from Chad, who is a really smart guy and is catching on very quickly. Tomorrow the festival ends and Friday morning I head to Ghan

A few pictures...

Atelier Theatre Burkinabe and their forum theatre piece, including song and dance about the rules and form of Forum...

...and the local kids like it as well...

Also a photo of a play from Chad depicting the partition of Africa in 1945 by Europe using puppets and dividing up the continent as pieces of foam core...was a very effective way of doing it I thought. Several of the people in this company are in my workshop...more pics to come when I figure out the technology...

First three Days

There are many things that I love about the African people i have met so far. The first is that they sing a lot...there's always reason for a song, and the song is always participatory. Every morning we take a bus to the stadium where the workshops are held and there are drums being played, rhythms being created. This afternoon returning to the Atelier Theatre Burkinabe the song was about how we were all hungry but waiting for the last stragglers to get on the bus. Then it was about the group of people from Chad who were late. Then it was about the possible lunch menus. We kicked off the workshops on Tuesday with a huge circle in the parking lot, once again singing. The other thing is that people greet you everywhere, regardless if they know you or not. The Burkinabe handshake consists of at least five gestures. I was sitting alone late last night trying to finish dinner (which is primarily a grain like rice or couscous, sauce, cooked vegetables, and either a fish head or shish kebabs--not much to write home about but I have not gotten sick--that's a plus) and two men walked by me and said Bon Apetit. You just don't walk by someone without a smile or greeting. I see lack of development and poverty, but I do not see sadness or despair. What I do see is pride--pride of nationality, pride of tribe, sense of self and community. I know that life is much more difficult in the villages, and it would be good for me to see that, but here in Ouaga this is what I observe.

My workshop co-facilitator is Jean-Guillaume, the director's brother, one of many. The workshop participants come from Niger, Chad, Burkina, Cote D'Ivoire, the US and Canada. Many things have surprised me--the fact that I have been able to lead the workshop in French first, now I know I have a language that I will never loose...I wouldnt be here without it so I am grateful. The other thing is that theater has the power to bring us together in a profound way. I feel like crying after each workshop, I am so moved. We create scenes together, we discuss social issues, and this sounds silly but it's incredible to realize that we fight the same fights across social class, culture and nationality. Me from the richest nation on earth trying to explain why there are poor people in the US--the response is, ça n'a aucune sense. Several days ago I saw a Forum Theatre piece about GMOs--the decision to plant GMO crops or not divides a family, audience members intervene, a farmer from rural Burkina explains to the audience why its critical to not poison the earth with these crops and become a slave to Multinational corporations. They know better--I wish more people in the US understood that...the Forum Theater pieces are presented free for the public, and the public comes...crowds of children, women with baskets of fruit on their heads, hundreds every night. ATB itself is a complex with two theater spaces, an open air restaurant and bar, and we all eat, drink, watch plays, and hang out there.

I have left my crappy hotel for a simpler, cheaper place, but people I know are there and it's clean...I still woke up in the middle of the night however because now Im next to a mosque and according to them the sunrise call to prayer is at 4:30 am.

Guillaume has been very helpful and has showed me so much--I met his 76 year old mother who only speaks Moré, sitting on the porch with her friend, I met his friend who have an open air art gallery and his friend who makes carvings and recycled sculpture. He told me about Tomas Sankara, the Burkinabe Che Guevara, we discussed how all true revolutionaries eventually get killed. Guillaume also helped expedite the process of getting my visa, which would have taken a lot more time if I hadnt bribed the immigration officers. I witnessed a French girl try to pick hers up--the officer told her to come back Sunday, and she protested that she was leaving Saturday--the officer repeated, you come back Sunday and the girl started to cry and then her mother jumped in and started yelling...at a cafe afterwards Guillaume and I talked about this situation--how it doesn't really work to piss off immigration officers, especially if you are not in your own country and especially if it is a former French colony and you are faced with an African who now holds the power in this situation.

Enfin, bon. I cant post pictures yet because I can't find an internet cafe (here they call them a Cyber) with a computer with a USB port but I will do my best in the coming days. More to come...

Theater in Ouaga

Ghana is humid and steaming hot, in Burkina there is dust. Lots of it, so much that as we landed I couldn't see the ground. Hills of sand, scrubby bushes, clusters of brick houses...the streets are mostly fine red dust that goes everywhere and the wind blows all the time. The thing is, I've never seen anything quite like it...scooters and bicycles, donkeys, and lots of people. And the people are probably the nicest I've ever met travelling.

The Festival of Theater in Development is a huge affair...groups from all over West Africa, some from France, I've already met people from Chad, Niger, and many from Burkina. The workshop that I'm teaching is probably the most rewarding I've ever taught. More specifics later...

How I got to Ouagadougou

...so my plans to travel from Ghana changed completely. I got to the airport and my flight had already left. So I changed my plans because that is what one does. I satyed in Accra for two nights instead of one and stayed at Coco Beach, which was stunning...I got there early in the morning and the beach was filled with boys kicking soccer balls, women carrying food on their heads, people jogging, and huge wooden fishing boats. I took a walk on the beach and met a Ghanaian man, Bernard, who taught me how to play owere, which is like a game I had as a child...he let me win. I forgot how easily one meets people when in a different environment. That night Bernard and his friend and I went out in Osu, which is the happening part of Accra, and talked about politics, music, just about everything...on the ride back to the airport the next morning I saw extreme contrasts, people living in makeshift houses, goats and chickens in the street, and then huge mansions closer to town. I crossed paths with Bush at the airport, there were mixed reactions to him coming...Tuesday I bought a ticket directly to Ouagadougou, no problems, paid in cash.

Passing Through Continents

Everything is very neat and clean at Schipol Airport--it's even quiet, those innovative Dutch have probably have engineered some way to ensure that the buildings feel calm. I have an appreciation for that sense of order, which I'm sure I won't encounter as much when I reach Africa...it's strange to pass through Europe, only see it from the windows, in a few hours it'll be behind me as well. That's when I cross out of what I know.

More Information about Burkina...

Check out this link: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Burkina_Faso

Where in the world is Burkina Faso?

I have to admit that I didn't know either until I started researching theater companies in Africa...for years I have been going onto the International Theatre of the Oppressed "Yellow Pages", (www.theatreoftheoppressed.org/en/index.php?nodeID=2) which is a listing of groups all over the world who use interactive theater techniques to address social issues. I believe to my core that theater is elemental, that it holds the power for us to realize our potential as human beings. And I've wanted to experience firsthand people in communities and cultures different from my own who hold the same beliefs. So now is my time to do that in a continent I've never had the opportunity to travel to.

On Saturday I'm leaving San Francisco to travel to Ouagadougou, the capital of Burkina Faso, for the International Festival for Theater in Development, hosted by Atelier Theatre Burkinabe. More on this to follow in a few days...