After four days in Seattle, I am enjoying the city. Of course, it would be hard not to seeing as the weather is glorious (in the 70s with sunshine all day and breezy) and I spent my first three days at an arts festival. What's not to love?!
Though my internship does not start until next week, I specifically bought my plane ticket a week early so that I could experience Bumbershoot, the annual three-day music and arts festival held at the Seattle Center. I'd say about half the festival acts were music-related, while the other half were a combination of comedy, theater, dance, film, with only a scattering of visual arts. I'm still not up to date on my indie/garage/grunge/rock/obscure Seattle music because instead of concerts I went to every dance or theater related event except 2 (that I would have attended except they overlapped with other things)! On Saturday I essentially lived in the Puget Sound Theatre, leaving one performance and circling around the building to immediately get in line for the next show! I saw a lot of wonderful local talent, as well as some great guest artists. The highlights:
Trey McIntyre Project
This was the first show I attended at the festival and it remains one of my favorites. The Boise-based, modern dance company performed two pieces: "Oh, Inverted World" set to the music of The Shins and "Sweeter End" with music by New Orleans' Preservation Hall Jazz Band. I enjoyed the visual flow and acrobatic interactions of the first piece, but much preferred Sweeter End's edgy, hip spin on jazz and swing movement. At the beginning of the piece, one dancer sprays a graffiti X on her fellow dancers' collective backs as if they were a wall. Or a door. It is the X of post-Katrina, indicating a house had been searched by rescuers. And yet while Katrina was a palpable presence, the piece focused on the undying life and energy of New Orleans.
Seattle's Spectrum Dance
When the first piece (set to M.I.A.) is a parody of both classical ballet and contemporary hip-hop that features a big black male dancer in wig and a tutu, you know it's going to be a good show! After that, I was privileged to be part of Saturday's beautiful world premiere of "Euclidean Space." Set to electronic music of Amon Tobin, the abstract piece explored space, architecture and movement. The physical prowess of the dancers was stunning; I could see the strain of their muscles as they executed highly physical, weight-sharing choreography. And yet it was graceful.
The Gregory Brothers
Otherwise known as the "Autotune the News guys," the Gregory Brothers were a hoot, performing live while their video footage was simultaneously streamed. I enjoyed the musicality of the group; while they might be best-known for their work with autotune, they are great musicians underneath it. While classic hits like "Back It Up" and "Rent: Too Damn High" were amusing, I was a bit disappointed that "Bed Intruder Song" did not make the set-list. However, listening to the older couple behind me that had never heard of the Gregory Brothers (or autotune) commentate made up for it!
Bit(e), tear, gnaw, GULP
"Welcome to the theater--please turn your cell phone ON." I had experienced a smartphone-interactive piece at Missouri State University (when I didn't have a smartphone), so I was excited to participate in this non-traditional, multi-discipline artistic performance. A combination of technology, performance, music, dance, and audience engagement via texts and twitter, this performance made my brain hurt a bit. Should I watch the person at the keyboard? Or the couple doing a movement piece? Should I watch the video on the big screen of someone backstage Skyping with the third actor onstage? What about the two small screens on each side of the big screen? What about the screen on my phone? Should I listen to the music, or the Skype conversation, or the audible voice of the stage manager calling cues? It was disorienting, and yet that sensation paralleled the message: who are we in a digital world and how do we interact? I found it interesting because that is the same topic that Barestage (at MSU) is addressing this year- maybe I should put the two groups in touch...
Around the World in 50 Minutes
I knew nothing about this film event, except that it was four short films from around the world. Imagine my delight when the second film starts and they are speaking Afrikaans! "The Abyss Boys" is about a young man who works at a fish plant who is trying to save his younger brother from getting involved with the lucrative fish poaching business run in the township. Throughout the film, I kept thinking the location looked familiar -- was it Hout Bay? -- but most townships look similar so I wasn't sure. But one shot of the hills behind the fishery near dusk confirmed it- there's something about that bay at sunset that is unique. It's a beautiful film and after I wipe away my tears during the credits, the third film starts and they are speaking Chinese!
Rory Scovel and Freestyle Love Supreme
I went primarily to hear Freestyle Love Supreme, but was pleasantly surprised by Rory Scovel. The dry nerdy comedian had the audience simultaneously laughing and shaking our heads in disbelief at why this was funny. Religion, abortion ("I'm pro-abortion because some of those babies might have grown up to become abortion doctors and I just don't support that kind of thing...if you were offended by that joke, it's because you didn't understand it"), famine--nothing was off limits.
Freestyle Love Supreme stole the show, though! The hip-hop improv group from the creators of the musical "In the Heights" is one of the smartest, quickest-witted groups I've ever seen. No Lin-Manuel Miranda (he's filming a movie somewhere), but the other five performers were astounding. With one guy on piano, one beat-boxing, two rapping, and one singing, they turned suggestions from the audience into lightning quick musical numbers and hilarity. One suggestion of the verb "gallivanting" became a whole song and a reoccurring gag throughout the rest of the show, "snugglies" inspired a ballad, and the reinterpretation of one audience member's day was beyond brilliant! It's impossible to even describe or attempt to recount any of their magic because it wouldn't do them justice. Just brilliant. Go see them!
So there's Bumbershoot in a nutshell. Three days of great art and beautiful weather made for one good Labor Day weekend.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Friday, September 2, 2011
Cannonball
I have a t-shirt emblazoned with "Listen to your heart" on the front and "Follow your passion. JUMP. JUMP." on the back. As I head to Kansas City in preparation for moving to Seattle, the phrase seems apt, especially the all-caps JUMP.
It feels like standing on the high dive and peeking over the edge at the blue water far below. The first time I attempted the high dive at Oakland Pool as a child, I was so overwhelmed that I carefully climbed back down the excruatingly tall ladder. Afterwards my mother gave me a talking-to: aborting my dive not only wasted other people's time but also my own. I could only attempt again if I was certain I could challenge my fear with courage. Standing at the edge for the second time, I gave myself a mental pep talk, pinched my nose, squeezed my eyes shut and launched myself into the air. I surfaced smiling.
I'm not worried that I won't enjoy Seattle. My season-long internship at Seattle Repertory Theatre promises to be wonderful and I have great roommatess, a house in a charming neighborhood, and an abundance of enthusiasm to bolster me. Moreover, I am confident in my ability to work at a professional level. What makes me apprehensive is taking the plunge into adulthood.
How did adulthood creep up so quietly? Was it hiding when I left for college, turned 21, or travelled halfway around the world? Where was it when I received my diploma? All I know is it appeared when I bought a one-way plane ticket and lingered as I found and was approved for an apartment without my parents as co-signers, set up new bank accounts on my own, signed a contract, and bought a professional wardrobe. Each step brought me closer to the precipice until I stand now with my toes gripping the rough edge. If I think about it too much my stomache whirls and my chest tightens. How much safer it would be to stay in Springfield or Columbia, and remain a big fish in a small pond...except the deep expanse sparkles alluringly and I am determined to succeed- as an independent adult.
So tomorrow when it is time to board the plane I will give myself a pep talk, open my eyes and leap.
Listen to your heart, follow your passion, and JUMP, JUMP.
It feels like standing on the high dive and peeking over the edge at the blue water far below. The first time I attempted the high dive at Oakland Pool as a child, I was so overwhelmed that I carefully climbed back down the excruatingly tall ladder. Afterwards my mother gave me a talking-to: aborting my dive not only wasted other people's time but also my own. I could only attempt again if I was certain I could challenge my fear with courage. Standing at the edge for the second time, I gave myself a mental pep talk, pinched my nose, squeezed my eyes shut and launched myself into the air. I surfaced smiling.
I'm not worried that I won't enjoy Seattle. My season-long internship at Seattle Repertory Theatre promises to be wonderful and I have great roommatess, a house in a charming neighborhood, and an abundance of enthusiasm to bolster me. Moreover, I am confident in my ability to work at a professional level. What makes me apprehensive is taking the plunge into adulthood.
How did adulthood creep up so quietly? Was it hiding when I left for college, turned 21, or travelled halfway around the world? Where was it when I received my diploma? All I know is it appeared when I bought a one-way plane ticket and lingered as I found and was approved for an apartment without my parents as co-signers, set up new bank accounts on my own, signed a contract, and bought a professional wardrobe. Each step brought me closer to the precipice until I stand now with my toes gripping the rough edge. If I think about it too much my stomache whirls and my chest tightens. How much safer it would be to stay in Springfield or Columbia, and remain a big fish in a small pond...except the deep expanse sparkles alluringly and I am determined to succeed- as an independent adult.
So tomorrow when it is time to board the plane I will give myself a pep talk, open my eyes and leap.
Listen to your heart, follow your passion, and JUMP, JUMP.
Friday, June 24, 2011
What's for dessert?
After dinner
Estelle: Do you want your pudding now?
Me: We have pudding?
Estelle: Yes. Brownies.
Me: That's not pudding.
Estelle: It's not? What is it?
Me: Brownies.
Everyone around me giggles.
Me: What am I missing?
New vocab for the day:
Pudding=dessert.
Estelle: Do you want your pudding now?
Me: We have pudding?
Estelle: Yes. Brownies.
Me: That's not pudding.
Estelle: It's not? What is it?
Me: Brownies.
Everyone around me giggles.
Me: What am I missing?
New vocab for the day:
Pudding=dessert.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Balkanology
Balkanology…how to describe Balkanology? Eastern European Themed Party. In Cape Town. In a circus tent. With lots of hippies. Drunk hippies. And accordions. In other words, a raucous good time!
I really had no idea what Stacey was talking to me when she asked if I wanted to go to an Eastern European culture festival with her. To be frank, it was less of a festival than a straight-up party, but that’s all right. I’d said I would go so we bought tickets in advance and then raided Stacey’s closet for funky, brightly-colored bohemian clothing. Apparently, anything goes at Balkanology.
We arrived at the tent to see lots of people in belly dance beads, tie-die and varying types of costumes. It was after 10:30 but the party was just heating up. Sounds of tubas and accordions spilled out of the tent and into the surrounding small tents that had been set up to host the alcohol sales. To add to the craziness, the theme of the night was Greek Mythology so large groups of people ran around in togas AND Stacey knew most of the people there from AfricaBurns (their version of Burning Man) so I kept getting introduced to people whose names I couldn’t hear over the music AND it was the night of a lunar eclipse so all the random crazies were in awe (at least when the clouds would clear for a few seconds at a time). “Woah. That’s not just me, right? I’m not that drunk. Yet,” was heard, followed by “Ek veet nie, ons is baie drunk.” (I don’t know, we are very drunk.) Also heard? “The moon goddess is retreating.”
Inside the tent, people rocked out to authentic Eastern European bands, though I didn’t catch what specific countries they were from. I didn’t quite know how to dance to the um-pah, um-pah beat, but no one else did either, so we all just sort of bopped up and down in place or formed groups and swung people around. It got rowdier as the night went on and more people crowded into the tent; eventually I experienced my first ever mosh-pit to polka music!
The verdict upon returning home at 3ish? Never boring, often hilarious, and very, very fun. If you’re ever in Cape Town and get invited to Balkanology, go! It’ll be an experience. :)
I really had no idea what Stacey was talking to me when she asked if I wanted to go to an Eastern European culture festival with her. To be frank, it was less of a festival than a straight-up party, but that’s all right. I’d said I would go so we bought tickets in advance and then raided Stacey’s closet for funky, brightly-colored bohemian clothing. Apparently, anything goes at Balkanology.
We arrived at the tent to see lots of people in belly dance beads, tie-die and varying types of costumes. It was after 10:30 but the party was just heating up. Sounds of tubas and accordions spilled out of the tent and into the surrounding small tents that had been set up to host the alcohol sales. To add to the craziness, the theme of the night was Greek Mythology so large groups of people ran around in togas AND Stacey knew most of the people there from AfricaBurns (their version of Burning Man) so I kept getting introduced to people whose names I couldn’t hear over the music AND it was the night of a lunar eclipse so all the random crazies were in awe (at least when the clouds would clear for a few seconds at a time). “Woah. That’s not just me, right? I’m not that drunk. Yet,” was heard, followed by “Ek veet nie, ons is baie drunk.” (I don’t know, we are very drunk.) Also heard? “The moon goddess is retreating.”
Inside the tent, people rocked out to authentic Eastern European bands, though I didn’t catch what specific countries they were from. I didn’t quite know how to dance to the um-pah, um-pah beat, but no one else did either, so we all just sort of bopped up and down in place or formed groups and swung people around. It got rowdier as the night went on and more people crowded into the tent; eventually I experienced my first ever mosh-pit to polka music!
The verdict upon returning home at 3ish? Never boring, often hilarious, and very, very fun. If you’re ever in Cape Town and get invited to Balkanology, go! It’ll be an experience. :)
Going Back to Preschool (Playdough included)
My friend Shelby lives in Hout Bay and runs All Out Africa, an organization that places volunteers from all over the world with various organizations that need aid. While staying with her for a few days, I had the opportunity to help out at one of her placement sites, Noluthando Day Care in the local township. Tuesday morning I headed off in a “cockroach” (local transport system; it just needs four wheels and an engine—doors not required on all vehicles) with Lucy, a volunteer from England who was in her third of four weeks teaching. The goal of the morning was to teach 10 children aged 4-5 the seasons. Easier said than done.
Noluthando has approximately 22 children on a daily basis. They are usually divided into two age groups, the 4-5 year olds and the 2-3 year olds. All the children at the Day Care operate in Xhosa and know very little if any English, although most of the older children can identify volunteers as “teacher” (screaming this numerous times to get your attention), say “How are you?” (but get confused if you answer anything except “fine”) and ask “toilet?” When these children enter the school system in a year or two, they will be taught in English. Day Care is the first step for them to develop language skills and thus ensure that they do not fall behind; native-English speaking volunteers are essential to this process.
I have a little experience teaching English as a second language: I regularly tutored Xhosa-speaking 6th graders during my semester in South Africa, while in China I taught Basic English classes for 4-5 year olds, 7-9 year olds and Conversational English to college students. What I learned is that a teaching assistant fluent in the students’ language is extremely beneficial, especially when students are extremely young. Receiving bilingual instruction allows students to make the mental connections needed to comprehend vocabulary and thus process ideas. After all, it is no good to stand in a neutral state and say “Be quiet” over and over again; the children will have no idea what this means. Now, putting one fingers to your lips and “shushing” will help get the point across (It should be noted that I found myself using sign language and exaggerated body language throughout the morning), but pairing “Be quiet” with “Thula” will leave no doubt.
Unfortunately, the teachers at Noluthando treat the arrival of a volunteer as a holiday and are not present in the classroom, let alone participate. To complicate matters, Lucy knows no Xhosa. So if the students become exceptionally rowdy, she can ask for help calming them down, but otherwise she is on her own while the teachers jointly share the younger children. Lucy did her best with the circumstances and attempted to accomplish her daily lesson plan, but throughout the morning I continually found myself frustrated, sure that the distraction plaguing the children originated in language confusion that could easily have been cleared up by the presence of the teachers.
The day’s lesson on seasons was apparently a standard day, in which not much was accomplished and few students seemed to understand the ideas being presented to them: namely that “summer, fall, winter, spring” (which they could all rattle off in that order) are four separate ideas, related to weather. Lucy had created four worksheets for the children, each with the name of a season in large bubble letters, the name in dotted lines for the kids to trace, and several small images related to the season. Everyone seemed to enjoy coloring and actually shared their crayons quite well. Apparently, Lucy has been training them with “take one” for the past several weeks; if someone hogs all the crayons, the other students admonish him or her with “take one.” However, they are far from able to read and Lucy’s efforts to get the children to identify which season was which by the words were met with blank stares or “summer, fall, winter, spring.” I tried a different tactic, asking students to identify specific letters within the words. However, while some could tell me f, a, l, l, they just looked at me when I sounded out the individual letters. It seems that while the ABC song has been taught, the sounds of individual letters have not.
Lucy and I were brainstorming, trying to come up with ideas of how to explain that these seasons are four distinct things, instead of one lump term. I suggested that we hang sample worksheets on the wall in the order that they know, pointing to each in turn as they recited their phrase. Then, I hoped, we could say them out of order. After lots of coaching, a few seemed to grasp the concept of difference but still needed to rotate through all the seasons until we affirmed the correct answer. For further entertainment, I spaced the worksheets around the classroom and asked the students to run (“baleka”) to each sign as we called it out. After an entertaining example where Lucy called seasons and I exaggeratedly ran around the run, the children joined in, screaming all the while. The few students who grasped the lesson took charge, running towards signs and the rest wandered lost until I joined the crowd and mother-duck-like herded them with me a sign, which I then read and asked them to repeat with me. “Spring. Say it with me, Spring. Spring. Spring.” Essentially, organized chaos. However, Lucy was careful to reward positive behavior, utilizing her new star-chart that she created after watching teachers beat the students for misbehaving. She is trying to change the teaching practice, but I doubt it will be effective as the teachers are not around to see the star-chart in action and have the students from 7am-5 pm while Lucy is only there from 9-12.
After that disorderly but energetic activity, Lucy and I agreed that it was best if we left being educational for another day so we brought out Playdough that had recently been donated to the school. Like most small children, they all wanted to 1) taste it and 2) mash the colors together to make a lovely brown. I tried to demonstrate different things you could do with it: shaping it into a ball, rolling it into a string, turning that string into a bracelet. I felt like such a trendsetter as everything I did was imitated by the three girls at my very squat preschool table. The snake was especially popular, as were small flowers. I was excited to see that by the end the kids were making sculptures that I hadn’t demonstrated or choosing whatever sculpture had most appealed to them over the course of the session; imagination had been unlocked, they only needed to know that they could apply it to PlayDough!
Then it was time for an hour recess. Lucy and I supervised while the boys (and a few girls) organized a version of keep away with a soccer ball and most of the girls amused themselves with some sort of large wire hanger. At one point, the goal was to see how many people could fit into the hanger and walk together. Playing with my hair and appropriating my sunglasses were also regular activities. Apparently, the children had not been allowed to go outside during recess until Lucy arrived as the regular teachers did not enjoy going outside with them in the “cold.” I use quotations partly because I personally consider South African winter to be mild, but also because on this day all the kids shed their long sleeves and ran around in t-shirts. Hopefully after Lucy leaves the teachers will be more inclined to let the children work off their energy outside.
The morning left me reflective. How can these teachers receive more training? How can we get proper teaching and training materials into the classroom? What tools do English-speaking volunteers need to operate effectively? How could volunteers and teachers work more closely together? What about fun activities requiring materials—dress up, puppet shows, art corner, playground equipment—that are generally common in American preschools and yet so alien to children whose parents worry about what they will eat that day?
I know that All Out Africa is asking all of these questions and hopes to make significant changes over time, so I am not worried about Noluthando in particular. In fact, Lucy, Shelby and I spent Tuesday afternoon and most of Wednesday changing the younger kids’ bare white classroom into a multi-colored extravaganza complete with alphabet, days of the weeks, numbers, mural, etc. because we wanted Noluthando to stimulate the childrens’ imagination and serve as a teaching tool. However, I worry for schooling in townships across the country, especially Black townships. There are many who hope that this is the generation that will be well-educated, the generation that will break the uneducated and poor cycle, the generation that will rise out of the townships. I hope this too. But education must begin early and it will work better if it is encouraged in the home, if there are literacy tools accessible, if teachers use creative means of interaction, if, if, if. I worry that quality materials (and teachers) are not available in sufficient quantity; South Africa is making progress but there is much still to be done, especially regarding education.
Noluthando has approximately 22 children on a daily basis. They are usually divided into two age groups, the 4-5 year olds and the 2-3 year olds. All the children at the Day Care operate in Xhosa and know very little if any English, although most of the older children can identify volunteers as “teacher” (screaming this numerous times to get your attention), say “How are you?” (but get confused if you answer anything except “fine”) and ask “toilet?” When these children enter the school system in a year or two, they will be taught in English. Day Care is the first step for them to develop language skills and thus ensure that they do not fall behind; native-English speaking volunteers are essential to this process.
I have a little experience teaching English as a second language: I regularly tutored Xhosa-speaking 6th graders during my semester in South Africa, while in China I taught Basic English classes for 4-5 year olds, 7-9 year olds and Conversational English to college students. What I learned is that a teaching assistant fluent in the students’ language is extremely beneficial, especially when students are extremely young. Receiving bilingual instruction allows students to make the mental connections needed to comprehend vocabulary and thus process ideas. After all, it is no good to stand in a neutral state and say “Be quiet” over and over again; the children will have no idea what this means. Now, putting one fingers to your lips and “shushing” will help get the point across (It should be noted that I found myself using sign language and exaggerated body language throughout the morning), but pairing “Be quiet” with “Thula” will leave no doubt.
Unfortunately, the teachers at Noluthando treat the arrival of a volunteer as a holiday and are not present in the classroom, let alone participate. To complicate matters, Lucy knows no Xhosa. So if the students become exceptionally rowdy, she can ask for help calming them down, but otherwise she is on her own while the teachers jointly share the younger children. Lucy did her best with the circumstances and attempted to accomplish her daily lesson plan, but throughout the morning I continually found myself frustrated, sure that the distraction plaguing the children originated in language confusion that could easily have been cleared up by the presence of the teachers.
The day’s lesson on seasons was apparently a standard day, in which not much was accomplished and few students seemed to understand the ideas being presented to them: namely that “summer, fall, winter, spring” (which they could all rattle off in that order) are four separate ideas, related to weather. Lucy had created four worksheets for the children, each with the name of a season in large bubble letters, the name in dotted lines for the kids to trace, and several small images related to the season. Everyone seemed to enjoy coloring and actually shared their crayons quite well. Apparently, Lucy has been training them with “take one” for the past several weeks; if someone hogs all the crayons, the other students admonish him or her with “take one.” However, they are far from able to read and Lucy’s efforts to get the children to identify which season was which by the words were met with blank stares or “summer, fall, winter, spring.” I tried a different tactic, asking students to identify specific letters within the words. However, while some could tell me f, a, l, l, they just looked at me when I sounded out the individual letters. It seems that while the ABC song has been taught, the sounds of individual letters have not.
Lucy and I were brainstorming, trying to come up with ideas of how to explain that these seasons are four distinct things, instead of one lump term. I suggested that we hang sample worksheets on the wall in the order that they know, pointing to each in turn as they recited their phrase. Then, I hoped, we could say them out of order. After lots of coaching, a few seemed to grasp the concept of difference but still needed to rotate through all the seasons until we affirmed the correct answer. For further entertainment, I spaced the worksheets around the classroom and asked the students to run (“baleka”) to each sign as we called it out. After an entertaining example where Lucy called seasons and I exaggeratedly ran around the run, the children joined in, screaming all the while. The few students who grasped the lesson took charge, running towards signs and the rest wandered lost until I joined the crowd and mother-duck-like herded them with me a sign, which I then read and asked them to repeat with me. “Spring. Say it with me, Spring. Spring. Spring.” Essentially, organized chaos. However, Lucy was careful to reward positive behavior, utilizing her new star-chart that she created after watching teachers beat the students for misbehaving. She is trying to change the teaching practice, but I doubt it will be effective as the teachers are not around to see the star-chart in action and have the students from 7am-5 pm while Lucy is only there from 9-12.
After that disorderly but energetic activity, Lucy and I agreed that it was best if we left being educational for another day so we brought out Playdough that had recently been donated to the school. Like most small children, they all wanted to 1) taste it and 2) mash the colors together to make a lovely brown. I tried to demonstrate different things you could do with it: shaping it into a ball, rolling it into a string, turning that string into a bracelet. I felt like such a trendsetter as everything I did was imitated by the three girls at my very squat preschool table. The snake was especially popular, as were small flowers. I was excited to see that by the end the kids were making sculptures that I hadn’t demonstrated or choosing whatever sculpture had most appealed to them over the course of the session; imagination had been unlocked, they only needed to know that they could apply it to PlayDough!
Then it was time for an hour recess. Lucy and I supervised while the boys (and a few girls) organized a version of keep away with a soccer ball and most of the girls amused themselves with some sort of large wire hanger. At one point, the goal was to see how many people could fit into the hanger and walk together. Playing with my hair and appropriating my sunglasses were also regular activities. Apparently, the children had not been allowed to go outside during recess until Lucy arrived as the regular teachers did not enjoy going outside with them in the “cold.” I use quotations partly because I personally consider South African winter to be mild, but also because on this day all the kids shed their long sleeves and ran around in t-shirts. Hopefully after Lucy leaves the teachers will be more inclined to let the children work off their energy outside.
The morning left me reflective. How can these teachers receive more training? How can we get proper teaching and training materials into the classroom? What tools do English-speaking volunteers need to operate effectively? How could volunteers and teachers work more closely together? What about fun activities requiring materials—dress up, puppet shows, art corner, playground equipment—that are generally common in American preschools and yet so alien to children whose parents worry about what they will eat that day?
I know that All Out Africa is asking all of these questions and hopes to make significant changes over time, so I am not worried about Noluthando in particular. In fact, Lucy, Shelby and I spent Tuesday afternoon and most of Wednesday changing the younger kids’ bare white classroom into a multi-colored extravaganza complete with alphabet, days of the weeks, numbers, mural, etc. because we wanted Noluthando to stimulate the childrens’ imagination and serve as a teaching tool. However, I worry for schooling in townships across the country, especially Black townships. There are many who hope that this is the generation that will be well-educated, the generation that will break the uneducated and poor cycle, the generation that will rise out of the townships. I hope this too. But education must begin early and it will work better if it is encouraged in the home, if there are literacy tools accessible, if teachers use creative means of interaction, if, if, if. I worry that quality materials (and teachers) are not available in sufficient quantity; South Africa is making progress but there is much still to be done, especially regarding education.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Stellenbosch and Paarl
Well, I’m back in Strand after spending a week travelling. Before that I basically spent a week in Stellenbosch. I’ll try to catch up over the next couple of days, sharing more of my thoughts instead of an itinerary. But for now, here’s the rundown…
I spent the week before last wandering around Stellenbosch while Estelle was in rehearsal for a physical theater piece. I got permission to sit in on a few rehearsals and was intrigued by watching a physical theater workshop in progress. I now have several pages of notes about my thoughts, musings on how what I saw linked to my own training, and ideas for workshops. I don’t know when I will have the chance to use this knowledge, but hopefully eventually something works out!
Stellenbosch is just the same as always—clean white Cape Dutch architecture in front of strong mountains jutting into the blue sky. There are lines of trees dressed in their finest autumn colors along Victoria Street. Java has the same menu and my favorite bookstore on Dorp Street is still run by the same woman. The mountains still turn dusky rose at golden hour, the hour before the sun sinks below the horizon.
I feel like I haven’t left, even though it’s been 2.5 years since I last graced the Red Square on campus. It is a little odd: I’d expected that I would want to spend a good amount of time revisiting my old haunts in Stellenbosch. I did a little of that, yes, but I don’t feel a need to go to places simply because I’ve been there before and have good memories of the place/event. I don’t have to go to Brazen Head to remember the nights out, or find the pottery shop I liked just to know that it is there. I much prefer to sit in a sidewalk café and drink tea, observing life around me and drinking in the sight of the mountains. Just being in the city is enough for me.
The highlight of the week was meeting up with Daniel and Jacques (along with Estelle and some of her friends) for nachos and drinks at Cubana. (Nachos at Cubana beat nachos at Spur any day--cottage cheese? Feta cheese? What?!--but were still a little strange because the chips were Doritos under all the toppings.) It was lovely to be able to catch up with old friends. Simply lovely. :)
Another notable excursion was nougat and champagne tasting at the nearby J.C. LeRoux sparkling wine cellar with Estelle. Three full glasses of champagne and two of sparkling wine later, along with their coordinating five nougats, I had quite the headache! It seems that nougat is not enough substance to temper the very generous ‘tasting’ portions. Thank goodness Estelle fared much better than I did and could drive us home!
Saturday the 11th, Estelle and I headed out to the Stellenbosch fresh food market. I remember going to the market during the semester I studied there; Josh, Drew and I walked forever and a day across the city to get there. Today, it has been moved to the Olde Libertas theater area and is about 4x as large. After sampling many varieties of pesto, cheese, chutney, etc, etc, I bought a schwarma and then was told I must buy a piece of German chocolate cake. The cake was too rich for me to eat more than a few bites, so I actually kept it in the car and worked on it throughout the day...it only melted a little.
Then it was off to nearby Paarl. (By the way, the ‘r’ is basically completely silent—just say “Paul” and you’ll be fine!) We started at the Afrikaans Language Monument, located at the top of the highest hill in town. It’s quite a large statue with many symbolic elements: 4 pillar-like-things to represent the European language influences (Dutch, German, French, English), 3 sphere-like-things for the African influences (isiXhosa, isiZulu, seSotho), 1 block-like-things for the Asian influences, 1 tall spire to show the growth of Afrikaans as a language and a smaller spire for the RSA. For all of the beautiful meaning behind it, the monument is also known as a climbing apparatus that offers great views!
Paarl is known for having the longest Main Street in South Africa (12 km) and a variety of architecture styles, along with numerous churches. We even stopped for a drink at the oldest pub in South Africa! With a rambunctious live band entertaining a large crowd at 3 in the afternoon, it seemed to be doing quite well for itself. Estelle and I then spent some time on an architecture walk, admiring the intricate styles and picking our favorite places. There were two quaint houses for sale right next to each other—I think we should become neighbors...
Sunday was Estelle’s grandmother’s birthday, so the extended family went out for lunch in Durbanville (close to Cape Town). Cattle Baron, a steakhouse, offered a nice buffet that included what was essentially brisket. Estelle was quite excited to learn this, since she’d heard of brisket in books but never really knew what it meant. I got to meet even more of Estelle’s extended family, as well as see all the members I was familiar with. As usual, everyone was extremely welcoming and made me feel like part of the family.
More to come soon, as well as updates about the last week spent in Hout Bay and Cape Town.
I spent the week before last wandering around Stellenbosch while Estelle was in rehearsal for a physical theater piece. I got permission to sit in on a few rehearsals and was intrigued by watching a physical theater workshop in progress. I now have several pages of notes about my thoughts, musings on how what I saw linked to my own training, and ideas for workshops. I don’t know when I will have the chance to use this knowledge, but hopefully eventually something works out!
Stellenbosch is just the same as always—clean white Cape Dutch architecture in front of strong mountains jutting into the blue sky. There are lines of trees dressed in their finest autumn colors along Victoria Street. Java has the same menu and my favorite bookstore on Dorp Street is still run by the same woman. The mountains still turn dusky rose at golden hour, the hour before the sun sinks below the horizon.
I feel like I haven’t left, even though it’s been 2.5 years since I last graced the Red Square on campus. It is a little odd: I’d expected that I would want to spend a good amount of time revisiting my old haunts in Stellenbosch. I did a little of that, yes, but I don’t feel a need to go to places simply because I’ve been there before and have good memories of the place/event. I don’t have to go to Brazen Head to remember the nights out, or find the pottery shop I liked just to know that it is there. I much prefer to sit in a sidewalk café and drink tea, observing life around me and drinking in the sight of the mountains. Just being in the city is enough for me.
The highlight of the week was meeting up with Daniel and Jacques (along with Estelle and some of her friends) for nachos and drinks at Cubana. (Nachos at Cubana beat nachos at Spur any day--cottage cheese? Feta cheese? What?!--but were still a little strange because the chips were Doritos under all the toppings.) It was lovely to be able to catch up with old friends. Simply lovely. :)
Another notable excursion was nougat and champagne tasting at the nearby J.C. LeRoux sparkling wine cellar with Estelle. Three full glasses of champagne and two of sparkling wine later, along with their coordinating five nougats, I had quite the headache! It seems that nougat is not enough substance to temper the very generous ‘tasting’ portions. Thank goodness Estelle fared much better than I did and could drive us home!
Saturday the 11th, Estelle and I headed out to the Stellenbosch fresh food market. I remember going to the market during the semester I studied there; Josh, Drew and I walked forever and a day across the city to get there. Today, it has been moved to the Olde Libertas theater area and is about 4x as large. After sampling many varieties of pesto, cheese, chutney, etc, etc, I bought a schwarma and then was told I must buy a piece of German chocolate cake. The cake was too rich for me to eat more than a few bites, so I actually kept it in the car and worked on it throughout the day...it only melted a little.
Then it was off to nearby Paarl. (By the way, the ‘r’ is basically completely silent—just say “Paul” and you’ll be fine!) We started at the Afrikaans Language Monument, located at the top of the highest hill in town. It’s quite a large statue with many symbolic elements: 4 pillar-like-things to represent the European language influences (Dutch, German, French, English), 3 sphere-like-things for the African influences (isiXhosa, isiZulu, seSotho), 1 block-like-things for the Asian influences, 1 tall spire to show the growth of Afrikaans as a language and a smaller spire for the RSA. For all of the beautiful meaning behind it, the monument is also known as a climbing apparatus that offers great views!
Paarl is known for having the longest Main Street in South Africa (12 km) and a variety of architecture styles, along with numerous churches. We even stopped for a drink at the oldest pub in South Africa! With a rambunctious live band entertaining a large crowd at 3 in the afternoon, it seemed to be doing quite well for itself. Estelle and I then spent some time on an architecture walk, admiring the intricate styles and picking our favorite places. There were two quaint houses for sale right next to each other—I think we should become neighbors...
Sunday was Estelle’s grandmother’s birthday, so the extended family went out for lunch in Durbanville (close to Cape Town). Cattle Baron, a steakhouse, offered a nice buffet that included what was essentially brisket. Estelle was quite excited to learn this, since she’d heard of brisket in books but never really knew what it meant. I got to meet even more of Estelle’s extended family, as well as see all the members I was familiar with. As usual, everyone was extremely welcoming and made me feel like part of the family.
More to come soon, as well as updates about the last week spent in Hout Bay and Cape Town.
Friday, June 10, 2011
Ouroboros
Ouroboros, playing at the Baxter Theater in Cape Town, is directed by Janni Younge in association with the Handspring Puppet Company. I first became familiar with the Handspring Puppet Company when I wrote an essay on their play Ubu and the Truth Commission during my semester in Stellenbosch. They are also known for their work on Chimp Project, Tall Horse and War Horse (currently on the West End and Broadway). Earlier this year, the company was also awarded a Special Tony. To say that I was excited to see a Handspring Puppet Company production would be quite the understatement! The show did not disappoint me. As a theater major, I often find that my critical eye does not allow me to fully and completely immerse myself in a performance, let alone experience a sense of catharsis. A Streetcar Named Desire at the Kennedy Center was a notable exception. This was another. I was enthralled, scarcely moving and barely even breathing during the show and when it was over, I was aware of feeling alive and slightly weightless, almost buoyed by the beauty of the performance.
Ouroboros is inspired by the poetry of Billy Collins (former poet laureate of the US), specifically the poem "Aristotle" which explores what constitutes a beginning, middle, and end. The resulting performance is a deconstructed journey from beginning to end, birth to death; emphasis on the re-creation of self and stories brings to mind the ancient Ouroboros symbol of a snake swallowing its own tail and creating a circle. The performance piece is practically a poem itself- ranging across space and time, venturing into dreamscapes and pondering the relationship between life and death. And as in poetry, the audience must ultimately give their own meaning to what they experience.
This is my meaning:
Ouroboros is the story of a dancer and a poet. We are introduced to three versions of each character in different stages of their life: a child, an adult, and a senior. The characters interact with the various aspects of themselves and each other; while at first it appears to be the story of generations within families, it is soon clear that time is fluid and we are indeed only watching two characters. Past, present and future are interdependent, merging to create a web of interactions.
It is a love story. And like any love story, it gets complicated. Each character is afraid to trust, to commit. The poet is afraid of emotion after hearing his parents fight, while the dancer, who as a child lost an old woman she loved (herself?), is anxious about death (hauntingly portrayed in puppet form). Simultaneously, the performance shows children dealing with this pain, adults struggle to make a real emotional connection, and seniors demonstrate an abiding love for each other. In addition, interactions between versions of the same character reveal motivations, fears, and desires. There are far too many layers, both textual and symbolic, to explain properly, especially since they inspire complex feelings that I'm not sure I can put into words. Not to mention that unearthing all the ties between characters would require a second viewing, or even a third.
And yet, I do not feel the need to understand the piece. I am uncertain of the symbolism behind the random gemsbok/ghost gemsbok, but I know I felt deep sorrow when it was hit by the adult woman in a car and shuddered for breath as she clutched it (the puppetry was fantastic). A dream that moved from hand puppets to shadow puppets underwater (or were they in the air?) filled me with innocent wonder, while the occasional appearance of death floating through the air in her boat continually inspired awe and fear. I couldn't breathe when the adult poet stripped off his clothes and then his skin to reveal his endoskeleton; when he then interacted with his younger self, I cried--though I don't know quite why.
I took each scene as a moment in time and embraced the emotions it inspired, letting the poetry and imagery wash over me. As a result, Ouroboros was an emotional journey, both indefinable and unforgettable.
Ouroboros is inspired by the poetry of Billy Collins (former poet laureate of the US), specifically the poem "Aristotle" which explores what constitutes a beginning, middle, and end. The resulting performance is a deconstructed journey from beginning to end, birth to death; emphasis on the re-creation of self and stories brings to mind the ancient Ouroboros symbol of a snake swallowing its own tail and creating a circle. The performance piece is practically a poem itself- ranging across space and time, venturing into dreamscapes and pondering the relationship between life and death. And as in poetry, the audience must ultimately give their own meaning to what they experience.
This is my meaning:
Ouroboros is the story of a dancer and a poet. We are introduced to three versions of each character in different stages of their life: a child, an adult, and a senior. The characters interact with the various aspects of themselves and each other; while at first it appears to be the story of generations within families, it is soon clear that time is fluid and we are indeed only watching two characters. Past, present and future are interdependent, merging to create a web of interactions.
It is a love story. And like any love story, it gets complicated. Each character is afraid to trust, to commit. The poet is afraid of emotion after hearing his parents fight, while the dancer, who as a child lost an old woman she loved (herself?), is anxious about death (hauntingly portrayed in puppet form). Simultaneously, the performance shows children dealing with this pain, adults struggle to make a real emotional connection, and seniors demonstrate an abiding love for each other. In addition, interactions between versions of the same character reveal motivations, fears, and desires. There are far too many layers, both textual and symbolic, to explain properly, especially since they inspire complex feelings that I'm not sure I can put into words. Not to mention that unearthing all the ties between characters would require a second viewing, or even a third.
And yet, I do not feel the need to understand the piece. I am uncertain of the symbolism behind the random gemsbok/ghost gemsbok, but I know I felt deep sorrow when it was hit by the adult woman in a car and shuddered for breath as she clutched it (the puppetry was fantastic). A dream that moved from hand puppets to shadow puppets underwater (or were they in the air?) filled me with innocent wonder, while the occasional appearance of death floating through the air in her boat continually inspired awe and fear. I couldn't breathe when the adult poet stripped off his clothes and then his skin to reveal his endoskeleton; when he then interacted with his younger self, I cried--though I don't know quite why.
I took each scene as a moment in time and embraced the emotions it inspired, letting the poetry and imagery wash over me. As a result, Ouroboros was an emotional journey, both indefinable and unforgettable.
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