Clash of the Titans

9/11/2009. Eight years have passed since the towers fell, but here in Uganda the streets are on fire. Riots in Kampala due to a clash of the titans: President Museveni blocks the king of Buganda (largest ethnic tribe in Uganda) from heading north to a violent area to prepare for a political rally on Saturday. As our wise caretaker said, "The people want change. This will happen violently. This is the African way of doing things." I'm reminded of the theory that the red earth here comes from being soaked with blood since time began. Are human beings destined to destroy each other? Will xenophobia eventually obliterate us? This pondering is perhaps too dark for a Friday morning, but I am awake... trying not to sleep with my eyes open.

Back on the Flip Side

So much to say...

Back on the flip side where the earth is red and the air is thick with the essence of life, raw and real: trash burning, cars honking, cows grazing, birds laughing, children shrieking, chickens scattering, Luganda (local dialect) whispering in the wind...

We arrived to the general madness of Uganda but slowly we are settling in. The house is gorgeous. We literally have views from every window of Lake Victoria. We still need some furniture but things are coming together. We have battled our way in and out of Kampala, Dan finding comfort in the total disarray reminiscent of Boston streets. The car is a clunker perfect for this country. We've been barreling up and down the dirt roads like Kentucky Derby racers. Bodha loves it too - he leaps right in whenever we open the door and say "up up up."

Over the weekend we walked up this hill across from the house, sensing it was full of juju. When we reached the top the energy was intense and dark, with black stains of fire burnt into the shrubs, crippling the ground. As we came around the corner we met the caretaker and "fire-maker" of the area. He would make for quite a character with his over-sized red v-neck sweater, shredded at the seams, sagging khaki pants, and bare feet. He explained that it was indeed a ritual ground used for prayer to the local god, Jaja Lubowa." He instructed us in the traditions of the area, how to pray properly for luck and success in all things, reminding us to look to our dreams for signs from Jaja Lubowa.

My boys are thriving here. Dan is in love with the house, particularly for the astounding views, and is already well at work on his dissertation research. I cannot express the sheer bliss of returning home to him each afternoon, of waking up to his face each morning. It has completely transformed my experience. And Bodha is so freakin' happy here. He is always at one of the windows gazing at birds or romping around outside in the grass, schnuffing everything in sight. I think he's a bit confused by the schedule of everything since he doesn't have a consistent walk time but he'll get used to it soon. He came to school with us last weekend while we were setting up my room and ran around campus and had a blast. It's fun to have him here.

My students so far seem great. I've got a nice group for IB Theatre Arts with an interesting mix of nationalities (American, British, Ugandan, Italian, Indian, French, Venezuelan...). They seem excited. There is pressure on my end since I haven't had the training yet, but hopefully I can pull it off for a few months. In any case, having a room is awesome. Dan did a huge "theatre arts" graffiti banner for me and I created an "actors inspiration" board so that students in grade 6-11 can bring in anything that inspires them as actors and post it up on the board as an ongoing collage with layers upon layers of inspiration which I will photo-document throughout the year.

The first week of school is always a bit of madness and I need to do some planning so that we have a logical progression in each grade. It's hard work but I want to design a great program for this school so that whenever I leave there is a real curriculum in place instead of nothing at all. The students deserve that much.

Thus it begins. I miss you all and send an open invitation for visits at any time... come see the view, it might just change your perspective on the world.

Home Sweet Home

After the children went home, the closets were cleaned out, the rotting boxes were piled up in the halls, the curriculum maps were drawn out for the year to come, we said our goodbyes and left the bells and tests and disciplinary action behind for planes across the world. Destination: home sweet home. Now I'm sitting on the couch with my husband by my side and our dog in his little bed - bliss. My eyes keep closing on this perfect dream but I will try to stay awake a little longer. More Uganda to come in August...

Purpose

I suppose you could say I've fulfilled my purpose here: I was hired to bring theatre back to life at ISU and I believe I have succeeded in that venture. Our production of Romeo and Juliet had the students brimming with excitement, and the seniors wishing I had arrived years earlier so that they could have participated in more shows. Students are playing drama games during their lunch breaks and parents are relaying the message that their kids are excited about performing. The board has agreed to begin building a black-box theatre this summer which I will call home starting in January (if all goes well... remembering that "This is Africa."). I also managed to inspire 6 students to sign up for the IB Theatre Arts course, an intensive two-year study of theatre for grades 11 and 12, which I had hoped to pilot at the school. I've witnessed some profound changes in my students - many who began the year shy have burst forth from their shells with gusto while others who struggle both academically and socially have found their unique skills invaluable on the stage. There have been moments of sheer genius in class: 7th graders transforming into Commedia dell' Arte characters with ease (gender-bending without resistance), 9th and 10th graders furiously writing plays in small groups about relevant social issues, a 4th grade girl doing a priceless imitation of a teacher. At times it's been quite overwhelming, but I've managed to emerge from the darkness of insecurity with some light, some joy, some laughter. Next year should prove more comfortable - I will only be teaching in the Senior School (grade 6-11), I've been promised a permanent classroom space for the Fall and will hopefully move into the black-box mid-year, and above all I'll have my boys by my side (Dan and Bodha). I cannot really imagine calling Africa home, but I know that once I have my family here I will feel the warmth of heart I need to survive.

I've been focusing on the positive, the good aspects of this life I now lead on the opposite side of the planet and the new work that accompanies it. This is my first "real" job. As an actor/teaching artist work was sporadic with prolific times of long hours and great progress going hand in hand with times of complete stasis. There is a consistency here that I am unaccustomed to, a daily routine, a rigidity that I often push against. The incredible director Anne Bogart writes that only within the container can we find freedom (while she speaks mainly of the actor/director and the necessity for setting choices into place when rehearsing, I find her words extend beyond the world of the theatre). This is my container right now, my boundaries are set from 7:30am to 3:30pm - but within the confines of classroom walls, attendence lists, ringing bells, and curriculum goals, I may have the opportunity to experience unparalleled freedom. My work here is to ignite imagination, to transform the space each class inhabits so that the "math room" may simultaneously be a courtroom, a palace, a bedroom, a kitchen, a forest, a ship, a club, a bar, a living room, a rocket to the moon... My own imagination thrives in that liminal state, betwist and between reality and fantasy such that the line blurs between the two. I can only hope my passion is infectious, that some of these students walk away changed, with a greater perspective and a child-like sense of wonder when encountering the world. Perhaps these are grand aspirations. But, as Marianne Williamson says:

Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate.
Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure.
It is our light not our darkness that most frightens us.
We ask ourselves, who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous,
talented and fabulous?
Actually, who are you not to be?

So, who am I not to be? Who are you not to be?

Post Spring Break

I won't lie, say it isn't hard to leave behind everyone you love, the warmth of heart, the smell of home, the familiarity of those who love you for who you are, not what you do. The return is never gentle, the plane slammed down onto the Entebbe runway with unnatural force, wheels screaming, "Wake up! This is now! This is your life!" Jet lag kept me in a zombie state for the past few days, but slowly the coma confusing past and present is fading and this reality is coming into focus. It is not perfect. It is not ideal. But it is what is. For this moment I am a teacher. I'm breathing into the role: looking for the ways it might ignite my imagination, trying not to take anything too personally, and working with the mind that resists and reaches into the future. There is nothing simple about this work, each moment brings new challenges, new triumphs and new mistakes. The line is hard to draw, especially in terms of discipline. When does exuberant enthusiasm become hyperactive distraction? The choices are endless, some succeed and some fail. I'm learning. For now, I will rest in the present, here in the computer lab with the fan blowing and the birds chirping and the sky growing grey with storm clouds as I write to all of you.

The Play Is the Thing

ISU presents Romeo and Juliet

The hall was made for conferences at a reproductive health center with the most hideous curtains known to man - thick cream fabric with bold wavy patterns in navy and blood red, dizzying to the eye. I spun the space on its head so that we could use the balcony, making their platform our audience.
The stage was a configuration of wooden black risers, warped from years of rain and romping, splintered at the corners, hollow beneath such that even flip flops filled the room with elephant-like stomping sounds.
The costumes were jeans and t-shirts, Montagues in black and Capulets in white, some traditional Ugandan robes for the Friars, and an Ethiopian dress accompanied by a white eyelet parasol for the Nurse (played by boy of course).
The cast comprised of fourteen students from grades 8-12 of every nationality you can imagine: Congolese, Bangladeshi, Iraqi, British, Korena, Ugandan…
The transitions between scenes required the students to run around the entire building, mounting and descending stairs with the rapidity known only to teenage lungs and legs.
The students were brilliant: the intensity of their emotions heightened the language to such an extent that our little nothing of a play became the shot of adrenaline so needed at this school.
The student audiences giggled at the kissing and gasped at the fights, staring with wide eyes at the feat before them.
The parents were glowing.
The faculty and administration were slack-jawed.
“How did you do this in such a short amount of time?”
“You turned a sow’s ear into a purse!”
“Drama is back!”
The director of the school said he had never seen such amazing acting in any high school production.
I know this play backwards and forwards and yet they still moved me. When my lovely Romeo pronounced, “Is it even so?” after learning of Juliet’s death, tears welled up in my eyes.
After the final performance, the students hugged me and thanked me for being “the best director ever.” Seeing that I’ve never directed before in my life, nor even fully comprehend what it means to do so, I was and continue to be stunned.
And thus, a little triumph for Ms Eve was born.