Our studio is an outdoor stage on a small plot of land just outside Kintambo. The stage is small but serves as a cultural arena, offering a home to theater, dance and other performers. During class, Jacques gives pointers on technique and style. He is the king of this domain and walks around the small concrete area, kicking at stray pebbles and imploring us to have more energy, more force and more flexibility. "Présence!" he is known to shout. He tells us, here on stage, with the audience out there, we are all royalty and must act like it. It's
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| The Taramc office at the back of the seating area (filled with infamous white plastic chairs during performances) |
The répétition is interspersed with small lectures about the background of dances from the tribes of Bas-Congo and Bandundu. He encourages the girls to remain dedicated and put forth effort, citing examples from his troupe who have traveled abroad- the ultimate success. I can see the smile reach their eyes as they consider this future. "You," he tells them, "you can travel to Belgium and Spain. You can take this piece of your culture with you and share and teach the world. But me? I'm staying here in Kinshasa. Someone has to train the youth." He tells us he dreams of dance schools, starting in Kinshasa and branching out across the country. "But you- you will travel and find your future." It's a bit more inspiring in the French and Lingala mix he uses to talk with them, and the natural energy he pours forth as a teacher. Being immersed in the Lingala doesn't allow me to understand every word, but I usually have the general meaning and often times even catch the humor.
But the class is not all inspiration. There is plenty of beratement to go around when the jump isn't high enough or you're slightly off rhythm. Ironically, this is what I came looking for. After 10 years of West African dance, I am ready to expand. I want to be pushed as a dancer in order to do some growing of my own. I notice Jacques still tends to lower his voice a notch and speak slightly more softly when correcting me. Perhaps it is adapting to our differences in culture, or maybe he is showing me a small bit of respect (I admit to being the oldest one in the room...) but I am trying to wean him off of this. I don't want special treatment, I want to dance. Eventually, that becomes a language of its own.
I am curious to see the others grow, to watch the changes from beginner student to the well formed artist that I know will come. The examples are before us, the members of his group, the others who have branched off and started their own companies. One girl in particular has the shine, the allure to draw in the eyes and captivate an audience. She dances well and requires only discipline and training. During rehearsal today, I could see her as she has the potential to become. And it was beautiful.
In between pushing us, there's time to talk to our small audience of children that come to watch. Jacques tells them in 10 more years, they will be up here, replacing us. The dancers of tomorrow. I feel a warm and comfortable privilege to witness this art being passed on and promised to a new generation.
Seven hours later finds me in the midst of yet another cultural exchange. This time I am caught up in capoeira. We've had two guest teachers this week developing our strength and technique. Yanni has been bringing his nieces and nephews which amounts to a lofty crew, along with many of his students from Limete. After a grueling warm up that has my thighs screaming for mercy we are usually divided into groups. Today I had a chance to work with the advanced students, struggling to keep up and maintain my balance. This class uses mostly Portuguese to call out the movements and my oft forgotten Spanish is slightly useful here. But generally, I have my eyes on Ninja or Yanni, our regular instructors, trying to follow along.
The style of teaching here is all encouragement. I suppose it must be, for trust to develop. And when facing an opponent in the roda, there must be trust. "Isso," is a common phrase, most often uttered by Yanni in a strong and gentle voice, eliciting courage and expressing compliments for a move well executed (or even a move well tried, as is the case most often with me.) I have yet to find my confidence in capoeira even as I am ever more in love with the grace and fluidity of movement.
The focus on technique slowed us down today to a somewhat more manageable pace. Even the roda at the end was calm, an aesthic choreography of combatants rather than the energetic flying leaps and kicks that Yanni and Ninja are so well known for. Surrounded by Congolese, learning a discipline that has its roots in their heritage has helped me to find a connection, a sense of place in this foreign land. I still can't manage to remember enough of a sequence to enter the roda voluntarily, but once again I find myself feeling privileged to witness the passing on of an art form and to be present for this cultivating of a culture that has been neglected for so long.
As I'm writing this, I remember to be grateful for the teachers in my life. Pushing me outside my comfort zone, challenging me to become more than I am and supporting me in my search for balance. But mostly, for inspiring hope in the future generations.
