Surveillance

There's not much sweeter than the moments when art and life meet, shake hands and get cozy. This past weekend I went to Dakar for a dance workshop. Just this evening, I was researching for my performance arts class when I happened across this video. And just like that, I felt a circle closing. A connection being made, a community welcoming me in. Good art, or thoughtful art, has that effect. The effect of being found, or being seen. You shake your head, maybe furrow a brow, as tendrils of thought are already reaching out, searching for an image, a memory, an emotion to wrap around and take hold of. The grasp is not easily freed, and later in the night or another night, it will tug ever slightly but firmly reminding you of that- that art, that statement, that connection.

Since I have been teaching performance art, I have run across several powerful pieces that I hadn't even been aware of before. Dread Scott's On the Impossibility of Freedom is one example. I plan to share the video in class as a model performance piece- one that involved planning and thought but perhaps not practice. It was a one time event. You can see how Dread's movements change within the piece, something he surely couldn't have anticipated or choreographed. Rather, they were a direct result of his thoughts as he is moving through the water. It seems apparent he has emotionally transported back in time and is responding to events as they were, as they are, as he wants them to be. His deep inner reach for power and strength is visible. He begins by walking into the water trying to protect himself, not sure, perhaps, of what to expect. By the end, he has found determination to overcome the water, to face the heavy stream and to defy it.

Browsing through his site reveals many powerful performance pieces. Money to Burn has the unique potential to reach over and connect with our students, especially when related with the story of Kemi Seba. US history or current events are not always a strong point- or the most relevant point- from many of our students' perspectives. It all seems as far away and foreign to them as we must to most of the rest of the world. (Heard any word lately on the political situation in Mali? Any idea what some of the big issues are behind recent protests....did you even know there were recent protests?)
 

Dread Scott is a great example to move us into preparation for their next series of performance pieces about social issues. But the piece by Ai Wei Wei will help us take things into an international context. And it fits in nicely with themes of technology or lack of control (terrorism) that some of the groups have been exploring already.

My trip to Dakar was filled with a million anomalies. The easiest to explain is the drone experience. The Ecole des Sables has two  main dance areas, both look out onto a scruffy grassland leading up to the lagoon. There are trees and brush and  not much in the way of a walking path (although guests are invited to venture into the savannah as long as they watch where they put their feet.)

It was our second morning there and class had been underway for at least 30 minutes. A break in the drumming revealed a loud buzzing sound. A small drone came flying in near the studio. It hovered for a bit, flew in closer and then retreated. It had our attention.

While everyone else was busy laughing and shooing it away, I was much more distracted by it. Being the only one from Bamako meant my thoughts were in a slightly different direction. Attack. I thought of all the ways that little Star-Trek destroyer could actually destroy us. I imagined it flying in and exploding. Or spewing a poison gas. Or even just marking our position while the real rebels marched in through the front door. Even as I began scoping out escape routes, I realized it was futile.

While I realized I was being maybe a bit over dramatic, I was also amazed at how quickly our responses adapt.   I've only been in Mali for a few months and I am already on high alert- even though I haven't been feeling any tension. It's there on the periphery. I was extremely uncomfortable with the buzzing drone behind me and found it difficult to turn my back. I was closest to it, but understood realistically, in the face of an attack, there would be nowhere to go.

I felt everything at once. Lack of control. Invasion of privacy. Fear. Anger. Confusion. Once the drumming started, it retreated and then fled. Or perhaps it simply ducked behind some bushes, because it returned again in minutes.

Finally it departed for good. But it left me feeling as though I'd been covered in a scummy film of grime. Who was watching? Who, in this sleepy fishing village full of abandoned beach houses and overpriced falling down villas, who would even have such a device?

After I got back to Bamako, I shared the story with a few friends. One of them sent me a playful link about bird drones. A little research revealed military bird drones are everywhere. (Even more research revealed that birds just might be the natural defense against these kinds of drones.) The drone we saw was not bird like at all. A google image search of drones didn't conjure up anything that looked quite like what I saw. A search for Star Wars ships, however, came much closer.

Who and why would someone be spying on a dance class held in the middle of nowhere on the edge of a Senegalese beach? Was it a remote controlled device....and if so, how close do you need to be to the site? What will they do with whatever video they collected? Was it an experimental run, some controller out to have fun and see what his or her drone could really do? In the end, there are no answers. All I can do is educate myself about this world of technology I previously hadn't given much thought.

The availability of drones only raises more questions. What are my rights to privacy? To not being spied on? How can you control the sky above you? Much of Africa is already filled with high security walls. What kind of defense systems will be developed to prevent invaders from the skies? How will humans respond to this phenomena, which is only likely to increase?

"Willingly or not, we are being recorded."

Security

Security takes up a big percentage of moving unknowns.  Assessing it, understanding it, trying to get your finger on the pulse of it. Once you figure out where you live, you need to figure out how safe it is. Which can be incredibly difficult when you don't speak the language.

There are several layers to understanding security. It begins with the most personal, the security guards. As an ex-pat hosted by an organization, I am once again under the protection of school provided security. The biggest difference for me this time is that I am no longer living on a glorious spread of jungle rain forest with 30 other houses and an entire school campus. Now I just live in an apartment with one other flat upstairs. It means the security guards are much closer. Outside my kitchen window closer.

I feel watched, rather than protected. There are strange men wandering the periphery of the house at all hours. It's been almost a month and I can at least say they are friendly, but still, I don't know anything about them. Except they are there. Day and night. If I want to leave at any time, it will require disturbing them so I can get out the door. And when I come "home" I must knock, like a visitor. It feels more like their house than mine and I wonder how much time is required to tip the balance. The perpetual guest syndrome.

I don't really understand what kind of security they are providing. They are both on the elderly edge of life, or so it appears.  I admit to thinking them somewhat frail. Or, in the face of terrorists, they would be frail. But then, wouldn't we all?

They are not armed, thankfully. But I am left to wonder how they have prepared and what for. It must be maddening to try and keep a watchful eye day and night- it merges too neatly into routine living.

I see it all around the half built neighborhood we live in. "Security" which really means people living in garages and sitting out front of massive houses, or house shells. They play games on their phones, chat with a neighboring security guard if they are so lucky to have a neighbor, and alternate between sitting inside the border walls alone and catching the few sights of evening foot traffic or goat herders outside.

Our neighborhood doesn't feel insecure or dangerous. But it doesn't necessarily feel safe either. It feels empty and sterile. I guess we have neighbors, but I can't imagine ever meeting them. Friendly is not the first word I would use to describe the few people I've passed in strolls around the neighborhood. The Malians aren't quick to greet me but offer quiet stares that I can't quite read.

In one brusque incident, two men were walking-clearly home dwellers and not home protectors- who overheard my English conversation with a friend. One of the men came up and introduced himself, speaking English and happy to recount his connection to the US. He extended his hand to my (male) friend and completely ignored me. No acknowledgement nod, no quick smile, nothing. I did not exist. Welcome to the neighborhood.

Bamako has that "it's a man's country" feel which isn't exactly comforting for a woman.  Or maybe it's just me. I've been wondering where the sunny, warm Malians are all hiding out and what of the "friendly village atmosphere" everyone talked about. So many people are really enchanted with Bamako, I wonder what I am missing.

Of course, recent attacks around the city have left something of a desolate air (combined with the fact that apparently many restaurants close for vacation during the July-August months.) But comments from business owners are telling. One restaurant/art gallery parent told me that, although the place is well known, even on the international circuit, they've stopped doing openings. "A hundred or more people would be showing up," she said. "So I had to stop that. Now, it's just people coming and going in small groups. Word gets around from friend to friend. Kind of underground."

Most popular gathering places have made security changes. There are plenty of metal detecting wands and new double door entrances- like the bank. I don't really understand how this helps (I get it in the context of a bank-bank robber, but I don't get it in the context of restaurant-terrorist bomber.) You go in the first door which is shut behind you, leaving you enclosed in a small holding space. The second door is then opened and you enter the restaurant or hotel area. Some establishments have tried to add a bit of humor to lighten the mood (cool graffiti guys or little notes on the walls,) but it's a stark reminder of the reality. A night out could quickly turn from festive to fearful.

A few US Embassy representatives came to school to give us an update on the security situation. It was so fascinating I actually took notes. They were very candid, which was a shocking change from my last post, where all the official information from our school sounded vague and incoherent. Incorrect at times, even.

Not so Bamako. The US Embassy reps were straight up real. They told grisly stories of a policeman being chased and set on fire. They explained the phrase  "Article 320" referring to the cost of a liter of gas (300fcfa) and some matches (20fcfa.) People are frustrated. Things get out of control.

They talked about ways to stay in the loop-social media being a prominent source for on the minute info. Whatsapp- suggested for "happy hour groups, attacks, you know, the important things." The security situation was described here as "a dynamic security environment." Things are liable to change any second. There's really no way to predict it and so the best thing to do is be proactive.

Don't go to places with soft security. One new restaurant was noted as having a beautiful glass entrance way- all windows and doors. The only visible security is a guy with beefy arms and tight pants. Better to stick to places that are "hard security targets" with double doors and armed guards.

One of the guys shared his survival pack with us. Things to have on hand at all times. A "Plan of Peril." He related how some of the people at the recent attack in Kangaba (a place students took a field trip to just a week or so before the incident) ran into the bush to hide. Things that came in handy: one of those portable batteries (almost bought one in Paris, but it felt like an impulse buy- now I know it would have been a safety buy.) Nothing more devastating and potentially life threatening than a low-batt signal when trying to call friends to arrange a swift pick up at an alternate rendezvous site.

Other things like a flashlight (for signaling here-I-am help when out in the middle of nowhere and the choppers are searching for you) and a warm, water proof poncho are sort of obviously helpful but not something we generally carry for a night out on the town. Money, of course, in several places, not all grouped together in one spot. And a small first aid assortment. Not just for you, but for others you might find in the field. Mosquito spray too. You might not really understand how fierce mosquitoes can be until you've had to spend an entire night battling them in some swampy undergrowth.

Their frank discussion about the state of things (Malians getting impatient with the French, frustrated with lack of progress on the terrorist front, terrorist possibilities anywhere, anytime- cannot be predicted and cannot be avoided so just always use common sense and proactive awareness skills) came in the first week of getting-to-know-you teacher back to school. It was not entirely new to me, but I was imagining the shock of my colleague who is experiencing his first trip to Africa.

Honestly, I imagine there was a bit of shock from even some of the hardened Africa lovers in the room- and the not so hardened. The most difficult thing about the terrorist attacks is that there is no "why." You cannot protect yourself by not being_____ because it's the very essence of being you that is under attack. You are not them and that is all that matters. It is random and harsh and it cannot be undone.

I have heard of some teachers who just choose not to go out. Ever. No grocery shopping, no pizza lunches, nothing. Inside, all the time. It's a difficult way to live- enshrouded in fear.  But it's real. The topic has already come up in my performance arts class. One group of students put together a powerful piece they imagined would happen at a park or similar public place. One student was sitting in the middle with a mask and 4 others made a circle around him. Some of them were also wearing African masks. Two other students patrolled the area with gun-like props, holding signs saying, "We're not safe," and "Stop terrorism."

I imagined seeing this in a park, as I was strolling with Mbalia, enjoying a sunny care-free day. Yes, it would stop me. I would consider. I would be affected. Security. It's always an issue in Bamako, even when it's not.

Une Conteuse...

It began in the most normal of ways....with a phone call. I wasn't acquainted with the caller, however, and realizing that my number was somehow "out there" in the world of Kinshasa artists was both pleasing and somewhat disconcerting at the same time. I still am not clear exactly how my cell number fell into the hands of the storyteller, marionettist, painter, illustrator, jewelry maker and all around artist who arranged a meeting with me last week. But so it was one afternoon I found myself welcoming S.Konde, conteur, into my classroom.

He had come to present some slideshows and videos of his work at various programs and schools around Kinshasa in hopes of securing a program at our school. The timing was quite perfect as it landed during the preparations for Congo Week and we soon struck up a deal to offer our students some exposure to wooden beadwork and jewelry making. Just before leaving he asked me if I was a theater person. We'd already discussed my art experiences as a painter and so I mentioned that I was also a dancer. "And what is dance but a performance of stories and expression?" I said. I wasn't sure this totally qualified me as a "theater person" but it seemed like a reasonable response. I have been enjoying offering drama to students as an after school activity and frequently direct my own classes through a variety of performances. But again, this does not qualify me as an actress in any way.  I remained noncommittal.

"I want to present a theater project for you," he told me and promised to send the details. Our next meeting involved me translating for a fellow teacher who wanted to capitalize on his storytelling experience and include it in a project with her 9th graders. As that discussion came to a close, S.Konde presented me with a French book of African tales, some parables and short video clips of other storytellers he had worked with. He told me to choose 2 stories, 1 to be animated and 1 to be told with my accompanying illustrations or paintings.

Apparently he has some performances lined up for December with his theater group and would like me to present with them. He showed me the program, complete with my name followed by the illustrious title of "Conteuse."  Wow.

He has displayed such confidence in my ability (based on what premise I've yet to discover) that I am left feeling flattered and challenged all at once. Of course, I must rise to his expectations. But am I really a storyteller? Of the griot quality? It is not a theatrical performance conducted with the support of a troupe, as I expected, but 20-30 minutes of me holding the stage on my own, a vision that has never once filled my head as a possibility. I keep hearing him remark how he would like to profit from my moment in Kinshasa and work together. And I wonder if I might not like to profit from this moment as well and experience an entirely new form of presentation.

What else to do but seize the moment and follow this path down an unexpected road of entertaining, educating and expressing using, as a medium, pieces of myth and legend and history to awaken consciousness and inspire youth? Perhaps a storyteller will be born.....