The power of art to effect change.

I stepped out of a plane coming from South Africa to a week of African contemporary dance and theater in New York.  Nora Chipaumire (Zimbabwe) was performing her dance piece Miriam at BAM, Faustin Linyekula (Congo) danced Le Cargo at the FIAC and five female choreographers, Ketty Noel (Haiti/Mali), Nelisiwe Xaba (South Africa), Nadia Beugré (Côte d’Ivoire), Maria Helena Pinto (Mozambique) and Bouchra Ouizguen (Morocco) created four powerful works for “Voices of Strength: Contemporary Dance & Theater by Women from Africa” at New York Live Arts.  Women were coming out in strength and while their voices were regionally defined, their message was universal. They challenged female myths and stereotypes, preconceived notions of women’s role and body and in particular women’s lack of agency that is still an implicit requisite in most parts of the world, and certainly in Africa.

I liked particularly Bouchra Ouizguen’s Madame Plaza, (named after a night club) which challenged my preconceived notions of what a dancer should look like and behave in a dance performance. The work opened up with three generously shaped mature women and one younger – the choreographer – lounging on three large rectangular cushions arranged like a sectional sofa, which defined a domestic space. The women shifted occasionally from one pose to another, very slowly.  At once, I found myself to be a bit disoriented and intrigued, but smiling. As I am an art historian, I revisited in my mind images of harems or odalisques by Delacroix and Matisse with their highly seductive women. This flashback did not last too long though; the authoritative physicality and authenticity of the performers’ presence negated the Orientalist myth and brought me back to reality. The three women were in fact Aita traditional vocalists, whose wailing cries at first punctured the silence and later expanded to full incantations. The authenticity of their stance, movements, self-acceptance, and confidence helped convey a sense of community and intimacy that was very compelling.  While the tone at first was somber, moments of sensuality and humor were welcomed release. The space between the dancers gradually shrank and unhindered by their ample bodies, the four women’s shapes fused on the floor as they rolled in unison. Their bodies, now pliable, melted into each other becoming a soft wave unfolding onto the floor.  Further along in the piece one of the vocalists, Ms. Hmad,  slipped into a white suit and with a twinkle in her eyes proceeded to playfully seduce Ms. Elhanna.   Madame Plaza had successfully subverted my idea of femininity in dance. It was a welcome new awareness and with that I gained new freedom.

The other work that evening, Sombra by Maria Helena Pinto, was a dramatic metaphor of a life with no self, no direction, and no agency. Maria Helena Pinto had her head covered with a black bucket and she danced throughout the piece, faceless with no identity, and blind. At first, she walked slowly and carefully on buckets placed face down and arranged in a line.  Later, she moved amidst other buckets hanging from the ceiling from strings, grabbing them and bringing chaos to a space that at first was defined by a minimal and stark order. At other times, she struggled to move forward, her body partially stuffed into a bucket; her body had become unrecognizable and  a tangle of limbs. It did drag on a bit too much; what more can one do with a bucket over ones head! The work did end on a hopeful note though: she removed the bucket , finally revealing her face to my great relief. I was obsessed with finding out what she looked like! Texts read in Portuguese and French by Lucrecia Paco in a voice over echoed her struggles.

“My foot lands,

I move forward!

I have centimeters, kilometers left to travel.

My foot lands, I move forward!

These kilometric centimeters that separates me from the shadow.

One foot before another, one step after another.……..

Where is my face?……

I don’t recognize the face that looks like mine.

My own, I never saw.

…”

These words struck a chord with me. I had just come back from Durban, South Africa, where I had talked to an artist/architect whose work was based on the idea of walking. I was struck by the coincidence. Walking for miles is a common occurrence for many Africans. It is a daily reality even in cities where public transportation has not kept up with the population’s growth.

Walking was an element in Nora Chipaumire’s dance theater performance Miriam. The act of walking took on a ritualistic dimension as the regal Okwui Okpokwasili paced around the perimeter of the stage in her high-heeled boots and appendages.  Miriam, directed by Eric Ting and set to the music of Cuban composer Omar Rosa was a highly charged, dramatic duet between Nora Chipaumire and Okwui Okpokwasili, two formidable dancers and performers. Nora’s Miriam drew from the iconic singer and political activist Miriam Makeba and offered an alternative to the other iconic Miriams: Mary, mother of Jesus, and Miriam the sister of Moses. As Nora Chipaumire says: “My Miriam is disobedient, obstinate, rebellious, and beloved.” In the midst of a dimly lit stage, where a ladder lighting structure, yellow caution tape and dangling bare light bulbs defined the stark setting Nora Chipaumire/ Miriam emerged from a pile of stones and plastic rubble. A leg shot out and one heard cries and sounds made from shifting plastic. It was not clear what was going on at first. Were we witnessing a birth or a sexual act? I liked that I did not quite know. The problem was that this feeling stayed with me for most of the play. I left feeling at a loss about what I had just partially witnessed.  From where I was seated I had only a partial view. Though the performance was set on a four-sided stage, it in fact favored one side. I was on the wrong side.