Explorations in Southern African Drama, Theatre and Performance [1 ed.] 9781443891776, 9781443898690

Citation preview

Explorations in Southern African Drama, Theatre and Performance

Explorations in Southern African Drama, Theatre and Performance By

Patrick J. Ebewo

Explorations in Southern African Drama, Theatre and Performance By Patrick J. Ebewo This book first published 2017 Cambridge Scholars Publishing Lady Stephenson Library, Newcastle upon Tyne, NE6 2PA, UK British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Copyright © 2017 by Patrick J. Ebewo All rights for this book reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior permission of the copyright owners. ISBN (10): 1-4438-9869-4 ISBN (13): 978-1-4438-9869-0

For Professor Chris Dunton – The Pathfinder! & In Memory: Professor Dapo Adelugba, the Theatre Person Par Excellence

TABLE OF CONTENTS

List of Figures............................................................................................. ix Foreword ..................................................................................................... x Preface ....................................................................................................... xii Acknowledgements .................................................................................. xvi Chapter One ................................................................................................. 1 Drama, Theatre, and Performance in Southern Africa: An Overview Chapter Two .............................................................................................. 20 Theatre and Reconciliation in South Africa: Past and Present Assumptions, Future Possibilities Chapter Three ............................................................................................ 34 Swazi Incwala: The Performative Elements in a Ritual Practice Chapter Four .............................................................................................. 48 Zakes Mda’s Dramaturgy and the Satirical Import in Our Lady of Benoni Chapter Five .............................................................................................. 67 Syncretism, Symbolism and Revolutionary Aesthetics in the Plays of Masitha Hoeane [with Ntsele Radebe] Chapter Six ................................................................................................ 88 Rre Phathasane and Letsema: Industrial Theatre Projects in Botswana Chapter Seven.......................................................................................... 102 Dramatist in Exile: The Contributions of Zakes Mda to the Development of Socio-Political Consciousness in Lesotho

viii

Table of Contents

Chapter Eight ........................................................................................... 122 Representation of the Black Township in Contemporary South African Drama: A Study of Grootboom’s Relativity: Township Stories [with Nellie Ngcongo] Chapter Nine............................................................................................ 141 Reflections on Theatre-for-Development Projects: Lesotho and Botswana Chapter Ten ............................................................................................. 162 Mandela’s Funeral as Community Performance Chapter Eleven ........................................................................................ 178 Parody Series in South African Television Edutainment: Loyiso Gola’s Late Nite News (LNN) Chapter Twelve ....................................................................................... 191 The Theatre Industry in Post-Apartheid South Africa: Hopes and Impediments Chapter Thirteen ...................................................................................... 208 An Interview with Bonisile K. Nxumalo: A Contemporary Voice in Performance Poetry Bibliography ............................................................................................ 221 Index ........................................................................................................ 239

LIST OF FIGURES

Figure 1. B. Tech Voice Production Project, Tshwane University of Technology (TUT), 2015 Figure 2. A Mosotho Praise Singer at the National University of Lesotho (NUL) Poetry Festival, 1997 Figure 3. Adaptation of 'Zulu Sofola's Wedlock of the Gods by University of Swaziland students, 2000. Figure 4. A scene from Flesh-to-Flesh, NUL HIV/AIDS play, 1998 Figure 5. HIV/AIDS Schools' Drama Project in Lesotho, 1998 Figure 6. Bonisile Nxumalo - performing with Sidney Williams primary school learners at George Hotel, Manzini, Swaziland Figure 7. School's Drama Project in Lesotho, 1999 Figure 8. Street theatre by NUL students in Maseru, Lesotho, 1996 Figure 9. Swaziland Reed Dance Maidens Figure 10. A scene from Tselane and the Giant, Drama Department's production Figure 11. A scene from Tselane and the Giant, TUT, Drama Department's production Figure 12. Innocent Siza Performing a dance - Tselane and the Giant, TUT Drama Department's production Figure 13. A scene from Peter Pan, TUT’s production Figure 14. A scene from Peter Pan, TUT's production Figure 15. Swaziland Cultural Village Dancers, 2016 Figure 16. Swaziland Cultural Village Dancers, 2016 Figure 17. MARIKANA - The Musical, Silent Voice and Hungry. State Theatre Production Figure 18. Mxolisi Ngwenya in Children’s Theatre Production, When Lion Could Fly, TUT, 2016 Figure 19. Tswana dancers in Masilo Le Masilonyana tale Figure 20. A scene from Tiny, Drama programme, TUT, 2015 Figure 21. Modern dance by Thabang Pete

FOREWORD

The tendency among most critics of African drama, theatre and performance has been to adopt the positivist tradition of creating binary divisions between text and performance, literacy and orality, theatre and ritual, entertainment and utilitarianism. This has resulted in the use of critical lenses that are totally divorced from the context in which African drama, theatre and performance have been, and continue to be produced. Not only that, a general misreading has also emerged in which western trained critics have been inclined to view African modes of performance in terms of “alien” forms, structures, content and meanings. Not surprisingly, such critics have ended up drawing conclusions that have little or no relevance to the actual context of African cultural production. One feels a refreshing sense of newness while reading this new contribution from Prof. Patrick Ebewo, whom I undoubtedly regard as one of Africa’s most seasoned scholars. His book marks an innovative departure from the purely western grand narrative tradition that has conditioned other African scholars to identify with the positivist bandwagon. On the contrary, Ebewo draws his critical lenses from a montage of artistic conventions, theories, methodologies and techniques that are either rooted in the African soil or have consciously been synthesised with other relevant materials. Thus, instead of subscribing to what Temple Hauptfleisch (2011) describes as “the ways in which the western academic system has conditioned us,” Ebewo’s book delves into the uncharted waters of what one might call “Afrocentric syncretism.” It’s no wonder, then, that we hear him making the bold declaration that “To an African whose understanding has not been adulterated with foreign concepts, a (ritual) festival is as theatrical an event as going to the theatre is to the European” (p. 17). In spite of the multidisciplinary range of topics that are explored in this book, which include the Swazi Incwala ritual ceremony, the satiric parodies of Loyiso Gola, industrial theatre interventions in Botswana and participatory theatre-for-development practices in Lesotho, Ebewo manages to traverse this broad academic terrain with relative ease and scholarly acumen. For those students, researchers, academics, practitioners and other stakeholders with an interest in African drama, theatre and performance,

Explorations in Southern African Drama, Theatre and Performance

xi

they will find fulfilment in the refreshing manner in which Ebewo handles the aesthetic discourses inherent in the varied fields of study. I was particularly impressed to learn that the theatre of reconciliation in South Africa needs to take a leaf from the simunye spirit of oneness in order to realise the dream of the “rainbow nation.” Far from being a mere spectacle for the male gaze, the Swazi Incwala ceremony is depicted as a ritual of communal cleansing and the celebration of national fertility, purity and pride. Indeed, one yearns to see more and more writers from the Southern African region who can adopt the prophetic mould and multitalented nature of Zakes Mda, an icon who could bestride the two different worlds of Lesotho and South Africa at once. Even hitherto unacknowledged luminaries like Lesotho’s Masitha Hoeane have been given credit for their revolutionary approaches to syncretism, metaphor and symbolism. Industrial theatre comes through as not only a matter for performers, facilitators and practitioners, but also for captains of industry who are in charge of the workplace. Perhaps the chapter on “Mandela’s funeral as community performance” proved to be the most touching yet thought-provoking of them all. Ebewo regards the South African icon’s funeral as having created a communal rhythm that flowed through everyone and resulted in a cultural melting pot of performances. Lastly, but by no means least, Ebewo pauses to analyse the satiric and parodic performances of the popular South African comedian Loyiso Gola, before concluding with encouragement for creative artists to be at the forefront of the rapidly expanding global knowledge economy. The depth of empirical research, the weaving of ethnographic materials, the level of analytical rigour, the breadth of thematic coverage and the application of Afrocentric syncretism should make Prof. Ebewo’s book a compelling read for those who really want to understand the nature of African drama, theatre and performance. Kennedy C. Chinyowa (PhD, Griffith University, Brisbane, Australia) Research Professor and Director, Centre for Creative Industries, Tshwane University of Technology, Pretoria, South Africa.

PREFACE

The geographical coverage of this study is four countries within the Southern African sub-region: Botswana, Lesotho, Swaziland and South Africa. This choice is informed by my having had opportunities to live, work, do research and participate actively in the theatrical endeavours of these countries since 1993. Also, these countries have intractable connections in a geo-political sense and they share a common bond and “entangled histories.” With the very close relationships between these countries, what affects the eye, affects the nose. Because of the relationships between the different racial groups in some of these countries, I wish to state from the outset that most of the studies documented in this volume are on black African theatre, drama and performance traditions. The publication deals in the main with critical analyses of play texts, rituals and performances. In comparison to the quality and quantity of theatrical outpouring, performances, and festivals in the Southern African sub-region, the number of academic and scholarly publications in existence are mere drops in the ocean. Of the 26 South African universities, 10 offer drama and performance as academic disciplines. While two (Durban University of Technology and Tshwane University of Technology) are urged by the Department of Higher Education and Training (DHET) to concentrate on vocational training, others, including the traditional universities, are given a free hand to function as academic theatres, which supposedly should not only concentrate on practice, but also on play analysis and the documentation of theatrical activities (scholarship). As in South Africa, each of the other three countries that form the locus of this study has at least one university offering drama studies as an academic discipline. Yet, these institutions seem to pay little attention to scholarly writings and research output in the areas of drama and performance. This robs the discipline of archival resources in the region. That research activities and documentation in the areas of drama, performance and theatre are notoriously few may be ascribed to certain historical factors, in that the apartheid government of the past promoted technical education for oppressed groups, at the expense of liberal education. Research and documentation were the exclusive preserves of a few academic disciplines. In fact, in the post-apartheid dispensation, many

Explorations in Southern African Drama, Theatre and Performance

xiii

academics and students still frown at research in the arts, because they believe that the performing arts have little to do with research but a lot to do with practice. This belief is inimical to academic development, as the proponents of this school of thought seem to forget that research nourishes practice. The South African Department of Education has invested a lot in research and has urged all tertiary institutions in the country to engage in research and innovation for sustainable development and enhancement of the people’s welfare. Academic institutions organise annual “Excellence Award Ceremonies” to honour outstanding researchers and the National Research Foundation of South Africa (NRF) recognises “Rated Researchers” in higher institutions through annual incentive funding. The Department of Education pays a handsome subsidy of about R115,000 (about 7,000 pounds) per article to any researcher who publishes in an accredited journal. Academic supervisors who mentor masters theses to completion earn the same, while mentoring a doctorate earns three times the article subsidy. It is doubtful if any other country in the world indulges in this level of encouragement for its researchers. In spite of these incentives, few books or sizeable collections of articles are available which deal with drama, theatre and performance. While there are few collections of plays, there are fewer collections of scholarly writings. While a couple of books on African drama and theatre concentrate on East and West African drama, very few concentrate on drama of the Southern African region. For example, in 2002 Frances Harding edited a volume, The Performance Arts in Africa: a Reader and only one (Chapter 19) out of 24 chapters deals with South Africa. There is simply nothing written about the other countries – Botswana, Lesotho and Swaziland. The South African Theatre Journal is dedicated to the publication of theatre-related articles, but its emphasis seems to be on South Africa, with the other countries on the periphery. Volumes that speak to the South African theatre environment are David Coplan’s In Township Tonight! Three Centuries of South African Black City Music and Theatre (1985), Loren Kruger’s The Drama of South Africa: Plays, Pageants and Publics Since 1910 (1999), Liz Gunner’s Politics and Performance: Theatre, Poetry and Song in Southern Africa (1994), Anne Fuch’s Theatre and Change in South Africa and Temple Hauptfleisch’s Theatre and Society: Reflections on a Fractured Mirror (1997). In 2015, Greg Homann and Marc Maufort edited New Territories, a collection of essays on post-apartheid South African theatre and drama. Though a very good compendium, other Southern African countries are left out, as usual. Also in 2015, Martin Middeke, Peter Paul Schnierer and Greg Homann edited The Methuen Drama Guide to Contemporary South African

xiv

Preface

Theatre, and as pointed out by some South African observers during the launch of the book on 17 February 2016 at the Market Theatre, Newtown, the book does not give adequate coverage to black theatrical experience, also leaving out Botswana, Lesotho and Swaziland (of course, this was intentional, since the book concentrated on South Africa only). Chapters in the Methuen Drama Guide concentrate on published contemporary South African plays and the career histories of some theatre practitioners. Considering that there are 10 universities teaching drama as a discipline, not to mention private colleges, it is evident that available materials on the subject are pathetically inadequate compared to other university disciplines. The claim that theatre practitioners are artists and therefore should not be compelled to engage in academic writings is a murky conversation, which poses a serious threat to theatre studies in the region. Thus, this publication is intended to pique interest in theatre and performance scholarship. The narrative journey embarked upon in this collection of chapters traverses both familiar and unfamiliar ground, and I hope it will contribute to a fresh, wider approach to intellectual discourse in the sphere of drama, theatre and performance in Southern Africa. The collection is a pot-pourri of the ideas and thoughts that have engulfed the discourse and practice of theatre and drama in Southern Africa, offering varied and critical insights into the continued relevance of theatre practice in Africa generally, and Southern Africa in particular. The focus is intradisciplinary, involving drama, theatre and performance. The premise of this venture is that articles in specialised journals are often stored in the sanctuaries of the accredited disciplines and are often not accessible to general readers. Unlike journals, published books are more accessible to general readers as well as to specialists. It is hoped that the areas covered in the book will add to the aggregate knowledge economy of Southern Africa, promote research and publication, and provide reading materials for both undergraduate and postgraduate students specialising in the area of the performing arts in Africa. The 13 chapters of this book are not arranged thematically, but rather each serves the contextual purpose of a particular country, text or project. Chapter one gives an overview, without deliberating on the details of the theatre, drama and performance activities of the Southern African region, notably Botswana, Lesotho, Swaziland and South Africa. Its coverage spans indigenous pre-colonial practices, colonial heritage and the postcolonial era. Discussions are based on black African theatre practices, thus excluding English, Afrikaner and Indian theatre practices. Later chapters concentrate on plays, performances, rituals and applied theatre practices as they exist in the countries under study.

Explorations in Southern African Drama, Theatre and Performance

xv

It is hoped that the publication will attract readership from academia, theatre scholars, university students, cultural workers/arts administrators, arts practitioners and entrepreneurs, the tourism industry, arts educators, scholar-artists and development communication experts.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

This book project has become a reality because of the contributions of certain individuals and organisations to the realisation of my dream. To these individuals and organisations, I owe a huge debt. Firstly, I wish to express my gratitude to Cambridge Scholars Publishing for believing in the book project and willingly accepting to publish the manuscript after a rigorous review process (internal and external) in order to ascertain the quality of the materials in the manuscript. I wish to thank Tshwane University of Technology, South Africa; University of Botswana, University of Swaziland, and the National University of Lesotho for exposing me to the rich and ebullient drama and performance traditions of Southern Africa. I am grateful to the National Research Foundation (NRF) of South Africa for its financial support through Incentive Funding, which assisted with research trips for the gathering of data for the project. I thank Professor Kennedy Chinyowa for agreeing to write the Foreword. I acknowledge with profound gratitude the contributions of Professors Femi Abodunrin, George Mugovhani; and Doctors John Mugubi and Owen Seda for critical reading and peer-reviewing of the chapters and supplying invaluable suggestions that have gone on to shape the contents of the book. My sincere thanks also go to Professor Mzo Sirayi, the Executive Dean of the Faculty of the Arts, Tshwane University of Technology for encouraging academic staff members to engage in research and for supporting this project in many ways. I acknowledge Dr Rita Raseleka, Tshwane University of Technology’s Director of Research and Innovation for her support and assistance. I acknowledge with special thanks the sources listed below for permission to reprint four of my articles that have previously been published: “Theatre and Socio-Political Consciousness in Lesotho: A Study of Selected Plays by Zakes Mda.” NUL Journal of Research, Vol. 9, 2001: 121-142; “Theatre and Reconciliation in South Africa: Past and Present Assumptions, Future Possibilities.” National Association for Drama in Education Journal, Vol. 23, No. 1, 1999: 23-36; “Swazi Incwala: the Performative and Radical Poetics in a Ritual Practice.” South African Theatre Journal, Vol. 25, No. 2, 2011: 1-12; and “Mandela’s Funeral as Performance.” Pula: Botswana Journal of African Studies, Vol. 29, No. 2, 2015: 243-255. I would also like to thank the following research assistants

Explorations in Southern African Drama, Theatre and Performance

xvii

for their various contributions to the making of this book: Ifiok P. Ebewo, Ebong P. Ebewo, Bonno Tatedi, Puleng Tale, Nokhutula Mashaba; and in particular, Jonathan Jackson (Jay) and Lloyd Barton for language editing and commitment to the project. And lastly, I thank my wonderful wife Agnes - the lady who has mastered the art of “Waiting for Godot.”

Map of Southern Africa

CHAPTER ONE DRAMA, THEATRE, AND PERFORMANCE IN SOUTHERN AFRICA: AN OVERVIEW

Introduction This introductory section to the book Explorations: Drama, Theatre and Performance in Southern Africa is an overview and account of my enthralling theatre experiences in Southern Africa through the auto-prism of performance. I must confess that I knew very little about the theatrical and performance traditions of the Southern African people until 1993, when I arrived in Lesotho to take up a lecturing appointment at the National University of Lesotho, Roma Campus. Before then, I could not boast of any sound knowledge of the geography or performance traditions of the region beyond the common knowledge of the suffering of the South African people under the yoke of colonialism and apartheid. I remember watching a South African musical performance, Ipi Tombi, which toured Nigeria during the apartheid era. Though I thought this was a typical gyrating South African performance, I later learnt that it was packaged to give an impression of a good life as enjoyed by the South Africans under apartheid, in direct contradiction with the reality on the ground. I learnt that, though adored by white middle class South Africans, Ipi Tombi was abhorred at home by black South Africans. I can still recall reading a chapter in Oyin Ogunba’s Theatre in Africa (1978), “Black South African Theatre,” written by B. L. Leshoai. I was exposed to “Black Theatre in Soweto” and Fugard’s The Island in Michael Etherton’s The Development of African Drama (1982). I watched a production of Sizwe Bansi is Dead at the Arts Theatre, University of Ibadan in 1979, featuring veteran Nigerian actors such as Jimi Solanke and the late Wale Ogunyemi. I attempted an amateur production of the same play during the Convocation Ceremony of the University of Sokoto in 1981. Beyond these, I could claim very little knowledge about this region, particularly in terms of performance.

2

Chapter One

Like other regions of the continent, Southern Africa boasts of a wealth of performance traditions ranging from the indigenous to the modern. As with many observers, I have found differentiating what is theatre from drama and performance to be a perennial challenge in the context of the African experience. While the three terms may be distinguished in the West, they are alien to African indigenous languages and culture. Until African studies scholars and activists invent authentic “indigenous aesthetic terms” and agree on them at a Pan-African level, the global, or rather the western epistemological way of understanding these terms must be maintained (see Kerr, 1995: 1-2). In that understanding, “drama” deals with literary work, fiction, or the raw play text, while “theatre” is the sum total of the realised production of a dramatic form. In essence, while an individual, in the comfort of his/her private engagement, can savour the experience of the dramatic text in reading, theatre, on the other hand, involves the text (written form, devised or improvised), players (actors and actresses), a production crew and an audience. Hence, while drama may be regarded as a solitary enterprise, theatre involves participatory output; in other words, team work. While theatre and drama may be easily distinguished in this way, the situation becomes a lot more harrowing when it comes to defining “performance.” So far, I doubt if practitioners have been able to emerge with a one-size-fits-all definition of performance. The matter is very contentious. What is generally agreed upon is that performance involves a distinct action and embodied skill used in the construction of socio-cultural realities as they affect communities. Performance is a site for generating knowledge and philosophies that affect human beings within a cultural environment. In my experience, there is not much difference between theatre and performance in the construction of meaning in Africa. Take away the use of play text, and performance is a show, a display, the exhibition of an action which involves the presence of an audience. Unlike theatre, with its mandate to involve imitation, a performance may exist solely for its own sake. In Africa, acrobatic displays, juggling, miming, dancing, and singing may each constitute a performance in its own right. African rituals, ceremonies, festivals or even political rallies may also qualify as performances. Music and dancing in front of shops to create an advertorial may very well become a performance when customers surge forward to watch the performers. The staging of the performance willy-nilly becomes an invitation for the public to view the items on sale in the shops while being entertained by the dance. While drama and theatre involve “representation,” performance is a “presentation.” Let us briefly discuss elements of performance and theatre in pre-colonial, colonial and post-

Drama, Theatre, and Performance in Southern Africa: An Overview

3

colonial Southern Africa. I must state that some portions of the contents of the discourse in these sections appeared originally in my chapter in a publication edited by Wolfgang Schneider and Daniel Gad, Good Governance for Cultural Policy: An African-European Research about Arts and Development (2014).

Pre-Colonial Performances Before the colonial incursion, Southern Africa supported numerous tribes that, through migration from other parts of Africa, settled together as a community sharing a common vision and cultural markers. Besides the “neglected” Khoisan (Basarwa) culture, the traditional Bantu people included groups such as Sotho, Tswana, Xhosa, Ndebele, Venda, Tsonga, Northern Sotho, Swazi and Zulu, each of which had their own identified language and cherished their indigenous performances, characterising them as a particular human group with a shared destiny. Hauptfleisch (1997: 73) holds the view that one of the oldest known performances in the country was the shamanic dance of the San, recorded on rock art paintings dating to about 25,000 years ago. Sirayi (2012) discussed many different performance cultures in pre-colonial South Africa, including wedding celebrations (umdudo), oral narratives, trance and healing celebrations (shamanism), initiation ceremonies, installation ceremonies, umemulo celebrations and dance, and music performances. Most Southern Ntu-speaking peoples produce music from animal horns of one sort or another, or from wood or reeds that are blown from the side; only the Zulu used a mouthpiece at the end of the horn. They also developed a simple flute with a two-note scale, and an unusual rattle, which is shaken by hand or worn on the ankles, and often made from the hard cocoon of insect pupae and filled with small stones (Joyce, 2010: 65).

In the indigenous culture of the Basotho, mohobelo, men’s ceremonial dance, and mokhibo, women’s dance, are pervasive. Monyanyako (songs), lipina-tsa-mokopu (maidens’ song), lebollo (initiation song) and mangae (sacred songs associated with circumcision) are often heard within the communities. The same holds true of the Tswana culture with its abundance of indigenous performances such as setapa (dance), phatsi (men’s dance) and tsutsube, a traditional dance of the Basarwa people. The Tswana, like most of the tribes in Southern Africa, revere their folktales (mainane) and riddles (diane-dithamalakane). The Swazi boast a rich culture which thrives in the oral literature of the people – songs and dances – Ingabisa (maiden songs), tingoma tekutsamba (women’s dance songs) and tingoma

4

Chapter One

temtsimba (wedding songs); riddles (Tiphicwaphicwane) and folktales constitute great performances. Storytelling (tsomo or intsomi), including mime, were also distinct performances of the indigenous people. Being essentially an oral community in those days, the different tribes in Southern Africa enjoyed their popular tradition of storytelling, sometimes known as “oral narrative.” Adams (1990) and Obiechina (1967) have noted that generally stories (in every culture) have sustained their presence for centuries because they are amusing, interesting and instructive. The most popular belief among Africans is that these stories, beyond their entertainment value, are also didactic instruments in the society. Using a distinctly African motif, the stories are useful tools of socialisation, and they help in the celebration of the communal ethos and pathos. While the setting for some of these stories is in the human world, many of them on the other hand, revolve around the animal world with its ever-accommodating fleet of animals – Mouse, Hare, Tortoise, Spider, Lion, Monkey, Jackal, etc. These animals are indeed mirror images of our human society. While writing on the folk tradition of the Ila people of Northern Rhodesia (now Zambia), Smith and Dale (1920: 342) state: “In sketching these animals, not Sulwe and Fulwe (Hare and Tortoise) only, but all the animals in these tales, the Ba-Ila are sketching themselves. The virtues they esteem, the vices they condemn, the follies they ridicule – all are here in the animals.” In many Southern African countries, young people usually gather in the evening to listen to fictional stories narrated by women while men narrate war and historical stories, and those that promote indigenous knowledge systems. Though there are numerous storytellers in Southern Africa, I would like to discuss briefly the performance profile of Gcina Mhlope, a Durban-based multilingual storyteller and dramatist. In her interview with Tyrone August (2001: 273-284), Mhlope had these to say about storytelling in Africa and her career in this sphere of endeavour: There was a time in African culture when the setting of the sun announced that it was time for story-telling. . . . There’s wisdom in folk tales. Folk tales are educational. They have lessons to be learnt – whether it’s to do with people telling lies, being untrustworthy or being selfish. Another thing: with television today you don’t use your imagination. If they talk about a dinosaur, they show you a dinosaur. That kills something of the child’s imagination. And it’s probably the only time we have free imaginations – without any prejudices or confines of society. And there’s the aspect of human contact. Story-telling should not conform to theatre rules. People should be able to sit in a circle and participate in the chants, in the songs. . . . And some of the things we talk about in folk tales. They are not just out of the blues; they happened and people chose to tell stories

Drama, Theatre, and Performance in Southern Africa: An Overview

5

about them. So these stories are very realistic. They don’t always have to end ‘happily ever after.’ There are stories that end sadly. There’s a Xhosa expression that says a wheel goes round and round in everybody’s life. And sometimes the wheel turns on the wrong side (pp. 274-275).

On the question of performing multiple characters in storytelling and the cloud surrounding the art, she said: The fact that you have to be all those different characters in one, and not use any sound effect or musical instruments, is a very important skill in story-telling. That’s what makes you a story-teller. It comes from inside; it’s not something that people are appointed to do. As an individual, you are very mobile. You can tell stories virtually anywhere. It’s inexpensive entertainment. It’s one of the natural advantages of story-telling. All you need is one person and people’s imaginations, but now that we live in the kind of times that we do, we should really work towards putting them on paper. We should put the stories on video if we can. It’s important to do that so they don’t die. They belong to a certain culture; they are worth retaining. Not only the story of Noddy or Pinnocchio or Snow White. Those stories have lived for ever. Our stories are being repressed because they are supposedly from a barbaric culture. This generation should make sure – with all the skills and facilities we have – to tape them, to record them. Why can’t we do that? And our stories are fresh because they’ve been suppressed for so long (p. 275).

When enquired why she “shifted” from theatre performance to storytelling, she explained: There has been a certain kind of shift. First of all, I got into story-telling thinking it would be a part-time thing. But when I got inside, I saw how vast it was. The fact that I am who I am, and having the skills of theatre, I found my audience was ripe. Then the phone wouldn’t stop ringing. I performed in schools, youth centres, art galleries, universities and conferences. For nursery schools, primary schools, high schools and for adults who come from different walks of life. The first thing that excited me was that people of different political persuasions could share in storytelling. And children of different financial standing could be reached very cheaply. That’s important. It’s very cost-effective. No props, no major costumes and lights and set changes. That meant I could perform anywhere. One of the frustrations in theatre is that the bright lights can make you unable to see your audience. And I love to see my audience, I gain strength from that. That is just one of the little attractions (of storytelling). But something else was happening in South Africa. I was feeling the glaring demand to do specific kinds of theatre. And I don’t know if I was in the minority, but I felt that political messages could also be put across through story-telling, without being party political. . . . A story well

6

Chapter One told is enjoyable to people of that culture as well as to any other listeners. . . . (pp. 280-281).

Of all the performance art forms of the Southern African people, praise poetry (dithoko or izibongo or maboko) stands out. Besides the Lifela, Basotho praise poems composed by miners detailing their travails on the journey to the mines or Swazi Tinanatelo, which are family/clan praises of the emaSwati (Kamera, 1999), praise poetry’s manifold social significance is indeed obvious in African culture. Praise poetry stresses accepted values: the Hausa praise their rulers in terms of descent and birth, the Zulu emphasize military exploits, and the Nupe voice their admiration for modern achievements in their praises of the rulers’ new car (Nadel, 1942:140-1).

Ruth Finnegan (1970: 120-121) lends her voice to the social significance of praise poetry in Africa: This kind of poetry can also act as a medium of public opinion, for up to a point praisers can withhold praise or include implicit or explicit derogatory allusions as a kind of negative sanction on the ruler’s acts. Further social functions are publicizing new status or achievements in a non-literate culture, flattering those in power or drawing attention to one’s own achievements, preserving accepted versions of history (particularly the exploits of earlier rulers), serving as an encouragement to emulation or achievement, and, not least, providing an economically profitable activity for many of those who engage in it.

What stands out in Finnegan’s observation is that the praise poet is not only committed to singing the praises of kings and rulers, but he also uses the poems as the medium to censor and castigate the negative activities of some rulers. This is done with a view to helping the culprits amend their lives and rule their subjects well. In this regard, praise poetry can be regarded as a watchdog in non-literate (indigenous) societies. The praise poem is often regarded as Southern Africa’s most characteristic and highest form of indigenous literary expression. It has been speculated that its existence was first recorded in the seventeenth century at the court of the Shona kings (Chiwome, 1975: 104-9). Today, praise singers are used during important celebrations including state functions. In South Africa, for example, all black state presidents - Nelson Mandela, Thabo Mbeki and Jacob Zuma - had or have praise singers, who, amongst other functions, announce their arrival at state functions.

Drama, Theatre, and Performance in Southern Africa: An Overview

7

Studies have revealed the praise poems of the Bantu peoples of Southern Africa as one of the most specialised and complex forms of poetry to be found in Africa (Finnegan, p. 121). Some are so grandiose in composition that they can easily be considered epic. They involve narration, declamation, and descriptions of heroes and their war exploits. The practice flourishes among the Nguni speaking people – Zulu, Xhosa, and the Swazi - and also among the Sotho groups, such as the Lovedu and Tswana. The Venda and Tsonga-speaking groups also use praise poems (Finnegan, p. 122). As hinted earlier, praise poems are often associated with the great deeds and achievements of important individuals, particularly kings and chiefs. They have been composed in honour of famous kings such as Dingana (Zulu King), Mzilikazi (Ndebele), Moshoeshoe (Sotho), Sobhuza (Swazi) and Ngwane (Ngoni), to mention but a few. Typically these kings and rulers are praised by the poets because of their military might and expansionist policy. Many South African kingdoms, like the ancient Greek city states, fought and rebelled against each other in struggles for power, recognition and amalgamation. The Mfecane wars of the 1820s are the best known examples. History records that King Shaka, the Zulu king, was an indomitable “lion,” a very popular king who fought and destroyed many tribes in the hinterland. Remnants of those who survived the mighty hands of Shaka fled the land and took refuge in the mountain kingdom of Lesotho under the leadership of King Moshoeshoe. The protection which Moshoeshoe gave the people against Shaka’s aggression led to the great reverence accorded to him by the Basotho people and many praise poems have been composed to pay homage to him for his messianic prowess. Also, King Shaka has attracted many praise poems composed and recited in his honour as a fierce fighter. During Shaka’s reign, Ndlela kaSompisi who was not of Zulu origin was appointed General in the army. He was such a fearless fighter that many praises have been composed in his name. One of such traditional Zulu poems (izibongo) is recorded below: “Ndlela, Son of Sompisi.” Rattler of spears! He who is unable to lie down, one side being red with wounds, He whose wounds are as numerous as the huts of a large kraal. Hornbill that is reluctant to set out, Long-tailed leaper like a leopard, Redbuck that escapes again and again. Daily they stab the Rattler but he retaliates; How many of them come back again?

8

Chapter One Who come back again when a person acts so deliberately? He who crosses over to the other side, Who crosses and the whole Ntolela regiment crosses, Stout stick that points to the Ngwane people He who attacks people with fury, he of the Rattlers. At day-break Ndela was left When the army returned, At dawn Ndela remained, Feeble I remain behind, Paltry strength equal to that of a child. Body of which the Nkayiya regiment sits, The Nkayiyas of Zwide, He who is always wounded in the face like a prince Great branch, turn back the Ntolela regiment; News that came first to Shaka at the Mbelebele kraal. Have you a piece of gut long enough To sew up Ndlela’s wounds? He who crosses over to the other side, He who is embroiled across the Thukela (Soyinka, 1975: 324-325).

Others who were afflicted by the military tendencies and annexation programme of the Zulu king escaped to other places and new settlements with their own accredited leaders emerged. Mzilikazi, the leader of the Ndebele people, was once a good and cherished friend of Shaka. But with Shaka’s unrelenting effort to conquer other tribes, he broke his fraternity with Shaka and moved with the Ndebele people into the interior. In the course of their journey, Mzilikazi, ironically but through need, also raided the Pedi and Tswana kingdoms and advanced into what is known today as Zimbabwe. Mzilikazi’s military effort and liberating spirit is recorded in a praise poem entitled “The Praises of Mzilikazi, Son of Matshobane.” Besides the initiation rituals, bogwera (boys) and bogale (girls), and the Basotho pitiki ritual observed after the birth of a new baby, Ebewo (2011) discussed indigenous rituals as forms of traditional performance of the Southern African people, with particular emphasis on the Incwala ritual. I pointed out there that, though mostly regarded as a ritual, many researchers, notably Hilda Kuper (1947), have viewed the Swazi Incwala ritual practice as the high drama of kingship. Study of the Incwala sequences shows this ritual to be a great performance, as discussed fully in chapter three. The festival is the lifeblood of the African people and there are as many indigenous festivals in Southern Africa as days in the year. Many African festivals constitute performances in the African contextual usage of the word. People who are unfamiliar with the rhythm and flavour of

Drama, Theatre, and Performance in Southern Africa: An Overview

9

what constitutes performance in Africa may easily dismiss African festivals as primitive pre-occupations with the frivolous. To an African whose understanding has not been adulterated with foreign concepts, a festival is as theatrical an event in Africa as going to the theatre is to the European. “A festival is an integral, dynamic part of the culture of an unalienated African, an occasion to which he responds spontaneously” (Ogunba and Irele, 1978: 4). African festivals are very like the Greek theatre of the fourth century B.C. in their demand for communal attendance as civic duty. A festival brings people together under one umbrella to share a common interest. Ogunba and Irele also averred that the festival constitutes a prime artistic institution in traditional African society because it can “coordinate virtually all the art forms of a community.” In the African cosmology, a festival tends to have a story or myth to perform and each makes use of its own peculiar style in the dramatic realization of the story. In the process the arts of costuming, masking, drumming, chanting, dancing, and several others are utilized in a manner not totally dissimilar to their usage in other dramatic traditions. Thus, each year there is a cycle of performances which evokes much of the history of the community and also brings to light all the artistic forms in the community. It is this total presentation that is properly to be regarded as traditional African festival drama (Ogunba and Irele, p. 5) [emphasis mine].

As with the interesting Kuru festival of the Basarwa tribe in Botswana, the annual Reed Dance festival (Umhlanga) of the emaSwati is one of the most popular festivals in Southern Africa, attracting tourists from all over the world to the Swazi Kingdom. The origin of the Reed Dance festival can be traced to the 1940s, during the reign of King Sobhuza II, who adapted the indigenous Umcwasho chastity ceremony, transforming it into the form relished today as the Umhlanga festival. Every year, during late August or early September, “the flowers of the nation” - young unmarried maidens – or Imbali move from their various chiefdoms in a form of pilgrimage to the Queen’s Royal Residence in Ludzidzini to pay homage to the queen (Indlovukazi), the mother of the nation. Each year, a festival maiden-captain (Induna) who is at home with royal protocol is appointed to work closely with one of the daughters of the king (a princess) in preparation for the annual festival. The Induna announces the dates for the festival and custom demands that girls from all the chiefdoms must attend the festival as a mark and display of loyalty towards the royalty. Usually, four men chosen by the chiefs from each of the more than 200 chiefdoms accompany the girls in order to give them protection. Even today, it is

10

Chapter One

considered a shameful and sad experience for a family not to be able to sponsor their daughters to attend the Reed Dance festival. The composition of the participants goes beyond illiterate village girls to include primary, secondary and university students. Usually, the festival lasts for eight days. On the first day of their arrival in the Queen’s Palace, the girls are provided accommodation in school halls and households around the royal residence. They are sorted into two groups – the younger ones and the older ones. The young ones are as young as five years old while the older ones may be between 15 and 21. After the first day’s rest, they travel out of the royal premises to far and near places to cut reeds from the reed beds for the refurbishment of the queen’s surroundings (reed fence). While the young girls are encouraged to travel to nearby places, the older ones travel to as faraway places as Mphisi Farms. After cutting the tall reeds and wrapping them in bundles, they are deposited in the queen’s royal residence amidst great celebration, pomp and pageantry. For spectators who are conversant with Shakespeare’s Macbeth, watching the thousands of girls move along the street with their bundles of tall reeds amidst song and dance conjures the movement of “Great Birnam Wood to high Dunsinane Hill.” It must be noted that traditionally only girls who are virgins are allowed to deliver reeds to the queen. On the seventh day of the festival, the public is allowed to watch the maidens’ outing and displays in the Ludzidzini Royal Residence arena. Visitors start pouring in as early as 10 o’clock in the morning. In my five years’ research into this festival, the large expanse of land reserved for parking was usually full to capacity. Some tourists come to watch the festival in helicopters parked on the fields. Later in the afternoon, a bevy of young maidens, arranged in groups according to the chiefdoms they belong to, troops into the arena. This is the grand finale and the day the nation and tourists have been waiting for. The arena reserved for this festival is on the outskirts of the Royal Residence located on the old road between Mbabane and Matsapha/Manzini. It is a space the size of about five football fields and heavily guarded for security reasons. Outside the arena are business people and hawkers selling cultural goods and memorabilia. Everyone is free to watch the festival and no fees are charged. Colourfully and elegantly dressed in their traditional costumes incorporating bead necklaces (ligcebesha) of colours that range from red, yellow to blue, whistles (imfengwane), head decorations (ligwalagwala), ankle adornments made from dried cocoons (emafahlawane), sashes and exceptional crowns of purple feathers worn by the daughters of the king, they enter the arena in grand style. Some of the maidens who are still

Drama, Theatre, and Performance in Southern Africa: An Overview

11

virgins display with pride their woollen chastity tassels, known as Umcwasho. The greatest attraction for some spectators is the fact that, generally, the maidens’ dress is tantalising, with maximum exposure of their feminine curvature and beauty, including the exposure of uncovered breasts. The loin-skirts decorated with beads (indlamu) that they wear are so short that sometimes their mesmerising buttocks are tantalisingly exposed. All the maidens hold knives (umukhwa) in one hand with the sharp edges turned towards their faces and shields (lihawu) in the other. With thunderous songs that rend the air, they dance in unison in a leaping style, with the left leg pumping the ground while the right is slightly moved upwards. There is more leg-work gyration, with leaps and jerks and sensuous moves. In their different regiments they are displayed before the spectators, the king, the queen, several world dignitaries, the media and press. A special addition in recent years has been the participation of female officers from the police, prison, navy and armed forces. In 2014, the officers’ displays of expertise sent the crowd wild with excitement, and of course, it was a big cultural lesson for the younger girls in the arena to emulate. At a certain point during the maidens’ display, King Mswati III and members of his cabinet galloped like horses into the field. This was another grand performance, with a battery of microphones and cameras surging forward to catch a glimpse of the “Master of Ceremonies.” The marching steps of the girls came to an abrupt stop. The king and his retinue galloped around, paying homage to all the groups with a symbolic gesture of respect for womanhood, kneeling before each group in turn. To the gullible and the uninitiated, the Reed Dance is nothing but a free display of the females’ physical features and an opportunity for the king to pick another wife. Much more than these superficial elements of the festival is the fact that it is an opportunity for the nation to show their continual loyalty and support to the queen and those in power. It brokers national unity and family pride. It shows women’s solidarity through communal labour, and finally, the Reed Dance emphasises the culture of chastity and morality in the society. This is why HIV/AIDS theme was incorporated in the 2001 festival celebration. Swaziland is not alone in the celebration of this festival: South Africa, notably the KwaZulu-Natal province, celebrates its own version of not only the Reed Dance but the Incwala ritual as well.

12

Chapter One

Colonial and Anti-Colonial Era During the colonial era, indigenous performances were relegated to the background. In Lesotho, Swaziland and Botswana, the missionaries emphasised play productions that added value to the spread of the gospel thus, morality and church-based dramas were promoted. Plays by European dramatists were also produced. The colonial influence was worst in South Africa. With the arrival of the Dutch in the Cape Province in 1652 and later French and English and then Indian settlement, the performing arts playing field in South Africa changed considerably. Indigenous performances were subdued, while formalised theatre in the European fashion emerged with productions of plays by Shakespeare, Molière, Chekhov, Bernard Shaw, Goldsmith, etc. Afrikaans plays highlighting the Afrikaners’ culture featured prominently too. This development influenced the native artists, who started composing plays using Euro-American frames of reference – Herbert Dhlomo and Fatime Dike, Maishe Maponya, Matsemela Manaka, and Gibson Kente being some examples (see Orkin, 1991; Kavanagh, 1985 and Sirayi, 2012). As the apartheid system was enforced and unleashed havoc on the indigenous people, protest theatre became the order of the day. In the late 1980s the African National Congress (ANC) used theatre productions as weapons of struggle against the apartheid system. Musicians such as Hughes Masekela and Miriam Makeba (Mama Africa) employed the power of music to denounce apartheid. Mbongeni Ngema’s Woza Albert and the Serpent Players – Sizwe Banzi is Dead, Blood Knot and The Island - stand out in their expression of resistance against the oppressive forces of apartheid. Other politically committed theatre groups, such as Cape Flat Players, Gamakhulu Diniso’s Busang-Takaneng, Nyanga Theatre Group and Sabata Sesiu, all produced plays that denounced the apartheid regime (see Mda, 1996: 203 and Thamm, 1989: 25).

Post-Colonial Era With the coming to an end of the apartheid system in 1994, resistance drama gave way to the theatre of reconciliation exemplified in Athol Fugard’s My Children, My Africa and Playland, and John Kani’s Nothing but the Truth. Before these targeted post-apartheid plays of reconciliation, many playwrights had already gone this route with Khumalo’s Themba and Lewis Nkosi’s The Rhythm of Violence. The transformation strategy put in place by the ANC government to right the wrongs or simply address the imbalances of the past did not go down well with the non-black

Drama, Theatre, and Performance in Southern Africa: An Overview

13

theatre-going population. The closure of Performing Arts Companies (PACs), which were viewed by the new government as elitist and segregationist in conception, paved the way for the English and Afrikaner population to seek redress in festivals. During the apartheid era, the only significant and popular festival had been the National Arts Festival in Grahamstown, which had been in existence since 1974. In the belief that the dismantling of the Performing Arts Companies was an attempt to punish non-blacks, several new festivals and festival plays were inaugurated to fill the void. From the early 1990s the once powerful nationwide Afrikaans cultural organisations such as the Suid-Afrikaanse Akademie vir Wetenskap en Kuns (South African Academy for Science and Art), the Federasie van Afrikaanse Kultuurverenigings (FAK) [Federation of Afrikaans Cultural Associations] and the Afrikaanse Tall-en Kultuurverenigings (ATKV) [Afrikaans Language and Culture Association] were all trying to reassert and re-position themselves in the new context and were exploring opportunities to support initiatives which could ensure the survival of the Afrikaans culture and the language after the pending political transformation (van Heerden, 2011: 90).

These cultural associations were instrumental in the establishment of the Little Karoo National Arts Festival, Oudtshoorn; the Earths-Beat National Arts Festival, Potchefstroom; Woordfees, Stellenbosch; and the Volksblad Festival in Bloemfontein. In what appeared to be a political response to this development, the Provincial Government of the Free State, in collaboration with SABC 2 Television Channel (1997), launched the Mangaung African Cultural Festival (MACUFE) in Bloemfontein (van Heerden, 92). Since the ANC took over the reins of government in 1994, instability and corruption, often by-products of the post-colonial experience, have taken a toll on the new South Africa in transition. As we have seen, during the apartheid era, theatre practice, and especially black theatre, championed confrontation and hatred, because for the black population, apartheid was nothing short of evil. Since the reaction to apartheid had fueled the gas of creativity, with the demise of apartheid terminating centuries of brutal colonialism in South Africa, many critics expected a period of creative drought in South Africa. But that seems not to have been the case, as many forms of theatrical activity emerged in the post-apartheid era. In his “Politics and the Theatre: Current Trends in South Africa” (1996: 206218), Mda enumerates the “current trends,” including mock trial theatre (mock trial performances that were staged during political rallies in Cape

14

Chapter One

Town), Broadway-type theatre (mainstream British and American theatre productions), Organic Workers’ Theatre (the initiatives of labour movements), theatre-for-development (participatory empowering grass-roots theatre), Functional Theatre (spear-headed by Manaka for the advancement of the indigenous culture of the black population), Removals Theatre (plays that view nostalgically the removal of blacks from their township shacks), and Theatre of Reconciliation (plays that advocate peace and reconciliation after the apartheid period). It might be added that satire as a genre has become another trend in post-apartheid South Africa, which Mda has exploited fully in his post-apartheid plays, namely: You Fool, How Can the Sky Fall and The Mother of All Eating (see Ebewo, 2009). Mda is not alone in his exposé of corrupt practices in post-apartheid South Africa. Mike van Graan’s Some Mothers’ Sons (2009) and Craig Higgingson’s Dream of the Dog (2007) are all in line with Mda’s views on contemporary corruption in the new South Africa. In general, Southern African people are seen to yearn for and embrace many forms of entertainment. Like in other parts of Africa, the inhabitants of this region savour their dances and songs from the cradle to the grave. Indeed this is a community where, in one way or another, drama, theatre and performance permeate lives (Mangan, 2013: 3). In the words of Raymond Williams, it can be regarded as a “dramatised society” (1983). As in the British culture that Williams alluded to, South African drama seems no longer to be linked to the idea of a special occasion or even a special “night out,” but is part of the fabric of everyday life. In his 1974 inaugural lecture at Cambridge University, Williams noted: What is really new – so new I think it is difficult to see its significance – is that it is not just a matter of audiences for particular plays. It is that drama, in quite new ways, is built into the rhythm of everyday life . . . In earlier periods drama was important as a festival, in a season, or as a conscious journey to a theatre; from honouring Dionysos or Christ to taking in a show. What we now have is drama as habitual experience; more in a week, in many cases, than most human beings would have seen in a lifetime (1983: 12).

A cursory look at the societies discussed in this book will confirm that there are plenty of performances in this region expressing “the rhythm of everyday life” - political rallies, protest marches (toyi-toyi) by workers, accident-spots spectacle, musical concerts, choral renditions and competitions, church worshippers and the seeing of visions, whistling dancers clowning around road intersections with traffic lights, carnivals, the down-sizing of ladies who wear mini-skirts by taxi drivers by pulling

Drama, Theatre, and Performance in Southern Africa: An Overview

15

down their pants for public viewing, students’ demonstrations, clashes between football fans during club competitions, and the numerous “performances” in South African Parliament involving the honourables hurling insults at each other, with some singing “Pay Back the Money”, in utter disregard for order and decorum. Even the sombre and tragic sessions during the Truth and Reconciliation hearings, chaired by Archbishop Desmond Tutu, were pregnant with dramatic scenes and theatrical interludes. In fact, it is this assembly that provided the seminal input for John Kani’s play, Nothing But the Truth (2002). In Lesotho, children at kindergartens in the local communities engage in a popular children’s play known as mantloane. This is an outdoor children’s game, which entails the kids acting out adult roles while at play. Often the children imitate (role-play) the behaviour of their parents at home and display this, to the admiration of other children, who serve as audience. This play forum for kids is referred to in some quarters as “playing house.” In many formal education centres, especially in primary schools, the work of the teachers during outdoor physical education classes has been eased because some of the pupils and learners enjoy forming groups to recreate or infuse their indigenous performances by singing, dancing, jumping with ropes, clapping hands, or engaging in traditional acrobatics. Performance seems to come so naturally to Southern Africans that beer parlours are often transformed into song and dance arenas when clients become a little tipsy. This is a group in Africa that one can aptly call the nightingales of the continent because of the excellent quality of voice that nature has endowed them with. For music to become complete in other parts of Africa, musical accompaniments in the form of drums, gongs and flutes are often required, but these items may not be necessary in the production of music in Southern Africa, as the richness in voice makes up for these. We can substantiate this claim by citing the musical performances of Ladysmith Black Mambazo, who has won accolades all over the world. It is not only the celebratory and mourning contents of the performances of this group that have given them awards, but also the sonorous, complex and dexterous use of voice. The musical quality of their voices is unparalleled and may not be rivalled in many years to come. In fact, some Nigerian musicians have been known to seek mentorship from Joseph Tshabalala, the founder of Black Mambazo. In contemporary education, the South African curriculum is beginning to pay greater attention to African culture and performance. Importantly, the Department of Basic Education now places emphasis on Arts and Culture, as the primary school curriculum includes Arts and Culture Learning Area: Arts and Craft in the Foundation Phase (grades R-3); at the

16

Chapter One

Intermediate Phase (grades 4-6), it is known as Creative Arts while at the Senior Phase (grades 7-9) and the FET band (grades 10-12) it is known as Arts and Culture. Essentially, these deal with the study of drama, music and fine art. Details of this initiative are discussed in chapter twelve. As mentioned before, 10 of the 26 public universities in South Africa offer drama and theatre as specialisations, and of these, Durban University of Technology and Tshwane University of Technology are dedicated to teaching drama with a vocational slant, while others among the conventional and comprehensive universities pursue the academic end of theatre training. There are of course also specialist colleges and other private tertiary institutions that offer courses in the performing arts. Turning to the smaller countries adjacent to South Africa that were independent Commonwealth nations while South Africa was under apartheid rule, Botswana, Lesotho and Swaziland used to share one university – the University of Botswana, Lesotho and Swaziland (UBLS) which was located in Roma, Lesotho. This institution was formerly known as the University of Basutoland, Bechuanaland and Swaziland (UBBS) and it grew out of Pius XII Catholic University College of Lesotho (19641975). In 1976, after some challenges, Botswana and Swaziland withdrew from Lesotho and established two separate university colleges, which later became independent national universities. At inception, these universities were interested in liberal education, educational studies, social sciences and natural sciences. Less emphasis was placed on the performing arts. The situation is different today. In the early 1980s, the University of Botswana’s interest in performance was so overwhelming that a Travelling Theatre was established during the tenure of Prof. F.W.J. Mnthali, Head of the English Department. Dr. V.C.D. Mtubani first led the University Travelling Theatre group (UBTT) before T.T. Mogobe, an indigene of Botswana, took over. Interest in theatre and performance led to sending Mogobe to the University of Ibadan, Nigeria, to study for a masters degree in Theatre Arts, and later he received a doctorate. Staff members in the Department of Adult Education, Kidds and Byram, capitalised on performance as a tool in adult literacy and this initiative led to the establishment of another Travelling Theatre in the university, known as Laedza Batanani, with a mandate to educate the rural population on issues of sanitation, health and the need for unity and self-reliance. Professor David Kerr, a guru in African drama and the author of the celebrated book, African Popular Theatre (1995), Dr T. T. Mogobe, Dr. F.K. Omoregie and myself, with the support of the Dean at that time, Dr. N.N.L. Rasebotsa, and a couple of academic staff from the department of African Languages and Literature – Professor E. Kezilahabi, Dr. Pabalelo Mmila, for example

Drama, Theatre, and Performance in Southern Africa: An Overview

17

- further pushed this interest to a level where the university decided to establish a fully-fledged Department of Visual and Performing Arts in 2008. At the stakeholders meeting convened by the Dean, Dr. N.N.L. Rasebotsa, on 17 March 2007, which coincided with the 25th Anniversary of the institution, it was clearly stated that the university’s strategic management project emphasised “leading strategic change” and “investing in our future.” In its “Shaping the Future” initiative, the University of Botswana presented a strategic plan document for 2009 and beyond. Priorities and actions based on this strategic plan were derived from the university’s understanding of the external environment in which it operates and its capabilities and capacity to interact with and affect that environment and beyond. The university targeted five key priority areas, including “enriching quality academic programmes.” Under this category, the university committed itself to providing “quality, relevant academic and professional programmes responsive to the national need which provide students with a broad, well rounded education as well as the fundamental tool for life-long learning to prepare them to contribute to the nation.” Also, the University of Botswana intended to fulfil its vision as a leading academic centre of excellence, and its mission of advancing the intellectual and human resource capability of the nation and the international community, by serving as an intellectual and cultural centre that drew upon the nation’s indigenous knowledge base to promote Botswana’s social and cultural heritage. This priority was responded to principally through a comprehensive plan to establish new undergraduate academic programmes that are responsive to societal needs in several areas. Botswana National Development Plan 9 had identified the need for the University of Botswana to establish a Creative and Performing Arts unit that would encourage programmes that emphasise an interdisciplinary approach. There was a desire and a realisation of the need to uplift its course offerings by including a Visual and Performing Arts Department within its structures. Finally, in the 2010/2011 academic year, the university succeeded in introducing a programme in theatre studies. This realisation was not new; indeed the proposal to start such a department in the university went as far back as 1995. Amongst the humanities programmes, Visual and Performing Arts has been found to be a developmental discipline, innovative, and self-reliant. Professional expertise in the visual and performing arts would afford students the interdisciplinary flexibility needed in twenty-first century workplaces. Apart from skills development in the visual arts, the performing arts develop a whole person - emotionally, physically, intellectually,

18

Chapter One

imaginatively, aesthetically, and socially. They give form to experience through “acting out.” As students learn to make accommodations in order to pursue shared goals, they foster group interaction. The overall goal of performance is to foster a positive self-concept in students by encouraging them to explore life through the assumption of roles and acquisition of skills. When students reflect on the consequences of certain situations played out, this provides them with the knowledge for self-development. Courses offered in this department make students self-reliant and equip them with the necessary skills to organise their own performance companies (theatre, dance, music) after graduation, or seek employment in various capacities in art galleries, multi-media organisations, tourism centres, radio and television corporations, film companies, art councils, cultural centres, newspaper establishments, advertising outfits, public relations, creative writing, teaching and research. The career prospects are so good that in the second national university in Botswana, which specialises in science and technology, the establishment of another Performing Arts department was considered and carried as far as advertising academic staff positions. However, this idea was later dropped and the programme was taken off the university’s prospectus. In 1995, the National University of Lesotho established a Drama and Theatre unit within the Department of English, with me as the initiator and first co-ordinator. Long before this, Andrew Horn and Zakes Mda had spear-headed a Travelling Theatre outfit, which was later to be known as Marotholi Travelling Theatre. Other names we can conveniently associate with the development of drama and theatre in Lesotho are Masitha Hoeane, Chris Dunton, Jamary Molumeli, Limakatso Kendall, Sonny Samson-Akpan, Selloane Mokuku, T. Nzeku, M. Moorosi, Motjoka Ramonono, Limpho Mokhochane and Mamohau Mohatla. To date, of the three countries that originally collaborated in the UBLS, only the University of Swaziland has not established an independent department of Performing Arts, though it teaches and produces plays in English and siSwati in the departments of English and African Languages. Theatre promoters associated with this institution include Zodwa Motsa, John Ruganda, Emeka Nwabueze, Catherine Acholonu, W.D. Kamera, Gloria Mamba, and myself. Whether by omission or commission, the presence of performance culture in the institutions of higher learning in Botswana, Lesotho, Swaziland and South Africa has greatly affected performance culture beyond the campuses. In Lesotho, the Maseru Cultural Festival and Morija Arts and Cultural Festival are good examples; in Swaziland, drama events abound in the Mbabane Club, while poetry festivals and other

Drama, Theatre, and Performance in Southern Africa: An Overview

19

performances are often organised at House on Fire, a club situated in Malkerns. Ms. Bonisile Nxumalo is a popular name in Swaziland, and she features regularly as an astute poetry performer and cultural activist. More about Ms. Nxumalo and her poetry performance is documented in chapter thirteen. In Botswana, spin-offs of university performances can be seen during the Maitisong Theatre festival, held annually at Maru-a-Pula School, and at music festivals. The theatre practices championed by Leselebo Bathusi at Mochudi and the Reetsanang Association of Community Theatres in Gaborone; Bopaganang in Lobatse and Ghetto Artists in Francistown are also manifestations of the larger influence flowing from formal theatrical institutions. Though Botswana’s government has made great strides in the promotion of arts and culture, Mogobe (2015) feels strongly that these are merely wishes without viable implementation strategies. Mogobe recognises that Botswana has a national policy on culture that was adopted in 2001; the country’s “English Teachers’ Association (BETA) drama competitions spread country-wide and the focus shifted from using drama as a means of improving English proficiency, to that of promoting drama as an art form in its own right and deserving of recognition in the school system” (2015: 226). He commends Botswana’s participation at the Southern African Development Community (SADC) Theatre Festival in Maputo in 1996 and the Presidential directive to hold performing and visual arts competitions nationally with the winners getting prize money. But he laments the lack of total and engaged commitment of material resources to the arts in general, and theatre in particular. Being more developed than the other countries in this study, South Africa booms with theatrical activities germinating from all corners of society. As an example, one may safely say that to a great extent, the National Arts Festival in the Eastern Cape Province city of Grahamstown has been greatly influenced by formal drama performances within the country. Indeed, many tertiary institutions sponsor performers to encourage them to participate in the Grahamstown festival. Very recently, Africa Centre and the Institute for Creative Arts have been organising annual “Infecting the City” programmes in Cape Town to create a public space for the exhibition of visual, performance art, dance, music and video production.

CHAPTER TWO THEATRE AND RECONCILIATION IN SOUTH AFRICA: PAST AND PRESENT ASSUMPTIONS, FUTURE POSSIBILITIES

FARMER: Lies. Lies. (then shouting) Come and help me up, Jim! LABOURER: I warned you, bwana. FARMER: Help me, you cad! Surely you can't leave me here to die in the jungle. We are partners. We have always stood together. LABOURER: (after making a full circle stops over the Farmer) Should I take vengeance and let you die here? Or should I save you and hope there'll be true reconciliation between us? (Zakes Mda, The Road).

Introduction The parliamentary victory of the Nationalist Party in 1948 and its implementation of apartheid had a crucial impact on the social and political experience of blacks. Blacks were relegated to the background with no political share in the affairs of the state, while the 1950 Suppression of Communism Act ensured no parliamentary opposition. By 1960, black Africans and coloureds in the Cape region had lost even their indirect parliamentary representation. A number of other acts were enacted by the white minority rule to further deprive blacks of their rights in their fatherland. Blacks were forced from integrated towns and relocated in distant segregated areas called “townships”, where they were provided with dwelling places aptly called “train carriages.” Soweto is the best known example. Under these conditions, the impoverished and persecuted blacks had to assert their humanity through resistance.

Theatre and Reconciliation in South Africa

21

Many liberationist thinkers, including Freire (1972), Cabral (1969), and Fanon (1965, 1967, 1968), cried out about the importance of using culture to liberate the underdeveloped nations of the world. Their clarion call was heeded by South African cultural practitioners, who used theatre as a weapon of struggle against the apartheid regime. Though several critics barked against the use of theatre as a “sloganeering” (political) organ, it was a necessary evil at the time, and other critics and playwrights of the leftist school of thought offered no apologies for using theatre as an instrument of propaganda. Brinks averred that South African writers, particularly blacks, should not be condemned for writing about politics because “it is part and parcel of the most intimate experience of his/her daily life” (1992: 17). Zakes Mda, a prolific South African playwright, put it this way: The separation of art, and specifically of theatre, from politics is an elusive notion, and when one examines the different genres of theatre that exist in South Africa, it certainly has not been a factor in the production and enjoyment of the art in that country. It is generally taken for granted that the creator of theatre selects her or his material from life, and from his or her society. And of course South Africa is a society characterised by racial segregation, political oppression, and economic exploitation. South African theatre can never be abstracted from this particular context (1992: 4).

In his address upon receiving an Honourary Degree at the University of Witwatersrand, Athol Fugard, a South African playwright of the liberal school, clarified the issue thus: When I am asked, for example, outside South Africa, the relationship between politics and my play writing, I answer with total honesty that I don't really give the matter any thought. I point out that, as far as I am concerned, in the South African context the two are inseparable.

Theatre and the Idea of Reconciliation During the apartheid era, theatre practice, especially black theatre, championed confrontation and hatred. In the South Africa of the present, “reconciliation” is the watchword. Responding to pressure from all quarters, in February 1990 the government unbanned the African National Congress (ANC), the South African Communist Party and the PanAfricanist Congress with the prospect of genuine negotiations for the beginning of a new political era of non-racial democracy.

22

Chapter Two

The demise of apartheid terminated centuries of brutal colonialism in South Africa. For the black population, apartheid meant all that is bitter: disfranchisement, suppression and poverty. As Tapscott observes: The policies of the apartheid era fuelled the gas of racial and ethnic divisions throughout the society to the extent that different communities were segregated geographically, economically and socially. The bitterness engendered by the racist practices of apartheid rule thus presented real threat to the creation of a peaceful post-apartheid society (1993: 29).

Yet there is a dire need for peace and peaceful coexistence between people of different races in South Africa. Hence, President Mandela and his government, in his wisdom, adopted the policy of national reconciliation and established the Truth and Reconciliation Commission in February 1996. This commission, headed by Archbishop Desmond Tutu, was tasked with looking into the atrocities committed by individuals or organisations during the notorious apartheid regime. This was done with a positive view to finding a lasting peace for sake of the co-existence of the people of the multiracial community in South Africa. Tapscott holds that the new government's pursuit of reconciliation was both politically astute and economically necessary because the (anticipated) flight of much needed skills and capital had been forestalled, as had the political destabilisation of the affected opponents (1993: 29). The collapse of apartheid logically meant the collapse of protest literature. Much of the legislation repealed in 1990 was the same legislation that writers had protested against in their writings. Many critics and sceptics expected a drought of creative output after apartheid. This belief was of such major concern that a special conference, Making Literature: Reconstruction in South Africa, was held at the University of Witwatersrand (1-6 December 1991). In his report, Dennis Brutus noted that distinguished South African writers and critics attended this conference, where the form and nature of literature in a new South Africa were seriously addressed, with special attention to the role of the creative artist as a cultural worker in contributing to the construction of a new, non-racial, and democratic society (1993: 101). Though he had a mixed reception, Albie Sach, in his usual controversial way, proposed that there should be an end to “resistance” literature. If he had been wrong in Lusaka in 1989 to argue that ANC members should be banned for five years for saying that culture is a weapon of struggle, he is probably correct today to say that “resistance” literature should be resisted. Before the government's effort at reconciliation in the new climate in South Africa, some cultural workers, particularly theatre practitioners, had

Theatre and Reconciliation in South Africa

23

advocated reconciliation as a means to a lasting peace in the country. Recently, many South African theatre practitioners have turned their eyes away from radical and confrontational theatre to a theatre of reconciliation, as exemplified by Athol Fugard in Blood Knot and Playland, and by Lewis Nkosi in The Rhythm of Violence. Some of the shortcomings of the theatre of reconciliation are probed below, with an eye to factors that would promote and bring about a true and effective theatre of reconciliation in South Africa in the new millennium.

Appraisal of the Plays In September 1993, I was privileged to watch Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner? at the Natal Playhouse, Durban. The play is based on the original screenplay by William Arthur Rose (1967), starring Katherine Hepburn and the late Spencer Tracey as the parents and a very young Sidney Poitier as the lover. Seeing the potential in the film, PACT Director of Drama Pierre van Pletzen adapted it for stage and placed it in a postapartheid South African context. The play was then translated into Afrikaans by Pieter Fourie with the title Raai Wie Kom Vir Ete? At NAPAC's (then Natal Performing Arts Company) invitation, van Pletzen was mandated to re-translate the play into English and adapt it to a setting in Morningside, Durban. Under the direction of Murray McGibbon, this humorous, fast-moving comedy was a resounding success. The setting and the lighting were irresistible. The acting was superb and the character delineation convincing. The overall impression of the performance was a tour de force. What stood out prominently was the message in the play. Young Joanna Drayton, a white girl, is in love with a black man, John Skosana. The Drayton family, as well as the Skosanas, abhor this relationship in the conservative and racist belief that whites and blacks should not be seen together, particularly in matters of the heart. But after a series of complications, the two families succumb to the wishes of their children as love conquers all. No other play would have been more relevant to the South African situation of 1993. This is a good example of the theatre of reconciliation and this shift in focus is but one manifestation of the changes wrought in the post-apartheid era. Before the playwrights of the post-apartheid era indulged in the theatre of reconciliation practice, many others had composed plays with elements of reconciliation, even during the apartheid regime. Wole Soyinka (1988) has brought our attention to a performance of Althon Khumalo's Themba at the Young Vic in London in the early 1970s. According to Soyinka,

24

Chapter Two

“the play represents the viewpoint of dialogue with South Africa.” In it, a white policeman, enemy of the “bloody Kaffir,” has suddenly turned round to become a friend of the blacks. He attends parties with the black habitués and dances with black girls, in contravention of the Group Areas Act (1965) and the Immorality Act (1957). The play ends with jubilation and total interaction between the blacks and the whites. Whether Soyinka upholds this type of “pietistic resolution” in the play is a matter to revisit later. In line with Khumalo's Themba are Lewis Nkosi's The Rhythm of Violence (1968) and Athol Fugard's The Blood Knot (1964). Interest in these two plays as theatre of reconciliation has often been expressed by critics, although not always fully explored. In The Rhythm of Violence, we are confronted with a straightforward piece of action - underground action in the city of Johannesburg in the early 1960s. The play is, in the main, about apartheid and young student activists’ plan to dismantle it. Though there seems to be no action at the beginning of the play, there is a very crucial action in the role-playing episode involving Jan and Piet, two white policemen. In trying to enact the role black militants play in the fight against apartheid, Jan and Piet stand witness against their conscience. In a pompous manner, Jan, as he places himself in the shoes of an African leader, pours scorn on the perpetrators of black people’s misery: Sons and daughters of Africa! As always when we try to present our grievances to the oppressors, to these fascists, we always meet with arrogance, stupidity and plain brute force! Today as before they will not let us proceed to the City Hall... That is why I say to you, someday you're going to raise your fists against your dictators, against these fascists, against your children and your oppressors! (Nkosi, 1968: 21)

What a role-play! And the performance is so real that Piet is shocked: "Jan, you were carried away, man! You spoke just like a Native Communist" (1968: 21).

What should be of major concern to us in Nkosi's play is the scene which takes place in a dingy basement clubroom which serves as the headquarters of a group of left-wing university students. In this “dungeon” is found a non-racial group of blacks, whites, Indians, Jews and Afrikaners, all carousing together in defiance of the state law against “free mixing.” The necessity for people of all races to reconcile their differences and come together is expressed in Sarie’s (an Afrikaner girl) speech:

Theatre and Reconciliation in South Africa

25

The first time I ever met black people on a social level was last year when I came to the university and I had to sit next to a coloured boy. It was strange. I kept thinking something drastic would happen. But nothing happened. You know, I think that's very important. To get together and know each other. Black and white people. You know, to be friends and know how to respect each other. I think respect between people is the most important thing (1968: 44).

Tula, one of the black militants, in fact the hero of the play, has fallen deeply in love with Sarie, whose father is a member of the ruling party. As the play progresses we discover that this group of young, liberated and “independent” South African students are plotting something - to blow up City Hall with explosives when the National Party rally is in progress. But when Tula discovers that his paramour’s father will be one of the unfortunate souls to be blown up, he decides to change his mind and persuades his comrades to put off the plan. Of course, some do not accede. In his dilemma and hysteria, he escapes to warn Sarie's father or to disconnect the bomb. By the time he gets to City Hall, it is too late. He gets caught in a snare he was part of setting, as we see his still figure in the charred ruins of what had been City Hall. Critics have dismissed The Rhythm of Violence and Themba as containing cheap and unrealistic approaches to revolution. In particular, Soyinka insinuated that playwrights like Khumalo and Nkosi were writing for the apartheid-era white audience and as counter-revolutionary. …we expect that all literature which sets out to depict the realities of [such] a revolutionary situation cannot help but reflect that social hatred in its resolution which, after all, is central to the dynamics of the very social situation. In short, we do admit that there are areas of contrasting awareness even in the most intense moments of upheaval, and that the human spirit is not impoverished during the struggle by a faithful reflection of these very special and quiescent areas. But the pain which directs itself at the entire social matrix of upheaval must remain within it and resolve the struggle by the logical interactions of the components of that matrix, not go outside of it to impose an alien Christian pietistic resolution plucked from some rare atmosphere of the artists' uncontaminated soul (1988: 51-52).

I do not think that Soyinka was against ending racial hostilities or trying to strike a negative chord with regards to reconciliation. The “rainbow” existence is the only pragmatic solution and only reconciliation can bring it about. I rather suspect (and this is my standpoint) that critics like Soyinka are against the means the playwrights used to their end, rather than critical of the end in itself. The reconciliatory pose struck by the

26

Chapter Two

playwrights is laudable, but what is unpalatable about Themba, for instance, is the concern of the playwright with showing that the villains of the piece are indeed the blacks themselves, who have “turned their frustrated violence upon themselves” (Soyinka, 1988: 51). Tula's moralising action (in The Rhythm of Violence) is not in the least convincing. His Christian principle of “love your enemy” seems far-fetched in this context. What would the death of Sarie's father mean compared to the many blacks who had lost their lives in the liberation struggle? Tula dying in order to save Sarie's father and reconcile the races is a waste and a betrayal of trust. Reconciliation does not mean making peace with the devil or the vicious. Desmond Tutu, the father of reconciliation in South Africa, once reacted against those who pay lip-service to the philosophy of reconciliation: Often there have been those who have wanted to provide a spurious kind of reconciliation, a crying of “Peace, peace” where there is no peace, a papering over of the cracks instead of dealing with the situation as it demands, seriously facing up to the unpleasantness of it all (1997: 59).

The idea of “unpleasantness” connotes public confession, true repentance and asking for forgiveness. One is then enabled to confront the past, look into the present and project into the future. To a great extent, these capabilities are lacking in the two plays we have so far examined. Another play of the early 1960s which explores the thematic concern of reconciliation is Athol Fugard's The Blood Knot. Some critics have charged Fugard with “not covering enough ground in depicting the more fundamentally oppressive aspects of the apartheid regime” (Kavanagh, 1985: 59-83). I do not think this was Fugard’s major concern in composing this play. Though there are echoes of the absurd, existentialism and apartheid, Fugard seems to have been more preoccupied with forging the cord of “brotherhood” amongst the different races, particularly blacks and whites living in South Africa. The Blood Knot is a very powerful piece of theatre - deep, poetic and full of symbols. It is, as Fugard puts it in Story of the Play, “a parable of two brothers - one white-skinned, one black sharing a hovel on the outskirts of Port Elizabeth, committed to a shifting, abrasive relationship which reflects all the larger fears and anguish of racial issues” (1964: 3). The two brothers, Zachariah (black) and Morris (white), are not just brothers but “Brother-in-arms, each other's arm” (1964: 24). They live an interdependent life like Beckett's characters in Endgame or Waiting for Godot. Though Zachariah is silent, sullen, weary and tired-faced, suffering from the effects of prejudice, injustice and exploitation, he is effectively the bread-winner in the house, while Morris takes care of the daily chores as well as nursing Zach's ailing feet. Though

Theatre and Reconciliation in South Africa

27

both brothers live in a “bleak” and “indifferent” world – one where racism is the order of the day - Morris has an advantage over Zach because of his colour pigmentation. He (Morris) once deserted his brother, leaving him alone in the stinking, dilapidated shack. But he returned because of their sanguine affiliation, because he was not fully integrated out there, because he could not make it all alone. He returned like a prodigal brother to make peace with Zachariah. It is this process of reconciliation that is the crux of this play. The relationship to be re-established between the two is anchored on more solid ground because Morris has vowed to get to know his brother “again… all over again.” Morris goes so far as to put on Zachariah's coat, proving the practical point that “you get right inside the man when you can wrap up in the smell of him and imagine the sins of idle hands in empty pockets and see the sadness of snot smears on the sleeves...” (1964: 25). Morris regrets his exit, feels “pain” and apologises for calling Zachariah “swartgat”: Just a joke! (softly.) Oh, my God! What did I do! Forgive me, Zach. Say it, please. Forgiveness. Don't look at me like that! (a step to Zachariah. who backs away.) Say something. For God's sake, say something! I didn't mean it now. I didn't do it then. Truly. I came back. I'm your brother (1964: 86).

Zachariah is apprehensive of Morris. Morris’s harping on the word “brother” does not strike a convincing chord in Zachariah's music of their new relationship. It sounds like a mere mouthing of words: “There is something in the way you say that word, that...” (1964: 32). Morris becomes “critical of [his] colour,” turns into a Christian believer in the Bible and tries to convince his brother that he is “no Judas.” The play, particularly scene five, stresses the elements of truth, confession, repentance, forgiveness and reconciliation. Let us make some observations: Do the two brothers trust each other? Morris has no problem, but Zachariah has some doubts about Morris - and justifiably so. Morris treats him sometimes with an air of condescension, hides the house savings from Zachariah, envies Zachariah's pen-friendship with Ethel Lange (a white girl) and becomes vicious at Zachariah's success. Initially, Zachariah is ignorant of colour, until Morris teaches him the difference. Like the farmer in Zakes Mda's The Road (though in a different situation), Zachariah did not at first realise Morris was “white.” In the play, Morris acts as Zachariah's think-tank and his hope for a better future. His self-denial of sexual indulgence makes him a righteous man. He is the one who thinks up “a small two-man farm” as a project; he lays the bed, prepares and serves meals, while Zachariah is portrayed as a

28

Chapter Two

being without plans in life. He loves women, drink and music and “the passing of time and worthless friends” (p. 18). The sad thing about this play therefore seems to be that Fugard has either by omission or commission supported the status quo by stereotypically portraying the black man as a humbug or a ne'er-do-well. The bathing of Zachariah's feet by Morris is interpreted by Orkin as the black man being a piece of impurity that must be cleansed (1988: 18). Such a situation does not make room for a 50-50 relationship between blacks and whites and true reconciliation may be difficult to achieve under this circumstance. In fact, absolute reconciliation is quite remote between Morris and Zachariah. …but their illusions have ended. They are resigned, but Naive optimism, unfounded faith and self-delusions have perspicuity and consciousness … thought and deeds are through their role-playing. Action leads to cognition. They accept their true identities (Vandenbroucke, 1986: 64-65).

not defeated. given way to finally joined recognise and

Their coexistence is quite significant. They have both been able to identify a common enemy - the symbolic “mother” (the bearer of children of different colours - apartheid). Together they curse and stone the old woman for making life “unbearable” (Vandenbroucke, 1986: 100).

Though the idea of reconciliation in artistic creations seemed to be premature in the heydays of apartheid, it is very pertinent now. And in no other piece have we experienced the dramaturgy of reconciliation better than in Fugard's Playland. From the opening of the play to its resolution there is a conscious effort on Fugard's stage to propagate the gospel of reconciliation in post-apartheid South Africa. Unlike earlier plays discussed here, Playland focuses directly on the need to “confess” and the need to “forgive” in order to achieve true reconciliation. Manim testifies that: With Playland Athol has fashioned a tale about repentance, forgiveness and reconciliation at a time when our country and the world desperately need to consider these things. He gives us another of his parables about people finding a new understanding and appreciation of each other in a world that holds more than just our individual catastrophes, hurts, regrets and sadnesses [sic] in a world where God is alive (in Fugard, 1992: xiiixiv).

This is a brilliant play: unpretentious, without unnecessary twists and turns and not overloaded with cumbersome theatrical manoeuvres, it flows naturally from the heart. Its beauty lies in its simplicity and straightforwardness.

Theatre and Reconciliation in South Africa

29

The allegory in the title Playland is not difficult to uncover as alluding to South Africa. And the old year (1989) which yields to the new (1990) signals the dawn of a new era – the end of apartheid and the beginning of a new democratic South Africa. Martinus (a black park attendant) jubilates: “But now it is my time! Now night-watchman Martinus Zoeloe is in charge” (1992: 45). With the deathblow to apartheid, what relationship exists between blacks and whites? Fugard is outspoken as this brief dialogue between Gideon (white man) and Martinus (black) shows: GIDEON:

Fuck Playland! I'm talking about you and me. That's what it's all about now. You and me. Nice and simple. No complications. You and me! There's things to settle between us, and now is the time to do it. Right now ... right here. MARTINUS: There's nothing between you and me. (Gideon laughs) What do you want from me, white man? If you want to make trouble, go do it with your own people. GIDEON: Fuck them as well. I'm not interested in them. It's you I want ... (1992: 45-46).

The two characters in the play share a common bond - that of criminality. Both are guilty of shedding human blood. But their circumstances are different. Martinus knifed a white man (Andries Jacobus de Lange) to death for harassing and abusing Thandeka, his fiancée. Thus, his crime was committed out of provocation. But it was different for Gideon. He was a white soldier whose duty was to wipe out the SWAPO guerrilla fighters. In fact, the writing of Playland was catalysed by a photograph from the Border War in which white soldiers were shown dumping the bodies of SWAPO fighters into a mass grave. Gideon confesses with his own mouth: “I was with the pros and for ten years we were up there on the Border sending your freedom-fighting brothers to Hell, and I'm not talking about one or two. We were into double figures, man. One amazing bloody day I did the rounds and counted twenty-seven of them we'd blown away to Kingdom Come. Ja! Twenty-fucking-seven. Do you have the remotest idea what that means? What it feels like to count twenty-seven dead men?” (1992: 50). Earlier on he has damned Martinus for killing a white man for “screwing” his woman. The simple fact is that many white men, including Gideon, are guilty of the same crime. “That's how little white boys learn to do it. On your women!” (1992: 50) At first sight, these pronouncements seem like insults, boastfulness and bragging. But as the play progresses, we discover that they are not only

30

Chapter Two

expository materials, but true confessions. Gideon (the ex-soldier) was living in hell, his guilt driving him to madness and he needed someone to talk to - to off-load his sick mind. Truth is the only antidote to a guilty soul. Gideon is a person with a conscience. He's haunted by his crimes. The sing-song epithet of his military days - “you're alive Gid” - is a parody of the soul-oppressed ex-soldier, as Gideon himself testifies: “What a bloody joke. I'm as dead as the men I buried and I'm also spooking the place where I did it” (1992: 59). Gideon recognises, and openly admits, that what he did when he was a soldier was a “terrible sin.” He compares his wanton destruction of human life to his childhood days, when he felt sad for unwittingly cutting open the belly of a mother fish and so spilling her babies. Gideon regrets his past; like Morris in Blood Knot, he rejects the atrocities of his race: “My people? Shit! Any resemblance between me and them is purely co-accidental” (1992: 35). He feels remorse and looks for “forgiveness” because, according to Archbishop Tutu: True reconciliation is based on forgiveness, and forgiveness is based on true confession, and confession is based on penitence, on contrition, on sorrow for what you have done. We know that when a husband and wife have quarrelled, one of them must be ready to say the most difficult words in any language, “I’m sorry” and the other must be ready to forgive for there to be a future for their relationship (Tutu, 1997: 60).

Gideon has openly admitted his crimes, feels sorry and asks for forgiveness. Though hesitant and suspicious at first, Martinus later buries his mistrust and decides to forgive and become Gideon's “buddy.” This fraternity becomes very obvious at the end of the play, when the two characters walk off together and vow to repair the past for the good of the future. The symbolic seal on the vow is the “push” of fellowship, togetherness and love that Martinus gives to Gideon's troublesome lorry. Zakes Mda has noted with interest that though Playland was received with great enthusiasm by white critics, it received mixed reviews from black critics. He points out that, at the performance he attended at the Market Theatre, Johannesburg, he counted an audience of more than 300 people, of whom only three were black (1992: 33). This situation might have arisen as a result of New Nation's (1992) review of the play. The anonymous article in New Nation submits that plays dealing with reconciliation in South Africa offer “short-lived insights limited by sectarian interests.” The publication accuses Playland of not contributing to the national debate on justice. It sees the passing of the death sentence on the black murderer (Martinus) while there is no suggestion of any punishment for Gideon, the ex-soldier, as wrong. When examined

Theatre and Reconciliation in South Africa

31

critically and in line with the principles of reconciliation, Martinus deserves his fate. He was not condemned because he is black. He was sentenced because he refused to feel sorry for his crime. “... And I'm not sorry. When the judge asked me if I was, I told him. I told him that if I saw that white man tomorrow I would kill him again” (Fugard, 1992: 49). Crime is crime, irrespective of the circumstances. Lawsuits aside, in the sight of God there is no forgiveness without repentance. Martinus tells us of one of his dreams, his projection into the sublime: I was kneeling and telling Him that I was sorry for what I did and wanted forgiveness. And then I heard Him. It's no good, Martinus. I can see into your heart. I can see you are not sorry for what you did? So I said, “that’s true, God. I am not sorry" And He said, “Then I can't forgive and you must go to Hell. All the people who are not sorry for what they did will go to Hell” (1992: 32).

So Martinus stands condemned simply because he refuses to be sorry. And to prove further that it was not an act of victimisation, his death sentence was later reduced to 15 years when de Lange's wife confessed to the judge that her husband had raped Martinus' fiancée and was in the habit of forcing servants to get into his bed. When all is said and done, Playland is still a wonderful piece of reconciliatory theatre. Barry Ronge said the play is a landmark in the history of South Africa. “It is a play about redemption and forgiveness, which in this time of hatred felt like a cool, healing balm” (1992: 17).

Conclusion The issue of reconciliation in post-apartheid South Africa is not easily or mechanically worked out. Reconciliation cannot be served on a platter of gold after years of avowed hostility and cut-throat existence. Time is needed to heal wounds. No compensation price can be worked out. But people must be prepared to shun the past. Offenders must be ready to say “we are sorry” and the offended must embrace forgiveness in their hearts. It is the only way, though it is not an easy one, to surge forward. The peace of an individual soul contributes to peace of the whole. And this is why the playwrights of our time have committed themselves to the essence of reconciliation, and their contribution to the restoration of peace and brotherhood in society cannot be quantified. Unfortunately, playwrights operate within a very delicate medium, where critics are always ready to tear apart their projections. And this is why cultural workers, especially those who have opted for the theatre of reconciliation,

32

Chapter Two

should tread the ground of their creativity with caution. No matter what critics say, the theatre of reconciliation gives a new perspective to a polarised society. It “transcends present reality to display to its audience a potential South Africa” (Angove, 1992: 44). Without being prescriptive, I would like to offer a few suggestions which might help in boosting the practice of theatre of reconciliation in South Africa. President Mandela's policy of national reconciliation is a mark of political maturity and this has undoubtedly played a significant role in overcoming the immediate political, racial and ethnic tensions in post-apartheid society. However, the task of promoting greater social equity and justice has to be grappled with more effectively. This is an issue theatre practitioners may want to address as a theme or sub-theme in their writing, because justice and fair play nourish peace. An effective theatre of reconciliation must damn the separation symbolised by the old Group Areas Act. It must be multiracial. Whites, blacks, Indians and coloured must work together as friends, colleagues and brothers. Whites should purposely avoid having an edge over blacks in matters of artistic creation. In a production of Guess Who's Coming to Dinner? which was purposely mounted to address the issue of reconciliation, only two out of nine technical credits were given to blacks - assistant stage manager and senior fly man. And these are roles the production could have done without. A true theatre of reconciliation should embark on a conscious deconstruction of the mind. The Simunye1 spirit should be inculcated in every South African, especially the youth. Play creators should involve children of mixed races. It is better to catch them young and cleanse their minds about skin pigmentation. The Catholic Church and Islam reap a harvest by involving children in their doctrines at a very tender age. Incidents such as the 1998 school riot over racial discrimination at Vryburg High School should be stopped before racial prejudice begins to sink its roots deep into children. Children of mixed races playing and creating together may contribute to colour blindness. Theatre of reconciliation should be a popular culture, not elitist, for it involves the whole spectrum of society. I go so far as to advocate that it should be incorporated in the theatre-for-development movement. It should be participatory. The people should be given the democratic freedom to tell their stories. While it was in session, the Truth and Reconciliation Commission was an open advocate in this direction. Though sad to watch, it was always live drama to watch the commission at work. Every Sunday, the South African Broadcasting Corporation (SABC) brought to the people live television coverage of the commission in session. On

Theatre and Reconciliation in South Africa

33

many occasions, culprits asked for forgiveness from those they hurt, and we often saw the victims or members of their families crying but managing to say in between their sobs, “I forgive you.” We may take from this that playwrights should not distort history beyond recognition to depict rituals of appeasement. Distortion of reality should be artistically handled - there is nothing wrong with visiting a utopian universe in the fashion of Jonathan Swift, but it must be done with cleverness and sensitivity. It is difficult for the majority of South Africans to see theatre of reconciliation plays simply because they live too far from the theatres. Currently, most reconciliation plays are urban-based. It is not practicable to expect poor people in Soweto to travel to the Market Theatre to watch a play, or Township dwellers in Garankuwa to travel to the State Theatre in Pretoria. If theatre of reconciliation must have an impact on the people, I recommend that there be a reversal of habit: the theatre should travel to the people. Presentations of reconciliatory plays on television and radio (mass media) would also go a long way to help. Moreover, plays of reconciliation should at all costs avoid stereotypical depictions of people and races. It greatly offends one to see how commonly blacks are depicted in plays as drunk, violent, careless, and promiscuous. Most often it is a black who plays the part of the maid. This issue seems to be of such universal concern to many people that even a black critic castigated Fugard for his stereotypical presentation of the Afrikaner in Playland (Pemba, 1992: 16). Good taste must inform such depictions. And lastly, a special day should be set aside as a day of national reconciliation and unity. To promote unity and reconciliation amongst its citizens, the Australian government has set aside a special day for this purpose, known as National Sorry Day. The equivalent in South Africa is Day of Reconciliation which is celebrated on 16 December.

Notes 1

“Simunye” (Zulu language) used to be a popular television jingle meaning “We are one.”

CHAPTER THREE SWAZI INCWALA: THE PERFORMATIVE ELEMENTS IN A RITUAL PRACTICE Introduction Though some scholars regard ritual as a “basic social act” (Rappaport, 1979: 174), Leach (1968: 526) opines that there is the widest possible disagreement as to how the word “ritual” may be understood. Contrasting theories and definitions of ritual abound in academic discourse and many of them are slippery and may not be easily digestible. Turner (1977: 19) defines a ritual as a “prescribed formal behaviour for occasions not given to technological routine, having preference to beliefs in mystical beings or powers,” while Goffman states: Ritual in tribal society, represents not an obsessional concern with repetitive acts, but an immense orchestration of genres in all available sensory codes: speech, music, singing; the presentation of elaborately worked objects, such as mask, wall-paintings, body-paintings; sculptured forms; complex many-tiered shrines; costumes; dance forms with complex grammars and vocabularies of bodily movements, gestures and facial expressions (Goffman, 1974 qtd. in Balme, 1999: 69).

These two definitions affirm that the word “ritual” may convey different meanings to different people in different situations, and this is why the word is very often abused. Whatever is the case, a common thread runs through conceptions of ritual: that of being regarded as the repetitive cycle of an activity which culminates in a formalised act. Simply put, it involves the repetition and refinement of patterns of rites that become ceremoniously fixed. Rituals in their simplest forms affect our lives and environment, saturating the daily routine of our lives. Tambiah’s perspective on the definition of ritual is what has informed our study of the Incwala, a sacred and religious ritual which is practiced in the Southern African kingdom of Swaziland as a performative art. Other

Swazi Incwala: The Performative Elements in a Ritual Practice

35

Nguni-speaking people of Southern Africa also practice Incwala. Tambiah states: Ritual is a culturally constructed system of symbolic communication. It is constituted of patterned and ordered sequences of words and acts, often expressed in multiple media, whose content and arrangement are characterized in varying degrees by formality (conventionality), stereotypy (rigidity), condensation (fusion), and redundancy (repetition). Ritual action in its constitutive features is performative (1979: 119).

Our purpose is to scrutinise this ritual practice so as to uncover the performative elements locked in it, thereby sanctioning the age-old relationship between theatre and ritual. The notion of ritual as a formal term of analysis in academia first emerged in the nineteenth century and was regarded as a universal category of human experience (Bell, 1992: 14). Bell noted that many myth and ritual theorists look to ritual in order to describe religion. Social functionalists explore ritual actions and values in order to analyse society and the nature of social phenomena. More recently, symbolic anthropologists have found ritual to be fundamental to the dynamics of culture. The prominence of ritual in the study of cultural anthropology is a focal point in our present discourse as it opens the gate for “cross-disciplinary” discourse. Many anthropologists in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries speculated confidently that theatre emerged from the ancient myths and rituals of “primitive” people who supposedly possessed no scientific knowledge to explain the world around them, and therefore attributed natural occurrences like drought, flood, pestilence, eclipse, and so on, to supernatural or magical forces. Supposedly, these “primitives” perceived a supreme being or force that seemed to control their day-to-day activities. In their effort to secure the protection or “win the favour of these forces,” they designed performances to please them. Oftentimes, probably through mere coincidence or telepathic sympathy, these performances appeared to be effective. Encouraged by such good results, these people were then encouraged to do more in order to please the forces, and this led to series of improvements, regular repetitions, and the formalisation of the actions into the fixed ceremonies that we have conveniently termed rituals. Anthropologists further explained that the stories that are most often retold are fabricated from rituals, because humans have been known to impersonate supernatural forces during public performances. In many performances, the participants wear sanctioned regalia or masks to represent these forces. As society becomes more advanced, ritual elements and the reasons behind them tend to be abandoned and the emphasis shifts

36

Chapter Three

towards the aesthetic values of the performance. This is, then, an evolutionary story of developmental steps towards theatre as a specialised institution. It depicts a particular connection between ritual and the emergence of a performance art form known as theatre or drama. The attempt to link the Incwala with this ritual theory of drama may well raise academic questions and attract queries from cultural activists, who might view it as demeaning one of the traditional practices of Africa. Such attacks on ritual studies in relation to drama are common. In The Reader’s Encyclopedia of World Drama (1969), Herbert Weisinger states that “Although more than three-quarters of a century has passed since the publication of the first volumes of James G. Fraser’s The Golden Bough (1890) and more than fifty years since the appearance of Jane Harrison’s Themis (1912), the two works that laid the foundation for the ritual theory of the drama, the theory is still being attacked as though it were freshminted, still persistently alive” (712-713).

Incwala In comparison with the Umhlanga (Maidens’ Reed Dance) festival, the Incwala ritual celebration has received greater and deeper attention from researchers and scholars (Ndlovu, 2007; Motsa, 2001; Kamera, 2001; Beidelman, 1966; Carter, 1957; Kuper, 1947; Lincoln, 1985; Malan, 1985; Marwick, 1966 and Nxumalo, 1976, to mention but a few). In the Incwala ritual, it becomes clearly evident “that the cosmology, history and tribal ritual are so closely tied up with the political organisation of the people, that they cannot be understood in isolation” (Malan, 1985: 1). Essentially, the ritual is a bid to prepare the king to be able to acquire more supernatural powers that will be used to fight against his enemies within the kingdom and beyond. Beidelman stated that, far from the ritual being a period when the king is symbolically weak, it marks his assumption of great power (1967: 416). In fact, the Incwala is the exclusive ceremony of the king. When there is no king, there is no Incwala and it is a treasonable offence for the ritual to be conducted without the king. Also, according to Lincoln (1985), this ritual is the annual revitalisation of the Swazi society, polity, and natural environment. It is a period when pestilence and poverty are swept aside while opulence, fertility and wealth are marshalled in. It is the “New Fruits” and harvest ceremony. In this sense, the Incwala is the end of year celebration and a period of purification – a ritual of communal cleansing. “It is a period of thanksgiving and burying the old agrarian year and ushering in the new one” (Kamera, 2001: 207). Above all, it is a ritual that rejuvenates the power of the Swazi King and the nation; it is a period

Swazi Incwala: The Performative Elements in a Ritual Practice

37

of triumphal victory over evil and all forces of opposition. During the Incwala ritual, there are no spectators; everybody is a participant. Although it is a difficult task to attempt a summation of the Incwala ritual performance, this narration is based on my research and participant observation of this ritual in 2001 and 2002, and on Bruce Lincoln’s essay (1985), which in itself touched on publications by many scholars. I have particularly benefited from Hilda Kuper’s fieldwork report of 1934-1936, which, from a sociological perspective, seems to be the most comprehensive and thorough documentation of the Incwala ritual process. The ritual spans several weeks and involves many sequences. It is always held in December, which in Swaziland is the period before summer. It is notable that this ritual celebration is timed to coincide with the end of the year. There are two phases to the ritual – the “Small or Little Incwala” (Incwala Lenkane) and the “Great or Big Incwala” (Incwala Lenkulu). The Little Incwala is the forerunner of the Big Incwala. It lasts for two days, and during this period a faction of the king’s warriors enact rebellion against the king. Standing in a “half-moon formation,” these warriors dance and sing songs of hatred, hurling insults at the king, beseeching him to give up the throne. Later, the king and his loyal warriors chase the enemies away in mock combat (using pantomimic dance) with a general cry of “Out, foreigners!” (Kuper, 1947: 205). Those regarded as foreigners are those citizens who are not true descendants of Dlamini, the founder of Swaziland. The dance movements now assume a “full-moon formation.” These dramatic changes come at a time when the king chews and spits certain powerful medicines in the directions of East and West in order to “stab” the old year, and welcome the new year. Before the king undertakes this task, he must be secured against all his active and potential enemies. After a break of 12 days, the “Great Incwala” phase begins, which lasts for six days. The first three of these are given to preparations, particularly the gathering of water and plants from certain parts of the Swazi kingdom, which are used to prepare medicine to strengthen the king. The fourth day is known as the Great Day, and is the ritual’s dramatic climax. This day features the dramatisation of conflict between the king and “foreigners” and the eating of the first fruits by the king. The fifth day is a day of rest, while the last day signals the grand finale of the ritual occasion with general merriment.

38

Chapter Three

Theatrical and Dramatic Elements To fully appreciate the theatrical and dramaturgical dimensions of this ritual, it may be necessary to break up the ritual enactment into segments, which may serve as dramatic acts, scenes or episodes.

Little Incwala Sequences As stated earlier, the Little Incwala is the forerunner of the Big Incwala. This is a sort of “opening glee” for the real ritual ceremony. Day 1: On observing the position of the sun and the moon as is the custom (northward movement of the sun and waxing of the moon during the month of December), commencement of the Little Incwala is announced by the elders. Participants from all corners of the nation, led by their chiefs, arrive as local contingents at Eluzidzini, the royal palace area. The king’s ritual regiment (Bemanti) travels outside the country to ka Tembe (south of Maputo, Mozambique) with sacred containers to fetch river and sea water, which are essential ingredients used to sanctify and energise the king. The march to fetch water by this group of people (Bemanti) dressed in traditional ritual regalia is stately (pageantry) and is watched by a multitude of people. On their way, gift items are extorted from passers-by. The journey takes more than a day and the participants are at liberty to sleep wherever night befalls them. When they get to the sea, it is the foam from the tide and not real water that must be collected. On the return journey, the water is deposited in the king’s inhlambelo (“sacred enclosure”) as the warriors sing the tibongo (praises) of the royalty. They also sing other sacred songs, holding high their shields and sticks: Uye uye oyeha you hate the child king mu u u oyeha You hate the child king (repeated) I would depart with my father (the king) I fear we would be recalled Mm m u u u oyeha they put him on the throne Mm m u u u he sleeps with the sister Mm m u u u he sleeps with Lozithupa (princess) Uye uye oyeha you hate the child king Shiyo ihi ihi ihi shiyo hi hi hi

Swazi Incwala: The Performative Elements in a Ritual Practice

39

Hi Hi Hi (Kuper, 1944: 236). The warriors perform a semi-circular dance as a black ox, one of the sacrificial ingredients for the ritual medicine, is being slaughtered. At nightfall, the warriors perform a circular dance while the king is being “doctored” with medicinal herbs for the procurement of supernatural powers. The simemo (song of insult) refrain delivered to despise and reject the king is sung: Jjiya hhohho ye ye Nkosi, Alas for your fate. Jijiya hhohho ye ye Nkosi, They reject thee Jjiya hhohho ye ye Nkosi, They hate thee (1944: 237). The song ends when the chief priest shouts “Out Foreigners!” Later, the king spits medicine to symbolically defeat the old year and court the new one. This is the climax of the day’s activities and the participants sing a closing song (“Lihuba”). Fire burns in the king’s enclosure throughout the night. Day 2: Early in the morning, while those who are loyal to the king dance and sing his praises, his enemies sing songs of insult. The king is forced to come out, and a mock combat, though subdued, ensues. He once again repeats the activities of the previous day by spitting and stabbing the day. The people perform several songs and disperse gifts and drinks provided by the royal household. Interlude: There is usually a 12-day break period between the Little and the Big Incwala. The period is devoted to perfecting (rehearsing) the songs and dances and preparing costumes for the big occasion.

Big Incwala Sequences Day 1: Quest for the Lusekwane, a drought-resistant plant, and a significant fertility symbol of the Incwala ritual. Only youth who are “pure” (those who have no wives and children) go to fetch the plant. The youth dance with the king before departing on their mission. Seeing them depart is like watching a swarm of bees. They sing a mock lullaby - siyamthuthuzel’ umntwan’ usakhula (we hush the little baby she is still growing] (Motsa, 2001: 36) as they cut the plants with the sharp edges of their spears or knives.

40

Chapter Three

When they return, the plant is used to cover the sacred dwelling of the king, especially the enclosure where he will be doctored. Kuper quotes a Swazi, Motsa, as saying: “When the king is surrounded by the lusekwane we believe he is being reborn, revitalized, and that he will grow in prestige” (1944: 242). Of great significance is the expectation of rain (a sign of good omen) as the youth return from their national pilgrimage. In fact, in 2001, a bright afternoon gave way to a very heavy rain as the youth were returning from cutting the plant. Day 2: Arrival at Eluzidzini with the plants (boughs) very early, at dawn. As the sun rises, the king comes out to receive these national heroes. In the cattle byre, they sing lullabies as they drop their plants into a heap. Day 3: Young people gather emacembe (another type of ritual leaf found commonly around the country). The lusekwane is placed on top of the emacembe. The major act of the day is the catching of the bull (inkunzi). The king strikes the ritual bull and the youth run after it until it is caught and killed with bare hands, a demonstration of skill and bravery. This act is filled with excitement and danger. Special portions of the beast’s flesh are used as medicinal ingredients for “doctoring” the king. Another significant rite of this day is the king sitting on a black ox while being bathed with medicinal concoctions. This act is believed to make the king more energetic. Day 4: This day marks the climax of the ritual celebration often referred to as the “Great Day,” the real Incwala itself. The dramatisation of the conflict between the king and “foreigners” is enacted on this day. Before dawn, songs are performed; in particular, young boys sing a sacred lullaby for the revitalisation of the king and nation (Kuper, 1947: 214). While this song is being performed, the king is within the Kabayethe (the “national shrine” located inside the queen mother’s compound) being bathed with medicinal concoction by his tinsila, two close ritual attendants. Meanwhile, the people gathered outside form themselves into two lines between the Kabayethe and the Sigodlo, the hut of the ritual queen. When all is ready, the king emerges from the Kabayethe, flanked by priests as he walks through the crowd of people. Once the king has entered the Sigodlo, his councillors enforce silence

Swazi Incwala: The Performative Elements in a Ritual Practice

41

on the crowd. The king once more spits medicine east and west and the people shout: “Eh eh! He stabs [the year]!” Again, he spits the medicine and then eats the first fruits (luselwa) of the new harvest, the food which signifies the passage from poverty to opulence. After the king has eaten the new fruit of the season, the emaSwati, in order of their rank within the social hierarchy, also eat the food. The king, the father of the nation, being the first to eat the fruit is a symbolic act of self-sacrifice, because this is traditionally associated with drawing out poison from the food (Motsa, 2001: 37). The most dramatic sequence of the Incwala begins late in the afternoon of the fourth day, when the princes of the Dlamini clan, who are potential rivals of the king, press against the king frantically, singing a song thus far unheard during the ceremony. Warrior regiments join the princes, throwing themselves against the king and driving him back inside the Nhlambelo (the hut at the head of the national cattle byre). Their song is of a martial kind, “wild and sad like the sea when the sea is angry and the birds of the sea are tossed on the waves” (Kuper, 1947: 217). Once the princes and the warriors have driven the king into the Nhlambelo, they withdraw a little, but the atmosphere remains one of extreme tension. The king, surrounded by his retinue, symbolically enacts an action of flight (Motsa, 37). Finally, the king returns, a transformed person, dressed and made up to look like silo, the “monster of legends,” and he dances wildly, out of control. There follows a back-and-forth choreography of king and people, as the king alternately advances into the crowd and withdraws to his hut, from which the others beseech him to emerge. Gradually the action builds to a climax, signalled by the entrance of young male warriors into the ritual arena. Back and forth, they team up and dance with the king, until the general cry is heard once more: “Out, foreigners!” At this point, all those whose loyalty may be suspect are forced to leave (Kuper, 1947: 205, 219), while the king withdraws to the Nhlambelo for the last time. When the suspicious elements have departed, the king comes out of the Nhlambelo, carrying in his hand a green gourd. “This gourd is an emblem of the past, by virtue of its spatial and temporal origin, for it was gathered during the Incwala of the preceding year in the ancestral homeland of the Swazi, the land they left to inhabit the present day Swaziland” (Kuper, 1947:

42

Chapter Three

219). As the king casts the gourd away, the dance and the drama of the Great Day come to an end. The regiments retire to a nearby river and wash their bodies clean. When they return to the byre, they find the king enthroned, with the emblem of the “full moon” painted on both cheeks (Kuper, 1978: 71). Day 5: This day is characterised by prohibitions. The nation is without any jubilation. Sanctions are imposed on people found to engage in any activity that could cause a stir. Day 6: The final day (i.e. “the sixth of the Great Incwala and the twentieth of the full ceremony”) is one of celebration, eating and merriment. It is the grand finale and a purification day. Incwala paraphernalia and certain old items from the previous year (the filth of the nation) are burnt. The king washes off his medicine and this is supposed to provoke rain to fall to quench the burning flame. Songs which are not incwala-related are now sung and people dance a different dance - general merriment. Before the people retire to their districts, they spend few days weeding the queen mother’s farms. In all, the expectation is that through the Incwala - especially through the suffering (“passion”) of the king - the well-being of the earth, the harvest, and the Swazi nation have been secured for another year.

The Performative Elements From our study of the Incwala sequences, we can see that the ritual constitutes a dramatic performance. “Ritual displays that reveal in their style of presentation, in their purpose, and value, evidence of imitation, enlightenment and or entertainment, can be said to be drama” (Rotimi, 1981: 77). As Balme notes, “it is important to bear in mind that in many cultures the aesthetic functions performed by the profane activity of theatergoing are in fact contained and carried out in the sacred actions of ritual observance...” (1999: 67). Balme exhorts researchers to be apprehensive of emphasis on the distinction between rituals and theatre because such emphasis is characteristic of western theatrical theory. In contemporary times, a modern Swazi who attends the Incwala celebration may not do so for the sole aim of purgation or “therapeutic effect,” but for entertainment as well. Schechner (1988) and Turner (1982) have written elaborately on the close relationship between theatrical performance and rituals. To start with, the Incwala ritual communicates, and all forms of

Swazi Incwala: The Performative Elements in a Ritual Practice

43

communication is performance (Pelias, 1992: 3-6). Quite interestingly, Marwick (1966) states: “From the short amount of time which I have been able to devote to the study of this question of the annual First Fruit Ceremony [Incwala], I am of the opinion that it is in effect a pageant in which the early life of the Swazi people is re-enacted in a dramatized form” (191) (italics mine). In accord with Marwick’s views, Kuper (1947), who also wrote about this ritual from the angle of social stratification, noted with great enthusiasm that the ritual is indeed “the drama of kingship … and the heavy play of all the [Swazi] people.” This ritual clearly exemplifies that ritual can indeed pave the way for performance. In his study of traditional Swazi drama, Kamera (2001) divides the Incwala ritual celebration into four stages, which, according to him, correspond to four acts of a play: the preparatory stage, the return of the ritual emissaries, the lusekwane ceremony, and the day of the black bull, “the most dramatic aspect of the ceremony” (209). In her incisive study, Motsa (2001) dealt with aspects of drama and theatre in siSwati rituals, including the Incwala. The performing area is the enclosure in the royal dwelling – the Eluzidzini Royal Kraal. Central to this ritual performance in relation to drama is the pre-eminence of role-play or role-change, where the king drops his individuality and becomes a warrior-ancestor (“silo”) who fights to protect the nation and his throne. In this imitative act, the king features as the prime actor-protagonist while the “foreigners” are the antagonists. Since all the citizens are supposed to partake of this ritual, including the chief celebrant, an atmosphere of participatory theatre is evoked. Obvious dramatic elements of spectacle and pageantry abound in this celebration. Nothing could be more spectacular than watching thousands of people moving out and into the nation’s capital with the substances of their quests – water and medicinal plants. Their triumphant march, songs, dances, mime and pantomimic gestures are at the core of the Incwala ritual. Most of the enactments are devoid of ordinary speech (dialogue); instead, dance and sacred songs are used as instruments of communication. Most of the songs are traditional praise songs, sacred songs, lullabies and songs of mockery against the king. And the latter is truly in keeping with the spirit of African satirical performances (“Season of License”). The most chilling and dramatic of the events, the struggle between the king and his enemies, is enacted in the form of a dance. In fact, the Incwala itself is often referred to as a “dance,” hence people say “Let’s go dance the Incwala.” The dance is one of the most important elements characterising this ritual and to most Swazi, the Incwala is the dance, and the dance is the Incwala. It is believed that it is the dance in the ritual

44

Chapter Three

enactment that strengthens the king and the people. In her research, Kuper states that “In 36 hours (counting from the time they started dancing at Lobamba before leaving for the lusekwaane) the pilgrims have danced 610 hours” (1944: 243). The regular dance intervals within the ritual can be likened to dancing in the year-long Kaiko festival of the Tsembaga of Highland Papua New Guinea (Schechner, 1988: 106-152). The dance performed by the king on the fourth day of the Big Incwala is close to a possession dance. This dance can be said to be extra-terrestrial; the king is never taught it, it comes intuitively and spontaneously. Most of the dances are done in ranks and spatial formations. The king and his regiment may dance; the queen dances with her retainers, the princes and princesses, men, women, children and commoners. Some of the formations during choreographic movements are symbolic; for example, the half-moon and full-moon formations signify life cycles in relation to the ritual. The fullmoon formation (circle) signifies safety and a protective ring around the king, a barricade being formed against the enemies, as opposed to the crescent formation in the dance, which symbolises porosity. Mastery of the songs and dance steps requires extensive and painstaking rehearsals. To the Swazi, “graceful and harmonious movement” is a virtue in performance, especially the Incwala ritual performance. Besides the ritual purpose that the dance and the songs serve, they are also great instruments of entertainment that give the ritual a performative weight. Visual elements like costumes, beads, and make-up or body adornments elevate this ritual to an entertainment level. Beyond being colourful body coverings, the costumes used in this ritual are highly symbolic. Again, costumes are appropriate to rank, as no ordinary person may wear the clothing of the king. The queen mother’s dress is different from the ritual queen’s costume. Like in a stage play, costumes are changed to suit the occasion (scene). Hence, the king changes costumes a couple of times in the duration of the ritual to suit the ritual process. Kuper, the most respected authority in this area, has written extensively on Incwala costumes. Incwala costumes are described by Kuper (1973) as graceful cloaks of cattle-tails that hang from the shoulders to the waist, with flowing tails tied to the right arms; white feathers and magnificent black plumes are stuck to the hair; the participants’ loin coverings are of leopard skin. Red feathers always adorn the hair of people from the royal family, while the princesses wear leather skirts and aprons, adornments in their hair and necklaces made from giraffe hair and decorated with shells. Most of the feathers are ostriches’. The costume of the king on the fourth day of the Big Incwala, when he emerges as the ancestor-warrior, is worthy of attention:

Swazi Incwala: The Performative Elements in a Ritual Practice

45

On his head is a cap of black plumes that cover his face and blow about his shoulders, and underneath the feathers is glimpsed a head-band of a lion’s skin. His body is covered in bright green grass and evergreen shoots that trail on the ground ... The fatty tissue (umhlehlo) of the umdutshulwa is tied cross-wise on his chest and the blown up gall-bladder lies on the costume. Round his loins is a belt of silver monkey skin. Each item of the costume has meaning and ritual association (Kuper, 1944: 249).

Sticks, batons, shields, cow-whisks, wands, gourds, plants, fruits and water are very important ritual props. Use of the special plant species lusekwane symbolises a life-giving force. The fetching of sea water for the ritual is symbolic because the sea is regarded in Swazi cosmology as “fearful, magnificent, powerful, a source of new life and unknown mysteries” (Kuper, 1944: 233). When the moon is round and full, the human being on whom it is operative will be healthy and shining. Consequently, the Incwala takes place as the moon grows to become full. Costumes made of ostrich feathers, lion skin, and leopard and monkey leathers are all symbolic of awesomeness and indomitable power. Altogether, the symbolism in the ritual is quite spectacular and could form the basis for a separate study. Critics often argue that one of the major reasons why rituals and other ceremonies cannot qualify as drama is because they lack one of the essential ingredients of drama – conflict. Conflict can be said to be the soul of drama, for it is in the struggle between opposing forces that dramatic action emerges. Most stories contained in drama are stories of human conflict and hence, drama is often regarded as a literature of conflict. When an individual’s desires clash with opposing forces (obstacles), conflict emerges and without this conflict, drama, unlike other literary genres, will be mere social action or interaction. Rituals are often associated with appeasement ceremonies without confrontations of any kind. The Incwala ritual stands out because it does contain a significant element of conflict. Aggrieved sections of the people seem to resent and express their hatred for the king and the Dlamini dynasty; they insist the king should abdicate the throne and relocate, presumably to their ancestral home. Through ritual enactments using song and dance, the king withstands his enemies, stamps his authority over them and holds them permanently subdued. The denouement shows how the inherent conflict in the ritual is resolved, with the king emerging triumphant. All in all, the Incwala ritual, though not drama per se, is indeed a performative event. We may summarise Schechner’s “future of ritual” serving “theatrical” and “culture-specific” purposes:

46

Chapter Three Rituals have been considered: 1) as part of the evolutionary development of animals; 2) as structures with formal qualities and definable relationships; 3) as symbolic systems of meaning; 4) as performative actions or processes; 5) as experiences. These categories overlap. It is also clear that rituals are not safe deposit vaults of accepted ideas but in many cases dynamic performative systems generating new materials and recombining traditional actions in new ways (1993: 228).

Conclusion Brockett (2003: 3-4), a respected authority on theatre history, outlined the relationship between theatre and ritual in a bid to drive home the message of their symbiosis. In the first instance, he pointed out that both ritual and theatre make use of “performative elements” such as time, place, participants (players/audience), scenario (agenda/goal/text/rules), clothing (uniform/costume/mask/make-up), sound (speech/music), movement (gesture/pantomime/dance), and function or purpose. Considering function, ritual, like theatre, is intended to influence or control events, to glorify a supernatural power or hero, and to entertain. Both ritual and theatre make use of “actors” (“those who enact the rites or stories,”) directors (“those who exercise control over the performance,”) and a performance place (“acting area,”). From our discussion, Incwala ritual seems to exemplify these elements of similarity. Many Swazi may frown at the association of their sacred and revered ritual with a “profane” institution like the theatre. However, with growing emphasis on the world becoming an open society, there is need for a reconceptualisation of this Swazi tradition. Certainly, the Incwala ritual is not drama or theatre per se, but it would be myopic to say that it has no theatrical elements. According to Balme, it is in the character of syncretic theatre to incorporate rituals and myth-based material into a theatricoaesthetic context. “Syncretic theatre thus, often attempts to reinvest theatre with a communal religious spirit, the long-cherished desire of several generations of western theatre-reformers, which they very seldom achieve in practice” (66). The mandate presented to African theatre practitioners, particularly Swazi, should be to experiment in order to discover other aesthetic dimensions that could be associated with this ritual and its relationship with performance. For one, is it not possible to push the frontiers of this ritual to incorporate contemporary events? This is quite possible, seeing as many western and African dramatists have sourced materials from their native rituals and transformed them to suit contemporary reality. Most of the extant classical plays of Aeschylus, Euripides and Sophocles got their inspiration from the myth and rituals of

Swazi Incwala: The Performative Elements in a Ritual Practice

47

Ancient Greece. Two Yoruba ritual practices are the sources of Wole Soyinka’s The Strong Breed (1964) and Death and the King’s Horseman (1975). J.P. Clark’s Ozidi (1966) has its roots in the Ijaw saga of the Delta region of Nigeria. A reworking of the Tanzanian’s belief in the power of Hongo (water) to crush the German colonisers gives credence to Ebrahim Hussein’s political play Kinjeketile (1970). Caribbean dramatists such as Derek Walcott and Denis Scott have drawn extensively from ritual forms in the execution of their modern theatre projects; so do the post-colonial theatre movement, and the Maori in New Zealand (Balme, 1999).

CHAPTER FOUR ZAKES MDA’S DRAMATURGY AND THE SATIRICAL IMPORT IN OUR LADY OF BENONI

Introduction Until recently, with the publication of Fools, Bells and the Habit of Eating (2002), which is dubbed “three satires,” Mda’s plays have always defied linear categorisation. Because of their texture and complexity, critics have dubbed some of his earlier plays “surreal,” while others have labelled them “absurd” (see Amato, 2002: v). Those who have followed Mda’s career closely will attest that he is currently gravitating towards narrative fiction (novels). Therefore, it was gratifying to see him churn out three plays after the unbanning of the African National Congress (ANC) in South Africa on 2 February 1990. It might be assumed that these plays are a response to the earlier fear in literary circles that there would be a creative drought in post-apartheid South Africa, since apartheid seemed to have energised the production of protest plays, which dominated the theatrical scene before its fall. It is interesting to note that, in his recent theatrical as well as fictional works, Mda has resorted to employing satire rather than tragedy or comedy in the treatment of political and social issues in his society. While tragedy deals with gloom without any redemptive features, and comedy merely thrills, with no after taste of derisive bitterness, satire empathises with the culprits or victims while urging them to reform for their own good and for the benefit of the community. Satire is a manner of ridiculing, decrying and denouncing the unwanted behaviour of people in a bid to improve and amend their lives in the community (Ebewo, 2002: 12). Satire, within the precinct of its subject, is a blend of amusement and contempt, not a hostile attack. Highet (1962) calls it scorn, not murderous hostility. “If one attacks a person in a literary work simply because he hates him, he is not writing satire. He is writing lampoon popular in Greek comedic dramas” (26). In his latest satirical works, Mda sees corruption

Zakes Mda’s Dramaturgy and the Satirical Import in Our Lady of Benoni

49

within the rank and file of politicians in Southern Africa and he uses satire as an instrument of friendly criticism. In my earlier publication (2009), I discussed in detail the impact of Mda’s satires on society, and in chapter 11 I have expanded the literary attributes of satire as a genre. The post-apartheid satirical plays Mda published in 2002 are mainly political satires. The Mother of All Eating is a one-hander, cast in the framework of a long monologue. Like Soyinka’s Brother Jeroboam (The Trials of Brother Jeroboam, 1969), a self-confessed charlatan who nevertheless poses as a virtuous prophet of God, the character, Man, in The Mother of all Eating is the mouthpiece used to reveal all the evil machinations of corrupt government officials. The play is a magnifying glass on civil service corruption in Lesotho, where corruption is portrayed as “eating” and permeates the entire fabric of the civil service system. The butt of the satire is the principal secretary (PS), the minister, other top officials like engineers and directors, and the complacent attitude of the people who are subjected to untold suffering. The PS is portrayed as a master in manipulating people and situations. For every contract that is awarded by his ministry, he extorts 10 per cent as “kickback.” He, together with other top officials in his ministry, colludes with contractors from South Africa and France to defraud the nation of millions of Rands through underground contract deals, and in the process, funds from international aid agencies and donors, meant for the construction of a road project linking the capital to the hydroelectric project site (Katse), are mismanaged and are diverted to personal use. In fact, one of his own, the chief engineer, refers to the PS as “a thief and a crook” (7). Following in the footsteps of many corrupt African heads of state, he deposits his loot in a Swiss bank. The PS is not new to the game; he started when he was a purchasing officer in the Ministry of Health. As purchasing officer, the “prime job,” he indulged in business scams by inflating sales invoices for the purchase of hospital equipment. We are informed that at some stage he was involved in drug (mandrax) peddling. He wastes his ill-gotten wealth on mistresses and lusts after his best friend’s wife. Satire becomes high norm when the culprits face the music. In line with the satire’s just reward for offenders, the PS reaps the evil fruits of the evil seeds that he has sown, as his expectant wife aborts her pregnancy following an accident on the death-trap road that her husband neglected. You Fool is another political play set in South Africa. It is reminiscent of Soyinka’s From Zia, With Love (1999), which opens with a mock cabinet of the Eternal Ruling Council. In You Fool, the stage is divided into planes known as “shadows” (42). These perhaps symbolise that the characters portrayed in the drama are shadows or ghosts of their former

50

Chapter Four

selves. They are political prisoners, locked up in the cell to nurse their legs, which are riddled with sores. In the room are huge green flies hovering over buckets of human excrement. Without doubt, the characters in the play - the general, the president, Minister of Culture, the Minister of Health, the Minister of Justice and the Minister of Agriculture are all meant to be role-players in the post-apartheid majority government of South Africa, and are paying the price for over indulgence and abuse of office. From all indications, it is their poor and disappointing performance that has landed them in the state in which we see them as the play opens. While The Mother of All Eating utilises the monologue as a stylistic device to reveal the corrupt practices of government officials in Lesotho, You Fool makes abundant use of flashbacks to replay the rotten behaviour of the cabinet members. In You Fool, Mda, in his usual pessimistic posture, sees the postapartheid government as a government that is not built on solid rock, as the opposition party is calculatingly silenced and “bludgeoned into submission” (61). The ruling party’s cabinet is portrayed as being made up of people who are being compensated for their roles during the liberation struggle. Though they parade themselves as “benevolent,” the public sees them as “liars” and “hijackers of the revolution,” a familiar theme in George Orwell’s Animal Farm. The cabinet is made up of dictators and sycophants who worship the president as “Father of the Nation” and “The Wise One,” mindlessly chorusing “yes” to whatever he says. In line with satire’s corrective mode, the corrupt officials do not escape unpunished. In a kind of flashback utopia, the Minister of Culture tells how the invisible force that purged the cabinet kept him standing for hours on end until his eyes began to pop out. I stood naked for the whole day. At intervals they came to spit at me. Everybody, even their children, showered me with saliva and phlegm. Then they sat all around and hurled insults and all sorts of verbal abuse. When that failed to break me they threw faeces at me (52).

Another satiric retribution is enacted by the Minister of Health, the only female cabinet minister, who recounts her own ordeal: First they locked me up in a cell and exposed me to so much noise that I felt like I was in hell. My mind was about to crack. The noise prevents you from doing anything, and causes you to be physically ill. I was vomiting all over the place, and had convulsions. They said, “We are not going to assault you, but if you survive this we shall be convinced that you are not human” (75).

Zakes Mda’s Dramaturgy and the Satirical Import in Our Lady of Benoni

51

The once-upon-a-time top officers, who have been reduced to the level of pitiable prisoners, connote shame. Shame, which emanates from mocking laughter, is satire’s major and often used weapon.

Our Lady of Benoni The two satires briefly summarised above are political. In 2012, Mda published another play, Our Lady of Benoni, which is also undoubtedly satirical in slant and forms the main focus for this chapter. This is a thesis play, a satire with very deep and revolutionary ideas. It is not a mere phantom of mindless fiction, but a well-researched, intellectual work of creativity. Mda has indicated that the materials dealt with in this one volume were originally intended for three separate plays: the sight of beggars at traffic lights in the major cities of South Africa prompted an idea for one play; the story of Francesca Zackey, a young girl who claimed to have been visited by the Blessed Virgin Mary, was the trigger for another play; the seminal idea for the third play was the global myth surrounding the issue of female virginity. Instead of writing three separate plays, Mda decided to merge the three ideas into one full-length play. Besides the three major themes, the play extends its frontier to accommodate comments and criticisms from other sectors in society. It is a complex work, with social, cultural, religious and miscellaneous contents – to borrow from the title of one of Sir Arnold Wesker’s plays, it is “chips with everything.” The decision to deal with a potpourri of events in one context is in line with the tenets of satirical creation. The label, satire, is said to have come from the Latin word satura, which means “full.” Later, this came to mean a mixture full of different things. It has since become part of the vocabulary of food, a kind of salad, a dish full of mixed fruits (see Coffey, 1976: 7). Alluding to the food idiom, Juvenal called his satires farrago, the name of another mixed food (grains) usually given to cattle. Hence, the word satura “is derived from the plate that was filled with many first offerings from the field and garden and offered to the gods in shrines by people of early times. From its full and overflowing contents the plate was called a satura,” and many critics have agreed that satire derived its name from the plate which was filled with different fruits for Ceres, the Roman goddess (Coffey, p. 12). Thus, Mda’s saturating the play with many issues is quite in order and in line with satirical composition. Sarah Roberts, in her “Introduction” to Our Lady of Benoni, states unequivocally that this play “is a profound exploration of what it means to operate in the real world, the social and politically charged landscape that

52

Chapter Four

defines post-apartheid South Africa” (p. viii). The play is set in a very clean and well-kept park. It must be recalled that Mda’s earlier play, We Shall Sing for the Fatherland, which was written in 1973, though only published in 1990, was also set in a park. In the earlier play, the park hosts two veterans of the “Wars of Freedom” who have become destitute. The characters feel that they have been betrayed by independence, that those who risked little or nothing during the fight for freedom have become the beneficiaries of independence while they (Janabari and Sergeant Major), who fought on the war front, have been forgotten. Though the characters in Our Lady of Benoni are park dwellers, their circumstances are different from those of Janabari and the Sergeant Major. In Our Lady of Benoni, there are five characters on stage, with the sixth and seventh being invisible, though they are very prominent in the play. The five are the Professor, Lord Stewart, Seller, Madlomo, and Thabisile, and the invisible characters are Francesca Zackey and Danielle. The characters are post-apartheid South African personages, and they all live in the park, except the park cleaner Madlomo, Thabisile and Francesca. Though the post-apartheid social conditions have affected their individuality, these are not displaced persons like Janabari and the Sergeant Major in We Shall Sing for the Fatherland. They are researchers and seekers for the essence of their livelihood and existence – the objects that are dear to their hearts. Each one of them is questing after something, even if it is an illusion: Seller is searching for the joke that will become the “mother of all jokes”, which will fetch him good money from road patrons; Stewart is searching for Danielle (Danni), his lover who has been kidnapped by strangers; and the Professor is researching deeply into the concept and cultural imperative of virginity, which robbed him of his young wife and sent him roaming the streets. To some extent, Madlomo is yearning to find the heartless men who raped her three-month old baby and set her house on fire. Thabisile never knew the whereabouts of her ex-husband until Madlomo led her to the park to meet with the Professor. To do justice to the analysis of the play, I will divide the discourse into four sections: Traffic Light Beggars, Francesca Zackey and her Vision, the Virginity Myth, and Miscellany.

Beggars at the Traffic Lights Seller is a representative of the traffic light beggars who strut the everaccommodating begging scene in South Africa. A common sight in contemporary South Africa are the abundant “dancers of fortune” at traffic light intersections in major cities, ekeing out a living by dancing, clowning

Zakes Mda’s Dramaturgy and the Satirical Import in Our Lady of Benoni

53

and jesting to tantalise drivers into giving them money. The seSotho name for this breed is Rametlai, meaning “comedian, clown or joker.” Many creative beggars are seen with cardboard signs carrying mellow messages to elicit sympathy, money or even food from car owners. One lame joke Seller holds on cardboard reads: “My cat arrested for eating a Neighbour’s Chicken. Please Help me with Condolenss (sic) and Bail” (p. 7). I have myself seen one male beggar around the Atterbury Road traffic lights (near Menlyn Mall) in Pretoria carrying a card claiming that a Nigerian eloped with his wife and he needed money to search for her. Some go to the ridiculous extreme of faking deformities to catch the attention of drivers. In the play, Seller, who is in fact “The Seller of Laughter,” is a guru, practised at deceiving people with his jokes. “What is more serious than laughter,” he beams, and proceeds to add: “Laughter is a goddamned serious business” (p. 6). He runs all over trying to churn out a joke “...that’s going to make me millions. The one that’s going to make me be counted in the ranks of BEE Fat Cats” (p. 10). His main “office” is around the traffic lights and he only retires at night to the park. He is a character not to be trusted; indeed, the Professor calls him a “demon” (p. 68). He is an irresponsible brat who abuses women who are old enough to be his mother (p. 65). He indulges in drugs: mushrooms and zoomers. Like an irresponsible adolescent, Seller believes in the efficacy of drugs: “And they don’t kill anybody, for your information. They only give power, love and happiness. They make me see beautiful colours in the sky. They make me talk to my ancestors – the great Badimo. They give me inspiration to create” (p. 7). Contrary to Seller’s trust in drugs, Lord Stewart, who out of curiosity ventures to try Seller’s mushrooms in his absence, regrets it afterwards: “I don’t know what I was doing eating this crap. It lifts my spirit for a while and then leaves me in the dumps. I’m in the dumps, lady [Madlomo], so don’t you pick on me” (p. 17). This is the ultimate message the playwright wants his audience to go home with. He is stealing a secret laugh at Seller’s ignorance about the negative effect of drugs and warns that they destroy, instead of elevating the spirits as believed by those who indulge in them. Though he may be rude and untrustworthy, we are brought to sympathise with Seller’s background when it is revealed that parental child abuse drove him out of Diepsloot to live on the streets. What a pity! Here a yellow card has been shown to abusive parents who contribute to the waywardness of their children. The ultimate message is to dissuade parents from abusing their children.

54

Chapter Four

Lord Stewart is a white beggar who has spent many years hanging around the traffic lights, and like Seller, he only retires to the park at night. The playwright is debunking the popular myth that in South Africa, only black people are poor and beggars. Both races are seen at the traffic lights. Lord Stewart is a frustrated man. When the Professor introduces him to Madlomo, he says: “Lord Stewart is no longer a white man. He used to be white. But, as you can see, the sun has done its business on his skin. He’s now a brown man” (p. 20). Stewart, an English South African, believes that his pitiable condition is as a result of the oppression he suffered at the hands of the Afrikaners during apartheid and then oppression by the blacks during the post-apartheid era (p. 12). Because of the perceived preferential treatment that white people are known to receive in South Africa, Stewart’s method of begging is different from the rest. Also, donors seem to have more sympathy for women street beggars, especially when they are white. Stewart himself affirms: Whites give you more when you are white. They see themselves in you and it scares the crap out of them. So they fill your bowls with gleaming coins. Blacks give you oodles of money too; it boosts their ego to be charitable to a white man. So, as a white beggar you win all round. When I was with Danni ... [Sadly.] They gave us more money when I was still with Danni ... when she stood there like a princess at the traffic lights. A beautiful, sundrenched princess (p. 8).

Does the satirist subscribe to begging? The answer is no! He calls it “smug charity” (p. 12). He blames people who give charity in the name of doing good. “The giver is very selfish” (p. 10). The following dialogue reveals more: STEWART: These folks give us money because they are selfish? PROFESSOR: You think they are altruistic? Maybe they are. But at the end of it all altruism is a selfish act. The selfish gene will always be there in humans. Altruism comes back to the giver because it makes him feel good about himself. It makes the giver happy to see someone happy as a result of his actions. I am not going to make any of these rich bastards happy at my expense (p. 11).

The Professor is a different kettle of fish as far as his relationships in the park are concerned. He is not a beggar like Seller and Stewart. He is a hermit. Cultural factors drove him away from his home in KwaVimba in KwaZulu-Natal to roam the streets of Johannesburg and to sleep in the park with other hobos at night. Seller deprecates his personality before his ex-wife by saying that “the Professor is a useless pumpkin that just sits on

Zakes Mda’s Dramaturgy and the Satirical Import in Our Lady of Benoni

55

the bench like a bag of potatoes for the rest of his life” (p. 66). He is not an academic Professor, but was given the title by his colleagues because of his ceaseless engagement in reading. We are told that he is not like the other greedy black people who reap the fruits of the liberation through Black Economic Empowerment (BEE). He does not work and does not beg, yet he gets a lot of money. Then the question arises, where does he get his money from? The satirist reveals that he gets his money through foul means, dirty tricks. He survives on a disability grant even though he is not disabled. In Natal province, there lived a man who was sick with tuberculosis and AIDS who used to sell saliva to healthy people so they could be certified sick and so qualify for a government disability grant. The Professor confesses to Lord Stewart what the man used to do: He sat on a stool in the middle of his hut and waited for the customers. They came and paid and he drew the biggest chunks of phlegm from the depth of his soul. You go to the clinic and tell them of your persistent and unceasing cough. They give you a small glass container and ask you to fill it with sputum. You already have the sputum in your pocket from the seller of saliva; all you do is to transfer it to their container. And behold! The tests show you have the worst kind of TB imaginable. So, Lord Stewart, that is exactly what I did (p. 27).

He showed neither remorse nor regret for his action: PROFESSOR: [laughing mockingly]: Far from it, Lord Stewart. I have no regrets about the disability grant. It is my share of the national cake. Why should it only be politicians and civil servants who loot the national coffers? I must also have my share. The disability grant is the last thing to give me sleepless nights. The only thing, Lord Stewart, that gives me sleepless nights is how to sustain my disability forever so that the fountain does not run dry (p. 28).

Though the Professor is not perturbed by how he procured the disability grant, something else in his life has squeezed him dry. He tells Stewart: “I am a tortured man. My soul is suffering. I am in my own hell” (p. 10). Only Thabisile delivers him from the burden of his crime when she puts pressure on him to confess to Madlomo that his brother (Duma) was one of those who raped her three-month old baby and that he, the Professor, burnt her house to destroy any DNA evidence that could be used to implicate his brother in the crime.

56

Chapter Four

Zackey and her Vision In this section we shall deal with satire in relation to religion. Religion incorporates certain characteristic feelings and emotions such as wonder, awe, and reverence, and the ideas and images of a religion are much influenced by the culture in which they emerge. A religious person is a person who values morals and strives to live an exemplary life that will portray him or her as a person of God. In earlier times, religion was rarely a subject of satirical literature, but in today’s world, the moral incoherence and malpractices within the rank and file of religious people and the church have invited satirical barbs. Faced with the serious demands that religion imposes on people, the satirist delights in making much of the discrepancy between profession and practice. Deviation from set standards of behaviour, and illogical and incomprehensible actions in the name of religion, often attract the attention of the satirist. Often, satirists pitch camp with religion in the areas of sinfulness and hypocrisy, however, in Our Lady of Benoni, Mda deals with religious faith, opportunism and inexplicable belief culture. In May 2007, the town of Benoni, near Johannesburg in South Africa, was stormed by the media and thousands of Christians who made pilgrimage to the city to consult with a 17-year old girl, Francesca Zackey, who claimed to have been visited physically by the Blessed Virgin Mary, the mother of Jesus Christ. The beautiful teenager (now young lady) is of Lebanese descent and is a devout Maronite Catholic who first spoke in tongues on 2 October 2005. According to several media reports, Francesca claimed that in May 2007, while she was eating dinner with her parents, she perceived the sweet smell of roses and the Blessed Virgin Mary appeared to her. “She was wearing an ice blue cloak with a royal blue veil (silk). She has caring blue eyes.” A few weeks later (23 May 2007), the Blessed Mary was once again seen buried within the orbit of the sun. Francesca heard the mystical voice of Mary imploring her to say the Rosary while being bestowed with the power to heal the sick and cure diseases. The story became sensational and people trooped into Benoni to benefit from Francesca’s miraculous power of healing (see “Mother Mary Appears to South African Teenager”). Part of her family home has been transformed into a shrine to Mary. Francesca is the editor of Bella News, a newspaper devoted to spreading the messages she gets daily from the Virgin Mary, and a Facebook page, “Our Lady of the Ray,” has been created for her fans. Francesca is not alone amongst Christians in seeing apparitions. In 1925, St. Faustina Kowalski claimed to have seen the vision of Jesus

Zakes Mda’s Dramaturgy and the Satirical Import in Our Lady of Benoni

57

Christ in a Polish convent, although without any scientific proof or logical credibility. The story of Our Lady of Fatimah and Our Lady of Lourdes are other international examples. In May 1967, Domitilla Hyams of Edenvale in Johannesburg claimed to have seen the Holy Virgin Mary once; and the remote village of Aokpe in Benue State, Nigeria, became a pilgrimage centre because of one girl’s claim that she saw the Blessed Virgin Mary. From a satirical standpoint, the dramatist is beckoning people to look more closely to see whether the sensational claim made by Francesca, and indeed the claims of many others, to have been “privileged” enough to see Mary are authentic. If not authentic, is the claimant perpetrating a hoax? In an editorial carried by The Southern Cross, a Southern African Catholic weekly, the editor rebuked unbelievers and doubting Thomases: “It is disrespectful and arrogant to cast aspersions on her experiences simply because one cannot empathise with them.” Some of the pilgrims who visited Benoni claimed that they received “calm” and “peace” when Francesca touched and prayed for them. On the other hand, Amal Nassif, a devout Catholic who went to consult the 17-year-old, became partially blind because of the prescription that she must stare into the sun in order to see Mary. Percy Amoil, an eye specialist doctor who treated her condition, is quoted as having called it “an absolute disaster and a tragedy” (see Eliseev, “Blinded by Faith”). Once again, the portrayal of Francesca Zackey by Mda in Our Lady of Benoni is an attempt to probe into what faith can do and the limitations of religious belief. The playwright is not posing as a non-believer, but as a human being endowed with critical consciousness free of religious bias. Faith is a thing to be cherished, but in the Roman Catholic catechism of old, faith without good work amounts to faithlessness. Adherence to blind faith and superstition is a deterrent to progress. In the orthodox Catholic Church, the seeing of visions is not recognised, while the seeing of apparitions is subjected to critical questioning and certain illogical claims are not permitted. Unfortunately, the Charismatic sects of the same religion adore visions and apparitions. A number of Christian religions have indulged in absurd behaviours in the name of faith. In South Africa, Pastor Lesego of the Rabboni Ministries, a “man of God,” in the name of faith, compelled members of his congregation to eat grass and drink petrol. He walks on his followers the way Christ walked on the sea. Penuel Mnguni of End Times Disciples Ministry in Soshanguve, north of Pretoria, fed members of his congregation live snakes, claiming that, through faith, the snakes would taste like chocolate. All of these have quoted the Bible wrongfully to support their actions. Some critics say such leaders are

58

Chapter Four

“demonised” with the art of hypnotism to fool and misdirect their congregation. As seen on television and on YouTube, some followers actually affirmed that they were eating chocolates and not snakes. Of course, the pastor has been charged in court for cruelty towards animals. Members of the EFF political party in South Africa threatened to deal with the pastor and burn down his church (tent). In Our Lady of Benoni, Danielle (Danni for short), an outstandingly beautiful one-time paramour of Stewart, used to be possessed and heard voices other people did not. Stewart elaborates: STEWART: Actually she was a French princess. You know mos some Afrikaners have French roots. But she was more than just a princess, my Danni. She has the ancient art of hearing voices which no one else could hear. She told me that it started with her at an early age, when she was a baby, but she never thought there was anything strange about it. She thought that everyone heard voices; everyone had a party in her head. At first the voices were soft and gave her simple commands in simple, childish language. But as she grew older the voices became elaborate. For a long time she told no one about them. Instead, she fell in love with them because they were a force for good. She kept them secret, she was afraid her folks would think she was insane and send her to a mental institution (Mda, 2012: 14).

It must be noted that Danni is quoted to have heard multiple “voices,” and not just one consistent voice. Why is she not hearing just one particular consistent voice? Are these “saintly voices?” The satirist seems to tease that if these came from God, the angels, the Holy Spirit or a saint, it should be one consistent and familiar voice. Elements of doubt lurk here. Her behaviour is scrutinised further when Stewart reveals to Professor that Danni used to see Mary and Christ in unlikely places and in every available object. Look at this Simba chips very carefully. What do you see? Don’t you see the image? It is shaped like the face of Jesus Christ. Danni discovered it in a packet we were eating three years ago ... When it turned red in places she said it was the stigmata... One day she was preparing breakfast. When the toast popped out it had an image of the Virgin Mary impressed on it (pp. 34-34).

No other person except Danni saw these images. The satirist is apparently not convinced that they are real. Danni herself was afraid to share her experiences with people in public for fear of being accused of insanity. If this was indeed a special “gift” from God, would she mind what people would say or do? Stewart stated that the voices used to

Zakes Mda’s Dramaturgy and the Satirical Import in Our Lady of Benoni

59

“terrorise” her, spinning her into a frenzy. In fact, her relatives advised her to suppress, reject, and deny the voices but she could not stick to their advice. “I don’t want them to stop. They are my voices” (p. 15). Here, the character herself admits that these are indeed not saintly, but her own voices. While Stewart thought hers was a serious sickness, Danni fanatically believed it was a “gift.” Though she believed the voices to be “saintly voices – voices of angels,” the medical doctor who treated her condition knew it was a mental disorder known as “verbal auditory hallucination” (p. 15). The Professor thinks these are voices from a sickly head and is worried about why the Roman Catholic Church should tolerate this practice from some members of its congregation. Indeed, it is this condition that exposed her to the danger of running away from her family to become a beggar at the traffic lights and this is where she met Stewart and they fell in love. The same condition led her to becoming a victim of kidnappers at the traffic lights. When a car with unknown occupants came to a stop at the traffic lights and the men inside beckoned Danni to get in the car, she did not think twice, but obliged. When Stewart screamed: “No Danni, don’t go. Don’t get into that car!” she replied: “My voices, they tell me to go! ... My voices are never wrong, Lord Stewart” (p. 39). And this is how Danni and Stewart parted ways. On hearing that Francesca of Benoni had the power to perform miracles, Stewart decides to visit her to unveil the mystery surrounding the current condition of Danni. The satirist is opening a can of worms about certain people in Africa who claim to hear voices or see visions. This is akin to a certain traditional South African belief that the ancestors speak to particular individuals, telling them to take up the calling of a Sangoma or traditional healer. In West Africa, stories are rampant of young girls being possessed by the water spirit – Mammy Water – to serve the mermaid. The extent to which these are true or logical is yet to be established through scientific investigations. Until then, the satirist is warning us to be careful lest we fall into a trap. History has recorded that in 1856, a young Xhosa girl named Nongqawuse claimed to have seen a vision which forewarned of danger and disaster. She claimed to have received instructions from the ancestors that the people must destroy their cattle and their grain as a form of cleansing in order for the land to be saved from the white settlers. The vulnerable people listened and brought calamity on the land. In Tanzania, Ebrahim Hussein has dramatised in Kinjeketile how blind faith led the people to disaster because the native priest instructed them to believe in the spirit of Hongo by drinking water that would protect them against the

60

Chapter Four

German forces. Disaster was the end product, as the Germans beat the Tanzanian forces hands down. The trip to consult with Francesca is indeed a great ordeal. For one, Stewart has to borrow money from the Professor for the journey to Benoni. The Professor, who thinks that Stewart has returned from the journey rather too soon, infers that Francesca must have been doling out “fast-food blessings.” Unfortunately, Ms. Zackey had very strict “business” hours and Stewart’s arrival day and time do not fall within the period the young lady attends to her clients. The satirical question here is whether there are appointed times when human beings can communicate with God. The Professors read in the papers that ‘...The Virgin Mary appeared to Francesca throughout the night, both inside the house and outside, in the yard. Francesca has placed flowers and candles at each spot where the Virgin Mary appeared. She said that “Our Lady” told her to pray the rosary and get others to pray it, as though it was the last day on earth... Francesca said that Jesus’s mother was very fair skinned, with brown hair and ice-blue eyes. She was wearing a royal blue veil and light was coming from her hands, the teenager said’ (p. 5).

Here, the Professor seems to poke fun at Francesca’s description of Mary as a woman not of Middle Eastern descent. He quips: “The mother of Jesus is Caucasian!” (p. 5). It is left for the audience to decide whether Mary was indeed Caucasian, as described by Francesca from her vision. When Stewart goes to Benoni on his second pilgrimage, he is lucky enough to see Francesca. STEWART: It was part of my pilgrimage. It was wonderful in Benoni, Professor. I was one of hundreds of pilgrims who met Francesca Zackey and her mother, Bridgette. When my turn came I was welcomed right there in their living room. Francesca spoke in tongues, which could only be understood by her mother and other members of the family. She gave me a glass of water from the tap to drink. I tell you, Professor, the water supply at that home has turned into holy oil. I could taste the oil. Almost like extra virgin olive oil (p. 70).

She commanded Stewart to look into the sun: “Look inside the giant fireball; there is the Virgin Mary, Our Lady of the Ray, placing a protective shield over it so that you may see her in all her glory! There is the Virgin Mary, behold the Virgin Mary” (p. 71). Stewart did not see the Virgin Mary or get any clues about the fate of his darling Danni. When he was yelling with pain because of the effect of staring into the blazing sun, the Zackey family praised him for talking in tongues. They thought that

Zakes Mda’s Dramaturgy and the Satirical Import in Our Lady of Benoni

61

Stewart must have seen the Virgin Mary, who made him speak in tongues. It was a huge mistake and mix-up; Stewart could not see again, he was blind. When he relayed his predicament to Francesca, all he got was: “It is out of my hands. People look at the sun at their own risk. I am not the sun” (p. 72). This embarrassing situation brought in the church. The Professor discloses information from the media: ‘...The Catholic Church has told Benoni teenager Francesca Zackey to stop blessing pilgrims after some pilgrims severely damaged their eyes. Yesterday, the Southern African Catholic Bishops’ Conference, the highest Catholic authority in the region, asked Francesca not to receive pilgrims, speak to the media or encourage people to look into the sun. “We would consider it better if she took time off to think about what has happened”’ (p. 93).

Despite the fact that the church has waded into the issue, pilgrims still flock in to see Francesca. Even Stewart, who suffered seriously, declares: “Yeah, it is worth thinking about. But I tell you I’ll be back in Benoni for more blessings. My sight will return. So will Danni. I don’t lose hope, my dear Professor” (p. 92). Is this stupidity, blind faith, or what? The satirist leaves it for the audience to decide. This situation reminds us of when a Lagos building belonging to Pastor T.B. Joshua of The Synagogue Church of All Nations collapsed, killing 116 people, including 81 South Africans. Ordinary South Africans were aggrieved, parliamentarians were angry, but those who lost loved ones said the departed died for the sake of God and most of them promised not to stay away from T.B. Joshua’s church.

Virginity Myth Another topical and controversial issue satirised in Our Lady of Benoni is blind adherence to the status of virginity in the society portrayed in the play. Virginity is indeed a familiar topic in a global context and many nations of ancient times used to observe rituals celebrating virginity. Some still do today. A virgin may of course be a man or a woman who has never had sexual intercourse. Unfortunately, because of sexual politics, gender disparity, patriarchy and religion, issues relating to virginity have excluded men and rested only on the shoulders of women. Deuteronomy, Chapter 22 states that a girl who does not bleed on her wedding night should be stoned to death. The Catholic Church reveres virginity, hence its high regard for the Blessed Virgin Mary. In Islamic culture, a girl who has lost her virginity before marriage brings shame on her family because pre-

62

Chapter Four

marital intercourse is prohibited by Sharia Law, and offenders are subjected to appropriate punishment as interpreted from the Holy Qur’an and the Hadith (“Virginity in Different Cultures” – online). Oriental cultures and traditional African cultures used to place a high premium on virginity before marriage, and virgin girls and their family members were accorded respect. In Swaziland, for example, virgin girls were expected to display their virginity in public by wearing umcwasho (virginity tassels). Though this expectation has waned because of modernity, it is on record that King Mswati III reintroduced it in 2001 to stem the spread of HIV/AIDS. In Our Lady of Benoni, the satirist exaggerates the importance attached to virginity by portraying some of the important characters in the play as virgins. Like the biblical virgins Rebecca and Maria, it is assumed that, before the Blessed Virgin Mary appeared to Francesca, the latter was herself a virgin. Danielle was a virgin and refused to sleep with Stewart despite soft threats: Three years we begged together. I never touched her. And no one had touched her before me. She was untouched. Danni was one of thousands of Catholic women worldwide who has consecrated their virginity to God ... Oh, no, she was not a nun. These are ordinary women who belong to the Rite for the Consecration of Virgins Living in the World. That’s their organisation. Danni told me it was only founded in the church in 1970 and her voice commanded her to join it (pp. 32-33).

Stewart concludes: “Virgins are magical beings...” (p. 33). The magic attached to virginity compelled the Professor’s brother Duma, who was sick with AIDS, to sleep with a three-month old virgin in the belief that he would be cured. People all over the world might well shrug their shoulders when they hear that some South Africans sleep with virgins to be cured of AIDS, regarding that as one of the highest expressions of primitivism. But Mda has noted that according to a book titled Virgin: The Untouched History by Hanne Blank, beliefs about virgin cures actually originated in Europe (read “Mda on Mda,” an interview with Pat Tucker published in the play, pp. xxvii-xxviii). Madlomo is obsessed with virginity; and indeed, she was the local virginity tester in KwaVimba before relocating to work in the Johannesburg Park. To her, non-virgins are “tainted” ladies and “iseqamgwaqo” (prostitutes) and deserve to be raped. Though she adores virginity as a traditional cultural status, she goes on to insinuate that even the Christian priest of God, Right Reverend Chief Comrade, has also endorsed virginity (p. 23).

Zakes Mda’s Dramaturgy and the Satirical Import in Our Lady of Benoni

63

The satirist’s voice forcefully descends when he uses the Professor as a mouthpiece to mock and condemn the tradition of revering virginity. The Professor is the right person to fulfil this function because he experienced first-hand the inhuman aspect of this tradition when his wife, Thabisile, was ostracised and chased out of KwaVimba because the local people did not see bloodstains on the bed after their first nuptial night, while the embarrassment surrounding this also drove the Professor out of KwaVimba to take refuge in a foreign location. The Professor debunks virginity as a moribund, outdated practice that is retrogressive instead of being progressive. “If ubuntu means an acceptance of everything that comes under the cloak of African culture, then ubuntu is an instrument of oppression” (p. 49). He sees it as a selfish instrument, which promotes gender disparity and patriarchy. “Virginity exists for the man, not the woman who’s supposed to possess it. And what does the man do with it? How does he put it to use? How does it benefit him? ... Yiqiniso ke lelo, Madlomo. Virginity is a commodity owned by the man, the father of the daughter. It’s a prize whose possession is passed from the girl’s father to the husband on payment of a price” (p. 48). He chides Madlomo and dismisses her myth about virginity testing as a display of utter ignorance: Nonsense! Girls are active. Some don’t have a hymen because it has been perforated during some activity. Some were born without a hymen. If you are right when you say virginity is located at the hymen, then they are not virgins. Still that does not tell me what virginity is. It merely tells me what it is not. The hymen is the least reliable measure (p. 50).

When Madlomo avers that any woman who is a virgin must demonstrate it through bloodstains, the Professor profusely rejects the stupidity behind that claim. Thabisile proved that not every woman bleeds when having sex for the first time. In any case not even physicians and surgeons can tell with absolute certainty whether a woman is a virgin or not. Unless they are charlatans they cannot conclude that the fact that the hymen is not intact means that the woman has had sex before. The vagina has no way of recording its sexual history (p. 51).

The Professor views virginity testing as a way of abusing women and laments the ordeal Thabisile and other women the world over have gone through in the name of virginity: PROFESSOR: They may not have killed her [Thabisile] physically, but elsewhere people do die. In the United States, in November 2004, Jasmine Archie was murdered by her mother, who forced her to drink bleach

64

Chapter Four because her mother believed she had lost her virginity. Jasmine, of Birmingham, Alabama, was only 12 years old at the time. In many countries where honour killing is part of the culture women are murdered every day by their parents for failing some virginity test (p. 48).

Finally, the Professor feels strongly that the onus lies with the government to ban virginity testing. He sees government reluctance to ban this uncivil practice as a cheap political expedient for not wanting to lose a large constituency like KwaZulu-Natal. In the real world, early in 2016, a South African municipality offered scholarships to girls they purportedly identified as virgins as a way of promoting the preservation of virginity in high schools. Of course, many citizens decried this gesture and called on the municipality to put an instant end to the project.

Miscellaneous Satirical Materials The play makes many passing but delicate comments about South African society in the post-apartheid era and some of them indeed hit home. Respect for those in authority is thrown to the dogs, because everybody claims equal rights (p. 30). Racial tension is rife as blacks are blamed for dragging the nation down through unproductive “Affirmative Action” and fruitless “Black Economic Empowerment” projects launched by the government while the whites are accused of maintaining the status quo of white supremacy from the apartheid era. Black people brag about being the true owners of the country. In a discussion with the Professor about whether the Virgin Mary was of Middle Eastern descent or a Caucasian, another racist chord is struck as Stewart instantly quips: “You just had to be racist about it. That’s what post-apartheid South Africa is all about. Always the race card” (p. 5). Later, Madlomo is angry with Stewart for referring to her amaZulu language as “tribal jargon” (p. 20). Stewart had earlier inferred that his penurious condition is racially caused, as both Afrikaners and blacks had conspired to reduce him to nothing. Those familiar with recent happenings in South Africa will testify that there is racial tension in spite of the proclaimed “rainbow nation.” The satirist treats this matter humorously but draws the attention of society to taking the matter seriously. The play also derides political corruption, police brutality, reckless driving and racially motivated patriotism. The Right Reverend Comrade is supported by women and people from his tribe simply because he is one of them. Though arrested and taken to court on an accusation of rape, rather than wait for the law to take its course, the supporters collude to render the law ineffective. Madlomo vows that “he won’t be found guilty as long as

Zakes Mda’s Dramaturgy and the Satirical Import in Our Lady of Benoni

65

we are there every day to remind those white judges and prosecutors that we own this country now. And to remind the woman oqambh’amanga ngaye that the women of South Africa condemn her and stand behind our pastor and leader” (p. 41). It is a common sight in South African court premises today: people gathering to support convicts who belong to their political affiliation or tribe. A very pathetic and ironical scene evolves as we see women condemn their fellow women for crying foul about rape and, worse still, Madlomo, who knows best the pains of rape, is in the forefront in condemning women who bring rapists to book. MADLOMO: Only a woman who is a sissy will complain about it. Real women don’t cry rape. They stand up, brush the dust from their kangas and move on. The Right Reverend Chief Comrade my leader stands for something greater than just having sex with a woman. He stands for people ... the poor ... those who have been let down by a government that has failed to deliver (p. 42).

Incessant strike action by workers in South Africa is also singled out for satirical attack, because strike actions threaten to bring the economy to its knees. Though legitimate strike action is workers’ right, overindulgence is unhealthy and indeed might be unproductive. Day in day out, the media covers elaborate news of strikes, which have the nick-name of “toyi-toyi,” by teachers, parents and wards, bus drivers, taxi drivers, railway workers, municipal employees, mine workers, protesters over non-delivery of goods, informal settlement occupants, fees must fall, etc. In the play, the Professor sarcastically refers to toyi-toyi by the cleaners in the municipal council as a “struggle” and Stewart is also unhappy, and both condemn it in no uncertain terms. To Stewart, the cleaners are those who are supposed to keep the environment clean, but in South Africa they overturn “dustbins making the whole city filthy.” The Professor pokes fun at the fact that these are people who fight for more pay and fewer hours of work (p. 21). It is on record that in the Western Cape Province, striking employees once poured faeces on the compound of the municipal offices. Accusing fingers are also pointed at corrupt government employees who have neglected their duties to negotiate with the workers and protect the citizens, particularly women. A heavy satirical bomb is dropped by the Professor, explaining why they have chosen not to do their work. I’ll tell you where they are: busy protecting their cabinet jobs, or angling for deployments into the lucrative civil service and parastatals, busy accumulating wealth through some BEE scheme. For them there’ll always be something greater at stake than standing up for the rights of women (p. 43).

66

Chapter Four

The play ends with Thabisile striking the pose of a feminist, reproaching male chauvinism and patriarchy and advocating for the rights of women. In her views, men and women “can only meet on equal terms as two free people” (p. 96).

CHAPTER FIVE SYNCRETISM, SYMBOLISM AND REVOLUTIONARY AESTHETICS IN THE PLAYS OF MASITHA HOEANE [WITH NTSELE RADEBE]

Introduction Many Basotho literary works were originally composed in seSotho and Thomas Mofolo is considered to be the pioneer creative writer in Lesotho. Some Basotho playwrights who also wrote plays in seSotho are Joseph Sebata Tsepho, Bennet Makalo Khaketla, Ntseliseng ‘Masechele Khaketla, Mallane Libakeng Maile, and Twentyman M. Mofokeng, who wrote the popular play entitled Sek’hona sa Joale - “A Calabash of Beer” (1939) (see Gassner and Quinn, 1969: 6). Following in the bold steps of B.L. Leshoai, A.S. Mopeli-Paulus, Patrick Bereng, and perhaps Mpapa Mokhoane, Masitha Hoeane is one of the Basotho creative writers who has chosen to compose in English. To date, he has published an impressive number of plays that speak to Africa generally, and the Basotho peasantry in particular. In this chapter, I will discuss Cry of the Whistle (1994), Bridge of Destiny (1994) and The Distance Remains (1996). What fascinates me about this playwright is the way he handles his materials in the plays. He is not just content with the messages in the plays, but is very deeply into theatrical craftsmanship. Thus, we will scrutinise his plays with particular reference to their use of syncretism, symbolism and revolutionary weaponry. By syncretism we mean the playwright’s ability to consciously fuse indigenous African materials with those from the West. Symbolism refers to his evocation of a picture or use of an object to convey a particular meaning or to represent an idea, while revolution implies the fight for social change and the common man’s reclaiming of his lost freedom. Though relatively unknown in Southern Africa, Masitha Hoeane is both an academic and a popular playwright and theatre practitioner in his

68

Chapter Five

native Lesotho. Born in Sharpeville in South Africa to a Morolong mother and a Mosotho father, Hoeane has had ample opportunity to work both in his native Lesotho, as a lecturer at the National University of Lesotho and as Provost of the Thaba Nchu College of Education, and in South Africa as Director of the University of Pretoria Arts. As a playwright and producer, Hoeane’s realm of dramaturgy “employs the aesthetics and performance style of indigenous African participatory theatre.” Hoeane has emerged as a committed English language playwright whose involvement with theatre and drama has set out to foster change in the repressive and exploitative post-colonial state that he depicts in his plays. Some of the major themes discussed in his plays are poverty, oppression, exploitation, unemployment, corruption, bribery, and prostitution; inequality in society, poor economic systems and the maldistribution of national wealth. Hoeane’s contribution to the growth of society is not only through his thematic pre-occupation with the fate of its economically oppressed and exploited people, but also in his wholesome dedication to and promotion of folk culture in his creative oeuvre. This chapter is an attempt to analyse and evaluate the creative deployment and effective transposition of oral forms and folk culture in Hoeane’s “participatory” plays. The objective is to demonstrate the symbiotic relationship between modern literature and folklore, as well as the complementary nature of orality and written narratives. This chapter examines the ways in which the playwright draws on the Basotho narrative and folkloric conventions and those of western hegemonic practices to create a resultant syncretic or dialogic appeal. Success in the staging of Hoeane’s plays depends largely on the degree of audience involvement, because the playwright believes that in conformity with traditional African praxis, the audience is revered as an integral part of the creative process and functions as a creative resource base and as coperformers. Hoeane’s theatre is not theatre-for-theatre’s-sake, and is far from being theatre that wallows in sheer fun and banal entertainment. Like the epic theatre of Bertolt Brecht, it is theatre for instruction – his teachings are not just moral or ethical, but socio-political lessons meant to challenge the inequality, injustices, exploitation, poverty and corruption inherent in the oppressive capitalist/apartheid systems. It is dedicated to the struggling and downtrodden masses in his society. Again, like Brecht or Ngugi wa Thiong’o, Hoeane sees the masses as a group protagonist capable of changing a corrupt society using the resources at its disposal instead of folding hands and waiting helplessly for Christ’s second coming. The plays under study are works with a social vision and Hoeane’s revolutionary recipe for dealing with a decadent post-colonial society.

Syncretism, Symbolism and Aesthetics in the Plays of Masitha Hoeane

69

The volume titled Let My People Play! (1994) contains two participatory theatre plays – Cry of the Whistle and Bridge of Destiny. An earlier version of Cry of the Whistle, which was titled Nowhere to Run, was first performed at the National University of Lesotho in 1987, while Bridge of Destiny was performed the following year under the title A Harvest of Sorrow. Cry of the Whistle is a parabolical piece of theatre that is Brechtian in tone, plot and structure, and Ngugi-like in conception and subject matter. In the play, the perennial class struggle in a capitalist African state is assiduously unfolded. The theme of injustice and oppression epitomised in Bosiu, a wealthy but corrupt bourgeois is dexterously handled by the playwright. The most important message driven home is that the oppressed, represented by two unemployed paupers (Seeta and Sello), have refused to resign their humiliating condition to fate. The inequality in a class-divided society is challenged, fought against and dismantled. By the time the curtain is drawn, Bosiu and his disreputable cohorts are reduced to nothing but “shit” and objects of “pity.” The Distance Remains is another metaphorical piece of theatre that again emphasises that the yawning gap between the rich and those who live in squalor will continue as long as human beings meekly or blindly accept the oppressive yarn of capitalism. Unlike the two plays referred to above, which are set in Lesotho, the setting of The Bridge of Destiny is a South African farm estate, with Mr. Williams as its white farm manager. The play concentrates on the exploitation and oppression of black people by whites. The play mirrors opportunism and is quite didactic in tone. Mr. Williams is an oppressor and an extortionist who delights in using blacks against fellow blacks (“BOB,” he calls it). Maphike (black) is Williams’s foreman, who has forsaken his family and derives pleasure from driving the black labourers crazy, to the titillation of his white master. Like Constable Sabela of the celebrated South African musical Sarafina, or the Superintendent in Soyinka’s Kongi’s Harvest, Maphike is foolishly intoxicated with his new rank, although it is one of a mere errand-boy, slave or zombie. His dream of being equal with his master is a hallucination. According to Piniel Shava in his introduction to the plays, “Maphike is a white man’s lackey who is willing to oppress his own black people under the misguided belief that the white man is invincible and immortal” (p. 9). A few critics have descended on Hoeane when it comes to the medium he uses for communication with his audiences. As a dedicated African playwright who has vowed to decolonise and conscientise his indigenous audiences about certain things in the world around them and which they have tolerated without scrutiny, one wonders how Hoeane’s message will filter through when his play is in English. This is not a new debate in

70

Chapter Five

literary circles and Hoeane is very well aware of the implication of his decision. Amongst African creative writers, there is a hot debate over whether communication in English benefits or hinders creative productions of indigenous value. In no uncertain terms, Ngugi wa Thiong’o has advocated abandoning the colonial legacy of language in favour of local African languages. The heterogeneous mix of languages in Africa and its attendant problems prompted Soyinka to propose, in 1977, the use of Kiswahili as lingua franca in Africa. In some circles, this proposition has been dismissed as academic rhetoric and an unpractical solution to the language problem seeing that the English language, spoken in almost every part of the world, has influenced and dominated local languages. It is obvious that when languages interact, they exert a measure of influence on each other. This is certainly true where English and African languages co-exist. In recognition of the set-backs experienced by African writers who use English as a medium of communication, the astute Achebe has prescribed staying within the limits of the metropolitan use of English or pushing back those limits to accommodate innovative experiments. In contemporary African writing, creative experiments have robbed the English language of its exclusive Englishness, and the language as expressed by African writers in many creative works takes dispersed forms in a variety of dialects, artificial combinations and conjurations. Far from living in a world where seSotho is the only language, we live in a world where the English language can be said to have overwhelmed the terrain. Hoeane does not only want to communicate with Basotho audiences; rather, his plays are set in the global context and for the global community. One escape from this dilemma is for the playwright to communicate in English but without conforming to conventional English expressions. In fact, expressions, syntax and linguistic codes as they exist in metropolitan English are to a great extent ignored by the playwright. He is more concerned about meaning than arrangement of the properties of the language. For example, one character says “I will give you your mother...” (p. 51). In their syncretic spirit, Hoeane’s plays are a mixture of English with the seSotho language. His idioms, proverbs and wise sayings are very traditional and the English language is manipulated, pounded, moulded and squeezed in a fashion which attracts the rhythm and flavour of seSotho as an acclaimed language of the Basotho, even though it coexists with an originally foreign European language.

Syncretism, Symbolism and Aesthetics in the Plays of Masitha Hoeane

71

Syncretism Cry of the Whistle opens with a prologue, with the audience in action in a call-and-response song by the narrator. At intervals, actors break away from stage acting and hold dialogue with the audience. The end of the play has the audience members posing as judges. The utilisation of local colour, folklore, traditional Basotho songs, dance, mime, and symbolism, and the inclusion of post-performance discussion through an exercise in immediate response and oral criticism of the performance, further accentuate the African nature of Hoeane’s theatre. Cry of the Whistle and The Distance Remains are saturated with traditional songs and dances that are not just items of embellishment and decoration, but help to advance the plays’ plot and subject-matter. Most of the songs are rendered in the local seSotho language (although also translated by Hoeane as faithfully as possible into English). Two of the prominent songs in Cry of the Whistle are the song-combat between the Cocktailers and the Destitute in scene one, and Sello and Seeta’s popular song of solidarity in scene six: He ‘na le uena He ‘na le uena Rea tsebana Ka lebaka la tsolleho Litsietsi, mahlomola ’Na le uena rea tsebana (p. 38).

In production, the traditional dance-song “pina-ea-mokopu,” performed by the sex workers in the play, usually gets the audience jumping with extreme excitement. LEAD: CHORUS: LEAD: CHORUS:

Sale la ka la ponto He mae he mae Sale la ka la ponto He mae he mae Sale la ka Sale la ka Sale la ka U oeelele! (p. 41)

In The Distance Remains, children welcome the falling rain with a traditional chant:

Chapter Five

72 ‘Mankokosane Pula ea na Re tla hola neng Ka laboraro (p. 110).

Meanwhile the elders sing merry songs of the monyanyako variety (p. 118) and senannapo. According to the production notes provided by the playwright, “The song of senannapo is a very-well known folktale and the song is so popular that it is not unsafe to say that it is known by virtually everyone who speaks seSotho” (p. 133). The idea is that the moment the song is sung by the characters, the audience will automatically join in. In conventional western theatre, the audience is a passive consumer of the theatrical goods. The audience is expected to sit and watch the performance without interacting with the actors/actresses, leaving early or interrupting the play process. Typically it is the theatre critic who, after the performance, expresses an opinion about it using set criteria of evaluation. In contrast, a typical African audience can be called “polaroid,” because it gives immediate feedback to the performers; a good performance is cheered hilariously and a bad one is instantly booed. The empowered and participating audience characteristic of Hoeane’s theatre is not the kind that sits passively in the auditorium as in western theatre. At critical stages of the show, the playwright lets the audience take over from the performers to make decisions about and find solutions to their problems. In this way, the dividing line between actors and spectators – “spec-actors” – disappears and the conventional wall and structures of the play are broken as theatre becomes participatory. Spectators no longer grant authority to the actors to speak and think on their behalf. The spectator is less than a man and it is necessary to humanize him, to restore to him his capacity of action in all its fullness. He too must be a subject, an actor on an equal plane with those generally accepted as actors, who must also be spectators. All these experiments of a people’s theater have the same objective – the liberation of the spectator, on whom the theater has imposed finished visions of the world... The spectators in the people’s theater (i.e., the people themselves) cannot go on being the passive victims of those images (Boal, 2000: 155).

It is in this regard that Mda states: “Participatory theatre is able to raise community issues, to involve people in discussing the issues, and finally to mobilise people to take action on the issues” (Quoted in Hoeane, 1994: 1). Hoeane believes his theatre must help to raise, confront and solve important problems in society. The people’s energy must be drawn on in the presentation and evaluation of theatre through their meaningful

Syncretism, Symbolism and Aesthetics in the Plays of Masitha Hoeane

73

participation. He associates himself with the poor, the deprived and the neglected members of society. In the opening scene (Prologue) of the 15 episodic scene play, Cry of the Whistle, the playwright employs the indigenous Basotho folk narrative style of storytelling, an indication that the contents of the play might as well be a folktale in the trickster repertoire of indigenous stories. He solicits the services of the narrator, whose major role is to entice the audience to become actively involved in the proceedings of the play. NARRATOR: (To the audience) We are going to create a story with you today. We are not just going to create it for you but with you. There’s no one who did not play mantloane as a child. So you know what it’s about. Remember? ‘Na ke ‘me, uena u ntate... It’s not something which you play alone in your mother’s house. We are here to play with you. These are the players who will begin to play with you in a moment. (The performers move forward, greet the audience, shake some hands and leave.) The play uses materials from our culture and you will know where to come in. A woman knows when to ululate and she is never told when to do so. We will borrow songs from our culture. This is because they are good songs and, more importantly, they are songs which you know and we can sing them together. Let’s go! NARRATOR: Mathe oee! AUDIENCE: Hela ngoana! NARRATOR: Eseng AUDIENCE: Ka mokhoa ona, ngoana Leha eba oa nthata, ngoana Eseng ke mokhoa ona. NARRATOR: There you are! Thank you. Please feel free to sing with us. However, sometimes the actors will indicate when they need you to do something, like giving you the rhythm in clapping hands. Ba re e ne re. AUDIENCE: Qoi! (pp. 16-17)

The Distance Remains begins with a riddle which dovetails into procreation, as we will discuss in the section on symbolism. In the same play, the traditional storytelling technique used relies heavily on “visual and aural appeal, mime, song and movement.” Another significant call-and-response strategy is found in Cry of the Whistle in scene seven, one of the hilarious scenes highlighting the activities of the prostitutes in Sis’ Meggy’s brothel. Mphu, the wife of one of the destitute unemployed, has come to beg for money from Sis’ Meggy and when the latter advises her to subscribe to prostitution, she vehemently objects: “Prostitution is not for me” (p. 42). Amiably angry, Meggy retorts

74

Chapter Five

“... When you see a dead antelope, you must know that he didn’t court death. Prostitution! What is it? Girls! (The girls spring up and stand together in one place). SIS’ MEGGY: U tsoa kae? GIRLS: Ha mantila-tilane. SIS’ MEGGY: (To the audience) Take over and ask them. You all know how it’s done. Ask them. (The girls break up and take different position). A VOICE FROM THE AUDIENCE: U tsoa kae? [Where do you come from?] GIRLS: Ha mantila-tilane. [Where all people come from]. A VOICE FROM THE AUDIENCE: Ua ja’ng. [What do you live on?] GIRLS: Bohobe. [The bread of life]. A VOICE FROM THE AUDIENCE: Oa futsoela ka’ng. [What else?] GIRLS: Ka metsi a pula. [The elements]. A VOICE FROM THE AUDIENCE: Thella he? ALL: Re thelleleng re le matekatse [The stage is yours. Tell us all] (pp. 42-43). The First Girl jumps up and renders in seSotho language what the playwright has translated as: FIRST GIRL: Come out of your houses and see for yourself The rock-rabbit lost its tail through trusting emissaries Watch a prostitute swoop away someone’s husband She sweeps him away with all and sundry His wife stands stunned The husband is wild and unmanageable Slippery as a tadpole in water I rub myself with him and then cast him away The wife will pick him up pale and miserable His pockets whistling like the wind in an (empty) cave Having swept them clean, this girl did (pp. 97-98).

All the other prostitutes take turns in recounting their nefarious activities with men. In Cry of the Whistle, during the dispute between Mama and Mphu, the latter withdraws and joins the audience, requesting them to intervene in the matter. This creates a sense of solidarity and cooperation between the audience and the destitute. Secondly, the destitute that dispossesses the referee-judge of his whistle emerges from the audience, and once again this gives the structural impression that the destitute is one of the members of the audience. Lastly, in the final scene, the destitute invite the audience

Syncretism, Symbolism and Aesthetics in the Plays of Masitha Hoeane

75

to join in the celebration of their victory. In essence, the victory is not only that of the destitute, but that of the masses or audience as well. In The Bridge of Destiny, the hostile chase Williams gives Marumo, who is accused of poisoning his (William’s) animals, reveals Marumo hiding amongst the audience. A general observation from both plays is that Hoeane’s protagonists tend to play from among the audience. This technique is very effective in achieving the objectives of the plays. Radebe (1999) observes that, unlike expressionist theatre, Hoeane does not make the audience into receptive figures whose job is only to consume. It provokes their critical consciousness and makes them feel that it is their personal and social affairs that are being dramatised and that the actors are only their agents. In the final analysis, they become conscientised to be aware of their plight and persuaded to take action in order to redress it. This is not only Brecht’s epic theatre that is being enacted, but Augusto Boal’s as well. Another common feature in the structure of Hoeane’s plays is emphasis on “Post-Performance Discussion,” which is indeed a borrowed instrument from theatre-for-development praxis. This entails dialogue and debate in the form of a khotla after each play performance. The playwright regards this device as “an exercise in immediate and oral criticism” (p. 93). He goes further to state: This is an important feature of the theatre in Africa. It is an integral part of the oral tradition which is being driven to the background by written criticism. This play [Cry of the Whistle] is committed to the revival of that tradition. The audience gives an immediate feedback to the performers as indeed they do throughout the performance. Oral criticism has always been part and parcel of theatrical performances in Africa. It surfaces at both the performative level and at the level of discussion. If we write and perform for audiences, nothing is more sensible than to hear from that audience what it has to say. This is best achieved by providing a forum for that purpose (p. 93).

He elaborates on this after the presentation of Bridge of Destiny: The theatrical performance is the stone dropped in the puddle, and the post-performance discussion is the provision of the surface upon which the energy and patterns of the ripples play out their magic and go to the outermost limits of the lake unhampered. It is our conviction that the audience should be provided with a forum which will enable them to respond to the performance. If there is a value in the collective consumption of theatre, then surely it is equally important and valuable to collectively respond to it. Unless the audience is taken to be no more than a dumping ground or at best a backdrop to the whole

76

Chapter Five process. Since the audience is valuable and indispensable to a theatrical transaction, then this value cannot lie entirely in their role as passive consumers. Theatre should start a genuine dialogue that is both vertical and horizontal, which helps the audience to develop. Otherwise it sails very close to propaganda. These views are grounded on the aesthetics of African indigenous theatre and make no claim to starting a new tradition but to validate and assert values of a long standing one in practice – a public response to a public art. If it is important for the audience to take in the theatre, then what they take out is similarly important. Those involved in theatre-for-development would be aware of the magic of a live response to the theatre and how the people’s collective energy, feeling, experience and thought can be tapped to their own advantage. At any rate, the professional critic is still a rare phenomenon in Africa and is often schooled in Western traditions. This function still belongs to the audience. This is in fact desirable and must be maintained and developed. The social nature of the theatre must be taken to its logical conclusions. The theatre is not a television screen in which the screen and the viewer are completely detached. TV can go on without an audience. But the theatre is not possible without an audience. In the theatre there is life and energy not only on performance space but in and around the audience. It makes it unique and all important. This living presence must be made the most of. Bridge of Destiny being an allegorical play, it would be a good starting point to ask the audience open-ended questions which would allow them to say what they make of the play and possibly push-start them on the pleasurable journey of deciphering the allegorical metaphors as they perceive them. The exercise in sharing views is invaluable in terms of affording people the opportunity to express and share views, providing a possibility for raising their awareness of the world around them and developing a critical attitude towards it. This is a play about human and social issues that touch the lives of the people and they will readily take them up precisely because they can relate to them meaningfully. We offer no formula for the direction of the discussion and leave it to individual casts and their audiences. However, the role of beginning the discussion falls squarely on the shoulders of the Director and the performers. All they need to do is to probe the audience and catalyse the discussion (pp. 157-158).

In The Distance Remains, what the playwright regards as “audience time” is an opportunity for the characters in the play to lead the audience in discussion. The playwright names two major issues the play sets out to resolve. The first issue is the audience’s opinion on what should be done about Nakedi, who is involved in the death of the patriot, Makau. The second is how the community should resolve the water supply issue in the

Syncretism, Symbolism and Aesthetics in the Plays of Masitha Hoeane

77

community, seeing that the community has its own well, whereas Nakedi’s well is private and commercial. “The object is to empower the audience to determine the ending and to experience and exercise power and to see the consequences of their actions and how crucial and far-reaching their decision could be” (p. 134). Malan (1996) states that the playwright’s voice in this play is being heard to say: My ambition is to work with communities, especially in contexts in which the theatre can be used to serve the development process, to motivate communities and to help them explore and deal with their world (p. 130).

Symbolism In Cry of the Whistle, Masitha Hoeane employs the symbol of a football match to depict life as a competition in which some people win and others lose. The game is between the Hawks (upper class) and the Patriots (destitute). The play uses the sport metaphor explicitly in scene four, when the referee-judge is costumed as half-judge and half-referee, aided by the rent collector and the junior. This scene is one of the most significant and meaningful parts of the play. The game is a kaleidoscope of life itself, as the conflict between the rich and poor is perennial. Immediately after the referee-judge, rent collector and junior have left, 11 destitute, dressed in a tattered and shabby football outfits, enter. They are preparing for the big match. One of the destitute carries a deflated football. It is very cold and snowing. The wind is whistling and beating against them… They don’t talk to each other, they seem not to see each other. They shiver and tremble, blow their breath into their hands… They gather around the expected fire but the lighted matchstick is blown out by the wind and is the last twig… They sit down in despair and huddle together. They huddle even closer together until they form a human heap. The snow keeps falling. All the time, their teeth are chattering and they are making other noises made by people who are feeling very cold. The human bundle ends up an orchestra of noises responding to the cold. As they lie in a heap, they look like some strange monster… They stand up… One remains on the ground. He is dead. All of them are focused on him and see themselves in his fate (p. 31).

In this scenario, Hoeane employs the metaphor and symbolism of inclement weather to portray the hardship, misery and other unfavourable conditions in life that the poor have to endure. The miserable condition of the poor is fermented by the status quo, namely the unjust social,

78

Chapter Five

economic and political disparities in a capitalist state. The deflated football is an image used to capture the unpleasant lot of “lower” people at the hands of the exploitative capitalist bourgeoisie. Just like a football, they are “kicked around” by the bourgeoisie until there is no more energy or life left in them. As the stage directions indicate, at first the destitute neither talk to nor seem to recognise one another. However, as the weather bites them more fiercely, they huddle together, seeking warmth from each other. These actions emphasise the formidable power of unity and solidarity needed to break the yoke of oppression and exploitation. They demonstrate the emergence of a revolutionary spirit. It seems that at the onset, the peasants and workers are not aware of their potential power of resistance to the injustices of exploitation and oppression by the upper class. They bear their suffering individually and when they can no longer tolerate the ugly situation, a united front forms, in line with Karl Marx’s clarion call to workers of the world to unite to break their chain of bondage to the oppressive forces of capitalism. Their unity and solidarity mark a turning point in the history of class struggle. As in a normal football match, it is the winning team that gets the trophy – the cup. In the play, Bosiu has vowed to retain the cup “for good,” against the ethics of the game, where it is usually a floating trophy. The cup metaphor and the assertion by Bosiu that “the victory is total ... the winner takes all” (p. 18) is indicative of capitalists’ tendency not only to grab power and resources but to abuse and monopolise them. Nevertheless, the inability of the upper class to retain the cup after the unfair victory typifies the destruction of the status quo, and presumably the formation of a new classless society. The rigged football game clearly reveals that life is a struggle against inimical forces and unfair competitions. The play depicts the bourgeoisie as “parasitic social vermin that prey on the blood of the poor.” The danger that the rich pose in a corrupt society is conveyed through the way they march in the play: “The march proceeds snake-like, forwards and backwards and takes turns. Each turn is watched with a renewed rush of fear as the snake turns towards them [destitute]” (p. 20). The snake image conveys the danger of the masses being bitten by the green snakes (upper class) that hide in the green grass. The lavish party organised by Bosiu and his cohorts contrasts sharply with the poverty and hunger that the poor (Seeta and his wife, Mathe) experience. Instead of compassion, “The cocktail people turn their disinterested faces away” from the destitute (19). They are gorgeously dressed while the destitute

Syncretism, Symbolism and Aesthetics in the Plays of Masitha Hoeane

79

suddenly, and from all directions emerge, in cockroach fashion... All are barefoot. One holds out open palms to beg from the people in the cocktail, moving from one to another. Receiving no attention, he buries himself in their midst and kneels down in a posture of supplication with both hands held above the head. One is shabbily dressed... A third goes straight for the rubbish bin and starts rummaging frantically for something to eat… Now and again, something is tossed away by one of the cocktailers and the beggars scramble for it (pp. 18-19).

The scene demonstrates the social antagonism between the bourgeoisie and the proletariat. The poor are at the mercy of the rich. The rich are bent on perpetuating the hapless condition of the proletariat so that the latter will always serve them. These social ill-feelings are carried in the song between the cocktailers and the destitute in scene one. COCKTAILERS:

Listen, you poor ones Let us tell you a secret A bird builds its nest With the feathers of another... The fingers of the hand Are all unequal With human beings too It is just the same (p. 95-96).

Another issue that Cry of the Whistle is concerned with is cultural imperialism and its pernicious effects in Africa. The décor, clothes, food and music exhibited during the party are all foreign to Lesotho, the setting of the play. This cultural contrast is brought out in order to highlight the harmful penetration of cultural imperialism among the post-independence African upper class. It can also be interpreted as cultural betrayal. There is an element of prostitution in the play but the role of the prostitutes is not banal; instead we see them function beyond commonplace expectations. They are the by-products of society’s inefficiency and they practice their trade in order to take revenge on those who perpetuate their ugly condition. While Bosiu and his friend feel they are exploiting the prostitutes sexually, the ladies in turn extort from them. They are a formidable front in the masses’ revolution against the rich. In many social conflicts, there are opportunists amongst the oppressed who ally with the advantaged group. In Hoeane’s portrayal of the police, the church, and the institutions of law and justice, these are the bourgeoisie’s allies. Ideally, religion is supposed to be an instrument of morality and an avenue through which the oppressed should seek solace. Today, religious claims are often rejected because of their alleged logical

80

Chapter Five

or moral incoherence, and because of certain practices in the church which are at variance with its ideals as guardian of morality. Religious people, confronted with their moral lapses, have been known not to do the good that they ought to do; but the evil that they ought to despise, they continuously indulge themselves in. The role of the church in the capitalist state is to lull the proletariat into a slumber so that they do not realise that they are exploited. Ngugi identifies religion as one of the weapons of mental and spiritual subjugation used in social conflict (1993: 117). Religion has been described as the opium of the people, which drugs and numbs the senses of those caught up in its web, encouraging devotees not to look into the things of the earth but to look heavenwards for the glory and reward that are beyond their experience. In Cry of the Whistle, the two preachers, representatives of the church, are dismissed without ceremony. Their insistence on talking to Seeta and his wife Mathe “about the Lord” ends in Seeta exclaiming emphatically, “Noooo! ... I want to eat! That’s what I want to do” (p. 24). In The Bridge of Destiny, Hoeane examines the contributions of Christianity and African traditional religion in the struggle against apartheid. He shows Christianity, represented by Archie, as having made no contribution to the struggle. The etymology of the name Archie itself is quite interesting. In an interview with Radebe, the playwright disclosed that, in a press conference, the Archbishop of the South African Anglican Church, Desmond Tutu, said “Just call me Arch.” And Hoeane has twisted “Arch” into Archie.” Archie’s virtual absence in the workers’ struggle against apartheid signifies the passiveness and indifference of the church to the cause. In the nine scenes of the play, there is no point at which the priest appears to take action against Williams. He only appears twice: in the first scene where he discovers Maphike’s body and in the last scene of the burial. There is a satiric edge in the portrayal of the church. In the burial scene, Archie vies for the front-most position, yet he did not take part in the struggle; he wants the glamour of the freedom days for which he did not work. In this way, the church’s indifference to, and failure to stand against, injustice and oppression, as well as its monopoly of the fruits of freedom, is subjected to sharp criticism. On the contrary, the traditional religion plays a vital role. It helps advance the liberation cause. It provides the people with morale. When the road to freedom is full of distressing hardships, it brings the people together, affords them unity and solidarity and strengthens their will to fight. A classic example is the traditional feast held after the massacre by Williams of scores of people (scenes five and six). The ritual is performed to request the gods’ succour and blessings in

Syncretism, Symbolism and Aesthetics in the Plays of Masitha Hoeane

81

the face of the formidable enemy they are fighting. “…people placate the spirits of the ancestors to ask for peace, rain and solidarity as well as to seek their intercession in their misfortunes” (p. 129). In Cry of the Whistle, the law is represented by the referee-judge. The way the referee-judge is costumed is of significant importance in the play: from the neck up, he is dressed as a judge, and below that, as a football referee. We shall discuss him more in terms of his wig, which shows the institution he represents in real life. Most importantly, attention should be paid to the way he blows his whistle, a symbol of power in the play. In other words, as a judicial figure, the role of the referee-rudge is to administer justice and ensure fair play in the game between the Hawks and the Patriots. However, even before the game begins, a number of things make us doubt his impartiality. First of all, Bosiu, who represents the bourgeoisie, seems to have influence over the official. They are together all the time and their relationship is very suspicious. For example, during the party scene (scene one), Bosiu and the referee-judge stand aside and converse, with a backward glance now and again. In scene 13, Bosiu insists that the judge officiates in the major game. Obviously he wants the judge to officiate in favour of his team, the Hawks. When Judge refuses, Bosiu blackmails him and threatens to evict him from the house which he (the judge) obtained through Bosiu’s influence. “If we win, the house is yours and all I promised you. If not… Get out!” (p. 80). The entire play Bridge of Destiny is built on symbolism. It commences with the elements of division of property, rivalry, and conception, and the imagery of tadpoles running a race. The severe drought and the stopped clock symbolise the political paralysis and stagnation afflicting the land. The winner of the two tadpoles inherits all property. According to Hoeane, in an interview with Radebe at Thaba-Nchu in 1999, the tadpole image reflects the nature of life. Life is a struggle in which one has to defeat one’s opponents to survive. This is exactly what happens when a life is created: countless sperm (tadpoles) vie, but only one sperm will beat the others to fuse with the single egg. The rest die. The winner is naturally the hero and it is this hero that Maphike and Thakane (his wife) come together with the audience to create. The hero is Maphike’s child that Thakane conceives. In other words, the actors and the audience are creating a social hero for the struggle against apartheid. The child symbolises hope for the future. The marginalisation, oppression and exploitation of other races by the apartheid regime concretise the idea of life as a competition, as symbolised by the tadpole race in scene two. It is against the historical background of apartheid that The Bridge of Destiny is set. The play dramatises the political history of South Africa, as

82

Chapter Five

Shava states in the introduction: “The play itself is a replica of the larger South Africa” (p. 8). The farm is owned by a white man, Farmer Williams. Naturally it is the black people who provide labour on the farm. The white farmer exploits and oppresses the black workers for his material gain. At the symbolic level, the play shows how apartheid served the material interests of white people. In order to maintain its position and further its interests, the apartheid government employs brutality, torture and military force. It also uses the strategy of divide and rule. Instrumental to this strategy is Williams’s foreman and chief aide, Maphike, who symbolises traitors who betrayed the fight against apartheid. Such “white man’s lackeys” have built their trust in white-protected power. In return for their betrayal, the traitors are bestowed with favours by white managers. The likes of Maphike in the real world are former Bantustan leaders such as Chief Kaiser Matanzima and Chief Lucas Mangope. Such appointed leaders were made to believe in the absolute power and immortality of the white man. They therefore, with free consciences, perpetrated repressive acts of brutality against their own people in the mistaken belief that the white man would always be there to protect them. The brutal betrayal of the blacks by their own people is demonstrated by Maphike’s implementation of Williams’s strategy of “BOB” - “Black On Black” (p. 136-137), a gruesome method of torture invented by Williams. In return for whipping his black brothers, Maphike gets honey and second-hand clothes as a reward from his boss. The most trusted of the white man’s methods of oppression is his military power. In the play, trust and power are symbolised by Williams’s absolute and heavy reliance on his gun, which he also uses as a walking stick. Physically worn out by a terminal disease, he leans on the gun wherever he goes. The terminal disease symbolises the demise of apartheid. The persistent cough and the stabbing sound of the gun as he walks have come to characterise him and his complete trust in the weapon. With it he mercilessly crushes all resistance from the workers. In scene five, the massacre of many workers by Williams with his gun indicates the extremes of brutality and inhumanity Williams goes to in order to maintain the status quo. His is a reflection of the cruel military force by which the apartheid regime eliminated its opponents. The human slaughter performed by Williams probably symbolises the Sharpeville massacre and the Soweto uprising (Shillington, 1987: 163). However, symbolically, Hoeane does not fail to imply that the apartheid regime’s military suppression is doomed to ultimate failure; it is fated to come to an end. The “old and rusty” condition of the gun clearly shows this.

Syncretism, Symbolism and Aesthetics in the Plays of Masitha Hoeane

83

Along with its divide and rule strategy and military suppression, the apartheid government wages a propaganda war to keep itself in power. The propaganda instrument is in the symbol of “Horsy,” the gift horse that Williams has given to Maphike. Horsy represents the system of apartheid which Williams says is going to run two races, one local and the other international (p. 115). Maphike will be its jockey and first he must rally support for Horsy on the home ground. The aim here is to sell the apartheid idea at the local level, that is, within South Africa itself and the neighbouring states; indeed, in the whole of the African continent. The idea does not sell. It is countered by the black resistance movement and it eventually fails, being totally dismissed and rejected. Nevertheless, all is not doom and gloom for Horsy. Its owner, Williams, is optimistic that the horse’s international campaign will be successful, although in Africa people are “uncivilised” and therefore do not appreciate “good things.” “Horsy won’t run here. He’ll run overseas where people are civilized. Horsy will conquer the world!” (p. 117). Williams’s hope that the horse’s campaign abroad will be successful is grounded on the fact that the apartheid government was backed by the western powers, namely Britain and the United States. These two world powers blocked attempts to impose sanctions on South Africa (Shillington, 1987: 164). Obviously, in Africa, apartheid would not sell; instead, other African countries helped the South African freedom fighters in their struggle against the apartheid regime. The liberation movements of the ANC and the PAC were based in such countries as Tanzania, Zambia and Zimbabwe. Having failed to win their political rights through non-violent means, and their political organisations having been forced underground by a ban, the liberationists finally resorted to armed resistance against apartheid in guerrilla warfare. That is how the ANC and the PAC founded their military wings, known as Umkhonto we Sizwe (“Spear of the Nation”) and Poqo respectively. In Bridge of Destiny, the people’s resistance is represented by Marumo (seSotho word for spear). Marumo apparently stands for the armed military wings of the black resistance movements, Umkhonto and Poqo. These forces carried out hit-and-run operations against the apartheid government. They targeted economic, political and communication installations and infrastructure such as pylons, railway lines and Bantu administration offices. People, particularly Bantu personnel, were also attacked (Shillington, 1987: 164). Out of desperation, when facing inevitable death, Williams yearns for and enjoys bloodshed. That is why, during one of his fits of madness, he orders the slaughter of 16 bulls and 52 chickens and sings of death all the time (pp. 13-65, 139-143). Together, the numbers of these bulls and

84

Chapter Five

chickens gives the date 1652: the year the white man arrived in South Africa to begin his colonial rule. The death or extinction of apartheid is further symbolised by the symbolism of flies and by the mule, Horsy. In his later days, Williams is persistently troubled by flies, which he flicks away with a whisk all the time. “This is now an abiding and characteristic gesture which punctuates his every speech” (p. 132). The presence of flies indicates rot. In other words, Williams is virtually dead, a walking corpse. As Manoko says, “Williams died many years ago. God took his soul a long time ago. But then the devil gave him another to carry on the work of evil and destruction” (p. 147). Hoeane likens the mortality of apartheid to the barrenness of a mule. Like a mule, which cannot reproduce to maintain its kind, apartheid was from its very beginnings a system of governance condemned to perish. Like a mule, it lives with the unpleasant prospect and knowledge that it will ultimately die and be wiped from the face of the earth. When Williams finally dies physically, his death symbolises the demise of apartheid and the dawn of a new, free and independent South Africa. Writes Shava: “Williams’s terminal illness and subsequent death symbolise the dismantling and ultimate jettisoning of apartheid… The falling of his farm into the hands of erstwhile farm workers at the end of the play heralds the beginning of majority politics in a non-racial South Africa” (p. 10). The stopped clock, which marks the political stagnation of the country, starts moving again after the death of Williams, heralding the dawn of a new era. “The rain brings an end to the literal and metaphorical drought that has been afflicting the nation” (Shava, p. 10). After Williams’s death, Maphike, the white man’s lackey, is left completely isolated and stranded. It is only now that it dawns on him that the white man is after all mortal. In this situation, he decides that death is the best solution and commits suicide. However, he leaves behind a baby who is the embodiment of a bright future and promise in the new South Africa. The major symbols in The Distance Remains are the draught, Nakedi’s well and the communal well. Nakedi’s well is a symbol of oppression and exploitation, while the communal well represents sustenance for the suffering masses. In order to sustain his income from selling water to the masses, Nakedi does not pray for rain. Even though it rained at one stage, very little water came out of the reservoir tap. The drought, though an unwelcome plight for the poor, is a situation the rich have profited from. Makau (alias Ma Duck), like Maphike in the Bridge of Destiny, is Nakedi’s lackey. He is the errand boy who suffocates his brothers and sisters because he wants to please the master.

Syncretism, Symbolism and Aesthetics in the Plays of Masitha Hoeane

85

Revolutionary Tendencies Cry of the Whistle ends with a socio-political revolution. The proletariat rises up against the bourgeoisie and subverts the unjust social system through violence. Using violence to subvert an unjust system rhymes with Karl Marx and Lenin’s belief in violence as a means of social change. The two men, especially Lenin, were of the view that a meaningful change from a capitalist system to a socialist one could only come about through violence. Hoeane endows the downtrodden, the oppressed and the exploited with the power to change their lot for the better. The bourgeoisie and their allies, that is, all the conspirators responsible for the unpleasant lot of the people below them, are administered a bitter dose of the people’s justice. There are varying degrees of resistance and revolution in the plays: x Sello physically attacks Bosiu. x The destitute thrash junior and the rent collector with a whip. x The rent collector is left stark naked when he tries to rape Mphu and Bosiu’s tongue is bitten off when he tries to kiss Mathe. x The prostitutes join in the fight against the exploiters with sticks and stones. x Pretty, Bosiu’s daughter, is disgraced in public for dumping a baby in a dustbin. x There is a confrontation at the hospital between Mphu and Mama, Bosiu’s wife, in which Mphu claims her stolen child back from Mama. x The courageous Mphu stands up to Mama and Pretty, her daughter, by humiliating and embarrassing them by exposing their scandal. In the scene that is reminiscent of a court room, Mama and Pretty are left in the dock (stage) all by themselves like accused persons. They are pathetic and desperate. Mphu joins the audience, and from this vantage position she orders Mama to bring her the baby. Pretty, a virtual prisoner, is led away by one of the destitute. Mphu and the audience have become judges and they are sitting in judgment over Mama and her daughter. In other words, Mama and Pretty’s fates are in their hands. In this way, the playwright empowers his protagonists, namely the masses, by letting them decide the fate of their oppressors. In actual fact the playwright distances himself and lets the audience completely take charge of events from the actors and pass judgement.

86

Chapter Five

x At the beginning of the great football game in scene 15 (p.88), there are several points to pay particular attention to in the initial pattern or set-up of the scene. Firstly, when going to the game, the cocktailers are in possession of the championship cup, which they jubilantly brandish in the air. The cup, which represents victory, is symbolic of the finality of the outcome. x Then comes the big game proper, the showdown. It is in this scene that the play reaches its climax. Most importantly, it marks a momentous event in social history. It is in this game that the unfair, corrupt and biased role of the law is clearly demonstrated. The referee-judge dismally fails to mete out justice. He denies the Patriots their goals and implicitly their victory by officiating in favour of the Hawks. The whistle, a symbol of power and authority, justice and fairness, is abused. His biased control of the game signifies the failure of the law and justice system to serve the underprivileged. Hence, the Patriots forcefully snatch the whistle and the wig from the referee-judge, and the cup as well. x When violence breaks out, a gun is fired and the Patriots are rounded up. We are not certain as to who fires the gun, but it is either the police or the cocktailers. If it is the police, they could be collaborating with the bourgeoisie. But it is probably the cocktailers who came armed to the game. The snake array appears again and starts performing its devouring manoeuvres. However, the people hold out and refuse to surrender to their enemy. The pattern and order of things are overturned when Bosiu, the rent collector and junior are overcome by the destitute. x In The Distance Remains, the villagers are determined to draw water from Nakedi’s well. They beat Tholo unconscious. x Makau pays for his mischief with his life. x In The Bridge of Destiny, Marumo’s attack on Williams and the extensive destruction he carries out on the farm (p. 107) typifies the activities of the military wings. He maims Williams with a trap, kills his livestock, burns down his barns, damages his vehicles and steals his generators. All these incidents in the play signify the liberation forces in action against the apartheid government. x The impact of their action is evident. Williams is extremely shaken and distressed by the situation. “…all these things have earned me the name of a financial risk and I am in debt; my brother and relatives don’t visit me anymore. They say it’s not safe here; my children have left for the same reason; I have no more tears to weep” (p.127).

Syncretism, Symbolism and Aesthetics in the Plays of Masitha Hoeane

87

x Williams’s words imply success for the workers. They encapsulate the political, economic and social effects of the struggle fought by the black forces against the government. Williams implicitly concedes that the enemy has dealt him a severe blow, not least in terms of economy, as the political situation has scared away foreign investors. x Apartheid is not destined to last. Williams’s effort to fight his terminal sickness and his perverse denial that he is terminally ill are as futile as those of one who attempts to defy death. The signs of his moribund fate are there, stark and dreadful, but he obstinately refuses to admit them. His sense of approaching death drives him to a paranoia in which he thinks everyone wants him to die so that they may appropriate his wealth (pp. 132, 133, 134). x By the time the play draws near to its conclusion, evil is extirpated. Mr. Williams is not “immortal” after all – he is afflicted with a “terminal disease” – he cries and seeks someone “to pick [him] up.” His death precipitates Maphike’s death as he (Maphike) now realises that he is a man alone in his society. “How can Williams die and leave me in such a mess? No wife, no sister, no brother, no neighbour, nothing. Absolutely nothing ... darkness, emptiness, hatred, loneliness, nothingness. Mine is a harvest of pain and sorrow.” Cry of the Whistle, The Distance Remains and The Bridge of Destiny do overlap in certain thematic aspects. The struggles that go on in the three plays reflect dialectical materialism. In Cry of the Whistle and The Distance Remains, the Basotho are one people, though they are polarised into two social classes, at loggerheads over the basic resources of life. Similarly, in The Bridge of Destiny, the black and white races are at war over the basic resources of life. The white race side-lines the black race from, and denies it full and equal access to, the national wealth and other material opportunities that they themselves enjoy. The oppressive party claims racial superiority and grounds its segregation policy on it. Thus, in the final analysis, the common factor we draw from the themes of these plays is once again struggle over material resources.

CHAPTER SIX RRE PHATHASANE AND LETSEMA: INDUSTRIAL THEATRE PROJECTS IN BOTSWANA

Introduction: Theatre as Interventionist Tool Using theatre to intervene in or support organisational transformation has emerged as a novel practice. This is due to the enviable position theatre occupies as a powerful and effective means of communication. Industrial Theatre is a mechanism of transformation in an industry setting through learning at the emotional level, and therefore dramatically reduces resistance to change, while positively influencing mindset, beliefs and behaviour. Industrial Theatre is also an excellent method for communicating complex issues in an entertaining and understandable manner and for energising staff for change in any organisation. Industries in Europe and America have used Industrial Theatre in one form or another. In the developing world setting, Janice Wilson of the University of Pretoria, South Africa, has demonstrated through research how Industrial Theatre can be used to influence employee attitudes. In 1997, the Delta Theatre Group worked with Koornfontein mines in South Africa in developing an innovative approach to the use of Industrial Theatre to communicate important information to the workforce. Feedback confirmed that the audience of workers not only understood and enjoyed the performances, but they made them think about and understand for the first time their own involvement and responsibilities. Industrial Theatre also affords employees an avenue to unyoke their emotions by watching and experiencing the theatre performance. The use of theatre in the industries is one form of applied theatre principles. It is a forum where theatre’s potential as an image-maker and healer of “psychological wounds or barriers” is demonstrated. Nicholson (2005: 2) states:

Rre Phathasane and Letsema: Industrial Theatre Projects in Botswana

89

The terms “applied drama” and “applied theatre” gained currency during the 1990s, finding particular favour with academics, theatre practitioners and policy makers who have used them as a kind of shorthand to describe forms of dramatic activity that primarily exist outside conventional mainstream theatre institutions, and which are specifically intended to benefit individuals, communities and societies.

Applied theatre is awareness theatre and non-conventional in practice. This is a theatre that is taken out into non-theatrical settings, community centres, parks and streets, prison and rehabilitation venues, therapy and health care sites, housing projects, support service settings, and other locations for the purpose of helping the audience, or the participants, grapple with an issue, event, or question of immediate public and personal concern (Taylor, 2003: xx).

Taylor further attests that this art form “is an applied theatre because the art form becomes a transformative agent that places the audience or participants in direct and immediate situations where they can witness, confront, and deconstruct aspects of their own and other’s actions” (xx). Applied theatre is an interventionist instrument. Viewed negatively, intervention may mean intrusion or interference. It may raise unsettling questions such as those once asked by Rahnema: Who are we – who am I – to intervene in other people’s lives when we know so little about any life, including my own? Even in the case where we intervene because we think we love and care for others, how is it possible to say in advance that our intervention will not eventually produce a result opposite to that expected (1997: 395 quoted in Ahmed, 2006: 41).

Viewed positively, however, intervention is a progressive instrument necessary for the achievement of checks and balances within human relations. From the applied theatre perspective, intervention promotes negotiation and meaningful dialogue. By whatever name we want to call it – participatory theatre, interactive theatre, outreach theatre, theatre-fordevelopment, community theatre, forum theatre, workers’ theatre, etc. – the aim is to educate and to transform a system; theatre in education.

Contextualising Botswana Botswana, surrounded by its immediate Southern African neighbours – South Africa, Zimbabwe, Angola, Namibia and Zambia – used to be one of the most peaceful nations within the Southern African Development Community (SADC), and indeed the entire African continent. When it was

90

Chapter Six

a British protectorate during colonial times, Botswana (named after its dominant group, the Tswana or Batswana) was known as Bechuanaland (c. 1880) and it was one of the most marginal, thinly populated and poverty-stricken countries in the world. Some years after it won its political independence in 1966, the country experienced a remarkable transformation from poverty to prosperity, and unlike some other African countries, it practiced the best form of democracy, with a transparent and selfless government that was focused on the welfare of its citizenry. This state of affairs won the nation international fame, and on the world economic stage, it was uplifted from its peripheral position to the middleincome group. Botswana is rich in cattle, but much more than income realised from the sale of beef to the world market, diamond mining has been the prime source of Botswana’s prosperity. In 2003, its diamond production was over 30 million carats, with a high average value of stones. Diamonds contributed 70% of the foreign exchange earnings to the country’s economy. Half of government revenue and 30% of its Gross Domestic Product (GDP) were from diamonds (Debswana n.d., 6). According to the Human Development Report, the Human Development Index (HDI) of Botswana ranked fourth in sub-Saharan Africa with an HDI of 0.673, after the Seychelles (0.845), Mauritius (0.831), and South Africa (0.716) (Human Development Report, 1997: 20). Though some other African countries also mine diamonds, notably the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC), Angola, South Africa, Ghana, Guinea and Sierra Leone, Botswana was the third largest producer of diamond in the world. Revenue from diamonds had placed Botswana amongst the countries that experienced the highest economic growth rate in the world, averaging about 9% per year from 1966 to 1999. The government had consistently maintained budget surpluses and had substantial foreign exchange reserves, totalling $6.2 billion in 1999. In 2004, the country’s GDP stood at $15.05 billion, GDP growth at 3.5%, and GDP per capita at $9.200, and it exported goods worth $2.94 billion. Transparency International rated Botswana one of the least corrupt countries in Africa. These were outstanding achievements in a country of less than two million people. With global economic recession and a change of government, these figures and the prevailing political climate have drastically changed. The planning and execution of economic development took off between 1967 and 1971 after Manfred Marx from the De Beers mining company discovered the Orapa Kimberlite pipe on 21 April 1967 (Debswana, 2006: 4). The De Beers mining company is at the forefront of Botswana’s prosperity because of the boost that diamond mining has given

Rre Phathasane and Letsema: Industrial Theatre Projects in Botswana

91

to the economy compared to other export commodities like copper, nickel, soda ash, meat and textiles. De Beers Botswana Mining Company was formed in 1969 and in 1971, diamond mining in Orapa began. The government of Botswana holds a substantial share in the company. In 1973, geologists discovered the Jwaneng pipe and this has since become the richest diamond mine in the world. In 1991, De Beers changed its company name to Debswana Diamond Company (Pty) Ltd., with headquarters in Gaborone, the capital city of Botswana. Since its inception, Debswana’s contribution to uplifting the welfare of the Batswana through direct employment and contributions in diverse areas to the development of the local communities has been immense. The company is the largest private sector employer in Botswana, with some 6,300 employees in its workforce, and over 93% of the employees are citizens of Botswana (Debswana, n.d.: 6). (These figures have altered considerably because of the economic downturn and the fall in the diamond market.) Citizen workers in the mines had enjoyed unparalleled privileges, including free housing and transport, subsidised water rate, power, education, and free anti-retroviral drugs for those infected with HIV/AIDS. Unfortunately, this cordial relationship snapped when workers went on “illegal” strikes to back up their demand for better pay and bonuses. The prolonged nature of the strike resulted in some workers being dismissed while the majority returned to work. Those who returned to work were aggrieved and efforts made by the Mine Workers’ Union to get the government’s ruling overturned in the courts failed. As might be expected, this unsavoury situation affected work morale in the mines. Workers were not motivated, they felt depressed, disoriented and resentful. In Jwaneng Mine in particular the workers were not happy and felt that the mine’s management was out to frustrate them. Among the series of complaints, the most recurrent was the belief by workers that management deliberately refused to promote them to higher ranks and that they were suffocated with their workloads in all areas of work. From management’s point of view, the workers seemed not to understand certain operations in the mine, particularly the issue of the Paterson Job Evaluation System determining how employees were evaluated, graded and placed in their appropriate “bands.” Management embarked on a series of education campaigns using different methodologies, but to no avail. Presentations, seminars, workshops and lectures were organised in a bid to enlighten the workers on the Paterson Job Evaluation System, but the workers remained adamant and stayed aloof. In a bid to change the strategy, in September 2005, the

92

Chapter Six

human resources department of Jwaneng Mine approached the University of Botswana Travelling Theatre (UBTT) in a bid to use a drama performance to address the issue. A few months after the Jwaneng theatre intervention project, the Orapa Mine also approached UBTT to put together a play that would address the issue of job morale in the workplace. This section of the chapter is an evaluation of the two industrial theatre interventions in the mines of Botswana. These interventions by the University of Botswana Travelling Theatre to support the organisational transformation in the Jwaneng and Orapa mines are described below. To a limited extent, the impacts of the theatre interventions in these workplaces are discussed.

Jwaneng Mine Intervention Jwaneng is located in south-eastern Botswana, about 80 kilometres north-west of Kanye. The Jwaneng Opencast Mine was established in 1982 and had a workforce of over 3,000 including contractors. The company enjoyed good working relationships with its employees until 2005, when the workers became agitated with the Paterson work evaluation system used in the company. Many did not understand why they had not been promoted after several years of working in the mine. In line with popular thought about the gains accruing from the use of Industrial Theatre, Jwaneng Mine solicited the intervention of Industrial Theatre to educate its unskilled and semi-skilled workers about the principles of the Paterson system. UBTT was established in 1982 by the university’s management to ensure that the university, through its theatre projects, had frequent contact with the Batswana community. The project (UBTT) was housed in the Department of English and the university sponsored community theatre productions by students and volunteers. Translation of the Paterson job grading system into stage terms for a theatrical production for the mine workers demanded research. As the then Director of the University of Botswana Travelling Theatre, I embarked on a campaign to understand the Paterson evaluation principles. I travelled to the mine, where I combed handbooks on Paterson Job Evaluation. I spoke to job analysts and consultants and interviewed employees in middle management, semi-skilled and unskilled workers. Industrial relations and Labour Union representatives were also interviewed. Many of the workers, especially the semi-skilled and the unskilled, admitted that they did not understand how the Paterson Job Evaluation System worked. Many were frustrated with remaining in the same band for over 15 years within the mine.

Rre Phathasane and Letsema: Industrial Theatre Projects in Botswana

93

Job evaluation deals with the ranking of jobs for the placement of deserving workers and the concept has been around for many years. Organisations use ranking systems that are suitable for their operations. In the 1950s, T.T. Paterson, a professor at the University of Strathclyde School of Business, developed a method of evaluating jobs in organisations. His method aimed to reduce the time taken to grade jobs by decreasing the number of factors to be considered, and to reduce the opportunities for manipulation. Some companies in Southern Africa have adopted a modified version of this method and called it the “Paterson Derived System” (Bhengu, 2004). Some of the rules used are not the original ones developed by Paterson. According to Jwaneng in Key Principles in Job Evaluation (p. 5), the popularity of the derived method is attributed to some of the following: x It is research-based, and research has proved that it produces job hierarchies that are essentially the same as those produced by other recognised job evaluation methods. x It is the quickest of all the job evaluation systems to implement and update, making it economical in terms of management time, maintenance and overall cost. x It is easily understood by employees at all levels of the organisation. x It is flexible and easily modified to suit organisational requirements. x It provides a measure of control offered by no other job evaluation system, in that jobs can be objectively graded according to the classical grades. However, in the experience of Jwaneng workers, and contrary to my expectation, this method is not easily understood by employees. In fact, many workshops were held for the director and the theatre group to facilitate their understanding of the system. I must admit, it was not an easy task to master. Unlike many other establishments that operate on the annual promotion of staff, with the Paterson system, jobs are graded and given to employees who deserve the rank, and these employees remain in this rank till retirement. Though rather complex, the following gives a summary of the grading process:

94

Chapter Six

Table 6-1: Summary of the grading process STEP 1 BANDING Examines job descriptions and classifies each task into one of the six bands, using band characteristics only. The highest level of decision making determines the level of the job as a whole BAND

STEP 2 – GRADING TO CLASSICAL GRADES Sorts jobs into the lower or upper part of the bands in terms of the grading guidelines. To be in the upper half of the band (Coordinative and Supervisory), the incumbent of the job must coordinate or supervise the work of other jobs in the same band GRADE

A – Defined Decisions

A – Defined Decisions (No Coordinating and Supervisory Decisions). Lower B – Operative Decisions Upper B – Coordinating/ Supervisory Lower C – Process Decision Upper C – Coordinating/ Supervisory Lower D – Interpretive Decisions Upper D – Coordinating/Supervisory Lower E – Programming Decisions Upper E - Coordinating/ Supervisory Lower F – Policy Decisions Upper F - Coordinating/ Supervisory

B – Operative Decisions

C – Process Decisions

D – Interpretive Decisions

E – Programming Decisions

F – Policy Decisions

Culled from Key Principles in Job Evaluation.

STEP 3 – SUBGRADING Sorts jobs within each grade (lower and upper) into sub-grades in terms of sub-grade characteristics, e.g. variety, length of cycle/complexity, pressure, tolerance/accuracy

SUB-GRADES A1 A2 A3

B1 B2 B3 B4 B5

C1 C2 C3 C4 C5

D1 D2 D3 D4 D5

E1 E2 E3 E4 E5

F1 F2 F3 F4 F5

Rre Phathasane and Letsema: Industrial Theatre Projects in Botswana

95

From the table it can be seen that employees in Bands A and B are the semi-skilled and unskilled workers. Those in E and F have what Paterson calls “sapiential authority,” and the incumbents in this band have superior knowledge, wisdom, experience, and are the decision makers, i.e. managers. The second stage in my preparation involved “location observation.” I visited Jwaneng Mine for the second time specifically for the purpose of getting acquainted with the work environment. Usually in plays that have classified roles, it is necessary to get acquainted with the roles related to the dramatic situation and the working environment. This visit to the location was for the proximal study of the attitudes and antics of the real characters in their profession (this time the workers in the mine). Other stages in my preparation involved writing the scenario of the play and structuring it to suit the characters. The appropriate level of language and the creation of spectacle were also given due consideration. With knowledge of the Paterson Job Evaluation System, a play script with three scenes was produced by the director, with input from the 16 members of the theatre group. Members of the UBTT were auditioned for the different roles. Issues handled in the play included job evaluation, the grading system and job writing processes. The first task was to decide on a title for the play and after a series of brainstorming sessions, titles such as Batho (People-Centred) and Ke Tsa Rona (This is Ours) emerged. The group finally settled for Rre Phathasane, a Setswana translation of Mr. Paterson. The UBTT performers in the play stood proxy for the male and female miners as they played their characters in the mine setting. The costumes for the performance were exactly what the miners wore at work – blue overalls, thick boots and crash helmets. Seven weeks were devoted to intense rehearsals. Depending on the audience, the performance used either English, Setswana or a combination of both. To lighten the complex message transmitted through the play, comic scenes were injected into some of the episodes. Traditional songs were incorporated in the drama and visuals representing the different bands were also introduced, with song and dance as accompaniments. As stated earlier, the play concentrated on job evaluation-related matters. Scene one opens in the staff tea room, where a group of miners are gathered during tea time to share tea and coffee and jokes. Conversations veer from gossip about flirtatious men, smoking, safety and the environment to issues of promotion and job grading. The name Paterson rears its head and 1st Miner is uneasy with it. He is angry with 3rd Miner: “Paterson. You have come again with Paterson. Each time I want a pay rise, you people talk about Paterson” (p. 9). There is news about an impending kgotla (public assembly) to discuss issues concerning job evaluation. Scene two

96

Chapter Six

takes place outside the mine, at the Acacia School Hall in Jwaneng town. Two union leaders are addressing an assembly of mine workers in a traditional kgotla style. Their mandate is to collect information from the mine employees who are aggrieved and to pass them on to management in the hope that something positive will come out of it. Issues raised include: outdated job descriptions, performing duties beyond what the job description stipulates without compensation, the “unfair” banding system, the lack of training facilities for the upward movement of junior staff, the pathetic condition of helpers in the engineering section, over-delegation of duties by senior staff, the lack of consideration of workload for upgrading purposes, and the faulty implementation of the Paterson system. The setting for the last scene (scene three) is a boardroom near the Assistant General Manager’s office. In the room are the Assistant General Manager, the Job Analyst and the Human Resources Manager. The Labour Union leaders arrive with their complaints. The atmosphere is cordial as the management staff has decided to treat them with courtesy. Issues raised are debated, analysed and sufficiently explained. The education process is this time not intimidating. It is participatory and the Labour Union leaders seem to be satisfied with the explanations given for all the issues raised. The play was shown to mine workers at several locations within the mine: at Green Stores for Green Stores employees, the mining parking lot for mining employees, the administration parking lot for administration, SHE (Safety, Health and Environment) and Human Resources employees, the engineering services block for engineering services employees, the MTP mechanical workshop for MTP employees, the Recrush Space for Recrush employees, and the red area for the employees in that section. Two performances were staged outside the mine – one at the mine hospital in town for hospital employees, and another in Acacia Hall for teachers in the mine’s secondary school and housing and maintenance employees. The performances lasted for five days (27 February - 2 March). At the end of every performance, members of the audience (mine workers) were given the opportunity to comment on the performance, particularly on the content – a kind of forum theatre. Some of the comments will be discussed later.

Letsema Intervention (Orapa) The University of Botswana Theatre intervention in Orapa took place barely three months after the Jwaneng intervention. Orapa Mine is located in the northern part of the country, some 400km from Gaborone. Orapa pipe is the world’s second largest diamond producing Kimberlite pipe

Rre Phathasane and Letsema: Industrial Theatre Projects in Botswana

97

(Debswana n.d.: 6). The strained relationship between the workers and management (because of the strike which led to the dismissal of some employees) had resulted in low morale and a lack of emotional attachment to the workplace. Common sense dictates that the morale of workers in their workplaces is directly proportional to work output and profitability. “Low morale – low profit, high morale – high profit. Naturally, workers who are happy in their job and with their employer perform better, resulting in higher and improved productivity and profitability” (Levine, 2006). Many companies hire professional coaches to establish methods to boost workers’ morale. In Orapa Mine, the Human Resources department came up with an initiative it tagged “Project Letsema.” This initiative was meant to address employee morale in the Orapa and Letlhakane workforces. Its mission was to create an enabling environment for high performance by improving workers’ morale. The adoption of the traditional Batswana Letsema as a framework of the initiative is very significant. “Letsema le thata ka mong wa rona” is a Setswana expression meaning that a person who invites others to volunteer must lead by example. Letsema is a noble African tradition, a tool for self-reliance by a community and an unparalleled manifestation of solidarity. Traditional Botswana people had this tradition of helping one another, sharing problems and supporting one another through difficult times. Whether the task was weeding one’s fields, building a house, etc., the community came together and made light of what would otherwise be a mammoth task (Project Letsema, p. 1).

To achieve its mission, the Human Resources department decided to use a theatre performance to put across its message. UBTT was contacted, and through the same process adopted in the Jwaneng project, a play script emerged. The following is the scenario: SEQUENCE 1: x Husband (mine worker) and wife are having a discussion in the bedroom. x Husband storms out of the bedroom. x Wife follows. Both are on stage. x Husband is tired of listening to a Pastor they have been consulting. x He has no faith in prayers. x He wants to know what the future holds for him in the workplace. x He has been feeling insecure ever since his colleagues were dismissed as a consequence of the strike. x He cannot commit himself to work because he feels the axe may

Chapter Six

98

x x x x x x x x x x

soon descend on him as well. His supervisor is always picking on him. Wife urges him to forget the past and focus on the future. To him, there is no future. Wife warns his behaviour may soon lead to dismissal and suffering for the family. Husband feels God has forgotten him. Husband is bent on consulting the traditional priest, “The Wise One” (Sangoma), to foretell his future and deal with his loathed supervisor. Wife is weary of the activities/predictions of traditional priests. Husband is determined to consult the “Wise One.” Wife is frustrated. Sings a Christian religious song. Husband storms out to see the priest. Wife kneels and prays for him.

SEQUENCE 2: x Scene reveals the Sangoma and his attendants. Usual ritual, singing, clapping, drumming, dancing/possession. x The frustrated worker (husband) walks into the shrine timidly. x He is urged to remove his shoes. x He sits close to the priest. x Priest casts spells (usual antics associated with such rituals). x Worker demands to know what the future holds in store for him. x Demands ways and means to eliminate his supervisor in the workplace (the mine). x Predictions of the priest for the mine are positive; sees problems with a worker who refuses to cooperate with his supervisor. x Priest educates worker on the need to cooperate with the boss at work. x Priest predicts the worker will be sacked. x Worker demands to know how to avert the calamity. x Priest tells him to change his attitude to work. He narrates the advantages of the traditional Batswana practice of community work – Letsema. x Priest gives worker “cooperative pills” and instructs him on how to take the pills. Failure to take the pills will be catastrophic. x Worker leaves. x The priest and attendants rock a dance.

Rre Phathasane and Letsema: Industrial Theatre Projects in Botswana

99

SEQUENCE 3: x A Therisanyo – the mine workers are having a general meeting. The shop steward informs the gathering that management staff will be arriving to address them during the meeting. x During the meeting, the plight of workers is discussed: no recognition for work done, no promotion, poor salary, violation of policies by management staff, favouritism, problems associated with Paterson Job Evaluation, poor benefits after retirement, poor accommodation, lack of inducement though the mine plans to go underground, poor services at the mine hospital, humiliating and cumbersome clearance at the entrance to the mine, etc. x Arrival of the management staff, led by the Assistant General Manager. x AGM addresses the gathering. Unveils new initiatives that will promote new and better working conditions. x AGM unfolds the new strategic plan for the mine and what Project Letsema signifies. x Workers are urged to cooperate with management. Issues relating to job morale are raised. x Management welcomes suggestions that will help in the boosting of job morale in the mine. x Management promises the workers a better working environment in exchange for a good working relationship. x There is jubilation as the management team and the workers are seen dancing together – a mark of renewed solidarity. Unlike the performances at Jwaneng, which were staged at different locations, the Orapa performance took place in a multi-purpose hall. Instead of taking the performances to locations as in Jwaneng, workers from different locations converged in the hall to watch the performance. About three performances were done on the same day (30 June 2006) to different audiences.

Observations and Conclusions The student performers enjoyed the outings and the university as a whole felt proud to relate with the outside community by fulfilling one of its outreach objectives. In a country where theatre is not a very patronised art form, the invitation helped to boost the ego of the African stage. As reported in The Bulletin, Debswana – Jwaneng Mine, the drama performance from the University of Botswana Travelling Theatre Group “was well

100

Chapter Six

staged and very interesting to watch, [it] gave detailed information on how the Paterson job grading system works...” (p. 9). A committed decision by further mines, the Orapa/Letlhakane Mines, to use drama in their efforts to boost employee morale added another feather to theatre’s cap. What remains is to reflect on the effect of the performances on the targeted audiences. So far, a scientific impact study on the two projects has not been done. The performances gave the workers and the management teams sober opportunities to reflect on the ways they have been doing business with each other. The mine projects were pre-packaged plays. The practice is interventionist in outlook as opposed to being participatory. According to Kerr, pre-packaged plays are diffusionist in concept, because outside performances, which do not involve local consumers, give the impression that the communication process thrives on persuasion instead of conviction and participation. Pre-packaged plays are elitist (1995, 149). Though the performances were pre-packaged, the mine workers and officials had great input in putting the contents of the script together. Communication, to a great extent, was not top-down. In fact, before the play was shown to the audiences, the management team and union members from Jwaneng travelled to Gaborone to watch a pre-public performance at the university. Both parties agreed on the contents of the play before it was shown publicly. The interview process of gathering materials for the play gave semiskilled and unskilled employees the opportunity to say what they would otherwise not say. In a way, the project gave the people a voice. During the post-performance discussion (forum - participatory theatre style), many employees vented their anger about management. In one of the locations for the Jwaneng project, an elderly woman screamed at the theatre group and claimed that the performers did not understand what was going on in the mine. Many of the workers saw the performance, especially the Paterson project, as very educative, as some of their misgivings were dispelled. Some of the middle management staff believed that the drama effectively unpacked the Paterson principles of job evaluation. In a shopping mall in town, one of the miners came up to one of our performers (Terence, who played the part of the Union Leader) and congratulated him. “I saw myself in you on stage. I am a unionist. That is how I scream at them when they try to be funny.” As with many interventionist plays, some issues still remain unresolved. Has the theatre production encouraged management to deal more fairly with the employees? Have conditions in the mines changed since the performance of the plays? Has employee morale improved since Letsema?

Rre Phathasane and Letsema: Industrial Theatre Projects in Botswana

101

Have workers in Jwaneng ceased to complain about job evaluation since watching Rre Phathasane? These are questions we can only give adequate answers to after consolidated research on impact. Many critics subscribe to the conscientising and empowerment concept of applied theatre, but some are sceptical of their practicability. Applied theatre emphasises the empowerment of the impoverished and the marginalised. According to the “Arusha Declaration on People’s Empowerment” of 1992: Empowerment involves the organization, consciousness-raising and mobilization of the dispossessed and marginalized persons and communities. As well as the development of their capabilities and collective strength to transform their conditions of existence and power relations ... towards democratic development (Networker, 27-29).

The pillar of empowerment is communication and the sharing of information. To what extent are these ideals met outside the performance locations? In Africa, the common trend is that these ideals are illusory (Ebewo, 2005: 37). The mines sponsored the two projects. Debswana took care of the entire budget, including play script production, artistes’ fees, props, transport, driver’s overtime, feeding and shared accommodation. Is it not possible that he who pays the piper might dictate the tune? The mine officials did not influence the plays at all. They gave the theatre group a free hand. But some theatre practitioners are always apprehensive of this situation, because experience has shown that some theatre workers have been made through certain forms of inducement to play down the participatory techniques of participation, thus becoming agents of the sponsors instead of the people who are the targets of development (Kerr, 1995: 72). When all is said and done, the projects were worthwhile ventures. If nothing else, they carved out a niche for theatre as an interventionist instrument.

CHAPTER SEVEN DRAMATIST IN EXILE: THE CONTRIBUTIONS OF ZAKES MDA TO THE DEVELOPMENT OF SOCIO-POLITICAL CONSCIOUSNESS IN LESOTHO

Introduction Zanemvula Kizito Gatyeni Mda, who is popularly known as Zakes Mda, occupies a unique position among South African exiles who are creative writers. First, his exile was not self-willed. His father, A.P. Mda, a legal practitioner, was a powerful African Nationalist Congress (ANC) flagbearer and black political activist during the heydays of apartheid. The nationalist government’s (NP’s) clampdown on black political groups led to the arrest and detention of Mda senior in 1962. In 1963, Mda escaped from the Herschel District of the Eastern Cape to Basutoland (now known as Lesotho). The entire family including Zakes Mda (aged 15) emigrated as political exiles. Though he did some schooling in Dobsonville, Soweto and Westdene, Johannesburg, it was in Lesotho (Peka High School) that Zakes Mda completed his high school education. Second, unlike many South African exiles who escaped to Europe and America, Mda’s home of exile was a stone’s-throw from Sterkspruit Herschel District, where he was born. From Lesotho, he could survey the actual situation at home in South Africa as well as monitor the prevalent sordid conditions in Lesotho. Zakes Mda started writing plays at a very early stage – when he was a high school student. As he mastered his craft, grew older and mature, he developed a keen interest not only in playwriting but in the whole theatrical enterprise. His popularity as a young black South African playwright emerged with the production of plays which exposed the malignant evil of the obnoxious apartheid regime. Plays such as Dead End, We Shall Sing for the Fatherland and Dark Voices Ring may be cited as obvious examples. After dealing with the apartheid situation in his native land, he turned his eyes inwards to excavate the pathetic condition

Figure 1: B. Tech Voice Production Project, Tshwane University of Technology (TUT), Supervised by Karina Lemmer, 2015 Photo Credit: Kgodumo Mohlala

Figure 2: A Mosotho Praise Singer at the National University of Lesotho Poetry Festival, Roma, 1997. Photo Credit: Author

Figure 3: Adaptation of 'Zulu Sofola's Wedlock of the Gods by University of Swaziland students, 2000 Photo Credit: Author

Figure 4: A scene from Flesh-to-Flesh, NUL HIV/AIDS play (1998) Photo Credit: Author

Figure 5: HIV/AIDS Schools' Drama Project in Lesotho (1998). Photo Credit: Author

Figure 6: Bonisile Nxumalo - performing with Sidney Williams primary school learners in Manzini (George Hotel), 2016. Photo © B. Nxumalo

Figure 7: School's Drama Project in Lesotho (1999). Photo: Author

Figure 8: Street theatre performance in Maseru by NUL students, (1996). Photo: Author

Figure 9: Swaziland Reed Dance Maidens. Photo: (michaelshuemaker.comimagessystswaziland-reed-dance-4.jpg)

Figure 10: A scene from Tselane and the Giant, TUT Drama Department's production directed by Galeboe Moabi. Photo: Eddie Thaba

Figure 11: A scene from Tselane and the Giant,TUT Drama Department's production directed by Galeboe Moabi. Photo: Eddie Thaba

Figure 12: Innocent Siza Performing a dance in Tselane and the Giant, TUT Drama Department's production directed by Galeboe Moabi. Photo: Eddie Thaba

Figure 13: A scene from Peter Pan, TUT’s production directed by Galeboa Moabi. Photo: Frank Meyer

Figure 14: A scene from Peter Pan, TUT's production directed by Galeboe Moabi. Photo: Frank Meyer

Figure 15: Swaziland Cultural Village Dancers, 2016. Photo: Author

Figure 16: Swaziland Cultural Village Dancers, 2016. Photo: Author

Figure 17: MARIKANA - The Musical, Silent Voice and Hungry. State Theatre Production, directed by Aubrey Sekhabi. Photo: Sanmari Marais

Figure 18: Mxolisi Ngwenya in Children’s Theatre Production, When Lion Could Fly directed by Lubri Tselane, TUT, 2016. Photo: Inga Mtebele

Figure 19: Tswana dancers in Masilo Le Masilonyana tale directed by Keamogetswe Moeketsane. Photo: Inga Mtebele

Figure 20: A scene from Tiny directed by Lungile Mtsweni. Photo: Inga Mtebele

Figure 21: Modern dance by Thabang Pete. Photo credit: Stef de Klerk

Dramatist in Exile: The Contributions of Zakes Mda

103

of life in his surrogate home. What Mda saw in Lesotho was reminiscent of what he recollected as a schoolboy in his own district, Herschel; a “desolate landscape and the stark poverty that characterised most peasant households (Peterson, 1993: viii). Lesotho, like Herschel, is nothing but a labour reserve; the land is eroded and overgrazed. The general condition is that of impoverishment. Unlike the proverbial ostrich which buries its head in the sand, pretending not to hear the noise outside, Mda composed plays which address and confront the problems experienced by the people he lived with: “The role that I hope to play as an artist, and the role I hope my work plays is that of social commentator and social commentary” (Mda, 1988: 83). Mda added: “I do not want my work to act as social comment only. I want my theatre to be a vehicle for a critical analysis of our situation. I want it to rally people to action” (ibid). Though this statement is pertinent to the South African situation, it is equally apposite to the circumstances in Lesotho. In his career as a playwright (he is also a poet, painter and musician), Mda has done for Lesotho what Brecht did for Germany or Ngugi wa Thiong’o for Kenya. He has contributed enormously to the development of the Basotho mind and environment. His plays have helped to imbue the Basotho with socio-political consciousness. “In order to understand the thematic preoccupations of Mda, one has to appreciate the special influence that were brought to bear on his thinking by his exile in Lesotho” (Peterson, 1993: xi). Most of his plays about Lesotho focus attention on areas to which he feels emphasis should be directed: The Hill (1978) and The Road (1982) focus attention on labour migrancy and its effect on the Basotho nation, the individual, and families. And the Girls in Their Sunday Dresses (1993) deals with the repercussions of Lesotho’s dependency on foreign aid, while The Nun’s Romantic Story (1996) captures with effervescent imagination the aberrations of the political process and the mutilation of democracy. These thematic concerns are interlaced with the problems of poverty, the dilemmas of neo-colonialism, apartheid on the fringe, official corruption, the exploitation of the poor by the privileged rich, prostitution and religious bigotry. For Mda the playwright, theatre is a tool for conscientisation. In his transformational and educational conception of theatre, he shows how active cultural work can be a process through which a society achieves control of its social, economic and political destiny. By writing plays, Mda arms the Basotho with weapons - not guns or melamu (fighting sticks), but his plays act as consciousness-raising implements. In this way, he performs miracles of transformation without mortars or casualties.

104

Chapter Seven

Labour Migrancy Since the late nineteenth century, thousands of young Basotho migrants have crossed into neighbouring South Africa to work in this country’s mines and farms. Labour migrancy to the South African mines is a deeply entrenched way of life for many rural families in Lesotho. In fact, it is common knowledge that Lesotho is the largest foreign supplier of mine labour to South Africa. Despite the bleak economic prospects at home and the seeming prosperity of Basotho youths through mine wages, the social and economic injustices of South Africa’s migrant labour system have long been recognised as Neolithic and having disastrous consequences for the Basotho nation, the miners and their families. The particular congeries of social, economic and psychological disequilibria resulting from this large-scale relocation of the nation’s adult male population is virtually unknown in the rest of Africa not actively at war. It includes not only the retardation, perhaps even the arrest, of significant economic development in the country, but the fracturing of families; the proliferation of de facto widows and fatherless children; the increase of crime, alcoholism and prostitution; and the erosion of traditional values (Horn, 1990: xxix).

Zakes Mda uncovers this repulsive aspect of labour migrancy in The Hill and The Road. While The Hill is set in Lesotho, the setting for The Road is in South Africa. The effect of The Road on Lesotho is peripheral compared to the impact of The Hill on Basotho youth. We shall discuss The Road later in this chapter. When The Hill was performed in Lesotho, the response was overwhelming. It was the people’s play. With the play, Mda occupies an enviable position of dramatist as sociologist. In this play Mda revisits the theme of “waiting” that is recurrent in some of his plays. The major concern in the play is the fate which has befallen two individuals, the mining veteran Man and Young Man, who are waiting to be recruited to work in the South African mines (Welkom, Carletonville or Potchefstroom). The play traces their predicament from the Native Recruiting Corporation (NRC) in the nation’s capital, Maseru, to their travels from Lesotho to the South African gold mines, the deepest mines in the world. The play reveals the migrants’ problems of the abandonment of their families, dangers at work, life in single-sex hostels, love and money, and homosexuality. Parallels to their sufferings can be found in Peter Abraham’s Mine Boy (fiction), Manaka’s Egoli: City of Gold (drama), Oswald Mtshali’s “Amagoduka at Glencoe Station” (poetry), or as most realistically

Dramatist in Exile: The Contributions of Zakes Mda

105

recorded in celluloid, The Colour of Gold, a documentary film by Don Edkins and Mike Schlomer featuring Basotho migrant workers in shaft four of the President Steyn gold mine. Andrew Horn sub-titles The Hill “Shattered Fantasies – Disintegrating Values” (1990: xxvii). Most Basotho pride themselves in being able to journey to South Africa to work in the mines and so acquire social status, comfort and material benefits. Young Man’s dream is to own a “beautiful” car as soon as he gets a contract. To him, “A car is more important than cattle.” He dreams of the latest hi-fi set, fashionable clothes and shoes and carelessly wasting his earnings in a bid to show off. But these dreams do not always come true. The first shock Young Man has is Man’s revelation that when he (Young Man) eventually gets to the mines: he would become “A woman of the compounds! A male prostitute” (81). Mda attempts to paint a different but penetrating picture of labour migrancy. He urges the miners to look at a different reflection of their lives as miners. Things the miners used to take for granted are now reflected with various hues from the playwright’s light – and they are implored to think more critically and analytically about their station in life. While his characters wait on the Qoatseneng Hill, Maseru, for a contract, Mda unveils the hardship these nameless and faceless malnourished individuals go through. They have no shelters over their heads. They sleep on the open hillside or in caves of Mphokho in the cold Lesotho winter, or in the verandas of Mataliana (Italian) shops. When the little money they collect from “piece jobs” cannot sustain them, they resort to scavenging for food from the rich dustbins of Maseru West. Sometimes they go to the ridiculous extreme of “eating and drinking their blood.” Usually, instead of donating, they sell their blood to Trans-Africa Biological in exchange for “crisp Rands.” In spite of their plight, they are daily harassed by the authorities for non-payment of taxes and radio licences. The recruiting officers extort money from them before their contracts are secured. As a sub-theme, Mda points to the apathy, corruption and social inequality which are the open sores of Lesotho’s society. Small as the town of Maseru is, it is divided into West (where the rich live) and East (where the down-trodden live). The poor are exploited, marginalised and ill-treated by the affluent; yet bureaucrats and the government are insensitive to their conditions. It would be expected that these hill-dwellers who manage to cross to South Africa have metaphorically crossed the Rubicon, but regret follows as they find themselves trapped in a system which defies their fantasies. No sooner have they reached the land of gold than they discover that they have pawned their identities. The mine is “the place where men are but

106

Chapter Seven

numbers engraved on plastic bracelets” (87). In the hostels, there is no privacy. Man tells Young Man: Privacy! You will learn soon enough that from now on privacy is thing of the past. Your shit will have privacy at your home where you are a man. Where you are the father of your children and the husband of your wife. The mines will teach you a different lesson… we all shit in open lavatories there. Father and son together. We all wash in communal shower room. There is no privacy in nakedness (77).

Because of the unnatural and inhuman laws and company practices which prevent wives from living with their husbands in the mine compounds, miners abandon their original families in Lesotho to establish new ones at the mines. Thus, many families have been known to be broken and many women have become “gold widows.” Like little Macduff’s son who is “fathered … and yet he’s fatherless,” many children have virtually become orphans while their fathers are still alive. Some miners (who are not homosexual by nature), like prisoners, go to the shameful limit of indulging in homosexual orgies. The mining veteran Man reveals that bribery is the order of the day in the mines: It is not only the recruiting officers and clerks you’ll have to bribe. Throughout your life in the mines, if you want to get ahead and get promotions, you’ll depend on the power of the bribe (p. 95).

When Young Man insinuates that “bribery” is indeed degrading, the veteran is compelled to submit a catalogue of practices in the mines that are awfully degrading: What is not degrading in the land of gold? The medical examinations through which you’ll go, are they not degrading? When all the recruits stand naked irrespective of age and relationship, only to have the heartbeat examined, is that not degrading? Is it not degrading to sleep in the buginfested hostel of the Native Recruiting Corporation while waiting for the train to take us across the Mohokare River… away from our beloved Lesotho? Is it not degrading to be packed like stinking sardines in the train? What do you say about Mzilikazi, the mine labour hospital in Welkom, where in our nakedness we are publicly X-rayed, and have to raise our arms and legs while we are being inspected like cattle for sale? Is that not degradation? Are all these things not meant to humiliate us, to make us feel inadequate as men and fathers of our children, and to deprive us of human dignity, so that we may dig the gold of the white man with utmost submission? You talk of degradation. You have not seen anything yet. You have not felt the painful injection they give you without changing

Dramatist in Exile: The Contributions of Zakes Mda

107

or cleaning the needle after injecting a hundred recruits. You do not know the House of Satan where acclimatization is done. Where you run and do all sorts of funny exercises in a very hot room – until you shit and collapse if you are a weakling (95-96).

The miners who survive their mine ordeals usually experience shortlived happiness through being defrauded of their possessions by the Maseru prostitutes. Every year, when the miners are due for leave, instead of going straight home to relax with their families, they stop over in Maseru for a debauch. The veteran is an example of these careless and licentious migrant workers who are perpetual victims of the avaricious prostitutes. Man is dispossessed not only of his four years’ savings, but his clothes as well. He sulks: …Not even a pair of socks. Bo ‘m’abo sebono have taken everything. Every year it happens – some of us never learn. It will happen again next year (86).

Even the miners who manage to get home loaded with money hardly use it to develop Lesotho. Lesotho is completely dependent, geographically and economically, on South Africa and is highly integrated into the South African economy. The repatriated earnings of Basotho miners leak quickly back into South Africa and circulate within the South African economy (Crush and James, 1995: 12). Mda’s revelations are like opening Pandora’s box. His criticism of the migrant labour system has revealed that there is more to it than meets the outsider’s eye. This play is an attempt to persuade young Basotho to look beyond the material comforts gained through labour migrancy. The Hill is an appeal for the Basotho not to abandon home and depend solely on income from the gold and coal mines of South Africa, as this attitude leads to Neglected fields, environmental deterioration, family disintegration, alcoholism, unfulfilled desires for modern consumer goods – these, and the fear for one’s livelihood, have made people lose faith in their own abilities… These attitudes have influenced people to the extent that they seem to have forgotten the power of their own efforts and resources (Ganter, 1988: 7).

In the play, Mda endorses the true spirit of the traditional thusanang (helping one another), a communal spirit of sharing instead of depending on external benefactors. This profound human connection is effectively demonstrated in the relationship between the prostitute who gives money to Young Man, and the latter’s willingness to share his gift with Man.

108

Chapter Seven

Earlier in the play, Young Man has given his trousers to Man to cover his nakedness when he was stripped naked by the marauding prostitutes of Thibella Township. Mda is obsessed with this philosophy of sharing, which he also demonstrates in And the Girls in Their Sunday Dresses, where Lady and Woman live interdependently – Lady depends on Woman’s food, and Woman depends on Lady’s chair. An efficacious effect from performances of The Hill is that it is said to have rallied people to action in Lesotho. At the time The Hill was performed in Lesotho there was a booming business in Maseru and elsewhere where migrants could sell their blood. Immediately after The Hill there was a lot of debate about this practice and a month or so later these places were closed down. Some action resulted (Mda, 1988: 83).

And this is truly the kind of impact the playwright desired.

Dependency Syndrome In recent times, the problems of food insecurity, hunger, famine and starvation have scalded many African and Third World nations. On the African continent, strategies to combat inadequate food supply and malnutrition have become increasingly elusive. In Southern Africa, the dimension of food insecurity is increasing. Apart from Malawi, Zimbabwe, South Africa and Swaziland, most countries in the region, including Lesotho, Botswana, Zambia, Angola, Tanzania, Madagascar and Namibia, are faced to various degrees with problems of inadequate food supply (Prah, 1988: 3). The pervasiveness of food insecurity has increased African nations’ dependency on the developed world for food importation, with food aid becoming a growing component of the support sought. Lesotho enjoyed a booming economy in the 1870s. It was a wealthy grain exporting nation supplying food to Orange Free State and parts of Eastern Cape. It fed the diamond diggers at Kimberly (1870) and the gold miners at Witwatersrand (1885). Today, the situation is very different; Lesotho cannot feed itself let alone export. Writing in 1988, Atnafu Tola reported that in the preceding decade, Lesotho had seen a widening gap between domestic food production and food requirements. Between the mid and late 1970s, Lesotho was able to provide 50 to 60% of its total food requirements. A gradual but general decline started to emerge in the late 1970s and the rest of the 1980s. As a result, commercial imports

Dramatist in Exile: The Contributions of Zakes Mda

109

and food aid increased by 32% and 180%, respectively in the ten years from 1974 to 1984 (1988: 160). .

The implications of this astronomical gap increase Lesotho’s dependence on food aid, and the dependency syndrome it creates is highlighted by Mda in And the Girls in Their Sunday Dresses. This play was first performed at the 1988 Edinburgh Fringe Festival, Scotland, and was well received by the critics. And the Girls presents a grotesque situation involving two abstract characters (The Woman and The Lady) who have joined a queue of people waiting for government officials to distribute food aid - rice donated to them from Italy. They have been waiting patiently for four days under the “hot sun and in the rain” for the bureaucratic wheels of government to turn, which they do slowly. As the play unfolds, we learn of government functionaries hoarding the rice, of uncouth office girls in their Sunday dresses, bureaucratic inertia at the post office, banks and other public places; of lackadaisical government employees who spend their official working hours on private matters, thereby frustrating their helpless clients. And worse still, we learn that corrupt government officials have colluded with “big-bellied” businessmen to divert the rice meant for the peasants to their expensive shops, where the poor cannot afford to buy the very products meant as gifts to them. In the world of this play, complacency reigns. The two characters, particularly Lady, are tolerant of the situation. Woman and Lady continue to wait patiently though they see no end in sight to their frustrations: “I tell you, sister woman”, says Lady, “all of us spend ninety-five percent of our waking hours waiting” (10). But why must they fraternise with, shower God’s blessings on, and salute these “lords and masters” and “ladies” – all agents of their misery? This is where the playwright becomes an instrument of conscientisation. For the common good of society, Mda mobilises people, the Basotho in particular, to resist the temptations of dependency. The play’s crystallisation of the neo-colonial dependency of Africa on the western world is a call for the social order to change. The playwright implores us to think of the staggering number of man-hours wasted on waiting for mere rice, a commodity which, with hard work, can be produced locally, and the consequences these lost hours might have on the productive sector of the country’s economy. Zakes Mda, like the Brazilian adult educator Paulo Freire, has blasted the concept of “culture of silence.” He abhors and taunts this culture as inimical to the growth and progress of a small developing country like Lesotho. He urges the people to bark and speak out against intolerable behaviour and corrupt practices. In condemning dependency, he encourages hard work, self-sufficiency and reliance. He

Chapter Seven

110

views unnecessary dependence on aid as a sedative medicine which maims the strength of progress. Mda’s insistence that the people shun food aid may be associated with the view in certain quarters that, though food aid has sometimes helped to save the lives of countless poor people in Africa, it also needs to be said that food aid, in most instances, becomes politics. Food aid becomes an instrument for holding sway and great power and influence over the teeming and starving millions of the globe (Prah, 1988: 3). Implicitly, Mda advises the government to encourage peasant farmers to grow more food rather than depend on aid. As Tola stated: Unless generous and prompt payment, rapid expansion of collection and storage facilities, credit and agricultural advice are made readily available to peasant farmers, the food situation will reach crisis proportion in the foreseeable future (1988: 159).

In And the Girls, Mda has opened the eyes of the Basotho to the effect of dependency syndrome, whereby what is called development actually skews society so that those in power get wealthier while the peasants sink further into destitution. Instead of food aid alleviating the problems of the people, it compounds them. Foreign aid, in the form of loans, grants, expertise, food and other commodities, is being dumped into our country Lesotho, supposedly in response to our poverty. What is the result? A minority of the Basotho become millionaires, while the rest are becoming poorer and poorer. Foreign aid is being sought in the name of the poor, and the rich sign loans for the poor to repay. Must the poor sit and watch while this happens, or can they do something for themselves? (Work for Justice, 1989: 1)

The last question posed in the above quotation is most pertinent to our discussion. Even if the poor want to sit and fold their arms and wait for providence, Mda says “No!” He is totally unambiguous and eloquent about this issue and puts forward a tough line of action to be taken by the poor. He educates the poor on their need to possess the spirit of agitation, to fight against and change things. Woman epitomises this force of agitation. WOMAN:

It is now time for us to change things. To liberate not only ourselves, but the men themselves, for we are all in bondage! Yes, the men in this free and independent country are in bondage, mostly to their attitudes. That is why you see them sitting back and swimming in the glories of the past. Oh, our ancestors were great! They defended this country against all sorts of invader! … That is all they ever

Dramatist in Exile: The Contributions of Zakes Mda

111

do. We do not see much of what they are doing for the future. It is as if the past will take care of the future without any effort from the present (27).

She goes further to instruct Lady: “…we should demand a change and be willing to suffer for it, rather than suffer in silence as we have been doing here” (33). Mda is indeed bold in his attempt to develop the Basotho mind and empower the poor with revolutionary zeal: WOMAN:

LADY:

WOMAN: LADY: WOMAN: LADY:

WOMAN:

Because we are waiting. Life passes by and we are onlookers. We are like the sedated who slept through a revolution. [determined]: I was never an onlooker. I am all action. When the revolution comes I want to carry a gun. I don’t sit on the sidelines and darn socks for the fighters. It is here already. Well, I haven’t seen much of it. I am still waiting for it, and when it comes… You don’t wait for a revolution. You make it happen. [carried away]: No, I don’t sit on the sidelines and sing songs and ululate with melilietsane to make the blood of men boil so that they may bravely march into battle. There is hope for all of us yet (pp. 33-34).

The play ends on a positive and optimistic note in which the seeds of hope, revolution and change planted in the poor have sprouted, as Lady vows not to accept the food aid rice and promises to abandon her “chair of patience.” Woman follows suit.

Politics and Democracy Politics is the pre-eminent, most favoured topic in the plays of Zakes Mda. Like great writers such as Stern, George Eliot or Nikolai Gogol, Mda writes to castigate evil in various socio-political settings. He acts both as the consciousness and the conscience of the politically dominant class to which he belongs. He attacks a specific miscarriage of political functions, and proposes, or at least implies, that we should not endure such an anomaly. Mda is highly sceptical of the political leadership in Southern Africa generally, and in Lesotho in particular. Lesotho may be a small country in terms of geographical size and population, but its politics are as huge and complex as its mountains and dongas (erosion gullies). In The Nun’s Romantic Story, Mda turns his eyes away from political events in South Africa towards an equivalent situation in his home of exile. The play is a “miraculous” story of church-state

112

Chapter Seven

politics and distortion of democracy. In summary, it is an indictment of the turbulent political atmosphere in Lesotho of the 1970s, which led to a state of emergency and an eventual military coup. Many have described the play as “a story of brutality in the name of democracy.” In it, a radical nun (Anna-Maria), whose father was killed during the political crisis, is poised to take revenge. Though many forces initially work against her, she finally achieves her purpose as the army general who killed her father is shot dead in the cathedral. Though the playwright does not name the political actors or their parties, we can infer from symbols such as the “red and blue blanket” that the playwright is referring to Lesotho, where a political party’s solidarity is written on the Basotho blanket (national costume). Indeed, the playwright admits that though the play is set in an unspecified “Third World” country, it “was influenced by events in Lesotho when the state of emergency was declared in 1970. It is a loose composite of real-life events that happened there during that period, and people who actually lived then” (1996: xxiii). In the play, the government in power has lost an election to the opposition party, but has bluntly refused to hand over to the democratically elected party. According to newspaper reports read by a local lawyer, Malibu (a character in the play): No one knew exactly what they wanted, but everybody knew that immediately after the elections the government had declared a state of emergency throughout the country (82).

Malibu goes on to say, “We had wanted to hand over. I was the President’s legal adviser at the time. He was quite willing to hand over, but was advised against it” (82-83). The playwright is indeed a chronicler of Lesotho’s histo-political events because in actuality, historian and curator Stephen J. Gill recorded that in Lesotho in 1970: Although the Prime Minister was shaken by [this] election defeat, he took the initial steps to hand over power. After receiving some strong words from his Ministers, ‘Maseribane and Peete, however, he suspended the constitution and declared a State of Emergency on 30 January 1970. Hundreds of BCP supporters were arrested, and in the months which followed the Police Mobile Unit (PMU) and BNP party fanatics made life extremely painful for anyone who protested. The whole experience was a terrible shock which took almost everyone by surprise (1993: 221).

Let us take a cursory look at the political scenario in Lesotho in 1970. At that time there were three prominent political parties: the Basutoland

Dramatist in Exile: The Contributions of Zakes Mda

113

Congress Party (BCP), the Basutoland National Party (BNP) and the Marematlou Freedom Party (MFP). There were also a good number of independent candidates. The 1965 elections put the BNP in government and it led Lesotho to Independence on 4 October, 1966. In 1970, another democratic election was conducted, with the BNP having the fullest belief that it would win. But the electorate was not fully satisfied with the government of Prime Minister Leabua Jonathan and voted en masse for the BCP, giving them a resounding victory. In a blatant abuse of democracy, the prime pinister refused to hand over power to the BCP, but rather declared a state of emergency, in which hundreds of protesters were tortured and killed. He declared a five-year moratorium on politics, stating that the Westminster system was not in tune with Lesotho’s traditions and would need, therefore, to be adapted and modified to meet Lesotho’s special requirements (Gill, ibid). The constitution was suspended, BCP sympathisers were sacked from the civil service, many people were imprisoned and some, including the leader of the opposition, Dr. Ntsu Mokhehle, were forced into exile. What happened in Chile in the 1970s during the reign of Pinochet was replicated in Lesotho. The few trained guerrilla fighters known as the Lesotho Liberation Army (LLA) were incapable of conducting significant military attacks against Leabua’s government. And democracy continued to suffer. But – Democracy cannot be taken for granted. Not even a longstanding political tradition and democratic culture can prevent the breakdown of democracy if confrontation and extreme polarization prevail over a lengthy period of time. Legitimacy erodes and Institutions crumble. Finally, some contender – usually on the right – ends up knocking successfully at the gates of the barracks (Boeninger, 1990: 13).

In Lesotho, no contender knocked at the gates of the barracks. Their gates opened on their own. There was a military coup in 1986, and between this time and 1990, Lesotho experienced a military regime under the leadership of King Moshoeshoe II and Major General Lekhanya. The military government made a promise to purge society of corrupt officials, to launch true reconciliation and peace and to return the government to democratically elected persons. These promises fell short of being fulfilled, as several incidents of corruption were reported. Mda insinuates that the coup plotters came not to purge society of wrong doings, but to perpetuate the hegemony of perennial corruption, selfishness and partisan politics. Several atrocities were committed by the soldiers, and these were reported secretly, not through the mass media. “Soldiers were on the rampage in the villages, pillaging and burning

114

Chapter Seven

everything in front of them” (84). The rampaging soldiers raped, maimed, looted, and eliminated the families of known and targeted opposition members. Besides openly indicting the government of Prime Minister Jonathan, the playwright does not approve of the soldiers’ high handedness and cruelty unleashed on the people – it is a sign of savagery, barbarism and dictatorship, in contradiction to the standards of a modern and civilised world. Zakes Mda, like Wole Soyinka in his A Play of Giants, opines that neo-colonialism is a remote-control instrument used to manipulate the innocent but confused people of Africa for the benefit of the West. He implies that the international community had a hand in the “president’s” refusal to hand over power to the constitutional government. Accusing fingers point at countries such as West Germany, the United Kingdom and the United States of America. These are said to have climbed on the back of helpless Lesotho to fight the Eastern bloc. In other words, these countries helped to subvert democracy and promote the ascendancy of “corrupt buffoons” in order to safeguard their private interests. Mda’s revelation, therefore, is a warning and a note of caution to the whole of Africa, and Lesotho in particular. Not content with debunking the hypocrisy of the West, Mda attempts to open the eyes of the Basotho to the evils of South African politics, as this affects Lesotho. In some of his plays, notably The Road (set in the Orange Free State), he decries the fact that Lesotho is often used as a satellite station for the activities of apartheid patrons – cheap labour, liquor, sex, prostitution, and “dirty magazines and books.” In this play, the Boers defile Maseru women by engaging them in bestiality involving dogs. The most disturbing episode in The Road is the fight for the “shade” between the nameless migrant worker from Lesotho (labourer) and Johannes Koekemoer, a white farmer. The shade from a lone tree is the only shelter on the road against the scorching heat of the sun; but the white farmer will not allow the black Mosotho to share it with him. He is forced on to the roadside to “develop… separately.” Andrew Horn avers that the tree, whose comforting shade is contested by both white and black, is South Africa itself, and the sun-scorched bit of the roadside to which the labourer is expelled, the nominally autonomous Bantustan Homelands to which the nationalist government hopes to relocate all blacks (1990: xxxvi). Valid as this interpretation of the shade symbol in the play may be, I venture to add a codicil. The fertile and less mountainous Orange Free State used to belong to the Basotho nation. But the Boers misappropriated a considerable part of it during the First Basotho-Boer War in 1858. Several other campaigns and threats of war pushed the Basotho further

Dramatist in Exile: The Contributions of Zakes Mda

115

inland, abandoning the Orange Free State “shade” to occupy the arid and barren section of the land known today as Lesotho. It has been suggested that the main aim of the Boers was to compel the Basotho people to live within such narrow limits that it becomes impossible to subsist on the produce of agriculture and livestock and to be compelled to offer their services to the farmers in the capacity of domestic servants and labourers (Keegan, 1980: 9).

Zakes is appealing to the Basotho not to condone this situation. When in their arrogant positon, the Boers regard the black South Africans as “Bantu” and the Basotho as “foreign Bantu” - that is simply a matter of diplomatic convenience and a divide-and-rule strategy; a means of polarising the relationship between the Basotho and the black South Africans. Mda calls for change, even if it involves violence. LABOURER: I never used to believe in shooting. I even questioned the sanity of folks who bought their little boys toy guns for Christmas. Teaching kids to be murderers, that’s what I used to think. But now I know better. I have seen the failure of peace… (127).

Of course, Labourer ends up killing Farmer for defiling his wife, Lucy. The playwright is not only calling on the Basotho to fight against apartheid from the fringe; he rallies the whole Southern Africa sub-region. Mda articulates this very strongly when in And the Girls, the Mosotho Woman sparks in response to Lady’s assumption that South African politics is the “politics of another country.” I work there so everything that happens there affects me. It affects you too, although you’ve, like most others, decided to wear blinkers and pretend that you live in a never-never land that will smoothly map out its destiny irrespective of all the turbulence surrounding it. One day it’s going to dawn on you, and on the rest of all the others who think like you, that this struggle is not just South African. It is Southern Africa (p. 26).

Religion Religion is also a major and recurring theme in Zakes Mda’s plays. Mda, like Ngugi wa Thiong’o, censures the role of Christian religion and some of its ideologies in controlling the African mind. Religion, which is often regarded as the “hope of the oppressed” and the “essence of transcendental values,” is presented by Mda in The Hill as a major actor in

116

Chapter Seven

destabilising the hopes and aspirations of the frustrated miners. “The Hill opens with a silhouette of a Nun in full habit… a rosary dangling from her clasped hands and she is also holding a big flower, most likely a plastic rose. She is in meditation, reciting in monotone, “Mea culpa, mea culpa, mea maxima culpa” (71). One of the characters, Man, demands that the nun blesses and cleanses him. Oblivious of him, the Nun ignores and turns her back on him. This is a symbolic portrayal of the church’s uncaring attitude towards poor and desperate people, signalling hypocrisy within the rank and file in the church. The silhouette (shadow) of the nun and the plastic flower both symbolise the synthetic and deceitful nature of today’s church. The nun attempts to turn the miners’ poverty and frustrations upon the miners themselves, as she repeatedly makes allusion to their faults, their most grievous faults (“mea maxima culpa”). Mda uses an amphigory here, because the fault of the miners could also be the church’s, which has abandoned its role as the people’s shepherd. The church’s encouragement to lean on the wall of faith is debunked by Mda when Man declares, “I would like to survive on faith… but faith doesn’t fill my empty stomach” (82). To the veteran, dependence on the church’s blessings is “chasing an illusion” (92). Duggan posits: Mda makes it very clear in the play that the church has been next to useless in the lives of migrant workers due to its irrelevance when approaching their problems or simply by going ahead with its own concerns, oblivious of the needs of its adherents (1997: 124).

In the mines, a more horrifying picture is laid bare of the church’s role in ganging up with the oppressive system. Mda presents the church as an accomplice to a system which strives to castrate the miners. Even the miners know that the so-called black pastors are mercenaries; they have been specially groomed by the whites to deceive the miners. They entreat the black miners not to fight for their rights, not to go on strike in demand for improved conditions of service; they entreat them to be grateful and to obey without question all the rules in the mine because “This mine is your father” (99) and because “the white man feeds you well” (99). During the confession session in the mine church, it is revealed that these “saints” are perpetrators of as much evil as the devil when a female prostitute openly confesses, “I sinned, my good pastor. And my sin is well known to you for we did it together” (100). Finally, Mda condemns black preachers, who, bought with the cheap positions of mabalanes, indunas and masisas (overseers), act like Judas to betray their brothers to the whites.

Dramatist in Exile: The Contributions of Zakes Mda

117

In The Nun’s Romantic Story, Mda saddles himself with an unrelenting sardonic exposure of the discrepancy between religious profession and practice. The mutilated democracy in Lesotho in 1970 is explicitly linked with the church. Mda reveals that the Roman Catholic Church in Lesotho supports the BNP against the opposition to undermine communism, which is anti-Christ. The reverend gentleman in the play, Father Villa, publicly admits: “We preached in our churches throughout this country against the opposition” (85). Is this what is expected in the house of the Lord? As if this is not enough, the play, to our greatest dismay, reveals that the church, contrary to the teachings of Christ, sanctioned Sister Anne-Maria’s plan for the murder of the general in the Cathedral. The heinous election which changed Anne-Maria’s life saw Father Hamel in the centre of the mess. The church is presented as an institution which does not hold forgiveness as a virtue; rather it promotes hatred and revenge. The ruling party is very much at home with the Catholic Church and the politicians pitch camp with it to benefit from their numbers at the polls – a vast majority of people in Lesotho being Roman Catholics. The obnoxious entrenchment of politics in the church is further represented by the playwright in a case involving a layman, Lawrence Pampiri, and Reverend Father Hamel. Pampiri, a high school student and a Catholic, is ordered to leave the church during Holy Mass because he attends a Protestant high school known to have Communist leanings. This “anathema” has a bitter consequence, demonstrated in Pampiri’s decision to throw away his faith and become an atheist. Here, Father Hamel, instead of winning souls for the Lord, loses them to Satan. Mda is not painting this bleak picture of the church and religion because he simply dislikes them. He acknowledges, when there is need to do so, the positive contributions of religion to the development of mankind and society in Africa. In South Africa, he recognises the outstanding activities of clergy such as Archbishop Desmond Tutu, Mkhatsha, Trevor Huddeston and Sister Ncube, and the roles they have all played in the liberation struggle against apartheid. Mda sees nothing wrong in the church’s participation in politics. In fact, Vatican II has empowered the Catholic Church to be less conservative in matters of culture and socio-political issues. The playwright only expresses disgust for, and is disillusioned with, “the church’s negative involvement in national politics” (104), as is the case in Lesotho.

118

Chapter Seven

Prostitution On the issue of prostitution (female), Mda is ambivalent. Like most moralists, he sees prostitution as an eyesore and an ignoble trade. He insinuates that Basotho prostitutes prefer white men to blacks and that they use bleaching (“skin lightening”) creams to look like white women. The effect of these practices is not only psychological but has serious health implications. For one, skin lightening creams contain the chemical compound hydroquinone, which destroys the natural skin. And to hide the ugly blemishes that result, these prostitutes indulge in heavy make-up, which destroys natural beauty and makes the wearer look like a “ghost.” In The Hill, Mda presents three prostitutes as heartless and merciless people. They rob the veteran of his four years’ savings at the mines. They steal all his belongings from his suitcase and leave him naked, except for the shirt he is wearing. In And the Girls, the situation becomes more pathetic as we hear of “teenage whores [who] line the streets by the dozen” (18), and of Lady’s daughter who is “laid all over town and doesn’t bring a cent home” (15). Even the working class girls are no strangers to prostitution, though their cases are pathetic: “Many of them have to sleep with someone to get their jobs. They have to lay some dirty old man to get a promotion” (19). The most interesting thing about Mda’s creativity in the area of prostitution is his radical but judicious departure from the conventional belief that prostitutes are greedy people who go into the trade for fun and wealth. Mda sets the Basotho’s mind working when, in his unorthodox standpoint, he presents before us sympathetic prostitutes who are forced into the trade because of social problems. First and foremost, it is the attitude of men towards women which prompts the latter to become prostitutes. The oblique picture painted is that of men who are uncaring and not loving. Men who are “philanderers”, “fickle” and “unreliable.” Many Basotho women would prefer the marital home to the street, but the men often “dump” them. Lady explains how she got entangled with prostitution: Yes, the bastards are unreliable. They find you when you are nice and fresh and young. They use you in many different ways, and then throw you away like the marrow of a horse when they have drained you of all flesh and blood… I was young and beautiful. I was the campus queen. That’s when the father of my daughter met me… I even left the varsity for him. I gave birth to his daughter. Then the bastard left me… that is why I got into this profession…” (19-20).

Dramatist in Exile: The Contributions of Zakes Mda

119

Another pathetic reason why women become prostitutes is the abandonment of wives by men who go to the South African mines to work. In the absence of men, many households in Lesotho are managed by women alone, who cultivate the fields, build houses, bring up the children, and sometimes, in order to bring in sufficient income, they sell their bodies for money. Mda’s message is very clear – prostitutes are not necessarily unearthly and vile. They are products of the social order in society. This social order must be dismantled for the good and progress of the nation. On a different level, Mda shows how humane prostitutes can be at times. In The Hill, it is a prostitute with a kind heart, like Shen Te of The Good Woman of Setzuan, who bails Young Man out of his dilemma by giving him money to secure a contract at the Native Recruiting Corporation.

Theatre-for-Development In a serious commitment to positive development, Mda abandoned the elitist posture of his stage plays in favour of a true democratic theatre of the people. Mda realised that the underprivileged Basotho could not afford to see his plays in the town centres, therefore, he decided to take the theatre to the mountains - to the people. In his theatre-for-development project, he educated the Basotho nation on the need for proper communication between the government and the people. He helped the peasants to understand the true meaning of development. Unlike packaged plays, theatre-for-development encourages mass participation and learning by doing. While in exile, Mda observed that in Lesotho, communication was top-down; that the generality of the peasants were ignorant of their conditions. Like the Zambian Kabwe Kasoma, or Kamlongera of Malawi, Mda started the theatre-for-development to conscientise the Basotho. The Marotholi Travelling Theatre, which was established in 1982, was a theatre-for-development project based at the National University of Lesotho (it later moved to Maseru). Mda’s major aim was not simply to bring about social change and improve the living standards of people, but to engage in a process of total social transformation, which was to clear the path for peasants to achieve greater control of their social, economic and political destiny. This stance implies that development must identify with liberation and freedom from all sorts of domination - spiritual or temporal. To Mda, development means “essential social interaction through messages between development agents and the people, the so-called beneficiaries of development actions” (Mda, 1994: 203). Communications experts believe that proper communication can serve as a vehicle for

120

Chapter Seven

addressing the macro-origins of the problem of rural poverty (McAnary, 1980: 6-7). Mda used the theatre to motivate rural communities into selfhelp initiatives. With his Marotholi group, he dramatised with the villagers problems of daily life, experiences and events affecting their sociopolitical existence - plays about alcoholism, trade unionism, agriculture, health care delivery and so on (Mda, 1993: 190-235). Mda and the other catalysts used to travel from Maseru to faraway mountain areas, sometimes walking considerable distances to villages not accessible by road. The group used to spend days in these rural communities, sharing in the peasants’ aspirations and frustrations; members of Mda’s group used to live in the houses of the villagers, cook and eat with them, and help them in community work. Mda’s initiative promoted the right of “powerless” commoners to participate in the decision making process. His theatre for conscientisation was very necessary as a tool for addressing periphery issues from the peripheral perspective, not the centre. It is doubtful that the Marotholi Theatre as it exists today still performs its functions as in the days of Zakes Mda.

Conclusion The greatest wealth to give to a people is knowledge, for knowledge is power. Though an exile, we have seen that Zakes Mda contributed immensely to the development of Lesotho. He became so deeply involved in the affairs of the Basotho that, according to African tradition, he became one of them - he got married to a Mosotho while in exile. Though he left Lesotho in 1992, Mda is still a household name in several villages in Lesotho because he left an indelible imprint on the sand of peasant development. Our discussion in this chapter has shown that Mda used theatre to raise the socio-political consciousness of the Basotho. He educated the Basotho to question things they had not questioned before. Through his theatre-fordevelopment project, he was able to advocate an effective two-way communication process between the rural population and government functionaries. People have been mobilised and motivated to engage in programmes geared towards self-reliance. Communities have been conscientised to hold dialogue between themselves, discuss their problems, decide on solutions and implement findings. Mda has used theatre to demonstrate the need for effective democratisation and, above all, he used the theatre to foster “intra-village solidarity” and enhanced the people’s cultural awareness and creativity. Any person who doubts Mda’s contributions to the development of Lesotho or the efficacy of artistic

Dramatist in Exile: The Contributions of Zakes Mda

121

creations as tools for concrete development may be reminded, using the words of Herbert Marcuse, that “art cannot change the world, but it can contribute to changing the consciousness and drives of the men and women who can change the world.”

CHAPTER EIGHT REPRESENTATION OF THE BLACK TOWNSHIP IN CONTEMPORARY SOUTH AFRICAN DRAMA: A STUDY OF GROOTBOOM’S RELATIVITY: TOWNSHIP STORIES [WITH NELLIE NGCONGO]

Introduction The township is an important and symbolic concept in South African history, a creation of the apartheid system and the earlier regimes of white minority rule. Townships were products of racial discrimination where black, coloured and Indian people were ordered by the Land Act of 1913 and the Group Areas Act of 1950 to live separately. Townships originated from apartheid South Africa’s unique economic requirement for inexpensive migratory labour, and they were managed using brutal policing systems (Bond, 2000). Previously called “locations,” townships have a unique and distinctive history which has had a direct impact on the socio-economic status of these areas and how people perceive and operate within them. About 40 percent of black households in South Africa live in townships. The township is a place typified as degenerated, crude, and lacking civility. Since South Africa’s democratic elections in 1994 the conditions in urban townships have not substantially improved. Income in township households has remained static, while more households in townships live in informal settlements and lack access to municipal services (Cooperative Governance & Traditional Affairs, 2009: 5). In many townships, people still live in tiny make-shift shacks built end-on-end to look like train carriages. These are overcrowded and plagued with drug use, stealing and other criminal activities. The township, housing one race (African) and being at the very bottom of the socio-economic pile, brings light to themes of justice, safety and human rights, confronting the rich who live in safe environments. At least in stereotype and often in reality, life in the

The Black Township in Contemporary South African Drama

123

townships appears to be cheap and no one seems to care; it appears people live their lives going around in circles rather than making a head-way. Stories about South African townships have been told through many methods and genres. Journalists, historians, sociologists and creative artists have pictured townships in various forms that suit and reflect their disciplines. While poets and fiction writers craft words to relate their experiences of townships, playwrights and theatre practitioners tell their stories using “action.” Unlike other methods of telling stories, drama breathes life into painted scenarios, and one of the latest brands to emerge after the demise of apartheid is the daring and controversial plays that deal with explicit sex and obscenity on stage, and Mpumelelo Paul Grootboom (alias Cosmo) is champion in this field of artistic endeavour. Currently dramaturge at the State Theatre in Pretoria, Paul is a black South African who was brought up in a township. He has written “ordinary” plays for television and stage but presently avoids “world issues and complex philosophies” and is gravitating towards “fun.” His definition of fun is “watching ten people having sex with each other” (Director’s Note in the Pretoria Programme – Foreplay Production, 2009: 3). To a moralist, Grootboom’s plays may seem offensive, but to a patient and tolerant navigator, they exhibit the “mirroring” quality that is often associated with dramatic art. The aim of this chapter is to critically analyse the drama text Relativity: “Township Stories” (2006), where some characters in the play are recognisable as personalities found in townships such as Alexandra, Soweto, Soshanguve or Garankuwa. It is an attempt to evaluate Grootboom’s story about a South African township – a play portraying obscenity, violence and abuse. This chapter interrogates why this obscene play (as well as others) that has defied local taboos and is at odds with traditional black culture is nonetheless popular with black audiences around South Africa.

Sex, Violence and Theatre In black South African circles, when one brings sex simulation and obscenity into the context of the theatre, there is often a reaction of embarrassment and shock. However, sex and violence are scarcely new to theatre, seeing that ancient Greek tragedies contained brutal deaths, dreadful suffering, rape, incest, mutilations, sexual orgies and humiliations. However, Greek drama was probably intended not to shock but to heal the audience, to make it better able to face the realities of its time (Sierz, 2001: 10). In Tartuffe, a French comedy in five acts, Molière holds up a less than complimentary mirror to reflect society and social “norms” in a disparaging

124

Chapter Eight

way. Though the play focuses mainly on the issue of religious hypocrisy, it also contains streaks of sex. “Tartuffe is the obvious hypocrite and antagonist who represents the members of society who preach religious piety but do not themselves live by the morals they try to force upon others” (Bates, 1906: 181). Tartuffe was revised many times, being considered obscene, and like many of Moliere’s works it was accused of being artless, unoriginal, obscene and irreligious (Leon, 2005: 452). As far as obscenity in theatre is concerned, Restoration comedy was best known for its sexual explicitness. It attempted to rationalise sexual relationships; hence love, sex, marriage and lustful manners were its main themes. Love was treated flippantly and was generally regarded by the playwrights as a physical appetite, a mere sex-hunger which clamours for satisfaction and which is natural to gratify (Sharma, 1965: 223).

Collier (1976: 352) points to a large collection of debauchery and lewdness in Restoration comedy. He argues that obscenity in any company is a rustic, uncreditable talent, but among women it is particularly rude. Restoration theatre’s first critics accused it of flouting decency and morality. In 1668, when it was at the height of its glory, Shadwell denounced its two chief persons, the hero and the heroine, as Swearing, Drinking, Whoring Ruffian for a lover, and an ill-bred mistress. Whatever its moral deficiencies, the Restoration comedy of manners does give a brilliant picture of its time (quoted in Sharma, 1965: 1).

The topic of sex, which was so prominent in Restoration comedies, is still evident in modern drama, hence some plays being referred to by Ackerman and Puncher (2001) as “unhealthy” and “disgusting,” “very demoralising in its tendency,” characterised by the “worst kind of erotic perversion” of corrupt humanity. “By 1907, Colette could appear in a play entitled Flesh, in which the heroine’s dress was ripped from her body, revealing naked breasts and an exposed expanse of skin, shoulder to ankle. Equally important, as modern drama began to talk about syphilis and abortion and other unsavoury topics, it came under attack from both moral crusaders and the police” (Ackerman & Puncher, 2006: 208). The negative reactions towards sex(y) scenes in theatre have continued, with a clear example in 1923, when a performance of Arthur Schnitzler’s Reigan (la Rogen) was given at a private party in London. Sierz reports that members of the Bloomsbury Set were there and Virginia Woolf

The Black Township in Contemporary South African Drama

125

complained that “the audience felt simply as if a real copulation were going on in the room and tried to talk down the very realistic groans made by Ralph Partridge” (Sierz, 2001: 13). Peters (2006: 210) discusses the impact of obscenity in modern drama. He recounts that discussions of theatrical obscenity helped to articulate some of the central modern and anti-modern discourses about sex in the public realm: as health and illness, purity and pollution, vitality and degeneracy, nature and perversion, enlightenment and demoralisation. Modern drama, steeped in the work of Richard von Krafft-Ebbing, Otto Weininger, Havelock Ellis and Freud, not only talks about syphilis and abortion, but gives embodiment to strange new figures created by modern sexology: the sadist, the masochist, the fetishist, the necrophiliac, the sexual invert. In modern drama, with its parables of obscenity, sex became a vehicle for the rebirth of tragedy; it became a problem for modern culture. Mark Ravenhill’s breakthrough play Shopping and Fucking is an uncompromisingly explicit depiction of anal, oral and violent sex. Two older women who watched the play appeared unmoved by the shocking scenes. Eventually, one said to the other: “Well, there wasn’t much shopping” (Nathan, 2010). One of many American theatre practitioners not apologetic in the presentation of obscenity on stage is Tennessee Williams. In his play Orpheus Descending (1955), a young charismatic musician named Val descends on a small southern town. He forms a relationship with a passionate woman who is trapped in a bad marriage. Val is mutilated and sacrificed for his sexual potency, which is a threat to other men because the sexually free agent is a magnet, drawing women outside the boundaries of marriage (Roudane, 1997: 136). Also, in Williams’s A Street car named Desire (1947) there is a fair share of obscenity, from the vulgar Stanley’s violence to the rape of Blanch and the exposure of her promiscuity. In South Africa, theatrical obscenity exists outside of Paul Grootboom’s productions. Steven van Dyk has directed many plays that contain trademarks of the obscene. In 2009 he directed Festen, by David Elridge, at the Breytenbach theatre, Pretoria. The play revolves around a dirty family secret about a father who molested his twin children from a very young age. The play contains graphic onstage sex simulation, violence and vulgar language. Van Dyk has a history of exploring obscenity on stage, and in a written discussion of his work (2010) he attested that most of his productions tilt toward obscenity. As long as there has been obscenity in the theatre, so too has there been opposition to it. The strongest threat to obscenity in the theatre was without a doubt censorship. France (until 1905), Germany and England all had highly visible institutions of dramatic

126

Chapter Eight

censorship, which generated heated public debates. In the United States, prosecutions for theatrical obscenity, which were usually tried in public, proved to be magnets of public interest and as scandalously entertaining as the plays themselves (Peters, 2006: 212). Generally, censorship involved outlawing nudity, swearing and anything suspected of promoting homosexuality or homosexual acts (Gilmartin, 2008).

The Play: Relativity Relativity: Township Stories was developed in the State Theatre (Pretoria) and premiered at the 2005 Grahamstown Festival in the Eastern Cape. It is co-authored by Presley Chweneyagae of Tsotsi fame. As the title suggests, the play is a recounting of several stories of human encounters in an unnamed South African township. The subject matter revolves around a serial killer who terrorises people in this township. Apart from the major themes of sexual violence, police brutality and abuse, the play is a Pandora’s box of the contaminations of township life: casual sex, obscenity, unprovoked killings, rape, prostitution, teenage pregnancy, alcoholism, robbery, drug abuse, poverty, disrespect and xenophobia. De Vries (2008) argues that one of Grootboom’s primary concerns is the cyclical nature of violence, its motivations and effects in society. Some critics aver that the violence so graphically presented in the play may be Grootboom’s attempt to explore his own traumatic past, as well as representing the experience of life as it is in the post-apartheid South African present (Flockeman, 2010: 22). In an interview given by Grootboom (Ngcongo, 2011), he admitted point blank: “I write about my own experiences and I try to make them artistic.” Though Relativity, as well as other Grootboom plays, is replete with violence, nudity, simulated sex and obscene language, the main themes in Relativity: Township Stories resonate deeper, as the play probes the socio- economic apathy within a capitalist system. It will be most convenient to discuss the themes of violence, police brutality, obscenity and abuse separately and in turn.

Violence One of the defining characteristics of South African townships in the post-apartheid era is the prevalence of violence. It is no exaggeration to say that not a day passes without media reports on one form of township violence or another. Young adults in gang groups kill each other on a regular basis. Infant girls (three years old) and grandmothers (94 years old) are raped regularly. On 26 May 2013, E-TV broadcast the story of a boy of

The Black Township in Contemporary South African Drama

127

14 years who hacked to death his mother, grandmother and two siblings. In Khayelitsha township, amongst others, in utter disregard of the rule of law, people have burned to death (“necklaced”) citizens they suspected to be criminals or witches. A shocking yet prevalent form of township violence is to place a tyre soaked in petrol around the victim’s neck and setting it alight (Ball, 1994). Introduced in the violent 1980s, “necklacing” was a common sentence imposed by the “people's courts” on collaborators with the apartheid regime and criminals. Recently, necklacing has resurged in xenophobic attacks against Zimbabweans and Mozambicans (Evans, 2008). Many happenings in Relativity compare favourably with the brutal act of necklacing. Violence is strongly present in Relativity: Township Stories; however, as dangerous as it is, the characters in the play view it as normal. Relativity is a play in two acts and is divided into “beats” (scenes). In the play’s prologue, a window is opened on the horrible things that are to follow as we watch a helpless girl being chased all over the stage until she is murdered by an invisible assailant. Act one introduces the audience to the teenage serial killer (Thabo) in the township; Moses Sithole is another monster who we are told used to lure his victims to their graves with promises of jobs. In the play, murder seems to be a game and “a spur of the moment thing” (p. 56). The roll-call of criminals includes Pelo (20 years), Mavarara (22 years), and Dario Sephai (24 years). Of all the criminals, Dario is “first class” (p. 12) as he kills enemies and friends alike. He smokes “dagga” (marijuana), sleeps with anything in skirts, hijacks people’s cars, steals neighbours’ property to entertain girlfriends; and above all, he is a bully and enjoys abusing women. To justify his action as a bully, he states: “...where I grew up ... if you’re not tough, if you don’t hit first ... people will play on your head” (p. 17). Further mirrored in the play is a township where people rely on hired assassins, “hitmen,” to settle their scores (see p. 60). Though the play deals with violence in general terms as a feature of township life, it is violence against women that is more profound. This is a reflection of what occurs in the townships and indeed more broadly in South Africa. Pages of local newspapers and broadcast media are full of sad stories of domestic and sexual violence against women. Booysen and Summerton (2003: 160) believe that the gender power imbalances rooted in cultural norms and economic disparities between men and women are pivotal in how sexual decisions are made. Innes (2006) believes that women in South Africa are culturally socialised to be subservient, submissive and dependent, whilst men are socialised to assume qualities of superiority, leadership and decision making. These gender-specific

Chapter Eight

128

attributes serve to condone men’s oppressive behaviour towards women and sanction behaviour that renders women powerless in their relationships with men. In essence, women have low self-efficacy in their interactions with men due to their low economic and social status and because of the power that men have over women’s sexuality (Gupta, 2002). According to Gupta (2002: 183), “the manifestation of gender imbalances are visible in decision making regarding contraceptive use, low risk HIV behaviour and household and individual expenditure.” Gupta went further to add: “Ten to fifty percent of women worldwide report physical assault by an intimate partner and one third to a half of physically abused women also report sexual coercion” (2002: 183). In Relativity, an example of brutal violence being accepted as normal and even justified is epitomised in Dario as he recounts having openly assaulted a man that his girlfriend, Sbongile, once hugged. He also recounts how he beat Sbongile, and Pelo (Dario’s friend), instead of rebuking the action of his friend, excitedly enjoys the narration of how Dario “re-arranged her [Sbongile’s] face” and raped her repeatedly. Sadistically, Pelo enquires why Dario did not shoot her in the vagina (p. 25). Dario:

I gave that bitch a thorough beating! I gave her a chase with my parabellum from Mamikies until that “one for all” pussy of hers got all sweaty...

Mavarara:

Which “chick” is that?

Dario:

That bitch called Sbongile.

Mavarara:

Oooh that one who didn’t want you to fuck her the other day?

Dario:

The very whore. Even that time when she didn’t want to give out, I hit her with a hot slap and took her home. I won’t beg for pussy.

Pelo:

You gave her a filthy beating my friend! I saw her yesterday at the street where she lives… I didn’t even recognize her – if it wasn’t for that unique arse of hers, I wouldn’t have known her. You’ve really re-organized her face, even those sunglasses she had on couldn’t hide her ugliness…you’ve really made her ugly my friend! (p. 23)

It is obscene to note how female characters are identified by the male through sexual attributes and nothing more. Women are repeatedly

The Black Township in Contemporary South African Drama

129

referred to as “bitch,” “pussy,” and “whore” and not thinking and feeling human beings; they are reduced to their sexual organs, purely to satisfy the character’s mean ego. It is also hard to miss how vulgarly these characters behave and express themselves - their indulgence in the use of taboo words and phrases is not only aggressive but lacks civility. The repetitive use of words like “arse”, “filthy beating,” “hot slap,” “bitch,” “fuck,” and “pussy” is an indication of the sordid class they belong to. As the scenes in the play further unfold, deep rooted beliefs about township life come to light. The men in the township are notoriously envious of their women and do not tolerate their girlfriends associating with other males (“some arsehole – ‘n charma-boy wannabee”, p. 23), even on professional grounds. Male chauvinism and the unequal social relationship between men and women are graphically captured in many scenarios in the play. It is interesting to see how the characters admire violence and strive to be like the hero in violent movies featuring Jean Claud Van Damme such as Kickboxer, Double Impact, Universal Soldier, and Nowhere to Run (Corcoran and Farkas, 1988). The depicted black township community believes manhood and aggression go hand in hand. These men embrace what has been coined “tsotsi masculinity.” Studies by Mokwena (1992) and Glaser (2000) reveal that tsotsi masculinity is a township masculinity that hinges on fighting skills, street wisdom, poor clothing style, proficiency in “tsotsitaal,” and success with women as trophies of masculinity. Had Dario reacted in a more civil manner towards Sbongile, he would have certainly appeared weak and would no longer command fear in the community. He would have lost his “street credibility” and would no longer be a “man.” Dario’s use of violence against women takes a turn for the worse after he is beaten by the police. It is as if their (the police’s) violence begets his, as he cruelly beats his pregnant wife, Matlakala. Matlakala speaks directly to the audience, explaining how she got herself into this predicament. Matlakala:

His balls had healed. He was out almost every night, fucking around. When I complained to him, he didn’t listen. It was as if he didn’t care. And because of that I started going out, hanging out with my friends, and spending as much time away from my new home. He warned me about this, but I wasn’t prepared to be a stupid housewife, who stays at home, reading Bona Magazines and gossiping about neighbours with other neighbours. So I went out with my friends. We went to parties, we went everywhere… I didn’t care about my showing tummy, I just went everywhere and I had fun… And that’s why he beat me up. He found me at my friend Patricia’s house, and

Chapter Eight

130

he beat me up all the way home… As if trying to embarrass me in front of people… after beating me up like that, strangely, the baby survived… I resented that fact. I felt he had no right beating me up that way and still having his baby survive it. How could God be so cruel? How could God make him so happy? (p. 50)

Dario’s violence has Matlakala fearing for her life; she even fears to leave him. So great is her fear that she cannot go home to her father or call the police. Her revenge is rather on her baby. Matlakala:

He beats me… He sleeps around… He’s never home, Papa… I killed the baby. My own baby. I killed her. I killed my own child just to get back at him. I… I killed her (p. 52).

Matlakala is clearly unable to cope with her environment; she kills what she does not want to deal with. Furthermore, she is inexperienced and damaged by her past. She is essentially a lost, powerless little girl. That she, like Medea, had the guts to take the innocent life of her baby speaks volumes. It is her father who laments: Dan:

Ooh, my baby… What are you doing to yourself? Is this what you want? Look at you…just look at you. I mean young as you are, living with a man under one roof? At your age? He-eh, my baby… You’re leaving with me, we’re going home…

Matlakala:

No Papa, I can’t. I can’t leave… And besides, Mama doesn’t want me back (p. 52).

A cycle is emerging here; Matlakala’s relationship with her family, including her mother, is not good at all. She abhorred her pregnancy just as her mother did not want her (Matlakala). It could be said that it is difficult for one who has never been wanted to want another. When we are introduced to the mother, Dorah, the dysfunctional relationship between her and her daughter is made clear in particularly explicit but vulgar language. Dorah begins by threatening her daughter: “I’ll hit you till you shit yourself; you are just a vagina always waiting to be fucked” (p. 19). When Dorah quarrels with her husband and Matlakala tries to defend her father, Dorah slaps her and screams, “Fuck off! You’re telling me shit, you fucking bitch! And don’t ever come back here, you fucking bitch” (p. 22). In essence, Matlakala has had no maternal role model; she has not been nurtured and has had no guidance as she entered womanhood. She has

The Black Township in Contemporary South African Drama

131

been thrown out with the trash, as if her life does not matter. She is emotionally unstable and does not possess the maturity to understand that her decisions have consequences. It seems that indeed broken homes make for broken people. Dan:

Your mother is not home. You have nothing to worry about.

Matlakala:

What?

Dan:

Yes, she left me. Your mother left me for a kirigamba from Malawi. After fifteen years of marriage! Fifteen years!

Matlakala:

Oh, I’m sorry Papa.

Dan:

It’s okay. I’m a man. I’ll get back on my feet again. She even took my furniture with her. The house is empty now, I’m all alone here. I hear voices… I think I’m going mad… Please come back home, my baby…please…I miss you.

Matlakala:

I can’t.

Dan:

Yes, you can. This is no life for you…I’ve stopped drinking; I’m busy looking for a job again… I’m trying to get my life into gear… Come and live with me.

Matlakala:

Dario won’t allow it, Papa. I’ve threatened to leave him before…he said he’d kill me. He’s a dangerous man, he’s a criminal. He hijacks cars, he kills people!

Dario’s use of violence certainly gives him control over the community. Though Matlakala is at her wits’ end and is being offered help, she will not leave him for fear of his wrath. For Matlakala it is a simple choice between losing her life and perhaps the lives of those she loves, and gritting her teeth through regular beatings. The idea of men using violence to re-enforce their manhood and to gain control seems to be the practical norm. Like Dario, Mavarara, another male chauvinist, firmly believes in violence as a method to control women and to get what he wants. However, this does not end well for him. His relationship with a young girlfriend, Thuli, is graphically captured in this scene where he stupidly attempts to assault a young man he finds in her company: Mavarara:

Why do I get the sense that you are seeing someone else? What? Have you found someone else?

Chapter Eight

132 Thabo:

(To Thuli) Look, I’ll just wait over there, if you still want me to help you with your books.

Mavarara:

Actually, who the hell are you?

Thabo:

Me?

Mavarara:

Yes you! Who the fuck are you?!

Thuli:

Just leave him alone.

Mavarara:

What? Are you fucking her?! Is that why she’s giving me the cold shoulder nowadays?

Thuli:

Just leave him alone. Why don’t you just leave before I call my, mother? ... I told you I am busy. Justí

Mavarara:

(Taking out his gun) Fuck you! Fuck you, bitch. You think I’m scared of your mother? I’m sick and tired of this. How long have I been seeing you without you putting out anything – only to find out that you are being fucked by this four-eyed idiot? I’ve been patient and patient, understanding when you told me you’re not ready for sex yet. It’s been too long now! Too long (p. 52).

Mavarara’s actions and vulgarity cement the notion that the men in the township think that women exist purely to satisfy their egos and sexual desires. Mavarara views Thuli as a possession, shows no respect for her and expects her to please him and when she does not he begins vulgarly degrading her by calling her a bitch. He feels that he is owed sex; so much so that he has come to forcefully collect what he believes is due to him. We also see the repeated irony of an uneducated person calling an educated person an idiot. Thabo, the serial killer in Relativity: Township Stories, goes on to kill other women, including Mamiki, and is never stopped, as the community never responds. Mamiki’s death also reinforces the idea that in the township, life is certainly cheap. It barely takes a moment for Thabo to weigh Mamiki’s life against his desire to be with her daughter, and it takes a moment for him to extinguish her life using her G-string. The last person that Thabo kills is Matlakala. Her murder resembles the one the play began with. “Thabo chases Matlakala until he catches her; he then rapes her and strangles her with her G-string” (p.70). The exact resemblance between this sequence and the opening scene invokes the powerful imagery of a movement in circles. What happened in the

The Black Township in Contemporary South African Drama

133

beginning repeats at the end. The imagery of cycles thus speaks to the repetitive nature of crime and violence in township existence. Thabo:

It’s just too fucking complicated. I didn’t stop killing as I had thought I would. I still had the urge, I still had feelings, the demons were still with me… I really did try to stop for a while but the feelings were just too strong. Now, I don’t stress much about it… the way I look at it… It’s like the theory of relativity: “the appearance depends on where you’re standing.” From where I’m standing, this is necessary… it’s all relative, really… I feel because I have a damaged soul, I am not wrong in doing this… The people that die, I no longer feel much for them… It’s relative, I feel… If you look at it another way, through my eyes… these people are sacrifices to my demons… It’s all like indigenous African culture or society, where this tribe still sacrifice their virgins to the Gods. The West may get outraged all it wants to, but the tribesmen will never see anything wrong with it because it is their culture. It is what they believe in… So you see; things are all relative… It all depends on how you look at it… It’s all relative (pp.70-71).

Thabo believes that we are the sacrificial victims of our circumstances, not able to challenge or change them. He believes that someone has to pay for the warping we have been subjected to. Thabo’s monologue touches on the concept of “relativity” that is also in the title of this play. Thabo believes that crime is relative and it merely depends on the angle it is viewed from. Like most poor black South Africans in townships, Thabo’s world view is limited to his environment. In Thabo’s world, one must be feared to avoid becoming a victim. Furthermore, Thabo is not by any means asking for change, he is only excusing his behaviour by pointing out that this is the way it has always been in South Africa and this is the way it will always be.

Obscenity and Sex The township world depicted in this play is driven by sex. Dario is a Casanova who has slept with Sbongile, Matlakala, a 16-year old school girl, Itebeng, and Pulane. The 19-year old school dropout Thabo has not only slept with Mamiki, the Shebeen queen old enough to be his mother, but also with the daughter, Thuli, to the knowledge of the mother. Mavarara sleeps with Thuli as well. Dorah, Matlakala’s mother, abandons her husband (Dan), who posseses “a limp dick” (p. 47), and runs after

Chapter Eight

134

Lovemore, a foreigner from Malawi who has proven something to her in “bed.” Even men who have no resources to attract women take solace in masturbation. Bongi, Dario’s girlfriend, is reputed to be a township “sphaphi,” a “weekend special” of every Tom, Dick and Harry. Pregnant Matlakala is an embodiment of “fun” (see Matlakala’s monologue, p. 50). Unconventional sex is also the order of the day as Rocks (police officer) practices homosexuality with his own son. In Relativity, women are treated as sexual objects and men boast of their sexual prowess by using them as toys. The male characters cannot distinguish between love, lust and desire and neither can the women. Mamiki seduces the young boy Thabo (a serial killer) and then confuses their shared lust for love. Stage directions state: She manages to get him dancing. They dance and then she kisses him. He is highly surprised. She is panting, though. She kisses him passionately. He decides to fall into it. She throws him on the chair and tears her blouse open. Thabo: Wait a minute. Mamiki: Shhhhhh… Don’t speak! Stage directions further state: She climbs on top of him and kisses him again. She stands up after a while and begins undressing him until he is in only his shorts and vest. The bed is moved to a more central position and MAMIKI’s bedroom is set up. We now have both the shebeen area and the bedroom on stage. MAMIKI and THABO go into the bedroom and they fuck under the sheets. After the fucking, MAMIKI gets out of the bed and puts on her morning gown (p. 34).

It soon becomes apparent that Mamiki has confused sex with love when she desperately and jealously tries to cling to Thabo when he shows interest in her daughter, Thuli. She believes that because he had sex with her, he loves her and belongs to her. She says to him: Mamiki:

Don’t come and tell me rubbish! You sleep with me and then you want to fuck my daughter?! Do you think I’m just going to say, “go ahead, I give you my blessing”?! What game are you playing at? You can’t fuck the both of us, I won’t let it happen!

Thabo:

It’s not like that! I don’t just want to fuck her! Don’t you understand? I love her! She means everything to me! More than you or anyone can ever mean to me! She makes me-

The Black Township in Contemporary South African Drama

135

every, everything that is bad in me, she turns good… do you know what I mean? Do you even know what that feels like?! (p. 63)

It is important to understand that the degradation of women begins with vulgarity and this is a recurring issue in Relativity. The use of words like “slut”, “whore” and “sfebe” (bitch) reduces women to being objects to be used by men without any emotional connection. This degradation ensures that the human essence of women is devalued, thus causing the image of women to sink to little more than that of children.

Police Brutality In Relativity: Township Stories, brutality and violence go beyond individuals and settle on the state. State violence manifests in the form of police brutality. Dario, the township criminal, a mere suspect, is mistreated when he is brought in to be questioned about the serial killings. Rocks:

Listen here, I’m not going to play games with you. Just tell me why you killed her and the others.

Dario:

I didn’t kill her! What’s your problem? Didn’t you hear me, I saidí (ROCKS hits him).

Rocks:

WHY DID YOU KILL HER?

Dario: You can’t beat me up like this, I have rights. I know the law. I can sue you for this! Rocks:

The law doesn’t apply to filth like you! Why did you kill her? Are you going to answer me or do you want me to light up you balls with a cigarette lighter? (p. 16)

This violence escalates as the detectives deliver on their threats. Their words and actions highlight the idea that the law is selective and that the law does not necessarily imply justice and equal rights for all. Though South Africa has a celebrated constitution, the reality is that some people are still shackled and granted no voice. Dario’s pants are removed, hands cuffed and his balls roasted amidst screaming. The manner in which Dario is interrogated highlights the issue of police brutality, as well as the notion of a tortured truth. The brutality of the police and the brutality that Dario inflicts on people share an identical strategy, that strategy being that in

136

Chapter Eight

order to exercise and maintain power one must create victims. If this is true, then there is essentially no difference between the police and criminals. As for the so-called truth being tortured out of Dario, it is fair to say that people will admit or say anything when being tortured. Therefore this “truth” lacks merit. The law does not treat Dario with respect, therefore how else can he be expected to respond? How can people in the township view the police as protectors when they can so easily fall victim to the police and their investigations? The beating and torture of Dario is certainly reminiscent of the growing number of cases of South African police brutality coming to light. Prince and Mclea (2011) recount how the nation was shocked by prime-time TV news bulletins showing six policemen viciously beating and shooting a protester. This level of brutality, however, is certainly not new. An article by Slaughter entitled South African Police Caught on Film (1999) recounts that six Johannesburg policemen were suspended from duty after a BBC film was broadcast that showed them beating suspects and attacking them with police dogs. Footage screened on British and South African television showed police officers in Brixton, Johannesburg, arresting two suspected car thieves. The men were handcuffed and forced to lie on the ground. The police officers then proceeded to kick the men in the face and set a police dog on them. One of the men had a cigarette stubbed out on his head and was then repeatedly struck with a rifle butt. Both men were later released without being charged. In a second incident, two men suspected of car hijacking were seriously injured when the driver lost control of the car. They were unconscious when they were dragged out of the car by the police and were brutally kicked and rifle-butted whilst lying on the ground. More recently, police violence escalated into a full-fledged massacre during the Lonmin Marikana miner’s strike near Rustenburg. Nkosi (2012) tells how the event garnered international attention following a series of violent incidents between the SAPS (South African Police Services), Lonmin security, the leadership of the National Union of Mineworkers (NUM) and strikers themselves, which led to the death of approximately 47 people. At least 78 additional workers were also injured on 16 August 2012 in what News Media equated with the Sharpeville Massacre (21 March 1960). In a speech addressing the issue of the Marikana Massacre, Archbishop Desmond Tutu (2012) stated: When we consigned apartheid to history, we said never again would it happen that our police and our soldiers would massacre our people. These were our police, and never again would we suffer the pain of a Sharpeville, Boipatong, or Ciskei Massacre. But our police appear powerless to stop

The Black Township in Contemporary South African Drama

137

tidal waves of violent crime and what we euphemistically refer to as “service delivery protests”, the latter regularly accompanied by violence and destruction committed with utter impunity. While we rightfully condemn the police for massacring thirty four mine workers, and demand the use of non-lethal methods of crowd control, we also sympathise with the vast majority of good policemen and women who have battled to do their very difficult jobs while making sense of corruption scandals in the highest ranks – not to mention being exhorted by their leader to “shoot to kill.”

Business Unity SA Chairperson Bobby Godsell spoke out on the issue of the Marikana Massacre. He asserted that in a constitutional democracy, violence is not understandable and should not be tolerated. He emphasised that the South African Police Services’ actions were outrageous and that they must be held accountable for those murders (quoted in Dlamini, 2012). There is further police brutality in Relativity: Township Stories as Mamiki gets into an altercation with the police detectives who have come to question her. Rocks, the police detective, is extremely rude to her and she returns the rudeness. He retaliates with extreme violence. He grabs Mamiki by the throat and points his gun to her head. Mamiki:

I have nothing to hide. And I’m not scared of the police… My ex-husband used to be one. If you don’t have a warrant then get the hell out of my place before I sue you for trespassing and police harassment.

Molomo:

(Trying to intervene) No, no, listení

Rocks:

(To Mamiki) Are you threatening me?! Coz if you are I’ll arrest you, right now on the spot! (p. 37)

Rocks makes it clear that if Mamiki does not do as he says, regardless of whether it goes against her human rights, he will punish her. With the power that comes with being a policeman, he will ensure her punishment will be harsh and possibly include “incarceration.” The manner in which the police treat Mamiki brings back memories of apartheid history, when absolute power was vested in a police state. Black police were at that time regarded with disdain by the township community and were branded as sell-outs by political activists. Their lack of popularity should come as no surprise, seeing that the police failed to maintain law and order in the townships, played an oppressive role in enforcing apartheid legislation and crushed political dissent (Kynock, 2003: 307). With the background of our apartheid past still so fresh in South Africa’s minds, it is easy to construe

138

Chapter Eight

the behaviour of the post-apartheid police service as that of aggression rather than protection.

Child abuse Matlakala’s wayward life is a reflection of family violence and child abuse. Beat three in the play paints a graphic picture of how bad relationships between parents and their children can contribute to children’s irresponsibility and failure in life. Without any serious provocation, Matlakala’s mother Dorah calls her daughter a “tramp.” In line with the general obscenity in the play, she sees the daughter as a good for nothing “vagina always waiting to be fucked” (p. 21). With no compassion for her family, she abandons her unemployed husband and forces their daughter to take to the streets and fall victim to criminals, like Dario, who impregnates her and kills her at the end. Relativity: Township Stories reveals how history is reflected in the incestuous violence that occurs in child abuse. Thabo experiences a flashback where a younger version of himself tells his abusing father that the sexual abuse is causing him pain (p.43). Rocks convinces Thabo not to tell anyone about what goes on between them. The buried secrets of the past extend to the violent socio-political history of apartheid where the physical abuse uncovered is part of the patriarchal system whose consequences reverberate in post democratic socio-cultural systems and this is reflected in the family unit, the social environment and the consequent personal spaces impinged (Vora & Vora, 2004: 301-332).

This socio-political warping engages the very fabric of the sociocultural body, filtering abnormalities into relationships. According to Rape Statistics South Africa (2011), South Africa has the highest incidence of child and infant rape in the world. Welfare groups believe that the number of unreported incidents could be 10 times more than those recorded. The reason for the low proportion of reported cases is exactly the same reason why the character Thabo never seeks help. Aggressor and victim are inextricably interwoven, suggesting polar attitudes that define each other. This polar structure consolidates the aggressors’ power, and disempowers the victims completely (Angelides, 2004: 141-177). The child abuser, a relative that takes on this absolute power over his victims, is featured particularly as a father and provider. Children are disempowered by the same patriarchal abuse seen in police states where the citizens’ rights are crippled by a power imbalance.

The Black Township in Contemporary South African Drama

139

Thabo’s childhood abuse could be seen as a contributing factor in his becoming a serial murderer, essentially “violence begets violence” syndrome. According to Widom and Maxfield (2012), being abused as a child increases one’s risk of delinquency, adult criminal behaviour and violent criminal behaviour. All too often, abused children become abusers and victims of violence or may even become violent offenders. Though this does not excuse Thabo’s actions, it may well be a contributing factor. Thabo experienced violent sexual abuse from his father over a long time, and by raping and killing his victims, he completes a cycle of violence and revenge.

Conclusion We have discussed how, in the very beginning of the play, a young girl is seen running and screaming for her life (p. 7). Her screams stop as she searches for a place to hide. Her invisible pursuer finds her, rapes her and strangles her with her G-string. Notably, Bongi does not continue to scream for help; instead, she hides in the sudden realisation that she is on her own and that her community will not help her. In the play’s epilogue, Matlakala is pursued by Thabo, who also strangles her with her G-string. Again, no one calls Thabo to account. This untoward behaviour is explained away using the theory of relativity – “The appearance depends on where you’re standing” (p. 70). If there is no community response to violence and crime, then surely there can be no consequences, and ultimately no one will be held accountable for their actions. These episodes in the play are strong metaphors of complicity and community decay. Relativity: Township Stories certainly speaks to many issues plaguing South African townships. The condition of townships at the bottom of the economic system in post-apartheid South Africa is brilliantly portrayed. To some township dwellers, there seems to be no difference between life as it was during apartheid and as it is lived now. Life is cheap, as people are brutally murdered, beaten, tortured and abused in townships every day. Poor service delivery and poverty continue to haunt these settlements. Nobody speaks out, nobody is held responsible, nobody truly heals and therefore nothing ever changes. People are constantly living with consequences instead of making choices, thus rendering themselves victims within their environment. Essentially, crime and justice and the constitution are relative to where you are standing, whether in the suburb or the township.

140

Chapter Eight

Furthermore, lack of response to perennial problems has truly disempowered the township communities. With South Africa’s history and the part that the police played in it, it is reasonable to suppose that the community feels that by speaking up against crime they betray their fellow black brothers and sisters. If the legal system criminalises an ordinary person, then the definition of what a criminal is becomes blurred. It becomes more difficult to differentiate between a victim and a perpetrator. Creative artists, and indeed playwrights, have a duty to society to cry out against miscarriages of justice. Merely presenting the issues confronting the townships without suggesting ways to ameliorate the situation is to say the least counter-productive. Playwrights all over the world have contributed greatly to the upliftment of their communities and one expects Paul Grootboom and other young playwrights to champion the cause of the liberation of the South African community through social cohesion and promotion of tolerance

CHAPTER NINE REFLECTIONS ON THEATREFOR-DEVELOPMENT PROJECTS: LESOTHO AND BOTSWANA

Introduction The discussions in this preliminary section will, to a great extent, reflect what I have argued before (Ebewo, 2007, 2005, 2004, 2001) about the state and prospects of theatre-for-development (TfD). Since the late 1980s, TfD has gained ground in Africa, the Caribbean Islands, Latin America and Asia. Though its practice is not totally alien to advanced countries, it is in the development of Third World countries that TfD has been more profound. Also known as “Forum Theatre,” “Participatory Theatre,” or “Community Theatre” in the contemporary paradigm, we may also associate TfD with what has come to be known as interactive theatre. Whatever the label, the objectives of the practitioners coalesce around the subject of encouraging human and societal development (Desai, 1991: 8). The seminal works of Latin American adult educationist Augusto Boal and the Brazilian Paulo Freire fermented the theatre-for-development idea (Ebewo, 2004: 47). These educationists emphasised “active approaches to learning… Of peasants becoming the subjects of their transformation rather than remaining the objects of a propaganda exercise” (Kidd and Rachid, 1983: 31). Invariably, TfD practice is anchored in the grassroots approach to education and development, and it is meant to be an instrument of empowerment for socially deprived individuals. It serves as a people’s medium; it is participatory and democratic in outlook; it utilises the idiom of orality, and conscientises the people in a society to change or modify their thinking and discover ways of combating challenges. In the abstract to his study on “Popular Culture and Non-formal Education,” Kidds commented that – Popular theatre [TfD] is used as a means of bringing people together, building confidence and solidarity, stimulating discussion, exploring

142

Chapter Nine alternative options for action, and building a collective commitment to change; starting with people’s urgent concerns and issues, it encourages reflections on these issues and possible strategies for change (1984: 264).

Many performances on our modern stage are considered elitist, and they are elitist in the sense that they are pre-packaged, with no contribution whatsoever from the audience. TfD, on the other hand, advances the principles of democracy. It advocates that play production should be a community project and village-specific. The community should come up with idea of the play, discuss the idea, improvise and act out the scenario, and invite the whole community to watch the presentation as active participants, contributing to the advancement of the play’s plot and subject matter. The involvement of theatre experts in this kind of endeavour is not total. The theatre specialists are on the periphery; they merely feature as “catalysts” or “animateurs.” The play is the people’s play – it has no director, no playwright, no designers, no conventional stage, and no “stars.” With TfD practice, Ahura believes that theatre has been reclaimed “from a home of illusion to a home of experiences” (1985: 93). This chapter deals with few selected TfD projects in Botswana and Lesotho.

Theatre and the Idea of Development There has recently been a spiralling interest in the relationship between popular theatre and community development. Arguing for the use of theatre as an appropriate medium for development, Byram states that “such media are low-cost, require no complex skills and draw on the resources and creativity of the people” (1980: 21). What type of development is TfD concerned with? Its major concern is with the role of culture as an agency for the development of people’s minds. Studies have revealed that cultural awakening is arguably a crucial stage in the development of a people. “There is little point in introducing hightechnology to improve the efficiency of developing economies if one does not stimulate the minds of the people to take creative control of their destinies” (Van Erven, 1992: 1). Thus, TfD practitioners understand development to mean: The ability of the members of a community to relate creatively to themselves, their neighbors, their environment, and the world at large, so that each one might express his maximum potential. Such development, then, has a lot to do with the distribution of power and of resources – who gets what, how, and why. It is, basically, a process of empowerment (Pradervand, 1989: xvii).

Reflections on Theatre-for-Development Projects

143

And Asagba sums it up by referring to theatre-for-development as “a process of social transformation and liberation of individuals, communities and society” (1996: 69). TfD is theatre for education. Most often, drama’s role in education is misconstrued, or at best seen as a tool for the development of the emotions only. Unlike other kinds of education, which are strictly homogenous in concept, drama provides the social aspects of education which address issues of “complementarity: the emotional, the aesthetic, the physical, the spiritual, all of those faculties that we have as human beings, being developed in a holistic way” (Dalrymple, 1996: 33). Classical philosophers like Aristotle and Horace, and contemporary educationists like Rousseau and Heathcote, are advocates, to different degrees, of theatre being an effective instrument of education. Theatre’s emphasis on education is not on “basic formal education,” which may be concerned only with the process of reading and writing, but with a more fundamental and utilitarian approach to literacy. Experts in the field of adult education, notably Paulo Freire, label this as “functional literacy.” This deals with the awakening of people’s critical awareness. Thus, the mission of this level of education is to “lead forth” and “cause to develop” the good that is latent in everyone. The goal of this education identifies and ensures desirable adaptability and changes in human behaviour. It is education for “social transformation.” Effective communication is a very important element in development, but this is often overlooked or ignored by development agents. Using the media to promote development in Africa has not been wholly successful. Morrison has pointed out that the hopes of the 1960s and 1970s for the mass media as the sine qua non of national development by western scholars of mass communication and development communication have been dashed, as scholars have come to recognise that television, radio and newspapers communicate primarily with urban people in Africa, resulting in an ever-widening gap between rural and urban people (1991: 29). With the present practice, only a handful of privileged individuals transmit information to the helpless majority, who are passive participants in the generation and dissemination of information. This situation breeds a “topdown” or “banking” concept of information, as against the preferred “bottom-up” co-operative concept of information sharing. If rural people are to benefit from development, a more appropriate communication system must evolve. In terms of an effective communication paradigm, rural people must be removed from the periphery of the communication process and placed in the centre. Mda insists that the existing communication system, which is authoritarian in nature, is non-conducive to and dysfunctional for development. He sees the need for the decentralisation and democratisation

144

Chapter Nine

of the existing order to give the rural population access to messages produced by others and the means to produce and distribute their own messages too (1993: 1). In searching for strategies to enhance democratic exchange of information between development agents and the rural population, TfD has been identified as a medium, the use of which could lead towards the realisation of the communal objectives of both empowerment and development. Some of the contents of what we are going to discuss below have been reconfigured, though they appeared previously in the following sources: “The Impact of Theater/Drama on HIV/AIDS Education in Southern Africa” in Health Knowledge and Belief Systems in Africa (2008), edited by Matt Heaton and Toyin Falola and “The Role of Theatre as a Catalyst for Participatory Development in Lesotho” in Cultural Management and its Boundaries: Past, Present, and Future (2011), edited by Constance DeVereaux.

TfD Projects in Lesotho Andrew Horn introduced TfD in Lesotho, but it was Zakes Mda who popularised the practice with the formation of the Marotholi Travelling Theatre. Horn, a staff member in the Department of English at the National University of Lesotho, advocated the use of theatre for community education and for the development of self-help programmes. In 1982, Horn, in collaboration with a practical theatre class in the Department of English and the Institute of Extra-Mural Studies (IEMS), initiated a TfD project in the university. The goal of this initiative was to “support community development and self-help programmes through the use of theatre. The target areas were the communities in the Roma Valley where the National University of Lesotho is located, and the Lesotho Institute of Corrections (prison)” (Mda, 1993: 65). In his book When People Play People, Mda goes on to say that this project was started without a budget and was first given a funding boost in 1984 by the Ford Foundation. With that support, community plays were produced dealing with reforestation, migrant labour, co-operative societies and rehabilitation of prisoners. The name “Marotholi,” meaning “rain-drops,” was adopted in 1986. In 1988, Marotholi disengaged itself from the university and became an autonomous travelling theatre and a registered non-profit organisation. Before 1986, the performance paradigm of this theatre group was the use of the agitprop method of theatre staging. After research and information gathering on the issue to be dealt with, a play would be written, pre-packaged and taken on tour in the designated communities. In

Reflections on Theatre-for-Development Projects

145

1986, the agitprop method was dropped in favour of the participatory method and theatre for conscientisation. The difference between this method and agitprop is that members of the community themselves are the performers, rather than a group from outside [foreign intervention]. Theatre-for-conscientisation is a higher stage of participatory theatre... in theatre for conscientisation the spectacle is produced by and for the people without spectators, since those who may initially be spectators later become actors. Improvisation happens throughout the life of the production, and the direction of the play taken at each performance is never pre-planned (Mda, 1993: 66).

Members of the Marotholi Travelling Theatre group used to travel to Basotho villages to assist the villagers produce their own plays. The plays produced, like in other places, focused on the common plight of the peasants in a bid to rally them to action. TfD projects in Lesotho produced plays which handled issues such as inaccessibility of roads, political tensions, food security, drunkenness and insufficient medical facilities. In the Foreword to Marotholi: Theatre for Another Development (1988), the late King of Lesotho, Moshoeshoe II, stated that: Theatre-for-development or Integrated Rural Development is used as a method for non-formal adult education in rural and marginalized areas… It fosters community participation and encourages artistic expression and analysis. The content of the artistic material places particular emphasis on the representation of local situations and problems: these are artistically coded in a manner as to make theatre a powerful expressive tool for education (in Ganter and Edkins, 1988: 5).

With financial support from the Embassy of the Federal Republic of Germany in cooperation with the Food Security Programme of German Agro Action (Deutsche Welthungerhilfe), and under the guidance of Zakes Mda, the Marotholi Travelling Theatre performed many plays with the local people which were centred on their daily lives. Elvira Ganter and Don Edkins (rural development workers) documented with photographs the events that took place between the theatre group and the local Basotho people. The first case documented in their book (Marotholi: Theatre for Another Development, 1988) shows how the theatre group handled the issue of mine labour migrancy in Lesotho. With many wives left behind by their husbands in search of mine jobs in South Africa, the women at home become “gold widows” and their children become herdboys. Women are obliged to head the family and fend for the children. Many eke out a living through the brewing of

146

Chapter Nine

sorghum beer (joala), making baskets, and the sale of herbal medicines or subsistence farming. Families that are not able to produce enough food for their households join endless queues for free food handouts from the government. In fact, the natural environment itself is not very conducive for sustaining life – erosion gullies, mountainous terrain, drought, deforestation, over-grazed fields, etc. It is this situation which compelled the Marotholi Theatre to move into villages to motivate the local people to make the most of their available local resources. Instead of delivering sermons from the pulpit, the theatre group used their “projects” to engage the people playfully to talk about their condition. No lines were learnt. The players improvise all the dialogue and the audience comments, argues, approves, and becomes part of the play. They feel “this is about us” – the people, the arguments, the way they talk “exactly like us.” The players offer no solutions. Anybody can give advice and decide how the action should continue. The play permits freedom to talk which does not exist in real life. It provokes opinions which nobody would dare to express in a village meeting (Mda, 1993: 41).

We may visualise this production in the village of Tebang. The village meeting place serves as the performance area (stage) and the traditional huts (rondavels) as background scenery. Accordion and drums provide the music. Helmets, beer cans, and melamu (traditional Basotho fighting sticks) are used as props and costumes. With the opening excitement of accordion music and dance, villagers gather. As backstory, the Germans have financed the village women to engage in communal farming. The men are angry that the women are engaged on the farms all day without caring for the families. Some of the men and lazy women insinuate that the Germans are merely using the local women for their selfish ends. For most of the women, communal farming has helped them procure fresh vegetables for their families. Sales from the vegetables have produced money kept in a communal savings account. A drunk, lazy and wicked husband (Size), whose wife is a member of the farmers’ group, steals vegetables from the farm and even drives his horse to graze in the garden. The wife rebukes him for his mischievous acts and he engages her in an unjust fight. Size is summoned before the village council and he denies all the allegations against him. He is found guilty and some people feel he should pay for the stolen and damaged vegetables. An elderly man stands up and says, “No, that won’t help, he will do it again.” It is resolved that Size should be convinced to believe that the farm is for the good of everyone in the village and that it does not belong to the Germans. Finally, Size is convinced and he agrees to work in the garden.

Reflections on Theatre-for-Development Projects

147

In another episode, a migrant worker’s remittances home have been wasted by his wife by mindless drinking in the local shebeens. Because of strike action in the mines, the husband has lost his job and heads home to plan an alternative means of livelihood. He believes that his savings can be used to buy a shop. When he discovers that his wife has wasted his resources, he asks the villagers what he should do. “A woman from the audience advises him to join the garden group until he can find another job” (80). With Marotholi Theatre’s principles, it is the people who have the last say. The theatre group motivates, the people find solutions to their problems. With the belief that the miner’s involvement in trade unionism must have cost him his job, the group agreed to create another play that deals with this situation. This involves creating a play in eight scenes. A prominent element in these are lifela (plural, Sesotho language), which are traditional songs and also refer to oral poetry composed by the Basotho migrant mine workers or local itinerant poets (Lifela tsa litsamaea-naha). SCENE 1: Motale and Lebona have just emerged from the mine shaft. They are competing in the singing of lifela. In their lifela they express their greatness, the beauty of their village, the drought that pervades their homeland, the cattle that are dying, the lack of employment opportunities in their country, and the longing they have for their wives and families. As they sing lifela women in the audience ululate, and from time to time a man jumps up from among the audience and crosses the stage performing the tlala dance. It is obvious that the men in the audience are moved by this scene, for the catalysts learnt their lifela from reputed likheleke, and spent weeks practicing them. A man from the audience comes forward and sings his own safela. Although it has very little to do with the mines, but deals with his travels from village to village throughout the districts of Lesotho, the audience is quite pleased with it. His safela is very long. In the form of another safela the catalysts request him to cut his short since “a cow does not defecate all the dung at once.” They want to proceed to the second scene (221).

In scene two, Motale and Lebona, both miners, are in the mine dormitory. Motale has just received a letter from the wife informing him of his daughter’s success in school and he is worried about her future because inflation has eaten up his savings. A trade union shop steward enters and informs them of the impending strike, which is strategised to draw attention to safety precautions, bring about increases in wages and put an end to discrimination between black and white workers in the mines. While Lebona abhors strikes, Motale decides to join others in the demonstration. The audience deliberates on who amongst the two is right.

148

Chapter Nine The migrant reluctantly goes to the stage. He is egged on by the other members of the audience. The actors are now four on stage. They discuss how the scene should proceed to reflect the migrant’s concern. There are various suggestions among themselves and from the audience. It is suggested that the next scene should show a trade union rally, and the trade union leaders must tell the workers that a strike has been declared. The migrant must be the union leader since he knows what happens there (223).

Scene three deals with the rally and the discussion of the pros and cons of embarking on a strike. Most strikes in the mine lead to the dismissal of some workers and subsequent suffering in the households of the dismissed miners. The women (miners’ wives) are not happy that the Basotho miners get involved in South African people’s strike: “’MAMOTALE: It is our children who starve when you have been expelled from work” (1993: 226). There is a long debate, as many view strikes as politics (ignorant of the fact that an effective union cannot avoid politics). The play progresses smoothly to the end, where people are conscientised that, though full of bitter experiences, it is better to fight for one’s rights than swallow humiliation. Of the five TfD plays recorded by Mda in When People Play People (1993), the most popular is Kopano Ke Matla (“Unity is Strength”), with the main theme focused on sales tax, co-operative societies and migrant labour. The high cost of living has been blamed on the introduction of sales tax. Woman 3 asks: “How do you think we are going to survive?” (1993: 191). The solution to the sales tax problem lies in the establishment of a co-operative society. Some object because of the inherent corruption and politics associated with co-operative societies. The arguments for and against are deciphered from the dialogue between Woman 3 and Woman 4: WOMAN 3: Co-operatives? No! They are bad. Those who are at the head eat our money. They cheat the people out of the fields. Also there is a lot of politics there. When you belong to the ruling party you are the king. Another thing is the church. Always you will find that the Catholics are right in front, and the Protestants far behind. WOMAN 4: No, ‘Masek’hona, you do not understand. The woman I saw from Lintjeng village said there are no political affairs nor church wranglings in the cooperatives. What is there is the unity of the village. That woman is a

Reflections on Theatre-for-Development Projects

149

widow whose husband died many years ago. I am advising you, let us establish a co-operative society (191).

The scene changes to a shebeen where a reckless miner is wasting his resources on alcoholic beverages. The debate on the establishment of the co-operative takes a different dimension in the shebeen as well. A poultry and vegetable co-operative farm has been set up, but this suffers a setback because of inexperience, theft and mismanagement by members. However, with proper education and management, the project begins to yield dividends, to the amazement of the lazy ones in the community. Kopano helped communities such as Ha Moitsupeli, Ha Ratau, Ha Mohalenyana and Ha Libopuoa analyse their problems and proffer solutions. It was such a successful production that King Moshoeshoe II and Her Majesty Queen Mamohato requested to see it in the Royal Village of Matsieng in 1984. Some have argued that Kopano was not a true to type TfD experiment. The play was a pre-packaged performance by members of the Marotholi Theatre with no input from the villagers. The Institute of Extra Mural Studies (IEMS) launched a programme on co-operative training and needed something to vitalise it, and hence, the play. Information gathering for the play utilised the “official eye” methodology with IEMS staff as the sole collectors. Instead of carrying the villagers along, as is the practice with TfD experiments, this play was a forum to impart information on the usefulness of co-operatives in the local communities. Some of the facilitators of this project, notably Andrew Horn, resisted criticisms that the project was not participatory and that the facilitators were outsiders (intruders) who merely went to the village to do the “good work of teaching” the impoverished villagers. Horn dispersed these concerns with a quip: I don’t think for a doctor to cure gonorrhoea [STD] he must have gonorrhoea. I don’t think it is solely for the poor to cure poverty. This is not a group [of actors] that has been imported into the community from a foreign land. Some of these university actors have their roots in the rural areas. They are familiar with the problems, and the culture. We don’t have to live in the community to help the community (1993: 105).

Other theatre groups in Lesotho have dealt with theatre-for-development issues, notably the Mafube Theatre associated with Masitha Hoeane, the NALA Theatre and the National University of Lesotho (NUL) Theatre Group. In 1998, the NUL Theatre Group engaged with voter education using TfD.

150

Chapter Nine

TfD Initiative in Botswana Researchers and practitioners have published extensively on the popular theatre project in Botswana, Laedza Batanani. An invaluable paper by the Popular Theatre Committee, titled “Organising popular theatre: the Laedza Batanani experience” (1974), describes the Leadza initiative in Botswana. Kidd and Byram (1981) have given us first-hand information on this project. Other researchers and theatre-for-development practitioners like Kerr (1995), Mda (1993), and Etherton (1982) have researched and synthesised ideas about Laedza. The Botswana project was born through a desire by adult educators - Ross Kidd, Martin Byram and Frank Youngman - “to find an appropriate medium for communication with peasant communities” (Kerr, 1995: 151). The team functioned through participatory research, information gathering, interviews, problem analysis, performance organisation, discussions, evaluation and follow-up action. The peasants were placed right at the centre of the projects, with their own voices heard. The Botswana Laedza Batanani experience was unique in its manifestation, and its campaign approximates the Freirean pedagogical method – itself a novel approach to rural education. Batanani utilised theatre to teach and empower villagers about health issues, nutrition, cookery and gardening. The project’s focus was on participation, self-reliance, and the promotion of collective action, anchored on the Freirean objective of motivating peasants to improve their lives through improving general life in the community (Etherton, 1982: 344). The popular theatre project started in 1974 in the northern Bokalaka area of Botswana. According to Mda (1993: 13), its basic aim and objective was to find an alternative way of motivating people to participate in development, and hence overcome the problem of indifference to government development efforts. This project involved a traveling theatre touring selected villages around the area. The practice was for community leaders to work with extension workers in the selection of pertinent community problems which could be handled by the villagers. After the necessary workshops, skits were improvised that reflected the problems in the village. Polished performances, which incorporated the traditional and familiar customs of the people – dances, songs, poetry, puppetry, etc. – were later shown to the public in the village squares (kgotla). Each of the performances ended with a post-performance discussion, considered a vital element in theatre-for-development practice. The Batanani campaign in Botswana enjoyed governmental patronage when it was appreciated that its emphasis on community development fitted in with the official slogan of Boipolego (self-reliance) (Kerr, 1995:

Reflections on Theatre-for-Development Projects

151

153). Unfortunately, for many years now, the operatives of this theatre have been curtailed. The exit from the University of Botswana of adult educators who were involved in the project forced its closure. However, since the exit of Batanani, several community theatres have sprung up in Botswana. There is the Mama Theatre in Ramotswa, the Ghetto Artistes in Francistown, Seetebosigo Theatre in Gantsi, Ipopeng Drama Group in Mochudi, and Tlhaga Dikgora Theatre in Serowe/Palapye. A central body acts as an umbrella to these theatre groups: the Reetsanang Group of Community Theatres. All these community theatres, including the recently constituted Dzalobana Bosele Arts Festival, are committed in various ways to the education of the Batswana about HIV/AIDS.

TfD and HIV/AIDS Education in Lesotho and Botswana In the early days of reports about the outbreak of the HIV/AIDS epidemic, many African communities dismissed them with a wave of the hand. A major problem was, as it still is in some communities, widespread ignorance of the disease. Many clung to the vain belief that AIDS does not exist, or that it is an ordinary sexually transmitted disease. In parts of Africa, AIDS deaths have been attributed to witchcraft. Some communities in Akwa Ibom State in Nigeria, particularly Annang, believe that AIDS is not a new disease but that it has always been there; its local name is achiad okpo (bone dryer). Chief Okon Udo Udo, a popular traditional musician in Akwa Ibom State, acting in ignorance, presents in a comic song, Ekop Mbuk Afa Udongo (The Story of the New Disease), the impression that those who contract AIDS are white people who, in the fashion of bestiality, copulate with monkeys. He also fallaciously sings that humans are capable of contracting the disease through kissing. In the initial stage of the epidemic in particular, many African churches regarded the disease as an “act of God” and punishment for promiscuous sinners. They dismissed condom use as not being a solution for the fight against the disease. Based on the acronym, AIDS, youngsters in Africa jokingly label the disease with the fun name of “America’s Idea of Discouraging Sex.” Slowly and stealthily growing at the initial stage, HIV/AIDS has now ravaged many communities throughout the world. Statistics on HIV/AIDS infection and deaths that were low in the 1980s and early 1990s have reached astronomical heights, with dire consequences for many communities. Around the time of the TfD interventions discussed here, Asian countries such as Cambodia, Myanmar in Burma, and Thailand were said to have had the highest national prevalence (UNAIDS and WHO, 2000). China and India were also affected regions. Though Western Europe, North

152

Chapter Nine

America and Australia managed to contain the epidemic, it had severely affected parts of their communities. The number of people including children living with HIV in 2004 stood at 25.4 million, as against 24.4 million in 2002; the number of women living with HIV was 13.3 million as against 12.8 million in 2002; adults and children newly infected with HIV, 3.1 million against 2.9 in 2002, and adult and child deaths due to AIDS, 2.3 million against 2.1 million in 2002 (AIDS Epidemic Update, 2004: 19). Sub-Saharan Africa, particularly Southern Africa, has been the hardest hit region (Jackson, 2002: 8). The impact of this disease on nations’ workforces, economies, orphaned children, social and political lives is devastating. “There are countries outside Africa, especially in Asia and Eastern Europe, where [the disease] is spreading at an alarming rate. But nowhere else has AIDS yet become a threat to economic, social and political stability on the scale it now is in Southern and Eastern Africa ... AIDS killed about ten times more people in Africa than did armed conflict” (Annan, 2000: 7). Around the start of the new millennium, the epidemic got to a stage where the World Health Organization (WHO) and the United Nations (UN) literally compelled nations to act fast against its further spread. Since there lurk several myths and misconceptions about HIV/AIDS, several governments have embarked on mass education of the populace about the disease and its destructive effect on the individual and society at large. The mass media, talks, posters, handbills, conferences, seminars, workshops and other propaganda tools have been employed to disseminate information about AIDS. Though governments and Non-Governmental Organizations (NGOs) have used multi-pronged strategies in the antiAIDS crusade, other more effective strategies to stem the epidemic are still being sought. While orthodox methods have been employed in these campaigns, educators and information experts have also seen the need to exploit other unconventional methods, notably the theatre, in the fight against the spread of the disease. This section of the chapter is a presentation of good practice through theatre in the education of Southern African youth about HIV/AIDS. We will see how TfD has been effectively utilised in the general education of the youth about AIDS, and secondly, how theatre has become a propaganda organ in persuading people to cast aside stigma and discrimination against people living with the virus. I will recount my theatrical presentations and experiences in initiatives involving high school students in both Lesotho and Botswana.

Reflections on Theatre-for-Development Projects

153

AIDS Education in Lesotho Many theatre groups, like the Meso Theatre, the Maseru Players, NALA Theatre Group, Dukuza Ka Macu Theatre Group, Limakatso Theatre, and the NUL (National University of Lesotho) Theatre Group, have created impact on Lesotho society by using drama to educate disadvantaged people in the nation. By the end of 2000, an estimated 58 million people had acquired HIV worldwide since the epidemic began. Of this figure, nearly 22 million people had already died. Even with no new infections, death rates would continue to rise as most of the remaining 36 million progressed to AIDS (Jackson, 9). In 1999, estimated adult HIV prevalence in Lesotho was recorded at an infection rate of 24% after it had been established that 240,000 adults were living with the virus; 8,200 children were said to be living with the disease, while AIDS deaths stood at 16,000 in a country of about two million people (UNAIDS, 2000). It was also found that the infant mortality rate of AIDS in Lesotho was 80% in 1998. Recognising drama as one of the effective tools of information dissemination, the Vice-Chancellor of the National University of Lesotho (Professor R.I.M. Moletsane), during the World AIDS Day celebration in 1998, asked the NUL Theatre Group to produce a play that would carry an effective and deterring message about AIDS, especially to the youth on campus. As leader of the theatre group, I produced a short play titled “Flesh to Flesh; Dust to Dust.” Those who were present at the occasion applauded the play as an effective means of teaching people about the disease. Dr. G.K. Ateka, a UN doctor who was the World Health Organisation’s (WHO) representative in Lesotho, saw the play as a good tool to take to the Basotho Mountains for the education of youths in high school about AIDS. Subsequently, the WHO representative, Dr. J.A. Kalilani, and Dr. Ateka commissioned a special production of the play for the donor community at Lesotho Sun Hotel on 29 January 1999. “Flesh to Flesh” was also staged during the celebration of the 1999 World Health Day at Maseru Sun Cabanas, and ministers, members of parliament, and other eminent personalities commended the play. Many people and organisations pledged to support it as a worthy project in the fight against AIDS because, as many observed, using youths (university drama students) to address fellow youths in schools made for playful but effective peer group communication. Also, using drama as a mode of dissemination tones down the grim and scary message about AIDS, and the drama medium itself is as therapeutic as it is cognitive. Thanks to the goodwill and positive gestures of Mr. Omotosho, the UNDP Regional

154

Chapter Nine

Director, Dr. Kalilani of the World Health Organisation, and Dr. Ateka of the United Nations, the US Embassy and the Lesotho Highlands Development Authority (LHDA) that financed the project to be taken to schools in almost all the districts in the country.

Scenario of the Play: “Flesh to Flesh, Dust to Dust” “Flesh to Flesh; Dust to Dust” is structured to cover the main aspects of the problem: firstly, it emphasises that AIDS is a reality. Secondly, it defines what AIDS is and what causes it. Thirdly, it deals with the way in which the disease is transmitted; and finally, how to avoid being infected with it. The story of the play revolves around a young beautiful girl who, together with her girlfriends, earns money through prostitution. Her mother condones this behaviour because the daughter manipulates her with gifts. Her father discovers the practice and severely reprimands the daughter, warning her against AIDS. The girl does not listen and before long contracts HIV. Instrumental in communicating the message are the Health Worker, the Brothel Lady (a Madam), and a personification of AIDS itself (a masked and grotesquely costumed character in red). The health worker, who drinks at the local bar where the girls make money, delivers an educational speech on AIDS to the bar patrons, who initially display all sorts of misconstrued ideas about sex and AIDS. His message is driven home and supported by Brothel Lady, who encourages the use of condoms. To prove that AIDS is a reality, she fetches one of her girls who has been reduced to a walking skeleton by the disease. The girl, thin, coughing, with rashes all over her body, is accompanied by “AIDS,” which emerges from a coffin placed upright on stage to boast of its distressing deeds to mankind: I am the Be-All and the End-All I am the Alpha and the Omega I am the dry biltong that fills the mouth I am fire that burns without ashes (Laughing) Ke kholumolumo e jang sechaba Ka fela Ke ma nursi, ke lingaka Ke Mapolesa, ke burati, ha ken a mohau. Sheba mabitleng o bone mesebetsi eaka e khahlehang. Ke phakoe, le sello sa tsuonyana hase nkhaule Ke ea rinya, ke koenya le bana ba song ho tsoaloe.

Reflections on Theatre-for-Development Projects

155

(Laughing) I am the Be-All and the End-All The power of the devil cannot conquer me Your guardian Angels cannot break my arms Church prayers cannot weaken my bones The pastors have tried and failed The herbalists have tried and failed The medical doctors have tried without success You cannot conquer me! I dwell on the corridors of kings, queens, generals, lawyers, priests Beggars, peasants, lecturers, students Adults and children alike I treat my guests with the fullest respect I seize their appetite I give them cough I make them sweat and shit like birds I prescribe for them slimming tablets they won’t forget I decorate their faces for the final grand slam And, then, c-r-u-s-h them! (Ebewo et al, 1998: 15-16).

At the end, the AIDS-infected girl not only dies, but one of her lovers confesses that he “used to…with her”; another girl from the group slumps, crying out aloud that she also “used to” with the infected man. What a chain reaction of human waste! Thus, the play reflects the ways in which the elements of drama are adopted in developmental theatre for the purposes of educating, informing, creating awareness, and conscientising people. This project toured major high schools in Lesotho.

TfD Against Stigma and Discrimination in Botswana The prevalence of HIV/AIDS in Southern Africa has risen higher even than feared, with Botswana topping the list – 38.8% (UNAIDS Update, 2002). By 2001 it was noted, “A procession of sobering statistics illustrates the graveness of the situation: fully one third of the adult population is infected with HIV. Three people die of HIV/AIDS every hour, every day. Every hour of every day, five more people are newly infected” (African Comprehensive HIV/AIDS Partnerships, Annual Report, 2001: 4). Former President Festus Mogae of Botswana lamented: “HIV/AIDS has reversed notable achievements made in the nation’s quality of life” (Second Generation HIV/AIDS Surveillance, 2003). The negative impacts of this disease in the world generally, and in Botswana in particular, mark the upsurge of an enormous human development crisis.

156

Chapter Nine

After a decade of persistent effort with little impact on the spread of the disease, the world is now re-directing its anti-AIDS campaign. This requires an understanding of the magnitude of the epidemic and some of the hidden factors behind its spread. The World AIDS Campaign for 2002/2003 focused on stigma, discrimination and human rights, because these were believed to be the greatest barriers to preventing further infections. It is known that the prevalence of stigma and discrimination promotes silence and pushes the HIV epidemic underground, as those affected are ashamed and reluctant to express their views. Stigma undermines prevention because people are afraid to find out their status. There are three phases to the AIDS epidemic: the epidemic of HIV infection, the epidemic of AIDS, and the third epidemic of stigma, discrimination, blame and collective denial (J. Mann, 1987, quoted in UNAIDS, 2002-2003: 7). There are welldocumented cases of people living with HIV/AIDS being stigmatised, discriminated against, and denied access to public or private services, or even killed (Panos Report: http:/www.panos.org.uk/aids/stigma_countries _study.htm). In the past, campaigns against AIDS left out the issue of stigma and discrimination. But by 2002 it had been confirmed that stigma and discrimination associated with HIV/AIDS were the greatest barriers to preventing further infection (UNAIDS World AIDS Campaign, 2002/2003). The stigmatisation of AIDS sufferers causes psychological problems for the patients, for example depression and loss of hope, and encourages silence and denial. It undermines prevention, as those infected quietly continue to practice unsafe sex out of fear that behaving differently would raise suspicion about their status. The need to address and redress the stigma and discrimination problem gave rise to the Declaration of Commitment, adopted by the UN General Assembly Special Session on HIV/AIDS in June, 2001, which highlighted the global consensus on the importance of tackling the stigma and discrimination triggered by HIV/AIDS. As a follow-up, the World AIDS Campaign for 2002/2003 focused specifically on stigma, discrimination and human rights. In response to the global call to wage war against stigma, the University of Botswana sponsored a project, using drama as its mode of delivery, to persuade and educate high school students in Botswana to change their social attitudes by reducing and ultimately eliminating all forms of stigma and discrimination against people living with HIV/AIDS. The major justification behind the project’s objective was that though there seems to be a considerable level of compassion for those living with HIV and AIDS, young people are less compassionate than adults. Studies

Reflections on Theatre-for-Development Projects

157

in the “Sexual Behaviour of Young People in Botswana” (Ministry of Health, 2001) showed that half of young children and one-fifth of older youth believed that if someone is known to have the AIDS virus, he/she should be isolated, even when signs of illness are not obvious. One-third of young people aged 15-24 and three-quarters of those aged 10-14 years felt that a teacher who is living with HIV/AIDS should not be allowed to continue teaching. 10-12-year-old male pupils in a Gaborone school ostracised one pupil who had AIDS because of fear of contracting the disease. Kerr and Setumo (2001: 31) reported that in one of the drama presentations on AIDS, students at Molefi Secondary School shouted “Kill him” when the nurse asked what should be done with Walter, the character who contracts AIDS. Negative attitudes towards AIDS sufferers help explain why very few people in Botswana have gone public with their HIV status. The Government of Botswana has done much to dissuade people from ostracising those who have AIDS. The president of the country urged citizens to revive the culture of humanness, botho. He further stated that those who are living with HIV and AIDS require compassion and care from the rest of society, and not rejection (Botswana Human Development Report, 2000). With that background, the University of Botswana made funds available for the production of a drama addressing this issue. This play, which has stigma and discrimination as themes, was written and directed by myself. Rehearsals were held for two months, using students who were members of the University of Botswana Travelling Theatre. The scenario of the play, “The Egret and the Hawk,” is as follows: a rich landlord (Molefe) who owns a number of houses is determined to eject one of his tenants (Seloma) because he has learned that the tenant is HIV-positive, although Seloma has occupied his flat for eight years. Seloma has done the right thing by publicly disclosing his status, but this infuriates the landlord, who feels that Seloma “must be crazy.” “Someone is HIV-positive and he has the mouth to say it in public?” Motau, a tenant-friend of the landlord, pleads a case for Seloma, but his pleas fall on deaf ears because Molefe, encouraged by his business associate, Gaborone, feels that Seloma is not fit to live where other human beings live. He is cursed and condemned to hell. With pressure from his tenant-friend, his daughter, who is a high school student, and his wife, who is a nurse, Molefe begins to change his attitude. Misconceptions about HIV sufferers are dispelled when it is discovered that his tenant-friend, a person he associates with very closely, is also HIV-positive, and that his wife who cooks for him also works in the AIDS clinic at the hospital where she is employed. Mapo, a male nurse and colleague of Molefe’s wife, gives Molefe a good talking to on facts relating to HIV/AIDS,

158

Chapter Nine

stigma, discrimination, and human rights abuse. By the time the play comes to an end, Molefe is a changed man who believes that both hawk and the egret should perch, and whichever says the other must not perch, its wings must break. In summary, the play delivers a message - “Live and Let Live.” The production was shown to students in 10 selected pilot high schools in Gaborone. Each performance was followed by a post-performance discussion, a device to make the production participatory and to empower the audience to contribute on the issues raised in the production. Drama is a youth-friendly methodology, and using youth to communicate with fellow youth makes for effective central rather than peripheral communication. The drama was an interventionist instrument to assist individuals to empathise with those affected and help to reduce unjust and discriminatory actions against AIDS sufferers, and so mitigate the epidemic’s social effect and promote the rights and welfare of HIV-infected people. All in all, the production was a huge success. The students in all the schools we visited were delighted to see the production. The teachers were happy with the production as it addressed issues that they too tackled in their guidance and counselling sessions.

Conclusion: Impact “Artists have roles as agents of transformation that are more socially valuable than mainstream art-world roles – and certainly equal in legitimacy” (Don and Goldbard, 2001: 15). Amongst the plethora of reasons why theatre should be used in educating the people, Patrick Mangani states: The physical presence of the audience makes it possible to direct its attention to certain problems and then reinforce the information through discussion after the performance. Theatre is one of [the] media where talking back in form of questions, comments and discussions are actually possible. Given that traditionally African culture is orate and that the majority of mothers are illiterate, the use of theatre with its application of movement, song and action allows the audience to identify with the message presented with relative ease. In popular traditional African theatre the actors and the audience are actively involved in the action with rich possibilities of absorbing its message. The audience and the participants will see themselves recreated and reflected in the action. Theatre provides room for self-examination, and an effective channel to reach the majority of people (1996: 78).

Reflections on Theatre-for-Development Projects

159

Though it may be difficult to quantify the impact of the arts in terms of concrete social gains, because arts assessments lack evidential weight when judged by conventional standards (Newman, 2003: 313), there is no denying that arts have contributed greatly to the development of mankind. In their study "Do Community-based Arts Projects Result in Social Gains?", Newman and colleagues found that arts projects have indeed become an important part of community development strategies (2003: 310). In Africa, arts interventions, particularly TfD, have had a measure of impact on countries such as Burkina Faso, Lesotho, Cameroon, and Nigeria. The utilisation of arts projects such as drama in the education of people in Africa about the dangers of HIV/AIDS attests to the importance attached to drama. No specific study has been carried out to assess the impact the two projects in Lesotho and Botswana had on their communities, but the positive public reactions during their presentations is ample evidence that their impact on the targeted audiences was considerable. If nothing else, it provided opportunities for high school students to interrogate both characters and situations within the drama by intervening to determine the sequence of the drama. The audiences were involved in the contradictions and paradoxes raised by the drama, and through improvisational role-playing, participants were able to put themselves in the position of the characters in the plays. In Lesotho, the drama productions in schools accorded the students opportunities to discuss things otherwise thought to be beyond their reach. Kerr and Setumo (2001: 30) reported something similar in Botswana when female students talked at length about sex after an AIDS play performance. The general impression was that the play had succeeded in making an impact, particularly through the lifting of taboos in the discussion of sexual matters. It became obvious that before our presentations in Lesotho schools, many students had never seen nor even heard of condoms. Some of those who knew about condoms were apprehensive of their use. Some thought the small size of the condom was not appropriate in a sexual situation. Through our drama presentations, some of these ignorant beliefs and myths were dispelled through practical demonstrations with the condom to determine its elasticity and durability. During our AIDS drama project in Lesotho, three people came to me in private to discuss the fears they had about AIDS. One of them was actually infected with the disease, but was too ashamed to go to the hospital. After a promise of privacy, he agreed to talk with the UN doctor who was attached to the project. In Botswana, one example of community theatre for HIV/AIDS was the “Secure the Future Program,” which was handled by the Reetsanang

160

Chapter Nine

Association of Community Theatres. The project used theatre as a tool for community mobilisation and education on developmental issues. An evaluation of the programme was done three months after the close of the project, and it found that community members were still able to vividly recall key AIDS education images from Reetsanang performance workshops. The strong memories remained because behind every performance was a careful two-phase process of preparing and involving the entire community. The evaluators of the programme concluded that “Reetsanang’s HIV/AIDS education programme showed theatre to be a powerful tool for community education, one which captured the minds of communities and sensitised them to the spread of HIV/AIDS and the need for prevention and imparted skills for care and support” (Gasenelwe and Rantona, 2001: 16). In recounting the impact of the Mochudi Ipopeng Drama Group, Kerr and Setumo (2001: 30) state that “Perhaps the biggest success lay with the Ipopeng Drama Group itself. Through their involvement with making the play, they were forced to learn about AIDS, and most of them became very committed proselytisers of safe sex practices. This gave the AIDS/STD staff the idea of spreading the message of safe sex through the use of mini-drama and role-play groups in schools.” A year later, theatre multiplier effects were created in several schools in Gaborone, Lobatse, Ramotswa, and Molepolole. For those who view theatre and drama as merely “playthings,” our discussion has hopefully served as a pragmatic awakening. Beyond entertainment, theatre has been presented as a pivotal platform in human and societal development. Theatre-for-development is a didactic tool in the education and conscientisation of the rural poor about the world they live in. TfD’s emphasis on community participation gives people a voice to deliberate on things that can change their lives for the better. The practice of TfD challenges development agents to consider beneficiaries’ input in all projects meant for the upliftment of the community. Most of the plays presented through this methodology dramatise beneficiaries’ appreciation of those local projects that the beneficiaries have an input into, and this appreciation improves the sustainability and respectability of such projects. The organisation of TfD activities in local communities is an avenue to integrate, empower and educate the local people - men and women, adults and children - on how to improve their general livelihood. Theatre-for-development’s emphasis on community participation also aligns with the Peasants’ Charter of the United Nations Food and Agriculture Organisation (FAO): Participation by the people in the institutions and systems which govern their lives is a basic human right and also essential for realignment of

Reflections on Theatre-for-Development Projects

161

political power in favour of disadvantaged groups and for social and economic development. Rural development strategies can realise their full potential only through the motivation, active involvement and organisation at the grassroots level of rural people, with special emphasis on the least advantaged, in conceptualising and designing policies and programmes and in creating administrative, social and economic institutions, including cooperative and other voluntary forms of organisation for implementing and evaluating them (1981).

After Zakes Mda’s departure from Lesotho in 1992, theatre-fordevelopment practice in the country lost its glamour. Sporadic attempts have been made to revive the practice by practitioners such as Masitha Hoeane, Limakatso Kendall, Chris Dunton, S. Samson-Akpan, M. Moorosi and myself. Recently, a new initiative has emerged in which the National University of Lesotho is collaborating with the international community in a bid to revamp the TfD practice in the Mountain Kingdom of Lesotho. This initiative, known as “The Winter/Summer Institute in Theatre-for-Development” (WSI), was founded in 2006. I am grateful to Professor Chris Dunton for the following information on WSI as a collaborative venture between the National University of Lesotho, the State University of New York (SUNY), Sunderland University, United Kingdom, and the University of Witwatersrand in South Africa. The first experiment in this project took place in June/July 2006, when facilitators and participants from the four collaborating universities came together to workshop a play on “discursive practices that exacerbate the HIV/AIDS pandemic (e.g., silence, taboo language and gossip).” The workshopped play was shown to audiences in Roma Valley and Maseru town. When the performance moved to Malealea, villagers were actively involved in the workshop. In 2007, the National University of Lesotho staff and students and those of Sunderland University worked with orphans in Maseru and Roma on TfD activities designed to bolster self-esteem in the orphans. An important principle of the institute is sustainability, and at the time of writing, the workshops are intended to take place at least every two years.

CHAPTER TEN MANDELA’S FUNERAL AS COMMUNITY PERFORMANCE

Introduction: What is Performance? As a socio-cultural construct, performance is as old as the human race. Huxley and Witts (2002: 6) claim that “performance is, and always has been, a contested and often controversial issue” because it deals with a “constellation of practices.” Performance theorist Richard Schechner writes, “In business, sports, and sex, ‘to perform’ is to do something up to a standard ... In everyday life, ‘to perform’ is to show off, to go to extremes, to underline an action for those who are watching” (2006: 28). In its amorphous state, performance manifests itself in “happenings” which occur before an audience (Huxlet and Witts 2002: 3). In the 1960s and early 1970s, an unprepared/improvised entertainment or an event was regarded as “happening.” As Peter Brook observes in The Empty Space (1968), “I can take an empty space and call it a bare stage. A man walks across this empty space whilst someone else is watching him, and this is all that is needed for an act of theatre [performance] to be engaged” (p. 105). Performance has extended its frontier beyond the stage or performance area into constructs of identity (Huxley and Witts, p. 4). Schechner likens performance to the sidewinder snake that “moves across the desert floor by contracting and extending in a sideways motion” (1998: 28). In essence, a performance is capable of moving beyond its simplistic form as an agent of entertainment to embrace diverse issues and references, such as religion, politics, sex and gender. Harding (2002: 2) affirms that boundary-crossing may be inevitable during a performance. She cites the example of an acrobat, who, during a performance, stretches the body beyond its ordinary limits, achieving extraordinary feats, challenging gravity. She also cites the clown and the comedian, who make death a laughing matter in order to relieve sorrow. During a performance, “to show off” entails a behaviour that may be close to bragging, evoking, as Harding (2002: 2) puts it, “notions of exaggerating, condensing, highlighting,

Mandela’s Funeral as Community Performance

163

and revealing” aspects which accentuate a people’s way of life. In a similar vein, the funeral rites of South Africans, particularly those carried out by the Xhosa people for the funeral of Nelson Mandela, can be construed as performances or objects of entertainment. Performances tell artistic stories about life. Thus, a performance may also be defined as “all the activities of a given participant on a given occasion which serves to influence in any way any of the other participants. Taking a particular participant and his performance as a basic point of reference, we may refer to those who contribute to the performance as the audience, observers, or co-participants” (Goffman, 1959: 15-16). Community performances are an important part of the symbolic and real actions that define nationhood and cultural affiliation: from American Independence Day July 4 parades to the National Sorry Day in Australia ... from remembrances of the Treaty of Waitangi in New Zealand to the carnivalesque parties at the Queen’s Birthday in the Netherlands (Kuppers, 2007: 33).

In the context of this paper, performance will be considered as a “happening” and an occasion to “show off.” We will view performances during Mandela’s funeral as cultural phenomena where the “happenings” reflect South African people’s ethos and mores; as we will see, the celebrations that accompanied Mandela’s funeral extended their ambit to embrace constructs of identity, nationhood and cultural affiliation. A short precis of Mandela’s life as a black South African freedom fighter may help to put our discourse into perspective. We need to understand why Mandela’s funeral became a world event. Historically, colonialism in Africa is considered to have emerged from the conference convened in 1884 by German Chancellor Otto von Bismarck to discuss the partitioning and civilising mission to the continent. Russel Warren Howe notes that “no person native to Africa was invited to the Berlin Conference, nor were Africans invited to comment on the outcome” [of the deliberations] (cited in Hulse, 2007: 37). “Bismarck’s grand design turned out to be largely in the interest of Europe without regard to how it impoverished the peoples of Africa” (Nwankwo, 2009: 27-44). This “civilising mission” had encouraged the Dutch commercial merchants to camp at the Cape of Good Hope in 1652, and in 1948, the same arrogance lay behind the newly elected nationalist government of D.F. Malan when it instituted the apartheid system which Mandela described as a moral genocide: an attempt to exterminate an entire people’s self-respect. The United Nations called that “a crime against humanity,” but the former

164

Chapter Ten masters of the Union Buildings believed that they were doing God’s work on earth, and humanity be damned. With admirable logic, apartheid’s Calvinist orthodoxy preached that black and white souls inhabit separate heavens, rendering it morally imperative for the chosen few to respond to those who rose in opposition to God’s will with all the might that God in his bounty had awarded them. The ordinary black foot soldiers who rebelled were terrorised into submission, beaten by the police, sometimes tortured, in some cases assassinated, very often jailed without charge (quoted in Carlin, 2013: 3).

The architects of apartheid tried to impress upon the world that the blacks who fought for their freedom in their own land were “terrorists” (Perry, 2013: 36). In addition to the many socially and politically motivated and dehumanising laws which were used to humiliate the blacks, such as the Group Areas Act, Immorality Act and Separate Amenities Act, black South Africans experienced numerous other ordeals during the close to 50 years of explicit apartheid rule: ... the chiefs of South Africa’s dominant white rule, the Afrikaners, administered a system that denied 85 percent of the population –those people born with dark skin –any say in the affairs of their country: They could not vote; they were sent to inferior schools so they could not compete with whites in the workplace; they were told where they could and could not live and what hospitals, buses, trains, parks, beaches, public toilets, public telephones they could and could not use (Carlin, 2013: 3).

This was the system that Mandela and the other black freedom fighters opposed. He was sentenced to life imprisonment after being charged with treason for denouncing and acting against apartheid. After 27 years of incarceration, the world’s outrage at the injustices of apartheid, the guerrilla war against its rule and the internal protest movements had grown so overwhelming that Mandela was unconditionally released from prison in 1990. Black South Africans and indeed the whole world regarded Mandela as a hero and icon of freedom, and he was elected the first black democratic president in 1994.

Traditional Funeral Practices of the Xhosa Funerals are one of the oldest customs of humanity (Solomon, n.d.: 5). They signal loss and mourning, especially if the deceased is a young person. When an older person dies, the funeral may be regarded as an occasion to celebrate his or her final journey and rest after toiling and accomplishing his or her mission in life. It typically calls for merriment

Mandela’s Funeral as Community Performance

165

and hence, in this instance, involves performance. Generally, in the African cosmology, death is not seen as an end to life but an extension of it. It is interpreted as a state of transition into another world, where spirit mediumship can connect a living family member with his/her departed ancestors (Mbiti, 1990: 145-161). Many around the globe have asked, “Can human consciousness survive bodily death?” Here, African spiritual consciousness is similar to Christianity in believing in a world beyond the physical. In John Donne’s classic religious poem, “Death Be Not Proud,” the English poet sees death not as an exterminator but as an avenue for the liberation of the body and the ascension of the soul into a higher realm of heaven. Similarly, in Wole Soyinka’s celebrated work Death and the King’s Horseman (1975), belief in a world beyond the familiar is rife. It is this belief that prompts the king’s horseman (Elesin) in the Yoruba culture of Nigeria to undergo ritual suicide in order to accompany the deceased chief to the land of the ancestors. The bid to frustrate what the Colonial District Officer Simon Pilkings regards as “nonsense ritual” (24) constitutes the major tragedy in the play, as the community is contaminated through his interference. Elesin’s son commits suicide and Elesin himself later strangles himself to death. This story is not simply fiction. In the “Author’s Note,” Soyinka states: The play is based on events which took place in Oyo, ancient Yoruba city of Nigeria in 1946. That year, the lives of Elesin (Olori Elesin), his son [a medical student in London], and the Colonial District Officer intertwined with the disastrous results set out in the play. The changes I have made are in matters of detail, sequence and of course characterisation ... for minor reasons of dramaturgy. The factual account still exists in the archives of the British Colonial Administration ... (p. 5).

In western culture, an interest and belief in life after death is reflected in Moody’s Life after Life (1975), which investigates the experiences of near-death situations in life, cases where clinically certified dead persons have been resuscitated, suggesting another life after this one. Similarly the western study of death (thanology) is dealt with in Bryant’s Handbook of Death and Dying (2003). The experience of dying is viewed in the book as a social and physiological phenomenon. In the Xhosa tradition from which Nelson Mandela emerged, “people refer to dying as returning home (ugodukile), going away (uhambile), going down (ushonile)” - a comparison to the sun setting in readiness to rise again the following morning (Solomon, 36). In Xhosa culture, the dead, particularly the elderly, are considered ancestors capable of communicating with the living.

166

Chapter Ten

For the Xhosa, the size of a funeral depends on the calibre of the person who has died, and while the death of a young person is mourned, the death of a chief is celebrated nationally or, in the case of Mandela, globally. According to Solomon (n.d.), certain ritual practices are observed, such as widows wearing black mourning clothes, the shaving of hair on the head, sexual abstinence, the smearing of white ochre on the body, the wearing of loose headdresses by women, and the practice of spitting out of the first mouthful of a meal served and swallowing the rest. For a dignitary like Mandela, the umkhapho ritual had to be observed - the slaughtering of cattle to facilitate the transition of the spirit of the dead to the world beyond. Oxen are usually the preferred cattle for people of Mandela’s status. Ritualised practices of preparing the sacrificial offering of the beast, customary prayers before its throat is cut, and collecting its blood in a container are observed. A piece of meat (intsonyama) from the right foreleg is cut and roasted without any seasoning. Only the elders partake in the eating of this meat and no alcohol is consumed during the ritual. In the Xhosa culture, men are buried in an upright position (ukuchopha), and sometimes certain precious items belonging to the deceased are buried with the corpse. This aligns with the common belief in Xhosa cultures that burying a dead person in an upright position evokes his readiness, even in death, to fight for the liberation of the members of his family in the event of war. The traditional funeral customs of the AmaXhosa thus entail a lot of rituals, while theatre history affirms that rituals are the bedrocks of theatre and performance. We can use the experience of the annual Incwala ritual of the Zulu and Swazi people to buttress this point. As discussed in chapter three, beyond the usual mythico-religious emphasis attached to some African rituals, the autonomous parts of the Incwala celebration constitute a dramatic experience within a communal setting through group participation. The engagement of personalities acting out certain roles, the employment of song, dance, pageantry, and visual elements such as body adornment, beads, costumes, pantomimic gestures, and so forth all underscore fully set out performative aspects of this ritual. Whether all the traditional funeral rites of the AmaXhosa observed during the funeral of Mandela constituted performance is considered next.

The Relationship between Ritual and Performance Usually, a funeral invokes a feeling of mourning and nostalgia, especially amongst members of the affected family. However, as pointed out earlier, Mandela’s funeral, far from being a time of mourning, was

Mandela’s Funeral as Community Performance

167

filled with merriment, entertainment and performances. Did the performances accompanying the funeral rob the occasion of its ritual grandeur? According to Schechner (2003: 170-174), some critics, especially but also beyond western ones, have differentiated and distanced ritual from performance considered as an object of ordinary entertainment. They regard ritual as a “serious” affair, while entertainment is regarded as “frivolous.” Schechner notes that “these are prejudiced culture-bound conclusions” (2003: 173). I would share in the views of Schechner that “entertainment and ritual are braided together, neither one being the ‘original’ of the other” (p. 173). When an occasion calls for a celebratory gathering of people, there is bound to be an “eruption,” entertainment. Balme notes: “it is important to bear in mind that in many cultures the aesthetic functions performed by the profane activity of theatregoing are in fact contained and carried out in the sacred actions of ritual observance” (1999: 67). Much of the opposition to considering ritual as performance is that a ritual practice is deemed to be efficacious. Schechner opines that “in the 1960s and 1970s efficacy ascended to a dominant position over entertainment ... the 1980s have seen an apparent return to the dominance of entertainment” (p. 132). I would subscribe to what Schechner refers to as “The Efficacy-Entertainment Braid” (pp. 129-136). He describes a situation where, in the Papua New Guinea Highlands, a ritual performance of warfare was transformed into dancing. Thus, entertainment took over from efficacy as the reason for the performance. He noted that people were not engaged in the ritual dance only in order to get results, “but also because people like sing-song for its own sake. Efficacy and entertainment are not so much opposed to each other; rather they form the poles of a continuum ... No performance is pure efficacy or pure entertainment” (pp. 129-130). Mandela’s funeral was not an exception.

Mandela’s Funeral as Performance In early 2013, the local and international press converged on MediClinic, the health facility at the corner of Park and Cilliers Street in Pretoria, to compete to be the first to report the death of the freedom fighter and world icon, Nelson Rolihlahla Mandela. However, though in a “critical but stable condition,” Mandela left the hospital alive after spending more than a month there. He had been diagnosed with a severe lung infection, purportedly to have originated at Robben Island where he had been so long incarcerated as a political prisoner. Considering his ailing condition at 95, the press kept watching, expecting, while on the side

168

Chapter Ten

assembling documentaries about his life. Finally, at about 8.35pm on Thursday 5 December 2013, President Jacob Zuma announced that Nelson Mandela had passed on. Funeral arrangements were put in place which were to last for 10 days. The significance of Mandela’s death and funeral can be approached from many perspectives: political, reconciliatory, economic, cultural, spiritual or ideological. From the theatre and drama perspective, we will concentrate on Mandela’s death and funeral using the approach of performance as entertainment. Perhaps the best place to start the discussion on Mandela’s funeral as performance is to recall Soyinka’s attitude towards performance in West Africa, where “the funeral obsequies of an Oyo king in the mid-century evolved into a performance” (2002: 373). The same can be said of ancient Egypt burial rituals (Brockett and Hildy, 2003: 6-9). Performance, as used in Mandela’s context, connotes what is expressive – the expression of the Self using any means available to the individual: song, poetry, dance, mime, screaming, ululating, and so forth. It is not “individually authored: the end product, if it comes into existence, is not predetermined by an artist who directs people towards this goal. Instead the outcome is (relatively) open ... full of spaces and times for people to create their own expressive material” (Kuppers, 2007: 4). In this regard, “energy” and “tension” become the two focusing principles of performance. Mandela’s funeral energised the community to create for itself lasting impressions about the icon they most revered - a deep emotional outburst manifesting in excitement that was expressed in dancing, singing, prancing, acrobatics, screaming, shouting, and jumping. The occasion created a state of joy, happiness, bliss; a heightened form of external reaction and elevation of the body processes which exuded energy from inter- and intra-cultural performance modes. The Mandela funeral performances did not audition and recruit directors or players; it just happened, extempore, in calculated “energy” and “tension” characteristic of performance. A communal rhythm flowed through everyone and resulted in a cultural melting pot of activities. It happened in real time and space, as opposed to theatrical time and stage. The funeral became a performance which culminated in a “Rainbow of Desire,” prompting people in government to talk about what Mandela stood for and why his exemplary character – justice, fair play, forgiveness, tolerance and humility – should be emulated by leaders in the African continent. The various performative actions during the funeral demand different analytic approaches. It would be impossible to discuss every aspect of what one would regard as performance during Mandela’s funeral. We will discuss selected elements of performance, both secular and profane, during the

Mandela’s Funeral as Community Performance

169

funeral under the following notions: the public announcement of Mandela’s death, the memorial ceremony, the lying-in-state/state funeral and the final interment.

The Public Announcement of Mandela’s Death As mentioned earlier, the world had anticipated Mandela’s death because of his fragile health situation at the age of 95. On the day that President Zuma announced it had happened, the Xhosa cultural practice of isikhalo took control, when not only women, but also men screamed loudly in their private homes, on the roads and wherever they found themselves. Beyond the usual shock and mourning associated with death, South African society and particularly the black community erupted with displays of various dimensions of mourning. Street performances became the order of the night. The morning after the announcement, Mandela’s home in Soweto was besieged by a crowd of people of different races. Veterans of Umkhonto we Sizwe (The Spear of the Nation), the military wing of the ANC that Mandela founded during the war against apartheid, sang through the streets of Vilakazi in Orlando West, Soweto. Truck-loads of human beings drove through the congested streets of South African cities. People danced and sang their favourite Mandela tunes and women ululated. Music in different combinations permeated the air, because in Xhosa culture, “Music forms an integral part of mourning and helps the individual [mourner] and group to come to terms with death” (Solomon, p. 8). The locals made shrines out of the flowers and wreaths that filled the streets. Tributes started pouring in from home and abroad. The Prime Minister of Ireland, Enda Kenny, said, “Today, a great light has been extinguished. The boy from the Transkei has finished his long walk. His journey transformed not just South Africa, but humanity itself.” Desmond Tutu, the Archbishop Emeritus, prayed, “Thank you God, for this wonderful gift who became a moral colossus, a global icon of forgiveness and reconciliation. May he rest in peace and rise in glory” (culled from “The 10 Best Tributes to Madiba,” 2013: 7). In the days that followed, news of Mandela’s death “etched the nation into the annals of history” as the local and international press was flooded with flashbacks of Mandela’s life as a political activist and reconciliation agent. The portrayal of Mandela in some of the struggle documentaries and movies might classify him as a dialectical theatrical institution and a performance site. For example, in Ngema’s anti-apartheid Sarafina (1992), it is the portrayal of Mandela by Sarafina, the young school girl, that dominates the movie. During the

170

Chapter Ten

funeral, documentary films from historical archives detailing Mandela’s long and hazardous road to freedom were screened at home and abroad, triggering memories of the Rivonia trial, his 27 years in prison on Robben Island and up to the 1994 bliss when, after his release from prison in 1990, black South Africans voted for the first time during the initial democratic elections. A close look at some of the documentaries, such as Mandela City, Mandela Rivonia and The Long Walk of Nelson Mandela, offered electrifying performances during the life of this freedom fighter.

Memorial Ceremony Mandela’s memorial ceremony became a spectacle which culminated in sensationalised performances instead of “mourning.” Its prospect compelled humanity worldwide and from all walks of life to book South Africa-bound flights and the world’s congregation in the country constituted a kind of informal United Nations. Since one location would not accommodate all the mourners, the government set aside 150 public places as memorial venues. Cape Town, Houghton, Sandton and the far away Parliament Square in central London were some of the places the memorial ceremony took place. Of all the memorial locations, the events I witnessed and read about at the FNB stadium in Soweto (Johannesburg) availed themselves as worthy of scrutiny as performances. Although it was a rainy day in Johannesburg, thousands of people defied that to attend the memorial service. The stadium, which now functioned as a community theatre, was packed to capacity with people carrying umbrellas, creating an illusion of mini-canopies being erected around the space. A cacophony of noises and songs filled the air. Gevisser captures the atmosphere of the occasion: Everywhere I go, people seem to be humming ‘Nelson Mandela, Nelson Mandela, akekho afana naye [there is no one like you],’even if they do not know the words. The song seems to have become the soundtrack to this strange week, a theme song connecting strangers as they go about their daily business, a beautiful and soft hymn to our hero (Gevisser, 2013: 2).

Many presidents, leaders and dignitaries from nearly 100 countries graced the occasion (Du Plessis and Masondo, 2013: 4). The sitting arrangement seemed to have been choreographed so that President Mugabe of Zimbabwe sat close to his arch enemy Tony Blair, the former Prime Minister of Great Britain. President Barack Obama of the United States of America sat close to his Cuban counterpart, Raul Castro, and a handshake became inevitable. That handshake in the South African

Mandela’s Funeral as Community Performance

171

stadium raised dust in the United States as Obama was accused of sharing the White House smile with a communist national foe. It was a grand performance on the world stage. Later, Obama, using his accustomed oratorical flair, was applauded thunderously by the audience. Aversely, the South African President, Mr. Jacob Zuma, was booed repeatedly by the crowd, particularly by members of the Economic Freedom Fighters Party (EFF) and some members of the divided African National Congress (ANC) structures. The crowd even cheered Thabo Mbeki, the abdicated former South African President who was previously shamed out of office by his political rivals. Why was President Zuma booed? Gevisser provides some clues: Zuma reaped this week what he sowed in the run-up to Polokwane, exactly this time six years ago: a culture that devalues substantive debate and degrades it into corrosive jeering. This is what Zuma and his henchmen did to Mbeki – the unlikely darling of Tuesday’s memorial – and what the crowds were now doing to him (Gevisser, p. 3).

When the Director of Ceremonies, Cyril Ramaphosa, cautioned the crowd not to be disrespectful towards the country’s president, he might not have appreciated that the crowd’s behaviour was orchestrated by a section of President Obama’s address: Mandela’s death should prompt in each of us a time for self-reflection. With honesty, regardless of our station or our circumstance, we must ask: How well have I applied his lessons in my own life? It’s a question I ask myself, as a man and as a president (culled from Obama’s memorial speech).

We may read these acts of cheering, jesting, screaming, booing, or even laughing during Mandela’s funeral as forms of performance, performance that turned what was supposed to be a ritual into entertainment. According to Schechner, “Much performing among tribal peoples is, like the kaiko, part of the societies overall ecology” (2003: 117). During the service, traditional praise singers took the stage and performed dirges to the departed icon. Musicians as well as many traditional dancers, specifically those who performed as Zulu warriors, made their presence felt. Additionally, many international artists featured prominently, including Katy Perry, Nicole Scherzinger and the gospel artist Kirk Franklin. One of the most dramatic performances was the deafening combat songs between members of the EFF and ANC, which

172

Chapter Ten

nearly turned the event into a political “party rally” (Mthombothi, 2013: 4). In fact, many dignitaries’ speeches, including that of United Nations Secretary General Ban Ki-moon, were drowned in songs. The event became a social party, as Carlin reports in a review of the event: The party of the year, of the century. A celebration, a proud and joyous thanksgiving, with singing and dancing so uplifting, so pitch perfect, so synchronised, that anyone unaware of South Africans’ astounding natural gift for choral harmony would have imagined the event had been preceded by six months of rigorous rehearsals. Had the big man been watching from on high ... he’d have been delighted, smiling and laughing, and jiving along with the best of them (Carlin, 2013:6).

Although some critics (Carlin, Mthombothi and Gevisser) frowned at the so-called “noisy” and “rowdy” conditions during the FNB memorial as an embarrassment and a sign of disrespect to foreign heads of state, it is an atmosphere such as this that promotes a sense of camaraderie and fun amongst African communities. In many African circles, the so-called “noise” is uplifting and may be regarded as an aspect or form of interactive performance. One of the performers during the occasion nearly threw “hot chilli” into President Barack Obama’s eyes, as some people disapproved of his photo-taking action during the event. In a very jovial atmosphere, President Obama purportedly used the attractive Danish Prime Minister Helle Thorning-Schmidt’s smartphone to take a selfie which included his image and those of the UK and Danish Prime Ministers. Michelle Obama’s reaction seemed not to have been accommodating, and that was coupled with criticisms by some people that Obama’s action was “disrespectful at a service held to mark Mandela’s death” (Hot Gossip, 2013: 26). This seemingly trivial action constituted an aspect of performance during the occasion, where thousands of people were indeed celebrating instead of mourning. Much more entertaining, though controversial, was Thamsanqa Jantjie’s performance during the memorial. Jantjie was hired as the official sign language interpreter during the FNB memorial and he made of his claimed trade the comedy of the day. To those familiar with sign language, it was clear that his signs spoke gibberish to the deaf community as he sawed the air with his hands in all directions and with no facial expressions. His supposed interpretation was so “creative” that at least three organisations representing deaf people in South Africa, many experts in local sign language and a half a dozen accredited interpreters all said that Jantjie made no sense (de Wet, 2013: 13). Many derived hilarious fun out of Jantjie’s performance. More humour emerged from the already

Mandela’s Funeral as Community Performance

173

funny performance when the interpreter claimed that he was prone to seeing angels during the ceremony because of his schizophrenic state of health. Memorials were held in other undesignated places all over South Africa. Concerts and public performances were held by individuals, groups and organisations as people chose to celebrate Mandela’s life instead of mourning his death. A troupe of traditional dancers from Kliptown near Soweto, draped in their traditional attire, entertained the audience with their electrifying performance. Disc jockeys and fashion models dedicated their outings to the memory of Mandela. South African singer Ringo Madlingozi paid tribute to Mandela during his performance at the Ekurhuleni Jazz Evening at Birchwood Hotel in Boksburg. The Mandela tribute concert was held at the State Theatre in Pretoria. The Department of Arts and Culture sponsored the Shwashwi concert in Johannesburg, which featured, among other performances, music, poetry and dance. The National Youth Orchestra opened the show. Dramatic skits were added, with the renowned South African actress Olile Tshabalala acting as Winnie Mandela and Harriet Manamela playing the role of Albertina Sisulu. A performance from Simphiwe Dana held the audience spell-bound, while Nondumiso Dlamini stepped into the shoes of the late Brenda Fassie in her copyright rendition of “Black President.” Another local artist “Vusi Mahlasela was Shwashwi’s favourite with his suave performance backed by the super-cool Steve Dyer on sax” (Shwashwi, 2013: 18). American musicians Alicia Keys and John Legend paid tribute to Mandela in their Australian concert with a rendition of Bob Marley’s “Redemption Song.” Four days after Mandela’s death, the American Rapper Jay Z dedicated “Young Forever” to him during his show of Los Angeles Staples Centre (Hot Gossip, p. 26). There were so many other performances during this celebration that an attempt to discuss all of them would be as cumbersome as counting the leaves on a tree.

Lying-in-state/State Funeral at Qunu The Sir Herbert Baker’s amphitheatre at the Union Buildings in Pretoria held the body of Mandela for public viewing. It is this same spot at which Mandela took an oath of office as the first democratically elected black President of South Africa in 1994. Mandela’s body lay in state for three busy and crowded days. Motorists parked their vehicles on the show grounds and were conveyed to join the queues nearest to them. Many streets were closed. I struggled hard to view the body and only managed to do so on the third and last day of the viewing. A social drama unfolded as

174

Chapter Ten

a stretch of human beings from all walks of life came to pay homage and their last respects to the man who had liberated South African blacks from the yoke of apartheid. Street vendors made huge profits from selling memorabilia in honour of Mandela to those in the queue. It took hours before people got the chance to see the body, and very many were disappointed because they were unable to reach that goal. Elements of performance during the lying-in-state emerged as people lined the streets, singing, dancing and ululating as the military escorted the body in a hearse motorcade every morning and evening from and to the military hospital mortuary at the air force base in Waterkloof. The service at Qunu crowned the events constituting Mandela’s funeral as performance. On Saturday, a day before the funeral service, the body of Mandela was flown from the Waterkloof air force base in Pretoria to Mthatha airport in the Eastern Cape. Amidst military fanfare and decorum, the body was handed over to African National Congress representatives. The president spoke: “We are sending you back to Qunu.” Mandela had desired that when he died, the Thembu tradition should follow its course, and sending the corpse back to his ancestral home was a sign of respect for his wish. In Pretoria, the body was carried in its South African flag-draped coffin by eight generals representing the different branches of the country’s defence force, and was conveyed draped in black by the Hercules C-130 aircraft. Before this, the soldiers mounted a guard of honour, and the military band played the national anthem. The funereal plane was escorted by two military Gripen fighter jets displaying the South African flag as it flew across the country to Mthatha. The reception at the airport involved more performances as the residents of Qunu sang, danced and lined the streets to welcome the corpse. When the body arrived at Qunu, Zolani Mkiza, the renowned South African praise singer who performed during Mandela’s inauguration at the Union Buildings, delivered his praises. As with the memorial service organised by the South African Government, the Eastern Cape Government, fully aware of the vast number of visitors expected, set aside 21 venues as mourning parlours. The corpse spent a night with the family in accordance with Xhosa tradition. The public, including researchers, were not allowed access to witness what happened in the homestead. Like the scenes during the lying-in-state, in Pretoria, people who had no access to the corpse became very angry. The anger expressed at Qunu was quite theatrical as residents blocked the traffic in protest. The fact that only a selected few were allowed to view the body, or to attend the funeral for that matter, did not help the situation, as it ran contrary to the Xhosa

Mandela’s Funeral as Community Performance

175

tradition, where people are not supposed to be invited to a funeral but attend at will and as a matter of tradition. The state funeral, in the form of a church service presided over by Bishop Siwa, was held on Sunday 15 December, 2013, in a domed marquee constructed specially for the occasion. 4,500 people were expected to attend. About eight staircases led to the arched altar where there were several lit candles to symbolise “moonlight in a twilight.” Selected dignitaries from all walks of life were in the church and a special choir sang hymns operatic style. The casket was conspicuously placed in the church and family members, close relatives and selected personalities delivered their last speeches and encomium for the departed freedom fighter. Yet even in the church, the solemnity that usually accompanies a requiem service was absent. Like the celebration of the Holy Mass in the Roman Catholic Church, the four-hour church service was more of a ritual performance than an ordinary funeral. According to the chief celebrant during the church service, the experience of Mandela’s death was likened to a disappearing ship, “big as it is, only diminishes from viewing eyes.” In the church, as well as in other locations, his widow Graca Machel and previous wife Winnie Mandela, both dressed in black, were seen comforting each other.

Final Interment In preparation for the final interment, the corpse left the church in pomp and pageantry. An amphitheatre covered with a white canopy was built next to the gravesite to accommodate 450 people, ranging from close family members to the military, some members of the ANC, including the state president, a few former heads of state, first ladies, traditional leaders, representatives of the African Union, four members of the international community, 15 religious leaders and the premiers of the nine provinces. In a slow march along the red carpet, the military conveyed the body in dignity out of the church. Adorned in their maroon military suits, members of the military band played solemn, soulful tunes as the body, placed in a military truck, left the church in a procession to the gravesite at about 12.20pm. The local Thembu people were apprehensive of the consequences and the wrath of the gods that might follow, as the corpse, according to tradition, was supposed to have been buried at 12 noon prompt. The belief is that for every transgression, there is always atonement. The route to the gravesite was lined by soldiers, the navy and the air force. At the gravesite, there was a change of guard. The flag that was wrapped around the coffin was unwrapped and given to Mandela’s

176

Chapter Ten

widow by President Zuma. Prayers were offered. Three military helicopters flew over the gravesite while six Falcon fighter jets followed in echelon formation. A 21 gun salute filled the air, the military trumpet sounded, and a private family committal took place behind the scenes away from the public eye and the press.

Conclusion Mandela’s funeral was not a period of mourning in the ordinary sense of the word; it served as an occasion to celebrate his life with formal and informal performances. It offered an opportunity for the world and its leaders to scrutinise their actions and reflect on the concepts of justice, fair play, accountability and good governance. The funeral displayed both the sacred and the profane aspects of performance. Ritual performance (sacred) played a significant role in Mandela’s funeral. The sacred observances of the Xhosa people exemplified rituals and these were in abundance when Mandela’s body arrived in his homestead. In the realm of the sacred, rituals are viewed as liminal performances. “During the liminal phase, the works of rites of passage takes place. At this time, in specially marked spaces, transitions and transformations occur” (Schechner, 2006: 66). During Mandela’s funeral, the private activities that took place behind closed doors, according to the AmaXhosa tradition, constituted liminal performances. The use of liminality here goes beyond ritual theorists’ reference to it “as a specific technical term.” As a result of Turner’s writings, the term has passed into popular usage, and in the process much of this technical specificity has been lost. Within Drama, Theatre and Performance studies, the term is used in a range of ways: from Turner’s quite precise technical sense, through to a more general sense – as in the suggestion that the experience of watching a play, and of taking part imaginatively in its fictional world, is in itself a ‘liminal’ experience (Mangan, 2013: 179).

Hence, the transformation of Mandela from the state of a living being to that of an ancestor, according to the belief of his people, underlay a major ritual during the funeral. Looking at the secular, the entire ceremony from the day Mandela’s death was announced to the day his body arrived in his birthplace Qunu, all involved profane activities – the lining of the streets, pageantry, dances and musical performances, marching soldiers, motorcades, displays in the air, entrances and exits of several world presidents, ululations, drumming, and all the fun and frolic, and the feeling of hilarity. In total, the celebrations

Mandela’s Funeral as Community Performance

177

during the funeral terminated Mandela’s “long walk,” and ushered in the everlasting walk to eternal freedom. Thus, we see from these events that ritual and entertainment, instead of acting in opposition to each other, reinforce their complementarity. The rituals which surrounded the funeral were not only efficacious, but they also entertained and gave pleasure to both the performers and the audience, and this culminated in a celebration instead of the mourning which is typically associated with funerals.

CHAPTER ELEVEN PARODY SERIES IN SOUTH AFRICAN TELEVISION EDUTAINMENT: LOYISO GOLA’S LATE NITE NEWS (LNN)

Introduction In the area of mass communication and performative satire, Loyiso Gola, though seemingly a newcomer to the performing arts industry, has already carved out a niche for himself and commanded the attention of television viewers in South Africa. From being a one-man stand-up comedian from the impoverished Gugulethu Township in 2001, Gola become an award-winning comedian in the premier cities of Johannesburg and Cape Town. Observers have commented that “Loyiso’s rise in the comedy ranks has been nothing short of meteoric.” His fame is considerably established in Africa and beyond; he has had opportunities to perform in Dubai, the United States of America, Botswana and Nigeria, to mention but these few. Gola has rubbed shoulders with world renowned comedians like Paul Rodriguez, Brandon Burns and Jimmy Carr. In the satirical exposure of his country’s compost heap to reveal some fattened maggots, he can comfortably be likened to the XYZ comedians of Kenya or Nigeria’s Basketmouth. “With his sharp wit, unmistakable charm and thought-provoking comedy style, Loyiso Gola has been enthralling, mystifying and entertaining audiences for an entire decade in an intelligently frank but tasteful manner” (Hunta Live and Podium, 2014). Quite unlike what a layman might think, comedy is not simply fun art or an inferior art form when compared to tragedy; with Gola, comedy is more than the creation of laughter for the sake of it – arts for art’s sake. As Sypher states in his introduction to the landmark book Comedy by Bergson (1956), it is an art form that banishes monstrous monotonousness (sic). It teaches us to be responsive, to be honest, to interrogate ourselves and correct our pretentiousness. So, the comic spirit is born of our united social intelligence, which shows us

Parody Series in South African Television Edutainment

179

our individual countenances and thus keeps us alive. The comic spirit is the ultimate civiliser in a dull, insensitive world. She watches our vanity, our sentimentalism, with a birch rod; she strips us of our affections. In comedy, is the singular scene of charity issuing of disdain under the stroke of honourable laughter (1956: ix).

In the course of Gola’s career, the pursuit of pure comedy has metamorphosed into transparent satire in the monumental category of Pieter Dirk Uys. Comedy and satire have so much in common that in a hazy mind one may pass for the other. Zimbardo remarked that Moliere used satiric techniques in designing comedy, while Wycherley used comic techniques in designing satire (1961: 108). A similar confusion occurs in Africa, where Efua Sutherland’s The Marriage of Anansewa (1975), an exhilarating comedy, is often interpreted by some students of literature to be satire. No doubt there are satirical barbs inherent in the play, but these do not qualify the play to be labelled satire per se. In dramatic literature, comedy, unlike tragedy, suggests that we alienate ourselves from life and view with amusement the humorous predicaments of others. The comic playwright consciously distorts events and personalities in order to remind the audience that the drama deals with fantasy and not reality per se. In dramatic satire, the dramatist is concerned with the use of irony, ridicule, sarcasm, or other devices to censure, attack or rebuke the follies of mankind. Besides this primary, purgative function of satire, we have come to realise that in its technical execution, it shares a lot of elements with comedy. Like comedy, satire uses a sizeable amount of amusement, humour, distortion, laughter and fantasy in its realisation. This might be what brings about the apparent confusion about the two genres. One of the major attributes of comedy is that it causes painless laughter at human weaknesses and incongruities; satire, on the other hand, evokes painful laughter. It laughs at the ridiculousness of human existence, and unlike comedy, it proceeds to comment on folly and punish evil. This attribute singles satire out as an agent of morality. There is no doubt that in his production contract with ETV, Gola is pitching a tent in the camp of satire. Given his slant towards social criticism, this energetic show-businessman is bound to follow where many of his African counterparts have gone before. Gola, like his Nigerian counterparts and probably comedians all over the world, jokes about “broad issues relating to politics, religion, culture, economy, environment, business, and the general human condition, covering diverse themes such as love, marriage, governance, power, class discrimination, and so on” (Fosudo, 2009/10: 11). Fosudo recounts Ali Baba’s satirical joke which

180

Chapter Eleven

was directed at the then Nigerian head of state, General Olusegun Obasanjo (Rtd), during a state dinner in the Presidential Lodge in Abuja. ... I salute our President; he is a very prudent man. We learnt that the Environment Minister brought a proposal to him on the beautification of Aso Rock environs especially the road leading to the Villa. “Baba” [Obasanjo] liked the idea and he requested for the budget. In the Minister’s budget, one of the statues meant to adorn the Aso Rock road is Baba’s statue and it was to cost N5,000,000.00 (Five Million Naira). Baba exclaimed, and told the Minister to give him the money and that he would physically go and stand there himself as the statue, live (Fosudo: 11).

Fosudo submits that though the hall went up in wild laughter at this joke, it became a very expensive one, because, though it was meant to portray the president as a “prudent” official, it backfired when the president was also seen as a greedy individual who would succumb to any absurd behaviour provided a fee was attached as a bait.

There are many techniques of satire familiar to us, such as irony, parody, burlesque, lampooning, invective, mockery and sarcasm. These techniques exist individually or in combination in all satires. They do more than dapple the surface - they dominate the work. By domination, we do not mean numerical domination, since many effective satires may employ only one of the techniques. By domination we mean that the techniques used are the very essence of the work. For example, if the satiric elements of pure satire were removed, the very nature of the work would be changed. On the other hand, if removing the satiric technique from a piece of work would not change the general outlook of the work, satire in it is incidental, while in the former pervasive (Haas, p. 2).

In our study of Gola’s satires, the principal technique employed by the satirist and his team is parody, which entails imitating newscasters’ style to castigate miscreants in society by amusing audiences while conscientising them about the lions in society who parade the streets wearing sheep’s clothing.

Form and Structure of Late Nite News Unlike his earlier one-man stand-up comedy shows, Gola’s weekly Late Nite News works with a team of characters. The title, abbreviated as

Parody Series in South African Television Edutainment

181

“LNN,” is bound to remind viewers of CNN, America’s Cable News Network reputed for its efficient coverage of important news items around the world. Placed in front a globe, the bold letters LNN with the plate “With Loyiso Gola” highlight the likeness. In the fashion of CNN, LNN is presented as a news feature of selected important headlines that have high impact value on the social and political landscapes of the people of Africa generally, and South Africa in particular. The programme takes satirical swipes at characters and situations locally and all around the world. Gola’s LNN is indeed a kaleidoscope of contemporary events in South Africa and beyond. Loyiso’s jibes are sometimes like poetic flame, where one word carries several others along with it. The presentation is agitprop in style, using attack-and-retreat or hit-and-run techniques. Issues are not exhaustively dealt with; hints are merely given and the viewers are then expected to fill the gaps. Viewers need to be up to date with current affairs to appreciate Gola’s parody. As in many other successful satires, humour features prominently in Gola’s work, and laughter is here meant to elicit freedom from the bitterness expressed in other literary genres. In the presentations, like in the live news coverage that they imitate, there are news correspondents assigned to cover important events. David Kibuuka features as an adroit international correspondent who relays information on what is happening abroad and automatically relates them to happenings in the home front. Chester, the political analyst, is the darling of all the characters in the presentation. His sense of humour in dealing with the public spares him from being stigmatised as a nuisance and his forthrightness in handling matters singles him out as a great censor. To offer him more protection, viewers admire his identity’s concealment in puppetry. The artistry behind the creation of the puppet character as a mask idiom conveys upon the character a season of license where he is able to speak freely about touchy issues. This character is always found where the people are – he has interviewed many union leaders and political stalwarts in South Africa, including Julius Malema and Trevor Manuel. Deep Friedman and the musical club use song to castigate unhealthy happenings in South African society. Indeed, the songs act as a “moral index measurement” instrument. Depending on the demands of the episode, particular features and characters may be introduced; for example, some individuals in South African society are impersonated. From time to time, a medical doctor (Dr. Lupert) examines the pulse and measures the temperature of the nation. Of great interest and novelty is the fact that invented stories are interspersed with footage or insets of real news items. These not only serve as variety items or devices to spice up

182

Chapter Eleven

the production, but they augment and authenticate the issues dealt with in the satires. The presentations are episodic in structure, as the issues raised are multifarious and sometimes not taken to their logical conclusions before new ones are introduced. An item on politics may veer off track into religion, gender, prostitution, service delivery, crime or what have you. Though some critics may frown at this practice, it is satire’s province to deal with many things at the same time.

Content Analysis of Selected Episodes We will concentrate on three episodes produced in early 2014. The first was screened on Thursday 23 January, 2014, at 8pm on the ETV channel. The first butt of satire is the South African President in connection with the Nkandla estate upgrading scandal that has purportedly robbed the South African taxpayers of R246 million in a country where many households cannot afford a decent meal or a decent house to live in. Footage of Baleka Mbete, the African National Congress’s (ANC) spokeswoman, shows her working hard to defend the excesses and wastage in connection with the president’s renovation of his homestead, claiming the president and ANC as a collective “had nothing to fear” and by implication, nothing to hide from the public. The satirist lambasts Baleka Mbete for publicly defending President Zuma. Her firebrand public defence of the president gyrates between English and the local Zulu tongue. In a country with 11 official languages, the satirist finds Mbete’s inappropriate, as policy matters should be transparently dealt with in a coordinated manner, rather than in a dissonant style. The satirist does not mince words but orders the spokesperson to “get your retirement package and go.” Today it is fresh in the minds of South Africans that when Public Protector Thuli Madonsela released her damning report on the Nkandla on 19 March 2014, hell was let loose, and though the African National Congress (ANC) defended him, the party leaders of the Democratic Alliance (DA) and the Economic Freedom Fighters (EFF) succeeded in securing a unanimous and scathing judgement in the highest Constitutional Court that President Jacob Zuma and the National Assembly had violated the constitution (see Seale, 2014: 4; Mabona, 2014: 2; Venter and Ndou, 2014: 3; Mthethwa, 2014: 7; Constitutional Court Cases CCT143/15 and CCT171/15). Unreliable and unrealistic election promises are uncovered by the satirist when the ANC Government is presented as making false promises of providing thousands of jobs for the unemployed wallowing in the job

Parody Series in South African Television Edutainment

183

market. The promise of handing over houses to those without accommodation is debunked using insets of uncompleted houses. A calculated attempt by President Zuma to damage the EFF by promising to build a house for the grandmother of its leader Malema backfires when the aged lady turns down the offer. Indigo Subisiso’s scene offers viewers a flashback to the historic romance between Malema and President Zuma before the debacle that has seen them become arch enemies. With his red beret referred to by Chester as a “strawberry,” Malema’s fashionable emphasis on social media and tweeting is not likely to do the same magic for his party as it did for Obama in the USA, because in many of the villages he would want to reach, there are neither communication networks nor other resources to cater for social media. In this episode, David Kibuuka, the international correspondent, reports from Uganda, where he says the “place is burning” on account of Uganda’s government clampdown on gay people in the East African country, notorious for its poverty and joblessness. To the satirist, an attack on the gay community is a misplaced priority and reflects a homophobia as bad as the South African xenophobia, which negates the human rights principles in a modern civilised community. The energy and the resources spent by the government to ostracise and imprison gay people sniffed out in Uganda would have been better used to combat inflation, provide electricity and build decent schools for Ugandan children. By extension, the satirist is using this opportunity to speak to other African nations, such as Nigeria, Zimbabwe and Botswana, that have focused their attention on gay issues rather than on issues of better benefit to citizens. Uganda is warned to be careful not to repeat the mistakes of ex-President Idi Amin’s buffoonery of the 1980s, when he drove away Asians and watched Uganda’s economy slump. Though speaking with tongue in cheek, Gola seems to implore other African nations, particularly Uganda, to follow the example of South Africa, where Cape Town is a “factory of gay people” and yet the government leaves them alone to co-exist peacefully with others in the country. This episode also brings up the service delivery problems plaguing the ruling party, particularly a water problem and strike by inhabitants of Mothutlung in North-West Province that had claimed four lives through police mismanagement of the crisis. This is not an isolated case, as recent months have witnessed numerous service strikes by South Africans reminiscent of the apartheid era. South Africa has been dubbed “the protest capital of the world” (Rodriques, 2010) and many reasons have been advanced for the rampant spread of protests in post-apartheid South Africa – demand for housing, crime, rape, poor salaries, police brutality, e-

184

Chapter Eleven

tolling, poor toilet facilities, unemployment, and poor sanitation, to mention but a few. In 2004, the nation witnessed protest marches in Harrismith and Balfour; in 2012, protests were experienced in Ermelo, Makhaza in Khayelitsha, and Mitchell’s Plain, and the mother of them all, staged by the Marikana miners, which claimed 43 lives. The early part of 2014 had already experienced its fair share of protests in Bekkeresdal, Roodepoort, Bronkhorstpruit and in Mothutlung in the Madibeng local municipality, North-West Province, where the people protested against inadequate water supply. In the satirical presentation, the history of water and its place in the human community is communicated – from the amount of water found in the human body to the vast quantities in space. As useful as water is to the efficient functioning of the human body, national industries and other activities that assist in the development and progress of the economy, the people of Mothutlung spent weeks without water in their community and the satirist is angry about the government’s insensitivity to the plight of the helpless individuals who inhabit this unfortunate area. In line with satirical exaggeration, Mothutlung is portrayed as a place where the privileged rich people still enjoy an abundant supply of water in their swimming pools, but even religious activities have been curtailed by lack of water for priests to carry out their spiritual function of baptising people and so win souls for Christ, a situation that in itself does not favour the ruling party that is poised “to rule till Jesus comes back.” An inexplicable revelation is that North-West Municipality underspent to the tune of R700 million, money that was allocated for service delivery, while spending R324 million on alcohol consumption. The presentation highlights that the mayor, contrary to public service rules, awarded a R5.4 million contract to his cousin to cut grass and mow lawns in and around the municipality. The job was not done, and in a satirical inversion, members of a particular religious sect were coerced by their pastor into cutting the grass with their teeth. The shaft of the satire now shifts from municipal corruption to the stupidity, docility and blind followership of the congregants in some contemporary churches in Africa, doing things like cutting grass with their teeth. In literary and dramatic arts circles, depiction of people being led astray by selfish and sometimes ignorant pastors is nothing new, having been presented in many works, from Moliere’s Tartuffe (1669), to Soyinka’s The Trials of Brother Jero (1969), to Zakes Mda’s Our Lady of Benoni (2012). In January 2014, viewers in South Africa were presented with the spectacle of human beings eating raw grass in the name of religion. On social media, a video of the “Grass Eating Church,” in which

Parody Series in South African Television Edutainment

185

South African citizens were seen eating wild grass, being trampled on by the pastor while lying on the floor and vomiting violently after the grass eating ritual, went viral. This incident took place at Rabboni Centre Ministries, established in 2002 by Senior Teacher and Pastor Lesego when he heeded the ‘call’ to become a fisher of men for the kingdom of God. A church with a humble beginning had attracted many followers over the years, but Pastor Lesego seemingly misinterpreted God having condemned Nebuchadnezzar to temporary madness as an injunction to the congregation to act mad, as in Daniel 4: v 25: They shall drive you from men, your dwelling shall be with the beasts of the field, and they shall make you eat grass like oxen. They shall wet you with the dew of heaven, and seven times shall pass over you, till you know that the Most High rules in the kingdom of men, and gives it to whomever He chooses (emphasis mine)…

That this passage had been misread so ignorantly by members of Rabboni Centre Ministries is pathetic and absurd, and the satirist (Gola) is having a secret but legitimate laugh at people who cannot remove the “plank” from their own eyes yet boast of removing the “speck” from their neighbours’. Chester Missing, the loquacious puppet and political analyst, comments on a line-up of political parties – the ANC, COPE, DA, EFF and AGANG – all of them birds of a feather: “liars with no accomplishment.” The ANC’s launch of a new manifesto in preparation for the 2014 elections is presented as a recycling of the old manifesto which accomplished nothing for the masses. The party is portrayed as plagued with indissoluble internal conflicts and cursed with “what-goes-round-must-come-round” syndrome – referring specifically to the circus-like Zuma-Mbeki-Malema political relationship. It is common knowledge that at one stage, Julius Malema, the then ANC Youth Wing President, vowed to “die for Zuma” and was purportedly used to whip Mbeki out of office. Not long after, Malema parted ways with Zuma, calling him “illiterate” in public. If the ANC excels in anything, ironically, it is in the awarding of tenders with no delivery of the goods, including textbooks meant for school children in Eastern Cape Province. COPE is presented as a lame dog of a party, the red beret of EFF is nothing but a “sexy” emblem, and Dr. Ramphele Mamphela’s plan to retire is laughed at as a joke. The same views expressed above are chorused by Deep Friedman, the political weather forecaster in the show. In a yellow raincoat, Friedman, represented by Dustin Wessel, is drenched in rain and exhausted. In the clouds are seen bottles of liquor and inscriptions of electioneering slogans. Of all promises

186

Chapter Eleven

to the masses, entertainment takes the lion’s share while education gets only 17.6% of the budget. Throughout the presentation, there is no show of outright condemnation or anger towards any party. In the spirit of satire, the presentation is jocular, with evocation of laughter. When deeply contemplated, the laughter engaged by what we are shown is only an exercise so that we may not cry. In the second episode, from 30 January 2014, the political marriage of AGANG and DA that was sealed with a “passionate kiss” between the parties’ leaders, Helen Zille and Dr. Ramphele Mamphela, is exposed and taunted. An inset to recall the kiss and the fanfare that followed it is displayed on screen. A metaphorical marriage that lasted for barely a week cannot have been built on a strong foundation as Ramphele’s rejection (after thought) of her nomination as DA’s presidential candidate dealt an embarrassing blow not only to Helen Zille but to Ramphele as well. The arrangement between the two looked more like a private deal than a party project, and this points to the two as leaders who may not be very transparent in their dealings with their followers. To the satirist, what becomes clear is that followers must be careful with leaders who may not be dependable in decision making. According to one of the headlines discussed in the programme, DA was reported to have imposed a fine of R200,000 on the City of Cape Town for corruption charges. The satirist asks: “How can the DA impose a fine on DA?” - a rhetorical question that viewers might struggle to answer logically. DA’s promise of delivering six million houses is viewed as “theft” of the intellectual property of the ANC. COSATU’s plan to march to the ANC headquarters in Luthuli’s House is parodied as South Africa has seen several marches in recent times, including those embarked upon by naked men and women. David Kibuuka, the international correspondent, is featured, covering news in Brazil, where the Brazilians are protesting their country’s bid to host the World Cup, calling it a “waste of money.” In this episode, the satirist presents the Brazilians as short-sighted in their inability to see the other long term benefits that are likely to accrue from hosting the international event. In the episodic nature of the presentation, the correspondent immediately moves on to make negative comments about the weak South African currency, the Rand, and urges the people to opt for the neighbouring Botswana Pula, which is far stronger than the South African currency. He also seizes an opportunity to hit back at Botswana as “boring” and as “a Mickey mouse of a Disney World.” In the true spirit of patriotism and social cohesion, Kibuuka points out that South African people seem to be “addicted to the ANC.” This remark becomes very useful when viewed against the background of very many black people

Parody Series in South African Television Edutainment

187

continuing to give the party unflinching support in spite of its beginning to show signs of corruption contrary to its founding principles. Here, prudent citizenship seems to become a sacrificial lamb on the altar of jingoism. That week’s edition of LNN happened at a time when African nations were displaying their local soccer talents in the All Africa Cup of Nations matches that were held in South Africa. In this event, as in others preceding it, South Africa’s performance was dismal and the angry minister of sports, Fikile Mbalula, described the South African team, Bafana Bafana, as “a bunch of losers.” “Bafana Bafana will never win”, he said. “A loser is a loser,” he added. The satirist takes advantage of this statement and extends it to cover other areas of activity in the nation. He calls on the president to resign because the masses see him as a “loser.” The economy is portrayed as a “loser,” the police commissioner is a “loser,” the basic education minister who oversees textbooks being used as firewood during winter in Limpopo is a “loser,” and to press the message home, Moeletsi Mbeki, appearing in live footage, unapologetically states that “South Africans are losers.” The trouble with the nation, according to Dr. Lupert (a member of the satirical team), is the perennial mental disease infecting politicians, which includes dishonesty, lying, and false promises during elections, and these put together resemble “broken test tubes.” The satiric drug prescribed by the doctor for the dishonesty of South African politicians is “Moer-Hulle,” an Afrikaans expression meaning, “give them a thorough beating.” In its comical style, Chester, the puppet ridicules and cajoles the numerous marches and shouts of “Viva” by political parties and their supporters, and laughs to scorn Malema’s double-entendre promise to hand out free condoms in Cape Town, as this would only provide an instrument “for the people to screw up government.” In the measurement of the “Moral Index,” Deep Friedman and his musical club expose and lambast the confusion in South African communities, attributing it to the unsavoury goings-on within the political parties – EFF, DA, ANC and all. The last episode we will discuss was screened on 13 February 2014 on ETV, with a repeat which I saw on 15 February on eNCA. Amidst the miscellaneous treatment of certain mishaps in society, the highlights are the service delivery protests in South Africa, electioneering campaigns and “Trouble at SABC.” With what seems like opening glee, the joke of the day centres on international corruption, where 120 billion Euros are reported to have disappeared within the European Union. The satirist expresses dissatisfaction with and frowns at the unacceptable practice and moves on to plead with South African viewers not to emulate the foreign example, as European countries are supposedly immune to foreign

188

Chapter Eleven

punishment in matters of corruption, unlike African nations, which are freely condemned by the international community. This inference speaks loudly, as protectionism and scapegoating are frowned on by the satirist. The dart of the week’s satirical depiction of abnormalities in communities strikes once again at poor service delivery, which has culminated in unpleasant public demonstrations all over the country, as discussed in the previous section. The beauty of this week’s discourse on poor service delivery is the satirist’s turn-around of blame from government functionaries to the victims. Though the strikers have a legitimate right to air their grievances, Gola does not subscribe to violence as a means to achieve the desired aim. He unequivocally condemns the habit of burning public property instead of inventing creative and alternative ways to solve problems. He makes a solemn plea to the people not to engage in acts of violent destruction, using the analogy that no sane person would break his/her television set if there was a slight malfunction – the right thing to do is to fix the problem. In a lighter mood, he even insinuates that the burning of tyres and other inflammable objects may inadvertently contribute to global warming. In Jessica’s satirical quip, too much meat, pap and the unbearably loud house music associated with the black community are held responsible for irrational behaviour by communities where strikes are rampant. Holding violence and anger in check is the clarion call that is made by the satirical team. The international correspondent (Kibuuka), back from his travels to Uganda and Brazil, is in this episode reporting from Russia, where the Winter Olympics are in session. He pokes fun at the Olympic Games being held during the winter season, when unfavourable weather conditions may contribute to poor performances from African participants, who are used to hot and humid weather. He jibes that black athletes (“with the exception of President Mugabe who like a pig, is so well fed to resist any cold”), like bad workmen who blame their tools, should be provided with winter jackets to assist them to cope with the freezing cold conditions and excel in performance. The satirist seems to pay back the western world for having dared to doubt the ability of South Africa to host the FIFA World Cup in 2010, as he enjoys a belly laugh at Russia’s inability to get the venues ready on time for the Olympic Games. The delays in completing some stadia are sarcastically attributed to the incompetence of the Russian engineers who spend more time “drinking Vodka” than getting down to work. Indeed, Gola takes the Russian situation as similar to the delay in completing South Africa’s Limpopo stadium for the 2010 World Cup. The two countries seem to belong to the same group, except that unlike the Russians, people from Limpopo are well versed in witchcraft.

Parody Series in South African Television Edutainment

189

Gola pokes fun at the people of Limpopo who, in this technological age, still believe that with magical “broomsticks” they can perform wonders. The major satire in this episode is on the scandal rocking the South African Broadcasting Corporation (SABC). Satirical correspondents (Jerry and co.) are dispatched to the SABC premises where, the parastatal has become a “free-for-all” environment: personnel are found sleeping on duty, everyone is a qualified broadcaster, the accounts department is littered with children’s drawings, and officers are peering through piles of CVs for unspecified positions to be filled. Indeed, this satire is timely considering that the media had exposed uncanny activities at the SABC (Channel 24). In 2013, PricewaterhouseCooper (PwC) consultants carried out an independent skills audit at the SABC, where it was discovered that more than 2,200 staff members had no proof on file to show that they had Matric certificates. The skills audit also found out that “almost two thirds” (62%) of the SABC's employee files included qualifications that were "not authentic" or were “incomplete.” Disappointingly, the fatigued public broadcaster had appointed persons into positions their qualifications were not relevant for– square pegs in round holes. For example, an employee with a Diploma in Beauty and Health Therapy was appointed to the post of finance administrator. “There are also more than 100 SABC staff at the public broadcaster of which the SABC has no personnel file, although they’re getting paid” (Channel 24). Parliament expressed concern at this revelation and viewed it as "really worrying" and "disconcerting." This unhealthy condition in the body of the people’s voice must have accounted for the corporation’s Chief Executive Officer (CEO) Lulama Mokhobo resigning from her post only two years into her five-year contract. “The SABC is not revealing what Mokhobo is or will be paid out in a so-called "golden handshake" – if anything” (Channel 24). The week’s episode concludes with the political analyst Chester reporting on voter registration in parts of the country, the drive that has been hijacked by “dancing”, or had all the party’s representatives present but no people to register. In his measurement using the Moral Index, Deep Friedman attributes this apathy to the nonchalant attitude of the government towards the needs of the common people. In his summation, he ironically implies that in South Africa, the government cares more for the welfare of rhinos (animals) than the lives of its citizens.

Conclusion Loyiso Gola and his crew’s perception, as evident in the satirical episodes we have discussed, is that there has been a nearly total degeneration

190

Chapter Eleven

in public life and a decline in private morality. In Africa generally and South Africa in particular, corruption seems to be rearing its ugly head as never before. The South African country that yearned for freedom during the apartheid era is today shrouded in meaninglessness – citizens still live in squatter camps without electricity or access to potable water; strikes are the order of the day; occultism, rape, gangsterism, crime and murder are reported day after day. In Gola’s South Africa, as in Russia in Gogol’s time, there is always a feeling that anything can happen – “that noses may walk the streets and devils light the lamp” (Andrew, 1980: 80-81). The satirist and his team loathe the corruption that permeates society; they hate the spirit of alienation and cultivation of materialistic and bourgeois tendencies by certain individuals. Like Juvenal, who was once angry with corrupt Rome, or Soyinka, who abhors the deteriorating conditions in his native Nigeria, Gola presents satire as a social service to his country, and hopes fervently that the exposure of bad tendencies may help to end them. In a country that is polarised along racial lines, Gola and his team deserve accolades for seeming to be colour-blind in their portrayal of some elements in their community. Instead of patronising a bad government simply because it is run by blacks, they simply call a spade by its name. Though the team is predominantly black, it does not ignore what is bad simply because it is perpetrated by black brothers. Like Mandela, Gola and his team fight against white domination just as they fight against black domination. Satire’s impact may not be apparent since in itself it is not a magical wand to correct the ills it protests about, but it stands to reason that through satire’s censure, those affected will become conscientised and the miscreants will know that they have been revealed, and think of other positive ways of dealing with people and issues in society.

CHAPTER TWELVE THE THEATRE INDUSTRY IN POST-APARTHEID SOUTH AFRICA: HOPES AND IMPEDIMENTS

Preamble Compared to other African nations, I dare suggest from my limited view that the South African community has given more to the profession of theatre than many other African countries. Whereas in some African countries the theatre profession is treated with kid gloves and practitioners given all sorts of derogatory names (in Nigeria - Alarinjo, Alawada, etc.), South Africa, to a great extent, takes theatre as a serious business. Though South Africans may bemoan the poor state of the arts and theatre as compared to the status granted to science and technology, the South African community has carved out a respectable niche for the performing arts. Though I may need to refer to the apartheid era for comparisons or contrast, my submission here is based on the post-apartheid era. I would like to concentrate on: x Theatre/Arts Education in the School Curriculum (Primary and FET Colleges) x Theatre Practice in Higher Education (Universities) x The National Government and the Performing Arts x Theatre Infrastructure x Private Sector Funding/Agencies x Theatre Companies/Bodies and Networks x Drama Festivals Once again, let me re-iterate that my point is by no means a bid to put down what other African countries do with theatre. I invite you to benchmark what I am going to discuss with what is prevalent in any other African environment you are familiar with.

192

Chapter Twelve

Theatre/Arts Education in the School Curriculum (Primary and FET Colleges) Formal arts education, unlike the traditional apprentice mode of learning, is systemic training given by arts specialists to learners using a configured curriculum. In a paper prepared for the Division of Arts and Cultural Enterprise (UNESCO) on the promotion of arts education in school environments, Iwai (2003: 2) highlights those programmes that focus on creativity-building initiatives and education, pointing specifically to both formal and informal arts education in school. He appreciates the role of arts and creativity in the school environment as a tool for promoting ethical values. UNESCO’s programme for arts education has been carried out by the UNESCO cultural sector in collaboration with the education sector in the context of the World Forum on “EDUCATION FOR ALL,” and in the spirit of the 1996 report, “Learning – a Treasure Within.” It must be noted that the International Drama/Theatre Education Association (IDEA) is also involved in this UNESCO initiative. Iwai’s presentation discusses research findings on how arts education contributes to aesthetic development, socio-emotional development, socio-cultural development, cognitive development and academic achievement (p. 2). In June 2001, the UNESCO Regional Conference on Art Education in Africa was convened at Tsitsikamma Conference Centre in Port Elizabeth, South Africa. Those who attended the conference, particularly those in the Theatre Working Group co-ordinated by Dr. A. Hatar of the University of Tanzania, attested to the importance of arts education in the twenty-first century. South Africa is at the forefront of African nations in its resolve to include arts education in its primary school curriculum, while notably, Tanzania has also embraced arts education. In South Africa, the post-apartheid period has seen a rapid succession of new school curricula. As stated earlier in chapter one, in 1997, the postapartheid South African National Curriculum Statement (NCS) for General Education and Training (GET) introduced a new education philosophy of learning and teaching known as “Outcomes-Based Education” (OBE). This was soon criticised as a complex curriculum that could work only in well-resourced schools with highly qualified educators. In 2002 the curriculum was revised to address these criticisms and consequently was only implemented in 2004 (Chisholm, 2004: 11). The NCS set the tone for the quality of educators and learners, envisaged as follows:

The Theatre Industry in Post-Apartheid South Africa

193

The teacher envisaged in the teaching of the curriculum has to be competent, qualified, dedicated and caring. The child (learner) envisaged will be the one who is inspired by the promotion of values for the sake of personal development, to ensure that a national identity is developed, based on values that are different from those of the apartheid education system. The child will act in the interest of society, based on respect for democracy, equality, human dignity, life and social justice (National Curriculum Statement, 2002).

Another task team was set up in 2009 to review Outcomes-Based Education and the team presented a Curriculum and Assessment Policy Statement (CAPS) with amendments that were to be phased in from 2011. Since 2012, the National Curriculum Statement (NCS) has been used in conjunction with CAPS 2009. In the CAPS document, the Arts and Culture Learning Area is called Arts and Craft in the Foundation Phase (grades R-3); Creative Arts at the Intermediate Phase (grades 4-6); Arts and Culture at the Senior Phase (grades 7-9) and FET Band (grades 1012). The Arts and Culture Learning Area Policy (2002) initiative in South African primary schools aims at creating an opportunity for both educators and learners to learn, understand and appreciate other cultures. The approach to arts and culture learning is “to encourage learners to reflect creatively on art, performance and cultural events; to understand their geographical, economic, social and gender contexts and heritage, and to identify (but not be limited to) the links between cultural practices, power and cultural dominance.” The approach intends to provide access to arts and culture education for all learners as part of redressing historical imbalances of the past, developing an awareness of a national culture and promoting nation building. The focus and intentions are directed at creating opportunities for learners to build confidence, cherish individual and team work, and appreciate and understand the diverse cultures, heritage and art forms in South Africa. According to the Revised National Curriculum Statement for Grades R-9 (2002: 4), the Arts and Culture Learning Area covers a broad spectrum of South African art and cultural practices in everyday life, embracing the spiritual, material, intellectual and emotional aspects of human endeavour within society. The learning area statement aims at creating a balance between developing generic knowledge concerning the arts and culture and developing specific knowledge and skills in each of the art forms. Some of the critical outcomes envisaged to be achieved by learners at the end of the process are the abilities to:

194

Chapter Twelve

x identify and solve problems and make decisions by way of critical and creative thinking; x work effectively with others as members of a team, group, organisation and community; x organise and manage themselves and their activities responsibly and effectively; x collect, analyse, organise and critically evaluate information; x communicate effectively using visual, symbolic and language skills in various modes; and x demonstrate an understanding of the world as a set of related systems by recognising that problem-solving contexts do not exist in isolation (National Curriculum Statement, 2002). In brief, the national government and the Department of Basic Education in South Africa, realising the potential of arts and theatre-ineducation, have introduced theatre and drama (Arts and Culture) as a curriculum subject in the foundation phase, as well as in the senior primary school syllabus. Theatre and drama also feature in junior and senior schools’ syllabi. General arts schools and schools of drama training have been established by the government and the private sector. Some of the Further Education Training (FET) colleges are mandated to pursue arts training, including drama. Training of arts educators and assistance for artists who have the experience but lack the required entrance certificates for higher learning are also the government’s priority for the sector. In a further bid to boost arts education, the Department of Culture is working with the Department of Basic Education to revitalise arts and culture in schools through appropriate educator support, and the promise to place 740 arts practitioners in schools by 2015/16 is a clear demonstration of this resolve. Today in South Africa we have compulsory arts education in all schools for Grades R-9 ... This sets us apart and ahead of many other countries in both the developed and developing world (Hardie, 2013: 6).

South Africa’s further commitment to the arts is shown in its willingness to establish a special school – the National School of the Arts in Braamfontein, Johannesburg. The focus of the school is on drama training, dance and music. The major role of the school is to develop and sustain the arts and culture of the South African people.

The Theatre Industry in Post-Apartheid South Africa

195

Theatre Practice in Higher Education (Universities) There are 26 universities in South Africa and 10 of these offer drama and theatre training in their designated departments. Theatre and drama are treated as liberal arts by conventional universities, while universities of technology (UoTs) have a mandate to pursue vocational and professional training. Theatre research is geared towards utilitarian values rather than pursuing research for its own sake. In this respect, institutions, particularly UoTs, are shifting from conventional research to practice-led research. In some arts faculties (e.g., Tshwane University of Technology), the technical aspect (theatre technology) of theatre training is taken so seriously that it operates as an autonomous department, in contrast with many parts of Africa, where technical theatre training is simply a subject within the theatre discipline. Also at Tshwane University of Technology, not only is theatre technology an independent department from drama, but drama itself is a separate department from performing arts (dance and music). Though this may sound like duplication, it goes to show the emphasis placed on the performing arts in the institution. In some South African drama departments, agents are sought for completing (final year) students to assist them with recruitment into professional companies and industries after graduation, and this practice caters for the capacity building and employability of the graduates. People who are familiar with the South African university system know that the government’s subsidies to institutions depend on the type of courses pursued by the students, with science and technology receiving the lion’s share. Nevertheless, because of the importance attached to the performing arts, the government’s White Paper on Higher Education, 1997, allows the performing arts and visual arts streams to enjoy the same subsidy formula as the science and technology disciplines. The understanding is that performing arts, like the pure sciences, also require purpose-specific architectural spaces for effective delivery of training. This is another singular and positive demonstration of how the government views the performing arts. In the research sphere, article publications in accredited journals attract subsidies of more than R100,000 per article from the Department of Higher Education and Training (DHET). This is not the case with artistic output (art productions), but since 2005, representatives, theatre activists, and other pressure groups have been fighting hard for the same incentive to be extended to artistic outputs. The government has given a favourable ear to the petition of the theatre practitioners, and it is considered only a matter of time before this will be implemented, seeing that the discussions

196

Chapter Twelve

on policies and procedures for measuring output have reached an advanced stage. In fact, the final document has been circulated for public input. The University of Pretoria and Tshwane University of Technology have on their own initiative rewarded excellence by giving recognition to nontraditional research outputs. At Tshwane University of Technology, although drama and other art subjects have not yet generated the desired income, the institution still regards the arts faculty as an “image maker” for the university. It has become a common practice for South African universities to host arts-based conferences annually in collaboration with government. The University of Johannesburg hosted a conference on “Creative Currencies” (6-8 August 2013). Tshwane University of Technology (TUT) held a conference in 2011 on Arts and Sustainable Development, and in 2013, the African Creative Economy conference took place in Cape Town on 6-9 October. The government, in its effort to boost the knowledge economy of the arts, has established a National Drama Library in Bloemfontein. Specialised books on drama research are also housed at the National English Language Museum in Grahamstown. The University of Stellenbosch has an online theatre archive.

The National Government and the Performing Arts General Commitment: In 1996, just a few years after the demise of apartheid and white minority rule in South Africa, the Department of Arts and Culture (DAC) put out its key policy framework in the White Paper on Arts, Culture and Heritage. After years of its operation, a Revised White Paper has been developed to cater for changes in the society. Support from the three tiers of government (national, provincial and municipal) for the performing arts and other cultural institutions is not lip service, but is transparently demonstrated through several avenues and the enactment of appropriate legislations. The arts are given consideration in the National Development Plan, strategic planning, constitutional policy and legislative framework and budgetary allocations. To start with, the National Cultural Policy is driven by the ruling political party – African National Congress (ANC). The ruling political party sees culture and the performing arts as integral processes of development. More than any other social factor, the performing arts’ contribution to the fight against apartheid remains fresh in the memory of many South Africans. While others used weapons and whatever was at their disposal to fight against apartheid, performing artists used words and creativity to conscientise the world against the evil machinations of apartheid. In recognition of the enviable position the arts

The Theatre Industry in Post-Apartheid South Africa

197

occupy in the national consciousness, the objectives of the post-apartheid draft National Cultural Policy affirm and promote the rich creativity in the culture of the people of South Africa. Another objective is to “ensure that resources and facilities for both the production and the appreciation of arts and culture are made available and accessible to all. Priority must be given to those people and communities that had previously been denied access to these resources” (p. 1). In particular, the National Cultural Policy stipulates that “Theatre practice and management should invite the participation of the majority so as to maximise the creative potential of all our people. Theatre should have a community focus and existing structures should be democratised. Facilities and resources need to be redistributed” (p. 4) (emphasis mine). In January 2015, the minister of arts and culture convened a national conference at the Kopanong Conference Centre where stakeholders were sponsored to deliberate the challenges facing theatre and dance as arts discipline. A National Dance and Theatre Task Force emerged from the conference. In March 2015, DAC established the Cultural and Creative Industries Federation of South Africa (CCIFSA) to serve as the official representative body of the arts. In April 2015, DAC organised a “consultative workshop” to oversee the Revised White Paper on Arts and Culture and Heritage. Strategic Planning: Senior and middle managers in the Department of Arts and Culture have been driving the development of the Strategic Plan. Two major planning sessions have been held to assess the changing environmental context and stakeholder needs and to refine the goals, objectives and programmes of the department. The National Development Plan emphasises the importance of arts and culture activities in nation building and social cohesion. According to that plan, art has the ability to facilitate dialogue, heal and restore pride, and deliver an imaginatively expressed critical representation that challenges people to do better. The department’s goals are in alignment with these principles, and aim to integrate art, culture, language and heritage into all sectors of national life. Art is seen as an agency that is capable of contributing to sustainable economic development, job creation and social cohesion through developing, preserving and promoting South African arts, culture and heritage nationally and internationally. Establishment of National Skills Academy & Provision of Scholarships: To build the necessary skills base to support the growth and development of the arts, the Government of South Africa has established a National Skills Academy. Provision is made for granting bursaries and scholarships to people interested in pursuing the performing arts as a

198

Chapter Twelve

career. Applicants are free to apply for bursaries individually, while institutions are also encouraged to apply directly to the National Arts Council (NAC) and other government parastatals for bulk bursary allocations to deserving undergraduate students in their institutions. Individual bursaries are also offered to students for studies toward postgraduate qualifications in South Africa and abroad. Policies have been developed that seek to bring about better conditions for art practitioners, distributors, agents and consumers. This is based on the premise that arts practitioners should gain “greater economic and social benefits from the arts...”

Theatre and Socio-Economic Development The National Arts Council (NAC) takes the performing arts seriously and has strategically planned for the sector in the period covering 20112016. The strategic objective is to promote the performing arts and mainstream its role in social and economic development. According to the minister of arts and culture in his foreword to the Strategic Plan document: In the course of 2011, the department will increase its focus on unleashing the potential of the arts, culture and heritage sector as a contributor to job creation and economic growth. In this regard we will unveil a detailed plan on how the arts ... will contribute to the national goal of creating 5 million jobs within the next 10 years. The creative industries can play an even bigger role than they do now in realising the objective of creating sustainable jobs; hence, our focus will also be on a strategy for creative industries that begins to realise the vast economic potential of the arts (p. 9).

This stand aligns well with Howkins (2001), who views the creative industry in the twenty-first century as the new basis for wealth and a dominant economic form. He writes: “People with ideas – people who own ideas – have become more powerful than people who work machines and, in many cases, more powerful than the people who own machines (2001, ix). Venturelli adds eloquently: A nation without a vibrant creative labor force of artists, writers, designers, scriptwriters, playwrights, painters, musicians, film producers, directors, actors, dancers, choreographers, not to mention engineers, scientists, researchers and intellectuals does not possess the knowledge base to succeed in the Information Economy, and must depend on ideas produced elsewhere (2000: 16).

The Theatre Industry in Post-Apartheid South Africa

199

In South Africa, the performing arts are regarded by the government as forming an economic hub. Though data on the economic contribution of the performing arts is hard to come by, performances of the cultural and creative industries are found in major national accounts and research reports conducted by some organisations and government departments. In 2008, in the Gauteng Mapping Project, the performing arts turned over an estimated R260 million and gross value added of R166 million and employed 2,200 people in its workforce (see Revised White Paper on Arts, Culture and Heritage, 2013). In the same document, it is stated: In Gauteng directly and indirectly, it is estimated that the Cultural and Creative Industries contribute R33.3 billion to the Gauteng economy and creates employment for over 182,000 people. Overall, the Cultural and Creative Industries contributes about1% of the value-added by the tertiary Cultural and Creative industries and 0.7% for the provincial economy as a whole. In terms of direct employment, the Cultural and Creative Industries account for 1.9% of employment in the provinces, slightly more than agriculture and forestry (1.8%) and slightly less than mining (2.5%) (Gauteng Creative Mapping Project quoted in Revised White Paper on Arts and Culture, 2013, p. 26).

The plan also sees the creative arts sector as having good potential for growth and job creation, and proposes that artists should be supported by the government and the private sector. An important departmental initiative to accommodate this goal is the Mzansi Golden Economy Strategy, which will mainstream the role of arts, culture, and heritage in social and economic development, and aims to create 5,950 jobs over the medium term. In addition, the department has allocated an estimated R182.2 million over the medium term for financial support to arts practitioners to enable the expression of national creativity.

Budgetary Allocations for the Performing Arts (NAC) There has long been a vibrant funding tradition for theatre in South Africa. During the apartheid era (1947-1961), the state-funded National Organisation (NTO) was created with a mandate to fund the arts. In 1962, the four Regional Performing Arts Councils (PAC) came into existence and these were funded by government. “The largest of these [was] the Performing Arts Council of the Transvaal (PACT). Of the R70 million distributed to the PACs in 1991, PACT received about R30 million. PACT employed about 2,400 people and was situated in the heart of Pretoria in a modern, twelve-storey building” (Steinberg, 1996: 246). The post-apartheid

200

Chapter Twelve

Department of Arts and Culture (DAC) disbanded the Performing Arts Councils and embarked on a process to decentralise its budget to be managed more effectively by the respective programmes. The initial phase was completed in 2010/11 and it was envisaged that full decentralisation would take place from 1 April 2012. In 2015, the DAC was allocated close to R4 billion by government. In addition to that, the National Lotteries Commission makes R200 million available for the arts, culture and heritage sector. Through the Cultural Institutions Act No 119, 1998, six theatres (Artscape, State Theatre, Market Theatre, Windybrow Theatre, Playhouse Company and the Performing Arts Company of Free State) are subsidised by the government, and in 2005/6 the total allocation was R97.7 million, increasing to R190.6 million in 2012/13. In 2016/17, the sum earmarked for the six theatres is R220 million for operational expenses, R92 million for capital expenses; a total of R312 million. In the 2015 budget, DAC committed itself to building two community art centres at the cost of R20 million. 19 arts centres are to be refurbished at the cost of R24.7 million. By 2018, it has resolved to build 350 community arts centres. Between 2011-2015, DAC allocated R479.981 million to upgrade the six established theatres mentioned earlier. The intention of the government is evidently to transform the sector. The Business and Arts South Africa (BASA) (a Section 21 “not for profit” company in terms of South African law) was founded in 1997 to promote and facilitate funding from the business community for individuals and organisations involved in arts creation. BASA is recognised as a development agency that encourages mutually beneficial partnerships between business and the arts. Apart from the national government, provincial governments are also encouraged to support the performing arts. The KwaZulu-Natal Provincial Government, for example, in collaboration with the Department of Arts and Culture, has introduced “TWIST Theatre-for-Development Projects”, which focuses on developing community theatre groups for sustainable relationships and networks for theatre development. According to Project Manager Emma Durden: TWIST works with established community theatre groups in different regions of KZN and links them with local institutes such as theatre organisations, the drama departments of theatre schools, theatre festivals, mentors and experienced theatre practitioners, including arts managers, teachers, scriptwriters, and theatre directors (2012/2013: p. 5).

The Theatre Industry in Post-Apartheid South Africa

201

The City of Tshwane (CoT) supports arts and culture forums in its major townships while the Grahamstown Foundation Arts’ Education Department runs several provincial festivals. One of the major national arts festivals will be discussed later.

Theatre Infrastructure While other African countries have national theatres, South Africa boasts more theatre buildings than its counterparts in West, East and North Africa. As a matter of policy, theatre houses are erected in many of the provinces. The Union Buildings in Pretoria, erected in 1910, now the office of the president of the republic, has a huge amphitheatre within its premises. Apart from theatre complexes in all the public universities that offer drama as an academic discipline, the City of Cape Town owns important theatres including Space Theatre, Independent Armchair Theatre, Maynardville Open-Air Theatre, Baxter Theatre, Kalk Bay Theatre, and Theatre on the Bay. Of these and the many more that we cannot enumerate, the Artscape Theatre Centre, known formerly as Nico Malan Theatre Centre, is by far the most acclaimed performing arts complex in Cape Town, seating 1,487 people in its Opera House; 540 in the Theatre; and 140 in the Arena Theatre. Johannesburg’s theatre structures include Market Theatre, which opened in 1976 and is located in Newtown. Like Cape Town’s Artscape, the Market Theatre is a complex housing three theatres – Barney Simon’s Theatre, Main Theatre and Laager Theatre. Also in Johannesburg are Soweto Theatre, Windybrow Arts Centre, Hillbrow Theatre and Jo’burg Theatre. In KwaZulu-Natal are Durban Playhouse Theatre, Courtyard Theatre, Catalina Theatre, Heritage Theatre, iZulu Theatre, Seabrokes Theatre and Hexagon, amongst others. Of the many theatres located in Pretoria, the State Theatre is the most prominent. This huge complex has facilities that make it the best theatre structure choice in the country. Of its six theatres, Drama seats an audience of about 700; Arena seats 300; Rendezvous 260 and Opera 1,900 people, including musicians. A small handbook would be needed to list all the theatres in South Africa; the few that have been mentioned are illustrative of the others to be found in North-West (provinciallysubsidised Mmabana Centres), Northern Cape, Mpumalanga, Eastern Cape, Free State and Limpopo. There are also theatres run by private individuals and NGOs. Townships have started to benefit from the presence of subsidised theatres.

202

Chapter Twelve

Agencies/Private Sector Funding The bulk of funding for the arts, including the performing arts, comes from government. Nonetheless, the government encourages the private sector to fund the arts by instituting incentives such as tax rebates. Publicly funded cultural bodies are exempt from taxation and theatre tickets are exempt from VAT. The government’s position is that funding for the performing arts should be based on a partnership between government, business, communities and NGOs - private sector partners, a social responsibility budget, donor agencies, businesses, a job fund, and contributions from local, provincial, national, continental and international organisations. Over and above these, the government has established a Cultural and Creative Industries Fund (CIF) for the benefit of artists. It is believed that a strategy of forging mutually beneficial national and international partnerships and collaborations will ensure sustainable development of the arts and the culture sector. The DAC continues to highlight the importance of cultural diplomacy in international relations and expands South Africa’s network with the world through strategic relations. The department has signed cultural agreements and fosters cultural and performance initiatives with several countries around the globe, including the African continent. It is worthy of note that the Department of Trade and Industry also funds the arts and arts-related initiatives.

Drama Festivals Festivals seem to be the lifeblood of the South African people. Drama festivals are abundant in South Africa and are supported not only by the government, but by individuals and corporate organisations as well. Neville Engelbrecht, Director of the Arts Education Department at the Grahamstown Foundation, states that, “Arts education is a very fundamental ingredient that is lacking in our education system in general. We try to fill that gap by providing the youth with our arts-based festivals and other projects” (see Fernley, 2010). The aim of this kind of education, says Engelbrecht, “is to facilitate the unlocking of the potential for creative thought and imagination within the youth. Whether they become scientists or accountants, we want them to be creative in whatever they do in life and to be confident in their abilities as human beings.” Dr. Jan Nel has documented more than 312 performing arts festivals in South Africa (2008). Sasol Schools Festivals for pupils in grade 11 are organised in Mpumalanga, Free State, Northern Cape, and Gauteng.

The Theatre Industry in Post-Apartheid South Africa

203

Standard Bank National Schools Festivals for Matric pupils are organised to expose them to professional theatre work, and hands-on workshop experiences with recognised professional artists. They introduce learners to what they cannot get in their own schools. The National Eisteddfod Academy (NEA) is a non-profit organisation that creates opportunities for youth development in the arts. The activities of the NEA, funded by the National Lottery Distribution Trust Fund (NLDTF), has provided various opportunities where young performers can develop and showcase their talents, across the full spectrum of artistic and cultural diversity. Taking part in the eisteddfod activities benefits all participants, with particular impact on personal development and growth. Teachers and parents have attested that participating in the NEA Eisteddfod builds learners’ selfconfidence, assertiveness and gives them the courage to take a stand in the world. This is achieved through no-limitation participation in the eisteddfod and related events, where young performers are exposed to the magic of the performing arts. The NEA Young Performer Awards project has gained in prestige since it was established in 2004 to provide a platform for young performers in music, dance and drama. The concerts have grown in popularity over the past few years and have become a cultural highlight, as indicated by sold-out performances and the high standard of performances. Some of the other festivals worth mentioning are the Inner City High Schools Drama Festival (established in 2005 in Hillbrow, Johannesburg), the National Children’s Theatre Camp, Infecting the City – Cape Town, the Montagu MMADD Festival (Music, Art, Dance and Drama) in the Klein Karoo, the Witness Hilton Arts Festival and Jongosi Schools Festival in KwaZulu-Natal, the Market Theatre’s annual Zwakala Festival, Clover Aardklop Nasionale Kunstefees in North-West Province, Diamantveld Teater, Kimberley in Northern Cape, and most importantly, the Annual National Arts Festival – Grahamstown, which is jointly sponsored by the Eastern Cape Government, the National Arts Council, Standard Bank, the National Lottery Distribution Trust Fund, Transnet, the Sunday Independent newspaper and M-Net (TV). This pace-setting festival had its humble beginnings in 1974 during the official commissioning of the 1820 National Settlers Monument in Grahamstown. It was initially a project of the Grahamstown Foundation. The festival has two components: the Main and the Festival on the Fringe, and it usually spans about two weeks. Major events cover professional and amateur drama presentations at many locations in the university town. Organisers of the festival usually fund some participating groups in order to ensure effective participation. The Naledi Annual Awards is a new initiative and a

Chapter Twelve

204

forum for artists who have excelled in their calling to be recognised in the form of a prize.

Theatre Associations/Bodies/Networks A popular African proverb states: “If you want to go faster, go alone; if you want to go further, move together.” This proverb sums up the value of working as a team in any endeavour aiming at success. Working in silos in the performing arts sector is not a promising strategy. In South Africa, theatre practitioners know the value of establishing bodies, associations and theatre companies, like other active labour unionists. The following are some of the notable associations/bodies/theatre companies: x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x x

PANSA: Performing Arts Network of South Africa Ubom! Eastern Cape Drama Company ARTerial Network South Africa Sisonke Art Productions Laway Arts Minimax Performing Arts Extravaganza Olive Tree Theatre Productions Poko Productions SANTA: South African National Community Theatre Association Themba Interactive Isibane Drama Group Committed Artists Foundation in KwaZulu-Natal Write Local Play Global (network for playwrights) Ithemba Labantu Performing Art Promotion ITYARN: Internal Theatre for Young Audiences Research Network ACYTA: African Children and Youth Theatre Arena VIP: Vrygrond Incungela Players (meets twice a week for drama workshops) Where Rainbows Meet: Community-based theatre organisation in Vrygrond ASSITEJ: International Association of Theatre for Children and Young People

In ASSITEJ’s Theatre 4 Youth Catalogue, its South African Director Yvette Hardie states:

The Theatre Industry in Post-Apartheid South Africa

205

ASSITEJ SA believes that every child and young person in South Africa should have access to the arts from the earliest possible age. A significant research project done over a number of years reveals “that when young people study the arts they show heightened academic standing, a strong capacity for self-assessment and a secure sense of their own ability to plan and work for a positive future” (p. 6).

Theatre 4 youth tasks itself with making sure that theatre reaches youth in schools, crèches, community centres, libraries, museums, national parks, and other sites (p. 7).

Impediments There can be no doubt that in planning support for the cultural sector in South Africa, prominence has been given to the art institutions, since cultural products are traditionally linked with the creative arts of the people. South Africa has emphasised the need to incorporate culture as a strategic element in national and international development. It has emphasised the vital role of creativity as an agency which nurtures and renews cultural expression and enhances the role played by those involved in the development of culture for the progress of society at large. Today’s knowledge economy requires creative professionals, because the creative industry is now a high growth economic sector. In spite of all the efforts made by the government to promote the arts, there are still some lapses and challenges. During the Kopanong conference in January 2015, many theatre practitioners cried out about a lack of adequate resources. Theatre practitioners were of the view that the funding allocated to the arts is neither sufficient nor equitably distributed. In an interview with Aubrey Sekhabi the Artistic Director of the State Theatre, Pretoria on 2 February 2015, Greg Homann insinuated that the State Theatre is not allocated adequate funding. He stated unequivocally “that state funding is only allocated to the running of the buildings, the upkeep of the buildings and to salaries,” not productions, the main business of theatre. Sekhabi affirmed that when he was appointed the first time as the Artistic Director, there was no budget allocated to his office (see Middeke et al, 2015: 431-343). National Arts Council is sometimes reluctant to fund the State Theatre, probably because it believes that the State Theatre is capable of generating sufficient money to cater for its operations. The general view is that this funding model should be reviewed as the State Theatre is not necessarily a business centre but also an image-maker for the country – a national theatre.

206

Chapter Twelve

Currently, not all the provinces have benefitted from the establishment of theatre houses and many black townships do not have theatres or recreational centres. Most theatres in the country are urban-based and this has encouraged artists to migrate to the towns, leaving local communities famished. In traditional Africa, theatre used to go to the people as opposed to the practice of inviting people from the local communities to travel long distances in order to see a production in the city. The location of the theatres in the city centres and the structural components of the theatre buildings must be reviewed in order to accommodate patrons from the local communities who are likely to be intimidated when confronted with what they are not used to. Attendance at theatres, particularly by the black population is also worrying. While an effort should be made to attract audiences to the theatre, attention must be paid to the contents and relevance of the plays. If plays presented are not appealing to the audience, the theatres will remain empty. Nollywood films, despite technical glitches, are popular in Nigeria and other parts of Africa because of the local contents in the video films. South African theatre could borrow a leaf from this. Some feel that the performing arts sector is not adequately transformed, as those who used to benefit during the apartheid era are still in charge. Lack of access to finance has been identified as a set-back in the promotion of black entrepreneurs in the performing arts sector. Gender inequality is prevalent, seeing that relatively few women are in the sector. However, in my view, the situation today is a lot better than what it used to be. The introduction of arts education in primary schools is a welcome initiative; however, it suffers from a lack of trained teachers and other relevant resources to lead the process forward. The few who are trained are by no means sufficient to cater for the teeming population of primary learners. Teachers must be encouraged to get trained through the availability of incentives such as bursaries and scholarships. Many practitioners crowd around acting as a specialisation without considering the management and policy aspects of the sector. The theatre profession sometimes become a free-for-all-trade when smart people observe that there is available funding to be disposed of. These fly-by-night theatre quacks end up frustrating real professionals within the profession. This ugly practice must be kept in check. Researchers and able playwrights are also notoriously too few to sustain the activities of the theatre arts profession. Because of the apartheid situation that encouraged workshopped and devised plays, many find it difficult to cultivate the culture of playwriting. If this situation is not arrested, there will be

The Theatre Industry in Post-Apartheid South Africa

207

playscripts drought in the near future and this will not augur well for the development of theatre in the coutry. Lastly, the employment market for artists needs to be looked into by the government, because many good artists are still unemployed.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN AN INTERVIEW WITH BONISILE K. NXUMALO: A CONTEMPORARY VOICE IN PERFORMANCE POETRY

Introduction In many indigenous African communities, poetry recital was indeed a popular performance which attracted huge audiences, especially because of the incorporation of music and dance in its realisation. The ballad is a case in point. With colonialism and the exposure of many Africans to the Euro-American educational systems, poetry seems to have lost its traditional steam. With the introduction of western poems in African schools coupled with saturation of foreign frames of references that obscure the meaning of some of the poems, students have no choice but to embrace this new development. With modern European poetry, emphases are placed on the variegated language of animation, form, metrics, imagery, alliteration, assonance, rhythm and rhyme schemes, mood, stanza, verse, etc., and some African students started to develop a positive attitude towards poetry erroneously regarding the art form as an elitist genre capable of being studied and enjoyed only by an intelligent class of people who belong to an exclusive club. Many of the recommended poets for study by African students include John Lennon, William Blake, John Donne, William Wordsworth, Robert Frost, Alexander Pope, Andrew Marvell, Alfred Lord Tennyson, Robert Browning, and T.S. Eliot, who did not compose their poems with Africa in mind. Ability to recite some of their poems has become a mark of exceptionalism. As a result of what they learn in schools, many poets from Africa have composed poems that are Eurocentric in approach and inaccessible to the lay people in society and in fact, some educated Africans also struggle hard to understand some of the poems because of the utilisation of “old-fashioned, craggy, unmusical language, obscure and inaccessible diction; a plethora of imported imagery; a divorce from African oral poetic traditions, tempered only by lifeless attempts at revivalism” (Chinweizu, et al 1980: 165).

An Interview with Bonisile K. Nxumalo

209

With decolonisation which encouraged the cutting of ties with some strange and borrowed practices, many African writers and critics are in the forefront in the battle against the euromodernists. In 1993 – February 16, this author organised a “Poetry Festival” at the National University of Lesotho, Roma campus. It was a festival with a difference in the sense that what was uppermost in the mind of the organiser was to deconstruct the general belief people have about poetry. I was guided by the principle that in spite of the wonders of science and technology in our modern world, the arts still occupy a prominent place in the sustainable development of the society. We disabused the minds of the public that poetry, as popularly believed, is not a drab, not a bore. Poetry is an important and vital part of African culture, not an import from Europe. Poetry is a form of expression, an inventive and imaginative form employed to comment on life, giving utterance to its joys and sorrows. The Lesotho Poetry Festival which became an annual event was an occasion for the gown to interact with the town. It was an occasion for the administrative staff members and the academics and students to share a common bond as people from these groups read poems that appealed to the African sensibilities. In her write-up during the 1993 poetry reading session in the Senate Room of the Roma campus of the National University of Lesotho, Mojabeng Ntlhakana stated that “The occasion offered a sumptuous buffet of poetry delight.” The event later culminated in the University Resident Halls’ poetry competition as well as High Schools’ competition with trophies donated by Maseru Sun Hotel. Recent developments have featured a contemporary class of African youth who have taken decided steps to demystify poetry. Many of the youth are Southern Africans and women are in the forefront. Many clubs in Southern Africa feature poetry performances. These performances are different from what many conservatives are used to but very much in line with one of the elements which defines poetry, particularly African poetry - sound. Generally, poetry is an art that depends largely on sound. Like music, it was originally meant to be sung or read aloud. The ballad was not just a song but “a dance-song” (Egudu 1977: 53) and Walter Pater could not have been more correct when he said that poetry “constantly aspires to the condition of music” (quoted in Egudu, p. 53). This situation clothes poetry in the garment of drama – “some poems are very dramatic; the element of drama in them must be grasped if we are to understand them at all. And all poems are dramatic to some extent, however slight. We approach the dramatic element in poetry by assuming that every poem shares some qualities with a speech in a play: that it is spoken aloud by a “speaker” who is a character in a situation which implies a certain

210

Chapter Thirteen

relationship with other characters; and we assume that this speech is “overheard” by an audience” (Scholes, et al 1991: 529). Poetry which formed an arm of literature study in African schools in the 60s and 70s used to be a dreaded subject. But in contemporary Africa, the genre has become part of the popular trend in terms of performance and many young people are fascinated by what they fondly regard as “poetry slam” sessions. Poetry slam sessions attract large audiences unlike what used to be the situation in the past. Poets/Rappers in Southern Africa include Lerato Mokobe, Sechaba Nkitseng, Siyabonga Njicas, Neo Makgopa, Koleka Putuma, Sisonke Msimang and Vuyelwa Maluleke, to mention but the few. These are popular poets and “brave new voices” greatly influenced by the hip-pop culture. They depend largely on rigorous display of emotions, use of gestures, eye-contacts, creative use of voice, choral recitation, sustained pauses, storytelling and acting. In South Africa, Mzwakhe Mbuli, popularly known as the “people’s poet” is a celebrated modern poetry performer who has not only charmed politicians and the labour unions with his patronising compositions but has greatly appealed to the youth because of his enchanting verses. Amongst these performers, Lebogang Mashile stands out conspicuously as a South African poetry performer – “spoken word poet” who lives in Johannesburg and her love and passion for the arts overpowered her earlier decision to pursue law and international relations at the University of the Witwatersrand. It is generally believed that her “hip-hop” inspired poetry is imbued with “rhythms.” In other words, her poetry is a fusion of dance and music. Her recorded live poetry performances which combine hip-hop, house music and rhythm and blues produced a digital album entitled, Lebo Mashile Live. Lebo’s first collection of poetry, In a Ribbon of Rhythm which was published in 2005 earned her the prestigious Noma Award for publishing in Africa. On 28 June 2007, I was privileged to witness her poetry performance from this collection at the University of Botswana, Gaborone. One of the outstanding poems in this collection, which of course speaks to the title of the collection is “Every Child, My Child.” Every child, my child is wrapped in a ribbon of rhythm Every child, my child is wrapped in a ribbon of rhythm Every child, my child is wrapped in a ribbon of rhythm, Wrapped in a ribbon of rhythm, Wrapped in a ribbon of rhythm

An Interview with Bonisile K. Nxumalo

211

Every child, my child is wrapped in a ribbon of rhythm Every child, my child is wrapped in a ribbon of rhythm Every child, my child is wrapped in a ribbon of rhythm, Wrapped in a ribbon of rhythm, Wrapped in a ribbon of rhythm Our future hangs on the present’s legacies Life is a puzzle held together by the air we breathe If hope were breath, with every second of time We could conceive Of a life where love is not betrayed by mirages Of concrete hierarchies And other fallacies I have been told that these promises come wrapped in satin skin And the force that brings them forth Is inherent in these vessels we use To peruse this web-like journey of existence Some are guided by words woven with rhythm Blessed are those guided by words woven with a ribbon of rhythm The blessed are guided by words moulded by the light of their vision Woven with a ribbon of rhythm Their souls dance through transitions Life is a gift from our ancestors that we borrow from our children Blessed are those guided by words moulded by the light of their vision Life is a gift from our ancestors that we borrow from our children Blessed are those guided by words woven with a ribbon of rhythm . . . Every child should know the scope of their greatness Is contained in the weightless Inconvertible light that is their truest being My child will know that boxes like race, class and gender Are fated to be transcended in the face of a limitless self that is free Every child, my child is wrapped in a ribbon of rhythm Every child, my child is wrapped in a ribbon of rhythm Every child, my child is wrapped in a ribbon of rhythm, Wrapped in a ribbon of rhythm, Wrapped in a ribbon of rhythm . . . . (pp.11-14).

212

Chapter Thirteen

Interview with Bonisile Nxumalo Born eNkambeni (eMabiya), Bonisile Nxumalo is a Swazi theatre practitioner, poet, children’s theatre specialist, director and drama teacher. Though she is a dramatist by profession, Bonisile has promoted poetry performance in Swaziland and other parts of Africa. An interesting development in Southern Africa, as well as in other parts of Africa is the interest in poetry that has recently been cultivated by the African youth. This interest is partly ascribed to the effort that contemporary young poets in Southern Africa have put into changing the image and perception of poetry from the boring stuff to a jiving art form. This is akin to positive changes that are happening in the Roman Catholic Church since Vatican II to downplay on Latinism and accommodate familiar and cultural modes of worship that reflect the environment that the church finds itself. African music and dance are now in vogue in many Catholic churches that are located in Africa as was not the case some years ago. Bonisile is a multi-talented young lady who is at home with skills such as puppetry, children’s entertainment, public speaking, mask work, and of course, poetry writing and performance. She has participated in many theatre productions as well as performances of poetry in public places including corporate organisations. She has won many awards. When she is engaged in poetry performance, a total theatre effect is felt incorporating music from a live band, vigorous dancing, acting and rigorous movements, something close to physical theatre expressions. Many costume changes occur in between performances in a bid to create variety and oftentimes, there is audience participation. In an attempt to create a more conducive and relaxing environment, members of the audience are sometimes allowed to dance, sing and sit informally around tables, eating and consuming any drinks of their choices. In February/March 2017, I had an opportunity to interview this young and very promising artist. My decision to create this space for her is to salute her bravery and rippling voice in the province of the arts and for standing up for the oppressed women and abused children in the society. PE:

As I have already told you, your work as an artist intrigues me. I am indeed one of the people out there who admire what you do on stage. Would you be kind enough to talk a little about your background . . . family, education, etc?

An Interview with Bonisile K. Nxumalo

BN:

213

Thank you Professor. I was born at Nkambeni (eMabiya), Swaziland. I come from a family of three children and I am the middle child, that’s my mother’s children. My father on the other hand had many other children because he was a polygamist. I attended primary school at Sidney Williams School, in Manzini and high school at Cornerstone College in Silverton, South Africa. My father was a sugarcane farmer who owned many cows too. So growing up was a never ending feast for me: fresh milk, sour milk, meat, mangoes and sugarcane were my daily bread. I grew up going to church; in fact I performed my first poem in church. In both primary and high schools, I started my own drama groups, where I wrote short plays and performed them for the school during assembly. In grade ten I lost my father and found that many things changed in my life. I later enrolled in a university - Tshwane University of Technology in Pretoria, South Africa and obtained a Diploma and degree in drama. After completing my studies in drama, I went back home, to Swaziland and started teaching speech and drama at Sidney Williams’s primary school. Currently, only private schools in Swaziland teach drama as a curricular subject. The school (Sidney Williams) that gave me my first job is a government school and this is the only government school that offers drama lessons. I teach grade 1 to grade 6. It was initially a challenge to convince parents and management that indeed there is a need for drama in Sidney Williams. On top of writing a letter that included the benefits of drama, I was requested to write and direct a production to be performed by the students during the school’s cultural day celebration. The challenge was the limited time in which I had to prepare, besides having to work with children that had no previous experience and exposure to drama. The performance was good enough to impress both parents and teachers. This is how I was given the opportunity to be the first speech and drama teacher in a Swazi primary school. I write and perform poetry for private and corporate functions in Swaziland and in other places. At the age of 24, I fell in love and at 25 gave birth to my daughter, Gcwali. Things didn’t work out with her father, but together we have managed to bring her up to be the outgoing and un-naturally sensible child that she is. Since 2016, I have been teaching part time as I am currently enrolled for a diploma in Building and Construction.

214

Chapter Thirteen

PE:

As a theatre practitioner, why do you prefer to work with learners in the primary schools?

BN:

These learners are a delight to work with. Simple. I love children. People take them for granted but they are an intelligent lot. Drama is part of the language art programme, which involves listening, speaking, reading and writing. Teachers use drama to support these aspects of literacy development. In the primary grades especially, children find drama playful and entertaining and they become actively engaged in the dramatic process. In the primary school classrooms, the focus is on learning through drama by using dramatic activities. These activities can be informal and integrated into the curriculum. Another important function of drama in the primary grades is to enhance the learners’ vocabulary proficiency, which is also crucial in literacy development. Teachers are often encouraged to create a memorable event when presenting unfamiliar words. A vocabulary lesson might involve learners acting out interesting stories that contain new vocabulary.

PE:

As a performing artist, what inspires you to perform poems?

BN:

I am greatly inspired by women’s movements towards justice, equal opportunities and the protection of the vulnerable. The plight of women and children at the hands of violence, human trafficking and discrimination in the name of culture and tradition resonates in many of my poems. I have also developed the skill of writing without inspiration; this means that I do not have to be moved by something in order for me to write about it. I suppose this comes from performing for the cooperate world, where I am given a theme and have to write and perform the poem.

PE:

What inspires you to write poems?

BN:

What inspires me? I am inspired by just about anything that moves me emotionally. I generally don’t wait for inspiration in order to write a poem, I decide on the title of a poem, and then everything else just follows. Due to the fact that I am often commissioned to write poems that tackle specific social ills, I have mastered the art of writing on the go, anytime and about anything. I have found that many artists mix the two, (personal poetry and putting food on the table poetry). I can understand that

An Interview with Bonisile K. Nxumalo

215

young poets start out wanting to change the world by sharing their experiences, hurts and joy. There is absolutely nothing wrong with that. But the only place where you get to selfexpression is at open mic sessions, and these do not pay even a fraction of one’s monthly expenses. Once you have taken up performance poetry, you need to understand that you are selling words, you are commissioned by a company to write about something, and then you get paid. So in essence, if performance poetry is your business, you must be willing and able to do both open mic and cooperate performances, without feeling like you are betraying your art. PE:

You often talk about Tracy Chapman as a creative artist that you admire a lot. Why is this artist your reference point?

BN:

I absolutely adore and admire singer and song writer Tracy Chapman. Her songs are easy in the ear though controversial, political, romantic and provoking. I try to have all of these in my poems. Yes. Tracy Chapman, she ignites my world of words even now. I grew up amongst a people who believe in respect for elders and authority; this would include counting your words when speaking about politics, infidelity and a woman’s place in the family and in the country. Now there I was listening to Tracy, as she sang about the struggles of the black community in the United States of America, sexuality, death and love. At the tender age that I was at the time, I thought her to be very brave, unapologetic and liberal. In many ways I have found my liberal voice too, except that mine is still very grounded in tradition and the need to remain respectful.

PE:

What does poetry mean to you?

BN:

What poetry means to me? Performance art means many things to me, but mostly it means freedom, passion, discipline and liberty. It is liberating to take my audience to a destination of my choice. There is a mysterious freedom that comes with the opportunity to use words in ways that ignite inspiration and action within the reader or listener.

PE:

I hear people refer to you as “Blacknote.” Why?

216

Chapter Thirteen

BN:

Blacknote is my stage name, many people don’t even know my real name, just that I’m Blacknote the poet. Blacknote is firstly a woman that has found her path in the journey planned for her by God. The name Blacknote came about after my brother tried to teach me how to play the piano while we were in high school. I did not like classical music the way he did, so all I did was play with the black notes and not the white ones. Thus, Blacknote!

PE:

Many of your poems lament the death of your father. Why were you so attached to him though you grew up in a polygamous family?

BN:

Strangely, I was mostly, and still am attached to my father spiritually, because I was never attached to him physically. He loved all his children and tried to be there for us all. This was not always possible as he was also a farmer, so his time was very limited. We never got to do the things that fathers do with their children in the movies and books, but his energy was always enough to keep us all happy. He passed on when I was 15 and like many fathers who are proud of their children’s talents; my father would often ask me to entertain his guests with poetry and song. Those moments for me were, and still are irreplaceable. To a great extent, I believe that every time I perform; he is next to me, smiling and proud.

PE:

You use musical accompaniment (live band) in your poetry performances. What role does music play in your poems?

BN:

Music plays the role of bringing familiarity and a sense of nostalgia to the audience. In order to make sure that they follow my poetic stories and are able to connect with me. This works when the band plays familiar songs that are relevant to that particular poem. The band also serves as the perfect break between poems, so that the audience knows that when the band turns up the tempo and volume, the poem has ended and a new one is about to be recited.

PE:

Are there any relationships between your poetry performances and slam or rap?

BN:

I think the most obvious one would be the free style. My performance poems are not written in any traditional form or type

An Interview with Bonisile K. Nxumalo

217

of poetry, I just freestyle and write what I feel at the time. Just like slam and rap. PE:

African Union (AU) has honoured you twice by inviting you to perform in Ethiopia and Kenya. Did the Union reward you with price money? If so, can you disclose the amount?

BN:

No. there was no price money, but I did get a comfortable allowance. Flights and accommodation were taken care of. I think that the main reason I agreed to perform for them was the recognition, and also because I had never travelled to these countries before (Kenya and Ethiopia); so for me it was mostly about travelling and exposure around Africa, and the opportunity to collaborate with other artists.

PE:

What would you regard as the most memorable moment in your career as a poet?

BN:

That was in 2014 when I performed in Ethiopia at the African Union headquarters (Addis Ababa), and bowed to a standing ovation led by Nkosazana Dlamini-Zuma, the erstwhile Chairperson of the Union. At that point I was like ‘’let’s make it rain!!’’

PE:

Can you also, perhaps, talk about your worst moment(s)?

BN:

Having the microphone turned off while I was performing at a high profile function. I continued performing without it, then the sound guy came to give me another mic, further disturbing me; then another guy came to whisper something in my ear while I was still performing (who does that?). That was indeed the worst moment in my career. It was like they were getting ice-cream (yum) in return for breaking me on that day… oh well!

PE:

What makes you different?

BN:

What makes me different? (she laughs) I write to be understood, not heard. I flow like a second kiss. I mic the unexpected. I only speak when spoken to, and when I do, it’s clean.

PE:

You mentioned to me that you have enrolled for a Diploma programme in Building and Construction. Having had a

218

Chapter Thirteen

successful life as an arts practitioner, what kind of pull draws you towards Building and Construction? BN:

Swaziland recently introduced free primary education, and the school (Sidney Williams Primary) was unable to pay me a monthly salary. This led to drama becoming optional and no longer compulsory; this also meant that parents now had to pay me directly for their children to take drama lessons. Before this I worked 4 days a week, but suddenly I found myself working one day of the week. Most of my poetry performances happen in the evenings, as companies usually have functions in the evenings. I needed something to do during the day, as performances are generally far apart, two months can pass by without any performances. I have always been interested in structures and how they are built, so when I saw the call for applications to enrol, I knew this was my opportunity to get myself a second career. It was the best decision I have made in a long time and I am enjoying it, I can build a wall fence now, even fit in tiles.

PE:

On 28 July 2012, you invited me to Swaziland to attend the launch of your first volume of poetry, River in my Soul. Can you summarise what the collection is about?

BN:

I published my first book of poems in 2012 . . . . What was it about? Yes, River in my Soul. In this collection I explore culture, images of growing up in Swaziland and describe my encounters with anger, love, God, loss, dreams and hope. My poetry takes the reader through a journey of self-discovery; doubt, and self-worth in a changing society. This book is a personal one, and I enjoyed writing the poems in it very much. It was like a healing process for me.

PE:

I hear you very quickly published another book of poems in 2013. What’s the collection about?

BN:

The second collection is entitled, Mountains of Sentiments: Poems to Sing when the Record Stops. Here I explore the experiences of women and children. Through this collection I hope to take the readers or audiences through the emotions of women and children during abuse, violence, joy, marriage, early marriage and education. I spent some time bonding with women of different ages and backgrounds while compiling these poems.

An Interview with Bonisile K. Nxumalo

219

It was an amazing journey and an experience for me, and I hope for everyone that reads the poems. Because we live in a digital age, in 2016 I released my own album of poetry from the two books. PE:

I am fascinated with many of the poems in your poetry collection, River in my Soul (2012). Which of the poems in this collection would you say is your favourite?

BN:

Without a doubt, “Kagogo.”

Set below is the favourite poem: “KAGOGO” I am burning with loss and hungry for life, The grass at my ancestral home no longer grows, Even the dust is trying to run away From this haunted home that used to be called kagogo Labatiko batsi sekwaba kusetindzaleni I remember it like it was yesterday On this very homestead. Mothers, fathers, uncles and auties, Brothers and sisters, Gathered on this homestead to slaughter a cow, In celebration of what we liked to call the beauty of life, Little did we know that around the corner lay a monster. A monster that lay waiting to devour us, One by one, to kill us, one by one To bury us one by one. I remember it like it was yesterday On this very homestead. I broke my ankle trying to catch a chicken for gogo. A chicken that gogo wanted to slaughter for my uncle Who was coming home from the big city. I ran and hid behind a tree as I watched gogo Slaughter the chicken with a smile So wide it made me giggle, just a little. Little did I know that on that very day I would watch gogo pull out her own hair In grief for the loss of her son, My uncle. I am burning with loss and hungry for life.

220

Chapter Thirteen

I remember it like it was yesterday Gogo, lying on her dying bed. There was nothing I could do for her, I could no longer catch chichens for gogo For they were all gone. Gogo pulled me to her side and said gijima, gijima, gijima, Run, run, run my child And never look back. I have been running since. As a child I did not know what gogo wanted me to run from Today I know (pp. 41-42).

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Ackerman, A. and Puchner, M. Against Theatre: Creative Destructions on the Modernist Stage. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2006. African Comprehensive HIV/AIDS Partnerships. Annual Report. Gaborone: Botswana Ministry of Health, 2001/2002. Adams, L. The Emergence of Foklore in Everyday Life. Bloomington: Indiana Trickster Press, 1990. Ahmed, S.J. “Examining Interventionist Theatre in a Multi-Axial World of Transience: An Essay in Refusal.” In Drama as Social Intervention, edited by Michael Balfour and John Somers, 40-57. Canada: Captus University Publications, 2006. Ahura, T. “The Playwright, the Play and the Revolutionary African Aesthetics.” Ufahamu 14, 3 (1985): 93-104. Amato, R. “Introduction.” Fools, Bells and the Habit of Eating: Three Satires. Johannesburg: Wits University Press, 2002. Annan, K. Preventing Infection, Promoting Reproductive Health: UNFPA’s Response to HIV/AIDS. New York, United Nations, 2000. Andrew, J. Writers and Society During the Rise of Russian Realism. London: Macmillan, 1980. Angeledes, S. “Feminism, Child Sexual Abuse, and the Erasure of Child Sexuality.” A Journal of Lesbian and Gay Studies, 10 (2004): 144-177. Angove, C. “Alternative Theatre: Reflecting a Multi-racial South African Society.” Theatre Research International, 17, l (1992). Asagba, A. “Popular Theatre-for-development in Nigeria: the Case of the Benin Experiment.” EJOLLS: Ekpoma Journal of Languages and Literature 8 (1996): 67-76. August, Tyrone. “Interview with Gcina Mhlope.” In Politics and Performance: Theatre, Poetry and Song in Southern Africa, edited by Liz Gunner, 273-284. Johannesburg: Witwatersrand University Press, 1994. Ball, J. “The Ritual of the necklace.” Centre for the Study of Violence and Reconciliation.1994. Accessed November 16, 2012. http://www.csvr.org.za/wits/papers/papball.htm. Balme, C.B. Decolonizing the Stage: Theatrical Syncretism and Postcolonial Drama. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1999. Bamford, A. The Wow Factor: Global Research Compendium on the Impact of the Arts in Education. Berlin, 2006.

222

Bibliography

Bates, A. “Tartuffe: A history of the play by Molière.” The Drama: Its History, Literature and Influence on Civilization. 7(1). Accessed: 01/11/2012. http://www.theatrehistory.com/french/tartuffe001.html. Beidelman, T.O. "Swazi Royal Ritual." African Studies 36, 4 (1966): 373405. Bell, C. Ritual Theory, Ritual Practice. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1992. Bergson, Henri. “The Comic Spirit” In: Comedy, edited by Wylie Sypher. New York: Double Day Anchor Books, 1956. Bhengu, Paul. Notes on the Paterson Job Grading System and Job Description Writing. Jwaneng: Botswana, 2004. Boal, A. Theatre of the Oppressed. London: Pluto Press, 1979. [Revised edition, 2000]. Boeninger, Edgards. “Chile After Pinochet: Lessons From the Past, Hopes for the Future.” Journal of Democracy1, 2 (1990): 13-17. Bond, P. Cities of Gold, Townships of Coal: Essays on South Africa’s New Urban Crisis. New Jersey: Africa World Press, 2000. Booysen, F.R. and Summerton, J. “HIV/AIDS, Poverty and Inequality: Evidence from the South African Demographic and Health Survey” In The Discourse of HIV/AIDS in Africa, edited by Biakolo, E, et al. Gaborone: Department of English Publication, 2003. Botswana Human Development Report. Gaborone: Government Printer, 1997. Brinks, Andre. “Towards a Re-definition of Aesthetics.” Unpublished Paper Presented at the New Nations’ Writers’ Conference, South Africa, 1992. Brockett, O.G. and F.I. Hildy. History of the Theatre, Ninth edition. Boston: Allyn and Bacon, 2003. Brook, P. The Empty Space. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1968. Brutus, D. “Literature and Change in South Africa.” Research in African Literatures. 24, 3 (1993): 101-104. Bryant, C.D. Handbook of Death and Dying. London: Sage Publications, 2003. Byram, M. “People's Theatre as Appropriate Media.” Appropriate Technology 1, 2 (1980): 21-23. Cabral, A. Revolution in Guinea: An African People's Struggle. London, 1969. Carlin, J. Knowing Mandela. London: Atlantic Books, 2013. Carter, Gwendolyn M. and Phillis A. Gardner. “The Incwala Festival in Swaziland.” Geographical Magazine 30, 7 (1957): 263-272.

Explorations in Southern African Drama, Theatre and Performance

223

Channel 24. “SABC Finance administrator has a diploma in beauty therapy.” 06 February 2014. Accessed March 12, 2014. http://www.channel24.co.za/TV/News/SACC-finance-administratorhas-a-diploma-in-beauty-therapy-2c. Chinweizu, Onwuchekwa Jemie and Ihechukwu Madubuike. Toward the Decolonization of African Literature, Vol. I: African Fiction and Poetry and their Critics. Enugu: Fourth Dimension Publishing Co., 1980. Chisholm, L. A South African Curriculum for the Twenty-First Century. Report of the Review Committee on Curriculum 2005. Pretoria: Ministry of Education, 2004. City Press, “The 10 Best Tributes to Madiba.” (2013): 7. Chiwome, E.M. “The Shona folk song: legitimation and subversion.” In Oral Tradition and Innovation, edited by E. Sienaert, et al. London: Oxford University Press, 1975. Coffey, Michael (ed). Roman Satire. London: Methuen and Co. Ltd., 1976. Collier, J. Dramatic Theory and Criticism: Greeks to Grotowski. New York: Holt, Rinehart and Winston Inc., 1976. Coplan, David B. In Township Tonight! Three Centuries of South African Black City Music and Theatre. Johannesburg: Jacana, 2007. Corcoran, J. & Farkas, E. Martial Arts: Traditions, History, People. New York City: Gallery Books, 1988. Corrigan, R.W. “The sun always rises: Ibsen's Ghosts as tragedy?” Educational Theatre Journal 11 (1957): (3). Accessed October 17, 2012. http://www.jstor.org/stable/3204799. Crush, Jonathan and Wilmot James. “Mine Migrancy in a Democratic South Africa.” In Labour Migrancy in Southern Africa: Prospects for Post-apartheid Transformation. 1-20. University of Cape Town: Southern African Law Monographs 3, 1995. Dalrymple, L. “The 'Dramaide' Project.” In Drama, Culture and Empowerment, edited by John O'toole and Kate Donelan. Brisbane, Australia: IDEA Publications, 1996. Darah, G. G. “Battles of Songs: a Study of Satire in the Udje Dance-Songs of the Urhobo of Nigeria.” Unpublished Ph.D. Thesis. University of Ibadan, Nigeria, 1982. De Vries, F. “The man who loathes the label 'Township Tarantino.” September 20, 2008. Accessed: December 3, 2012. http://freddevries.co.za/archive/2008/09/20/the-man-who-loathes-thelabel-township-tarantino.aspx.

224

Bibliography

De Wet, P. “South Africa’s Meaningless Gesture.” Mail and Guardian, December 13-19 (2013): 13. Department of Arts and Culture. “Gauteng Creative Mapping Project.” Revised White Paper on Arts and Culture, Pretoria, 2013. —. Draft National Cultural Policy, 2013. http://www.anc.org.za/show.php?id=269. —. “Strategic Plan 2011-2016.” Pretoria: South Africa. Available on www.dac.gov.za. Department of Education. Education White Paper 3: A Programme for the Transformation of Higher Education. Pretoria, 1997. —. Revised National Curriculum Statement Grades R-9 (Schools). Pretoria: South Africa, 2002. Desai, G. “Theater for development in Africa.” Research in African Literatures 22, 3 (1991): 6-9. Dlamini, K. Avoid another Marikana, for SA’s sake. 2012. Accessed May 11, 2012. http://www.iol.co.za/sundayindependent/avoid-another-marikanafor-sa-s-sake-1.1383853. Don, Adams and Arlene Goldbard, Creative Community: The Art of Cultural Development. New York: The Rockefeller Foundation, 2001. Du Plessis, Carien and Masondo, Sipho. City Press, 2013, p. 4. Duggan, Carolyn Richards. 1997. “Gabbling Like a Thing Most Brutish: the Postcolonial Writer and Language, with Reference to the Earlier Plays of Zakes Mda.” South African Theatre Journal 11, 1&2 (1997): 109-132. Duggan, Carolyn. “Strategies in staging: theatre technique in the plays of Zakes Mda.” In African Theatre and Development, edited by Martin Banham, James Gibbs, and Femi Osofisan. 1-12. Oxford: James Currey, 1999. Durden, Emma. Twist Theatre Development Projects. The National Arts Council 7. KZN Department of Arts and Culture, 2012/2013. Durrheim, K. and Mtose, X. “Being black in the new South Africa.” In: A Race Against Time: Psychology and the Challenges of Deracialisation in South Africa. Edited by G. Stevens, V. Franchi, & T. Swart. Pretoria: University of South Africa, 2006. Durrheim, K., Mtose, X. and Brown, L. Race Trouble: Race, Identity and Inequality in Post-Apartheid South Africa. Maryland: Lexington Books, 2011. Ebewo, P. and Cast. “Flesh to Flesh: Dust to Dust” (Unpublished Play Script). Lesotho: National University of Lesotho, 1998. Ebewo, Patrick. “Reflections on Satire as Agent of Change.” English Studies in Africa 10, 1 (1997): 31-41.

Explorations in Southern African Drama, Theatre and Performance

225

Ebewo, P.J. “Theatre and Socio-political Consciousness in Lesotho: A Study of Selected Plays by Zakes Mda.” Journal of Research 9 (2001): 121-141. —. Barbs: A Study of Satire in the Plays of Wole Soyinka. Kampala, Uganda: JANyeko Publishing Centre, 2002. Ebewo, P.J. “The Egret and the Hawk,” Gaborone: Unpublished Play Script, 2003. —. “Theatre-for-development in Southern Africa and its implications for Swaziland.” UNISWA Research Journal 18 (2004): 47-59. __. “The impact of theater/drama on HIV/AIDS education in Southern Africa.” In Health Knowledge and Belief Systems in Africa edited by Matt Heaton and Toyin Falola, 469-480. Durham, NC: Carolina Academic Press, 2008. —. Theatre-for-development practice in rural Africa: limitations as agent of conscientisation. Marang: A Journal of Language and Literature 14 & 15 (2005): 32-41. —. “Rre Phathasane”. Unpublished Play Script, 2006. —. “Revival of Laedza Batanani as strategy for poverty alleviation in rural Botswana.” In Adult Education and Poverty Reduction: Issues for Policy Research and Practice, edited by Julia Preece, Ruud van der Veen and Wapula Nelly Raditloaneng, 141-152. Gaborone, Botswana: Lightbooks, 2007. —. “Satire: A Shifting Paradigm in Zakes Mda’s Dramaturgy.” The English Academy Review: Southern African Journal of English Studies 26, 2 (2009): 25-37. __. “The role of theatre as a catalyst for participatory development in Lesotho (Southern Africa).” In Cultural Management and its Boundaries: Past, Present, and Future edited by Constance DeVereaux, 148-163. Helsinki, Finland: Humak University of Applied Sciences, 2011. —. “Swazi Incwala: The Performative and Radical Poetics in a Ritual Practice.” South African Theatre Journal 25, 2 (2011): 89-100. —. “Drama in South Africa: perspectives for cultural policy strategies.” In Good Governance for Cultural Policy: An African-European Research about Arts and Development, edited by Wolfgang Schneider and Daniel Gad, 187-198. Frankfurt, Germany: Peter Lang, 2014. Egudu, R. N. The Study of Poetry. Ibadan: Oxford University Press, 1977. Elkin, P.K. “Satire.” An Inaugural Lecture Delivered in Armidale, New South Wales. 14 October, 1974. Etherton, Michael. Development of African Drama. New York: Africana Publishing Company, 1982.

226

Bibliography

Evans, I. “The return of the ‘necklace’: anti-immigrant violence sweeps South Africa.” Journal of Film and Video, 59, 3. Accessed November 20, 2012. http://www.jstor.org/stable/20688568. Fanon, F. Studies in a Dying Colonialism. Translated by Haakon Chevalier. New York: Monthly Review Press, 1965. —. Towards the African Revolution. New York: Grove Press, 1967. —. The Wretched of the Earth. New York: Grove Press, 1968. FAO. “The Peasants’ Charter: the Declaration of Principles and Programme of the Action of the World.” Conference on Agrarian Reform and Rural development. Rome: FAO, 1981. Feinberg, Leonard. Introduction to Satire. Ames, Iowa: Iowa State University Press, 1967. Fernley, Jade. 2010. “Schools festivals: think, breathe, be creative.” Accessed February 24, 2013. http://schoolsfestival.wordpress.com/2011/03/03/a-vision-of-thefuture-for-the-arts-education. Flockemann, M. “Little Perpetrators, Witness-bearers and the Young and the Brave: Towards a Post-transitional Aesthetics.” English Studies in Africa 53, 1 (2010): 21-34. Finnegan, Ruth. Oral Literature in Africa. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1970. Forgey, H., Jeffrey, A., Sidiropoulos, E., Corrigan, T. & Mophuthing, T. South African survey 1999/2000. Johannesburg: South African Institute of Race Relations, 2000. Fosudo, Sola. “Stand-up Comedy as Popular Art and Theatrical Entertainment in Nigeria.” IJOTA: Ibadan Journal of Theatre Arts 5 & 6 (2009/2010): 118. Freire, P. Pedagogy of the Oppressed. New York: Penguin Books, 1972. —. Cultural Action for Freedom. Harmonsworth: Penguin, 1972. Fugard, A. The Blood Knot. New York: Samuel French, Inc., 1964. —. Playland. Johannesburg: Witwatersrand University Press, 1992. Ganter, Elvira and Don Edkins. Marotholi: Theatre for Another Development. Maseru: The Village Technology Information Service Christian Service of Lesotho, 1988. Garnet, Richard. “Satire.” In The Standard 11th edition of Encyclopaedia Britannica. Gasennelwe, Kegalale J. and Koketso Rantona. Secure the Future Case Studies 1.Gaborone: Botswana, 2001. Gassner, John and Edward Quinn. The Reader’s Encyclopedia of World Drama. New York: Thomas Y. Crowell Company, 1969. Gevisser, M. “The Nation also Mourns the Death of the Madiba Era’s Idealism.” Mail and Guardian, December 13-19 (2013): 2-3.

Explorations in Southern African Drama, Theatre and Performance

227

Gill, Stephen J. A short History of Lesotho. Lesotho: Morija Museum and Archives, 1993. Gilmartin, S. 2008. “Celebrating 40 years since the end of theatre censorship.” Accessed March 3, 2012. http: www.articlesbase.com Glaser, C. Bo-Tsotsi: the Youth Gangs of Soweto, 1935-1976. Portsmouth: Heinemann Press, 2000. Gluckman, M. Order and Rebellion in Africa. London: Cohen and West, 1963. Goffman, E. The Presentation of Self in Everyday Life. London: Penguin, 1959. Goffman, Erving. Frame Analysis: An Essay on the Organisation of Experience. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1974. Grootboom, M.P. Artsmart, June 6, 2005. Accessed March 3, 2012. http://www.artsmart.co.za/drama/archive/1244.html. —. 2008. Artsmart, September 23, 2008. Accessed March 22, 2012. http://www.artsmart.co.za/drama/archive/1244.html. —. Foreplay. London: Oberon Books Ltd., 2009. —. Interview. Pretoria. (Notes in possession of author), 2012. Grootboom, M.P. and Chwenwyagae, P. Relativity: Township Stories. Johannesburg: Dung Beetle Dramas, 2006. Hardie, Yvette. “ASSITETEJ South Africa.” Theatre 4 Youth Catalogue. Cape Town: Vrygrond Trust Office, 2013. Harding, F. The Performance Art of Africa: A Reader. London: Routledge, 2002. Hass, William E. “Some Characteristics of Satire.” Satire Newsletter III, 1 (1965): 1-3. Hauptfleisch, T. Theatre and Society: Reflections in a Fractured Mirror. Pretoria: J.L.van Schaik Academic Publishers, 1997. —. “From Savoy to Soweto: The Shifting Paradigm in South African Theatre.” South African Theatre Journal 2, 1 (1988): 35-63. Hauptfleisch, T. and Steadman, I. South African Theatre. Pretoria: HAUM Educational Publishers, 1983. Highet, Gilbert. The Anatomy of Satire. Princeton, New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1962. Hodgart, Matthew. Satire. New York: McGraw-Hill Book Co., 1969. Hoeane, Masitha. Cry of the Whistle and Bridge of Destiny. In Let My People Play! National University of Lesotho: ISAS Book Series, 1994. —. The Distance Remains. In The Distance Remains and other Plays, edited by Robin Malan. Cape Town: Oxford University Press, 1996. Holy Bible, The (New King James Version). Nashville: Thomas Nelson Publishers, 1982.

228

Bibliography

Homann, Greg. “Aubrey Sekhabi: An interview with Greg Homann.” In The Methuen Drama Guide to Contemporary South African Theatre, edited by Martin Middeke, Peter Paul Schnierer and Greg Homann, 341-363. London: Bloomsbury Methuen Drama, 2015. Horn, Andrew. "An Introduction." In The Plays of Zakes Mda. Johannesburg: Ravan Press, 1990. Hot Gossip. “Obama Gets the Hot Chilli!” Sunday Sun, December 15 (2013): 15. Howkins, John. The Creative Economy: How People Make Money From Ideas. Allen Lane: The Penguin Press, 2001. Hughes, D. “Zuma’s woes: 3 wives, 1 fiancé and an out-of-wedlock child.” ABC News, 2010. Accessed March 3, 2013. http://abcnews.go.com/International/south-african-president-jacobzumas-sex-scandal/story/?id=9781141. Hulse, J. Sustainable Development at Risk: Ignoring the Past. New Delhi, India: Cambridge University Press Pvt. Ltd./International Development Research Centre, 2007. Human Resources Department, “Project Letsema Document.” Orapa: Botswana. 2005. Hunta Live and Podium. “Loyiso Gola’s Life & Times.” The Comedy Merchants in Association with ETV. 2014. Huxley, M. and Witts, N. “Introduction.” The Twentieth-Century Performance Reader, 2nd edition, 1-9. London: Routledge, 2002. Ibsen, H. Ghosts. New York: Dover Publication, 1999. Innes, R.O. “Socio-cultural Aspects of AIDS.” 2006. http://www.health.com/medical/conditioncentres/777-792-814-1762. Iwai, K. “The contribution of arts education to children's lives.” Paper Presented to UNESCO Regional Meeting on Arts Education in the European Countries Canada and the United States of America. 2003. Accessed March 3, 2013. http://student.fnu.ac.fj:82/Lautoka%20Campus/2010/.../contribution%2 52BAE.pdf . Jackson, Helen. AIDS Africa: Continent in Crisis, Zimbabwe: SAfAIDS, 2002. Joyce, Peter. Cultures of South Africa: A Celebration. Cape Town: Sunbird Publishers, 2010. Jwaneng, “The Paterson Derived System of Job Evaluation: People Centred Solutions.” In Key Principles in Job Evaluation, 2003. Jwaneng, Debswana Bulletin, March, 2006. Kamera, W.D. Swazi Oral Literature: An Introductory Survey. Manzini: Ruswanda Publishing Bureau, 2001.

Explorations in Southern African Drama, Theatre and Performance

229

—. Tinanatelo: Swazi Family Praises. University of Natal, South Africa: Centre for Oral Studies, 1999. Kavanagh, Robert. Theatre and Cultural Struggle in South Africa. London: Zed Books, 1985. Keegan, Timothy J. Rural Transformation in Industrializing South Africa. Johannesburg: Ravan Presss, 1980. Kerr, David. African Popular Theatre. London: James Currey, Ltd., 1995. Kerr, David and Samson Setumo. “I’m Afraid of It: A Drama for AIDS Awareness Project in Botswana.” Marang 12 &13 (2001): 27-32. Kidd, R. “Popular Theatre and Non Formal Education in the Third World: Five Strands of Experience.” International Review of Education 30, 3 (1984): 267-287. Kidd, Ross and Byram Martin. “Demystifying Pseudo-Freirean NonFormal Education: A Case Description and Analysis of Laedza Batanani.” Paper Presented to the International Congress on Anthropology and Primary Health Care. Amsterdam, 1981. Kruger, L. “Foreplay.” Theatre Journal, 62, 3 (2010):453-454. Kuper, H. “A Ritual of Kinship Among the Swazi.” Africa: Journal of the International African Institute 14, 5 (1944): 230-257. —. An African Aristocracy: Rank Among the Swazi. London: Oxford University Press, 1947. —. "Costume and Cosmology: The Animal Symbolism of the Incwala." Man 8, 4 (1973): 613-629. —. Sobhuza II: Ngwenyama and King of Swaziland. New York: Africana Press, 1978. Kuppers, P. Community Performance: An Introduction. London: Routledge, 2007. Kynoch, G. “Friend or Foe? A World-View of Community Police Relations in Gauteng Townships.” Canadian Journal of African Studies, 2, 31 [Online]: http://www.jstor.org/stable/4107241. Langa, M. “Contested Multiple Voices of Young Masculinities Amongst Adolescent Boys in Alexandra Township, South Africa.” Journal of Child and Adolescent Mental Health 22, 1 (2010):1-13. Laughton, Trevor and Johnson Rhondda. “The ‘ZAP’ Project.” In Drama, Culture, and Empowerment, edited by John O’toole and Kate Donelan, 36-39. Brisbane: IDEA Publications, 1996. Leach, Edmund R. "Ritual." In International Encyclopedia of the Social Sciences 13, edited by David L. Sills, 520-526. 1968. Leon, M. 2005. “The poet and the prince: Revising Molière and Tartuffe in the French revolution.” French Historical Studies 8, 3. Accessed October 20, 2012.

230

Bibliography

http://kuscholarworks.ku.edu/dspace/bitstream/1808/1270/1/447.pdf. Levine, Terri. “Boost employee morale.” Accessed July 4, 2006. http://www.sideroad.com/Management?boost_employee_morale.html. Lincoln, Bruce. "Notes towards a theory of religion and revolution." In Religion, Rebellion, Revolution: An Interdisciplinary and CrossCultural Collection of Essays, edited by Bruce Lincoln, 266-99. London: Macmillan, 1985. Linderboom, Lyschelle. “Cleansed.” Artsmart: Arts News from KwazuluNatal. Accessed July 4, 2011. http://news.artsmart.co.za/2011/07/cleansed.html. Lutge, L.R. Representing the ‘black’ male gangster; a comparative analysis of stereotypes in three South African films. MA Dissertation. Johannesburg: Wits University, 2012. Mabona, Warren. “Zuma not Immuned from Prosecution.” The Citizen. 21 March (2014): 2. Malan, J.S. Swazi Culture. Pretoria: African Institute of South Africa, 1985. Malan, Robin. The Distance Remains and other Plays. Cape Town: Oxford University Press, 1996. Mangan, M. The Drama, Theatre & Performance Companion. London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2013. Mann, J. “Statement at an Informal Briefing on AIDS to the 42nd Session of the United Nations General Assembly.” In A Conceptual Framework and Basis for Action: HIV/AIDS, Stigma and Discrimination, New York: UNAIDS, 2002-2003. Marcuss, Herbert. “The Production Programme of Segun Oyekunle’s Katakata for Sofahead, directed by Walter Chakela, PACT Drama Company, Windybrow, Johannesburg, 1994. Marojelle, N.K. and Brooks, J.S. “Perceptions of Sexual Risk Behaviours and Substance Abuse Among Adolescents in South Africa: A Qualitative Investigation.” AIDS Care 18, 13 (2006): 215-219. Marriot, Michel. “At accused pastor’s church, schism.” New York Times. 1988. Accessed January 23, 2014. http://www/nytimes.com/1988/05/23/nyregion/at-accused-pastor-schurch-schism.html. Marwick, B.A. The Swazi: An Ethnographic Account of the Natives of the Swaziland Protectorate. London: Frank Cass and Co., Ltd., 1966. Marx, K. Capital: A Critique of Political Economy, Vol 1. Edited by F. Engels. Moscow: Progress Publishers, 1967. Mashile, Lebogang. In a Ribbon of a Rhythm. Johannesburg: Oshun Books, 2005.

Explorations in Southern African Drama, Theatre and Performance

231

Mbiti, J.S. African Religions and Philosophy. London: Heinemann, 1990. Mboyisa, C and Basson, A. “Mbalula in sex scandal.” City Press. 2011. Accessed August 5, 2012. http://www.citypress.co.za/SouthAfrica/News /Mbalula-in-sex-scandal-20111029. McAnary, Emile G. Communications in the Rural Third World: The Role of Information in Development. New York: Praeger Press, 1980. Mcveigh, K. “Pope accused of crimes against humanity by victims of sex abuse.” The Guardian. 2011. Accessed March 3, 2012. http://www.Guardian.co.uk/world/2011/sep/13/pope-crimes humanityvictims-abuse. Mda, Zakes. “An Interview with Zakes Mda” conducted by Myles Holloway. South African Theatre Journal 2, 2 (1988): 81-88. —. The Hill and The Road. In The Plays of Zakes Mda. Johannesburg: Ravan Press, 1990. —. We Shall Sing for the Fatherland. In The Plays of Zakes Mda. Johannesburg: Ravan Press, 1990. —. “Marotholi Travelling Theatre: Towards an Alternative Perspective of Development.” Journal of African Studies 16, 2 (1990): 352-358. Also In Politics and Performance: Theatre, Poetry and Song, edited by Liz Gunner, 203-210. Johannesburg: Witwatersrand University Press. —. When People Play People: Development Communication Through Theatre. Johannesburg: Wits University Press and Zed Books, 1993. —. And the Girls in Their Sunday Dresses: Four Works. Johannesburg: Witwatersrand University Press, 1993. —. “Politics and the theatre.” In Theatre and Change in South Africa, edited by Geoffrey V. Davis and Anne Fuchs, 193-218. Netherlands: Harwood Academic Publishers, 1996. —. The Nun’s Romantic Story In Four Plays. Florida Hills: Vivlia Publishers and Booksellers (Pty). Ltd., 1996. —. Fools, Bells and the Habit of Eating: Three Satires. Johannesburg: Wits University Press, 2002. —. Our Lady of Benoni. Johannesburg: Wits University Press, 2012. Mercer, C. Towards Cultural Citizenship: Tools for Cultural Policy and Development. Production Bo Heurling AB., 2002. Meyers, J. and Simms, M. The Longman Dictionary of Poetic Terms. London: Longman, 1989. Ministry of Finance and Development Planning. Human Development Report. Gaborone: Botswana, 1997. Ministry of Health. The Sexual Behaviour of Young People in Botswana. Gaborone: Pyramid Press, 2001.

232

Bibliography

Mokwena, S. “Living on the wrong side of the law.” In Black Youth in Crisis - Facing the Future, edited by D. Everatt and E. Sisulu. Braamfontein: Sigma Press, 1992. Mogobe, Thulaganyo. “Theatre Development in Botswana.” Pula: Botswana Journal of African Studies, 29, 2 (2015): 223-233. Moller, V. “Quality of life in South Africa: post-apartheid trends.” Social Indicators Research 43, 1, 1998. Accessed February 13, 2012. http://www.jstor.org/stable/27522299. Montgomery, S. “Montreal Religious School to Pay Record $18 m to SexAbused Victims.” National Post, 2011. Moody, R.A. Life After Life: the Investigation of a Phenomenon. San Francisco, California: HarperSanFrancisco, 1975. Morrison. J.F. “Forum Theatre in West Africa: An Alternative Medium of Information Exchange.” Research in African Literatures 22, 3 (1991): 29-39. Morgan, N.B. The decline of political theatre in the twentieth-century Europe: Shaw, Brecht, Sartre, and Ionesco compared. PhD Dissertation. New Brunswick: Rutgers University, 2010. Morna, J. “Education and AIDS: How HIV and AIDS Influence Attitudes to Education and Affect Students in Poor Urban South African Townships.” Yale Journal of Sociology 9, 2008. Morrell, R. “Of Boys and Men: Masculinity and Gender in Southern African Studies.” Journal of Southern African Studies 24 (1998): 605630. Motsa, Zodwa. “The missing link in siSwati modern drama.” In PreColonial and Post-Colonial Drama and Theatre in Africa, edited by Lokangaka Losambe and Devi Sarinjeive, 32-47. Claremont, South Africa: New Africa Books (Pty) Ltd., 2001. Mthethwa, Bongani. “State Paid for Homes of Zuma Family.” Sunday Times. March 23(2014): 7. Mthombothi, B. “Killing us with their (rowdy) song.” Mail and Guardian, December 13-19 (2013): 4. Nadel, S.F. A Black Byzantium. London: Oxford University Press, 1942. National AIDS Coordinating Agency. Second Generation HIV/AIDS Surveillance, Gaborone: Botswana, 2003. Nathan, J. “Censorship in the theatre.” UK Telegraph, October 2010. Accessed November 11, 2012. http://www/telegraph.co.uk. Newman, Tony et al. “Do Community-Based Arts Projects Result in Social Gains?” Community Development Journal 38, 4 (2003): 310322.

Explorations in Southern African Drama, Theatre and Performance

233

Ndhlovu, H.L. “The Social Ethics of the Swazi Incwala Ritual: Lessons for the ‘Globalised’ World.” Paper Presented at the BOLESWA Conference, University of Botswana, February 26-27, 2007. Nel, Jan. “Festivals in South Africa.” Unpublished Manuscript. Pretoria, 2008. New Nation. “Forgiveness, Reconciliation and Justice.” August 7-13, 1992. Nicholson, Helen. Applied Drama: the Gift of Theatre. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2005. Nicoll, A. The World of Harlequin: A Critical Study of the Commedia Dell’arte. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1963. Nkosi, L. The Rhythm of Violence In Plays From Black Africa, edited by Fredric M. Litto. New York: Hill and Wang, 1968. Ntlhakana, Mojabeng. NUL News. Roma: A Publication of the Information Office, National University of Lesotho, 1993, 2. Nwankwo, I. “Dramatising Development, not Post-Colonialism: The Femi Osofisan Example.” African Performance Review 3, 2/3 (2009): 27-44. Nxumalo, Bonisile. River in my Soul and other Poems. Manzini, Swaziland. Blue Moon, 2012. Nxumalo, S.S. Our Swazi Way of Life. Mbabane: Swaziland Printing and Publishing Company, 1976. Obiechina, E.N. “Transition From Oral to Literary Tradition.” Presence Africaine, 63, (1967): 140-161. Ogunba, Oyin and Abiola Irele. Theatre in Africa. Ibadan: Ibadan University Press, 1978. Okpewho, Isidore. African Oral Literature: Background, Character and Continuity. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1992. Orji, O. Inside Aso Rock. Ibadan: Spectrum Books, 2003. Orkin, M. “Body and State in Blood Knot/The Blood Knot.” South African Theatre Journal 2, 1 (1988): 17-34. Orkin, M. Drama and the South African State. Johannesburg: Wits University Press, 1991. Orr, A.J. “Black-White Differences in Achievement: the Importance of Wealth.” Sociology of Education, (2003): 281-304. Parry, C.D.H., Myers, B. and Thiede, M. “The Case for an Increased Tax on Alcohol in South Africa.” South African Journal of Economics 71 (2005): 265-281. Patrick, Mangeni I.E.W. “A theatrical alternative for child survival.” In Drama, Culture, and Empowerment, edited by John O’toole and Kate Donelan, 77-85. Brisbane: IDEA Publications, 1996.

234

Bibliography

Pelias, Ronald J. Performance Studies: The Interpretation of Aesthetic Texts. New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1992. Pemba, T. “Good, Evil, Cliché Characters.” City Press, July 26, 1992. Perry, A. “The Prisoner.” Time Magazine: Commemorative Issue, December (2013): 1926-37. Peters, J.S. “Theatricality, Legalism, and the Scenography of Suffering: The Trial of Warren Hastings and Richard Brinsley Sheridan's Pizarro.” Law and Literature 8, 1 (2006): 15-45. Peterson, Bhekizizwe. “An Introduction.” In And the Girls in their Sunday Dresses: Four Works. Johannesburg: Witwatersrand University Press, 1993. Pradervand, P. Listening to Africa. New York: Praeger, 1989. Prah, Kwesi K. “Man Does Not Live by Bread Alone: But Man Cannot Live Without Bread.” In Food Security Issues in Southern Africa, edited by Kwesi K Prah, 1-7. ISAS, National University of Lesotho: Southern African Studies Series 4, 1988. Prince, C, and Mclea, H. “Protester Beaten and Shot to Death.” 2011. Times Live [Online]: http://www.sahistory.org.za/people/mpumelelopaul-cosmo-grootboom. Rappaport, Roy A. 1979. Ecology, Meaning and Religion. Richmond, California: North Atlantic Books, 1979. Rodrigues, Chris. “Black Boers and other revolutionary songs. Mail and Gaurdian. April 5, 2010. Accessed September 21, 2012. http://www/thoughtleader.co.za/chrisrodigues/2010/04/05/onrevolutionary-songs. Ronge, B. Fugard Beacon for SA Theatre's Future. Sunday Times. July 19, 1992. Rotimi, O. "The drama in African ritual display." In Drama and Theatre in Nigeria, edited by Yemi Ogunbiyi, 77-80. Lagos: Nigeria Magazine Publication, 1981. Roudane, M.C. The Cambridge Companion to Tennessee Williams. New York: Cambridge University Press, 1997. Rozik, Eli. The Roots of Theatre: Rethinking Ritual and other Theories of Origin. Iowa City: University of Iowa Press, 2002. Sach, A. Preparing Ourselves for Freedom. Paper Presented at a Seminar on Culture Organised by the ANC in Lusaka, 1989. Santos-Cabangon, Beng. “Baptisms.” In Drama, Culture, and Empowerment, edited by John O’toole and Kate Donelan, 143-144. Brisbane: IDEA Publications, 1996. Schechner, R. Performance Theory (Revised and expanded edition). London and New York: Routledge, 1988.

Explorations in Southern African Drama, Theatre and Performance

235

—. The Future of Ritual: Writings on Culture and Performance. London and New York: Routledge, 1993. —. Performance Studies: An Introduction, 2nd edition. New York: Routledge, 2006. Scholes, Robert, Nancy R. Comley, Carl H. Klaus and Michael Silverman, eds. Elements of Literature: Essay, Fiction, Poetry, Drama, Film. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1991. Schnitzler, A. La Ronde. Translated by S. Unwin and P. ZomboryMoldovan. London: Nick Hern Books, 2007. Seale, Lebogang. “No need for ANC to say sorry.” The Star. March 21, 2014: 4. Sewell, W.H., Haller, A.O. and Ohlendof, G.W. “The Educational and Early Occupational Status Attainment Process: Replication and Revision. American Sociological Review, (1970): 1014-1027. Sharma, R.C. The Restoration and the Eighteenth Century. London: Routledge, 1965. Sharrock, Roger. “Modes of satire” In: Restoration Theatre, edited by John Russell Brown and Bernard Harn, 109-132. New York: Capricorn Books, 1965. Shava, P. “Rousing the people’s critical consciousness: an introduction to the theatre of Masitha Hoeane.” In Let My People Play. National University of Lesotho: ISAS Book Series, 1994. Sherman, H.J. Reinventing Marxism. Maryland: John Hopkins University Press, 1995. Shillington, Kevin. A History of Southern Africa. London: Longman, 1987. “Shwashwi.” Sunday World. December 5, 2013: 18. Sierz, A. In-Yer-Face Theatre: British Drama Today. London. Faber and Faber Limited, 2001. Sim, Godfrey and Drewe Janice. “Awareness theatre.” In Drama, Culture, and Empowerment, edited by John O’toole and Kate Donelan, 183189. Brisbane: IDEA Publications, 1996. Sims, J. “Royden Wood trial.” Accessed November 5, 2011. http://www.lfpress.com/news/london/2011/11/02/18913311.html. Slaughter, B. “South Africa police violence caught on film.” Accessed November 10, 2011. http://www.wsws.org/articles/1999/may1999/sapo-m01.shtml. Sirayi, M. “Oral African Drama in South Africa: The Xhosa Indigenous Drama Forms.” South African Theatre Journal 10, 1 (1996): 49-61.

236

Bibliography

Sirayi, Mzo. South African Drama and Theatre from Pre-Colonial Times to the 1990s: An Alternative Reading. Bloomington, USA: Xlibris Corporation, 2012. Smith, E.W. and Dale, A.M. The Ila-Speaking People of Northern Rhodesia. London: Heinemann, 1920. Solomon, A.M.N. Funeral Rites of the AmaXhosa as Therapeutic Procedures Compared to Crisis Intervention. M.Sc Thesis, Department of Psychology, Rhodes University, Grahamstown, South Africa, n.d. South Africa. Sexual Offences: The Substantive Law. Pretoria: South African Law Commission, 1999. South Africa. “Co-operative governance and traditional affairs.” In Township Transformation Timeline Narrative. Pretoria: Government Printer, 2009. Soyinka, W. Kongi’s Harvest. London: Oxford University Press, 1967. —. The Trial of Brother Jero In Three Short Plays. London: Oxford University Press, 1969. —. Death and the King’s Horseman. London: Methuen, 1975. __. Poems of Black Africa. London: Heinemann, 1975. —. A Play of Giants. London: Methuen, 1984. —. Art, Dialogue and Outrage. Ibadan: New Horn Press, 1988. —. From Zia, With Love. London: Methuen, 1999. —. “Theatre in African traditional cultures: survival patterns.” In The Twentieth-Century Performance Reader, 2nd edition. edited by Michael Huxley and Noel Witts, 372-385. London: Routledge, 2002. Steinberg, Carol. “PACT: can the leopard change its spots?” In: Theatre and Change in South Africa, edited by Geoffrey V. Davis and Anne Fuchs, 246-259. Amsterdam, The Netherlands: Harwood Academic Publishers, 1996. Sutherland, Efua. The Marriage of Anansewa. London: Longman, 1975. Tambiah, S. J. “A performative approach to ritual.” In The Proceedings of the British Academy. 113-169, 1979. Tapscott, C. 1993. “National Reconciliation, Social Equity and Class Formation in Independent Namibia.” Journal of Southern African Studies 19, 1 (1993): 29-39. Taylor, Philip. Applied Theatre: Creating Transformative Encounters in the Community. Portsmouth, NH: Heinemann, 2003. Thamm, Marianne. “16 Years on, a new look at freedom.” Weekly Mail (May 12-18), 1989. Theatre in South Africa. Memphis: Books LLC, Wiki Series, 2011. Tlelima, T. “Review of Paul Grootboom’s Foreplay.” 2009(a). Accessed May 5, 2011.

Explorations in Southern African Drama, Theatre and Performance

237

http://africamedianetwork.ning.com/profiles/blogs/reviews-of-paulgrootbooms. Tlelima, Tiisetso. 2009(b). Review: Foreplay. Arts Review. 2009(b). Accessed November 7, 2013. http://www.artsreview.co.za/stage/2009/09/30/review-foreplay/. Tola, A. “Food security in Lesotho: the challenge and the strategy.” In Food Security Issues in Southern Africa, edited by Kwesi K Prah, 159176. ISAS, National University of Lesotho: Southern African Studies Series 4, 1988. Turner, Victor. “Variations on a theme of liminality.” In Secular Ritual, edited by Sally F. Moore and Barbara Myerhoff , 36-52. Amsterdam: Van Gorcum, 1977. —. From Ritual to Theatre: The Human Seriousness of Play. New York: Performing Arts Journal Publications, 1982. Tutu. D. The Essential Desmond Tutu. Compiled by John Allen. South Africa: Mayibuye Books and David Philip Publishers, 1977. Tutu, D. “Tutu speaks on Marikana massacre.” Iolnews, 21 August, 2012. Accessed March 20, 2013. http://www.iol.co.za/news/tutu-speaks-onmarikana-massacre-1.1366555. TWIST Theatre Development Projects. New South African Playscripts. Durban: NAC and the KZN Department of Arts and Culture, 2012. Ulrich, B. “Origin and name of the satura.” In Roman Satire, edited by Michael Coffey, 7-16. London: Methuen and Co. Ltd, 1976. UNAIDS and WHO. AIDS Epidemic Update. Geneva, 2000. UNAIDS. AIDS Epidemic Update. Geneva, 2002. —. World AIDS Campaign. Geneva, 2002/2003. —. AIDS Epidemic Update Geneva, 2004. UNESCO. Cultural Heritage, Creativity, and Education for all in Africa. Document Based on the Conclusion on Arts Education. Port Elizabeth: South Africa, 2001. —. Regional Meeting on Arts Education in the European Countries, Canada and the United States. Finland, 2003. Accessed February 24, 2013. http://portal.unesco.org/culture/en/files/4050/1266. UNFPA. Preventing Infection, Promoting Reproductive Health: UNFPA’s Response to HIV/AIDS. New York: United Nations, 2002. Van Erven, E. The Playful Revolution: Theatre and Liberation in Asia. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1992. Van Heerden, Johann. “Beyond the miracle: trends in South African theatre and performance after 1994.” In Trends in Twenty-First Century African Theatre and Performance, edited by Kene Igweonu, 85-112. Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2011.

238

Bibliography

Vandenbroucke, R. Truths the Hand Can Touch. Johannesburg: Donker, 1986. Venter, Carla and Ndou, C. “Parties want Zuma in the dock.” The Citizen. 21 March (2014): 3. Venturelli, Shalini. From the Information Economy to the Creative Economy: Moving Culture to the Center of International Public Policy. Washington, D. C.: Center for Arts and Culture Issue Paper, 2000. Vilakati, Nonhlanhla. “Barbarism of culture in a Bill of Rights.” The Nation. November, (2001): 28-30. Vora, J.A. & Vora, E. “The Effectiveness of South Africa's Truth and Reconciliation Commission: Perceptions of Xhosa, Afrikaner, and English South Africans.” Journal of Black Studies 34, 3 (2004): 301332. Weisinger, Herbert. "Ritual origins of drama." In The Reader's Encyclopedia of World Drama, edited by John Gassner and Edward Quinn, 712-716. New York: Thomas Y. Crowell Company, 1969. Widom, S.C. and Maxfield, G.M. 2012. “An update on the “cycle of violence”. National Institute of Justice, (2001): 1-17. Williams, R. Writing in Society. London: Verso, 1983. Williams, T. A Streetcar Named Desire. United States of America: New Directions, 1947. —. Orpheus Descending: A Play in Three Acts. New York: Dramatists Play Service, Inc., 1955. Work for Justice. “The traps of dependency.” In Works for Justice 22, 1989. Zimbardo, Rose. 1961. “William Wycherley: A Link in the Development of English Satire.” Studies in English Literature, (1961): 108-118.

INDEX acrobatics, 15, 168 acting area, 46 actors, 1, 2, 46, 71, 72, 73, 75, 81, 85, 112, 145, 148, 149, 158, 198 actresses, 2, 72 Adams, 4, 221, 224 Affirmative Action, 64 Africa, 1, 2, 3, 4, 6, 7, 9, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 19, 21, 22, 23, 24, 29, 32, 36, 48, 50, 52, 54, 58, 59, 64, 65, 67, 68, 70, 75, 76, 79, 82, 83, 84, 88, 90, 101, 104, 105, 107, 109, 114, 117, 122, 127, 138, 141, 143, 151, 152, 159, 163, 168, 178, 179, 181, 183, 184, 187, 188, 190, 192, 195, 197, 198, 201, 205, 206, 208, 210, 212, 217, 222, 224, 225, 226, 227, 228, 229, 232, 233, 234, 236, 237 African festivals, 8 African languages, 70 African National Congress (ANC), 12, 21, 48, 171, 182, 196 African rituals, 2, 166 African theatre, 21, 23, 46, 158, 206 African writers, 70, 209 Afrikaans, 12, 13, 23, 187 Afrikaners, 12, 24, 54, 58, 64, 164 Ahmed, 89, 221 AIDS Epidemic Update, 152, 237 Albie Sach, 22 allegorical, 76 allegory, 29 Althon Khumalo's Themba, 23 amaZulu, 64 ancestors, 53, 59, 81, 110, 165, 211 And the Girls in Their Sunday Dresses, 103, 108, 109, 231 Andrew Horn, 18, 105, 114, 144, 149

Annan, 152, 221 Anthropologists, 35 apartheid, 1, 12, 13, 16, 20, 21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 28, 29, 31, 32, 48, 49, 50, 52, 54, 64, 68, 80, 81, 82, 83, 84, 86, 102, 103, 114, 115, 117, 122, 123, 126, 136, 137, 138, 139, 163, 164, 169, 174, 183, 190, 191, 192, 193, 196, 199, 206, 223, 232 applied theatre, 88, 101 arena, 10, 11, 41 art, 3, 5, 6, 9, 16, 18, 19, 21, 34, 36, 58, 76, 89, 99, 121, 123, 158, 178, 193, 195, 197, 198, 200, 205, 208, 209, 212, 214, 215 Arts and Culture, 15, 173, 193, 194, 196, 197, 199, 200, 223, 224, 237 arts education, 192, 194, 206, 228 arts interventions, 159 Athol Fugard, 12, 21, 23, 24, 26 Aubrey Sekhabi, 205, 227 audience, 2, 5, 15, 25, 30, 32, 46, 53, 60, 61, 68, 71, 72, 73, 74, 75, 76, 81, 85, 88, 89, 95, 96, 123, 125, 127, 129, 142, 146, 147, 148, 158, 162, 163, 171, 173, 177, 179, 201, 206, 210, 212, 215, 216 Augusto Boal, 75, 141 awareness theatre, 89 B. L. Leshoai, 1 ballad, 208, 209 Balme, 34, 42, 46, 167, 221 Bantu, 3, 7, 83, 115 BASA, 200 Basarwa, 3, 9 Basotho, 3, 6, 7, 8, 67, 68, 70, 71, 73, 87, 103, 104, 105, 107, 109, 110, 111, 112, 114, 115, 118,

240

119, 120, 145, 146, 147, 148, 153 Basutoland Congress Party, 113 Basutoland National Party, 113 Bates, 124, 222 beggars, 51, 52, 54, 79 Beidelman, 36, 222 Bell, 35, 222 Bemanti, 38 Benoni, 52, 56, 57, 59, 60, 61 Black Economic Empowerment, 55, 64 black militants, 24, 25 Black On Black, 82 black ox, 39, 40 black South Africans, 1, 115, 133, 164, 170 Blacknote, 215, 216 Blessed Virgin Mary, 51, 56, 57, 61, 62 Bloemfontein, 13, 196 Blood Knot, 12, 23, 24, 26, 30, 226, 233 BOB, 69, 82 bogale, 8 bogwera, 8 Boipolego, 150 Bonisile Nxumalo, 19, 212 Bopaganang, 19 botho, 157 Botswana, 9, 12, 16, 17, 18, 19, 88, 89, 90, 92, 96, 97, 99, 108, 141, 142, 150, 151, 152, 155, 156, 157, 159, 178, 183, 186, 210, 221, 222, 225, 226, 228, 229, 231, 232 bourgeoisie, 78, 79, 81, 85, 86 Bridge of Destiny, 67, 69, 75, 76, 80, 81, 83, 84, 86, 87, 227 Brinks, 21, 222 Brockett, 46, 168, 222 Byram, 142, 150, 222, 229 Cabral, 21, 222 Cape Province, 12, 19, 65, 185

Index

Cape Town, 14, 19, 170, 178, 183, 186, 187, 196, 201, 203, 223, 227, 228, 230 capitalism, 69, 78 Caribbean, 47, 141 carnivals, 14 catching of the bull, 40 Catherine Acholonu, 18 ceremonies, 2, 3, 35, 45 chanting, 9 Chester, 181, 183, 185, 187, 189 child abuse, 53, 138 Chiwome, 6, 223 choreography, 41 Chris Dunton, 18, 161 Christians, 56 church, 12, 14, 56, 58, 61, 62, 79, 80, 111, 116, 117, 148, 175, 185, 212, 213, 230 City of Tshwane, 201 clowning, 14, 52 Coffey, 51, 223, 237 colonial era, 12 colonialism, 1, 13, 22, 103, 114, 163, 208 comedy, 23, 48, 123, 124, 172, 178, 179, 180 committed theatre groups, 12 communal, 4, 9, 11, 36, 46, 84, 106, 107, 144, 146, 166, 168 community, 3, 4, 9, 14, 17, 22, 48, 70, 72, 76, 89, 92, 97, 98, 99, 114, 120, 129, 131, 132, 137, 139, 140, 142, 144, 145, 149, 150, 153, 159, 160, 161, 165, 168, 169, 170, 172, 175, 183, 184, 188, 190, 191, 194, 197, 200, 205, 215 conscientisation, 103, 109, 120, 145, 160, 225 corrupt officials, 50, 113 corruption, 13, 48, 49, 64, 68, 103, 105, 113, 137, 148, 184, 186, 187, 190 costume, 44, 45, 46, 112, 212 Craig Higgingson, 14

Explorations in Southern African Drama, Theatre and Performance Creative Arts, 16, 19, 193 creative industry, 198, 205 criticism, 49, 71, 75, 80, 107, 179 Cry of the Whistle, 67, 69, 71, 73, 74, 75, 77, 79, 80, 81, 85, 87, 227 Cultural and Creative Industries Federation, 197 Cultural and Creative Industries Fund, 202 cultural anthropology, 35 cultural imperialism, 79 cultural worker, 22 culture, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 9, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 18, 19, 21, 22, 32, 35, 45, 56, 61, 63, 64, 68, 73, 109, 113, 117, 123, 125, 133, 142, 149, 157, 158, 165, 166, 167, 169, 171, 179, 193, 194, 196, 197, 198, 199, 200, 201, 202, 205, 206, 209, 210, 214, 218, 237 curriculum, 15, 192, 193, 194, 214 Curriculum and Assessment Policy Statement (CAPS), 193 Dalrymple, 143, 223 dance, 2, 3, 10, 11, 15, 18, 19, 34, 37, 39, 41, 42, 43, 45, 46, 71, 95, 98, 134, 146, 147, 166, 167, 168, 173, 194, 195, 197, 203, 208, 209, 210, 211, 212 dancing, 2, 9, 15, 44, 52, 98, 99, 134, 167, 168, 172, 174, 189, 212 Daniel Gad, 3, 225 David Kibuuka, 181, 183, 186 De Beers, 90 Debswana Diamond Company, 91 decolonisation, 209 decolonise, 69 Deep Friedman, 181, 185, 187, 189 democracy, 21, 90, 103, 112, 113, 114, 117, 137, 142, 193 Dennis Brutus, 22 Department of Basic Education, 15, 194

241

Department of Higher Education and Training (DHET), 195 Department of Trade and Industry, 202 Department of Visual and Performing Arts, 17 dependency, 103, 108, 109, 110, 238 Desai, 141, 224 Desmond Tutu, 15, 22, 26, 80, 117, 136, 169, 237 destitute, 52, 73, 74, 77, 78, 79, 85, 86 Diamonds, 90 diane-dithamalakane, 3 dictators, 24, 50 Dingana, 7 dithoko, 6 Dlamini, 37, 41, 45, 137, 173, 217, 224 drama, 2, 8, 9, 12, 14, 16, 18, 19, 32, 36, 42, 43, 45, 46, 49, 68, 89, 92, 95, 99, 100, 104, 123, 124, 125, 143, 153, 155, 156, 157, 158, 159, 160, 168, 173, 179, 194, 195, 196, 200, 201, 203, 204, 209, 212, 213, 214, 218, 227, 232, 234, 238 dramatic form, 2 dramatic sequence, 41 dramatic text, 2 dramatist, 4, 57, 104, 179, 212 dramaturgy, 28, 68, 165 drugs, 53, 80, 91 drumming, 9, 98, 176 drums, 15, 146 Durban University of Technology, 16 Dutch, 12, 163 Ebewo, 8, 14, 48, 101, 141, 155, 224, 225 Economic Freedom Fighters Party (EFF), 171 EFF political party, 58 elitist, 13, 32, 100, 119, 142, 208 emaSwati, 6, 9, 41

242

Emeka Nwabueze, 18 Empowerment, 101, 223, 229, 233, 234, 235 enactment, 38, 44, 196 enactments, 43, 45 End Times Disciples Ministry, 57 English language, 68, 70 epic, 7, 68, 75 E-TV, 126 Euro-American, 12, 208 Eurocentric, 208 European, 3, 9, 12, 70, 187, 225, 228, 237 exploitation, 21, 26, 68, 69, 78, 81, 84, 103 facilitators, 149, 161 Fanon, 21, 225 Fatime Dike, 12 festival, 8, 9, 10, 11, 13, 14, 19, 36, 44, 203, 209 festivals, 2, 8, 9, 13, 18, 19, 200, 201, 202, 203, 226 fiction, 2, 48, 51, 104, 123, 165 Finnegan, 6, 7, 226 first fruits, 37, 41 flashbacks, 50, 169 flutes, 15 folktales, 3 Forgiveness, 27, 233 forgiveness and reconciliation, 27, 28, 169 Francesca Zackey, 51, 52, 56, 57, 60, 61 freedom fighters, 83, 164 Freire, 21, 109, 141, 143, 226 From Zia, With Love, 49, 236 functional literacy, 143 Functional Theatre, 14 funeral, 163, 164, 166, 167, 168, 170, 171, 174, 175, 176, 177 Gcina Mhlope, 4, 221 gender imbalances, 128 Gevisser, 170, 171, 172, 226 Ghetto Artists, 19 Gibson Kente, 12 Gill, 112, 113, 226

Index

Gloria Mamba, 18 Goffman, 34, 163, 227 gongs, 15 Grahamstown, 13, 19, 126, 196, 201, 202, 203, 235 Great Day, 37, 40, 42 Greg Homann, 205, 227 Group Areas Act, 24, 32, 122, 164 Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner?, 23 Hare, 4 Hauptfleisch, 3, 227 Herbert Dhlomo, 12 Herschel, 102, 103 Highet, 48, 227 Hilda Kuper, 8, 37 HIV/AIDS, 11, 62, 91, 144, 151, 152, 155, 156, 157, 159, 161, 221, 225, 230, 232, 237 House on Fire, 19 Hughes Masekela, 12 humour, 172, 179, 181 Huxley and Witts, 162 hypocrisy, 56, 114, 116, 124 Imbali, 9 Immorality Act, 24, 164 In a Ribbon of Rhythm, 210 Incwala, 8, 11, 34, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 166, 222, 225, 229, 232 Incwala Lenkane, 37 Incwala Lenkulu, 37 indigenous, 2, 3, 4, 6, 8, 9, 12, 14, 15, 17, 67, 68, 69, 73, 76, 133, 208 indigenous people, 12 indigenous performances, 3 indlamu, 11 Indlovukazi, 9 Induna, 9 Industrial Theatre, 88, 92 Infecting the City, 19, 203 Ingabisa, 3 initiation, 3, 8 interment, 169, 175 Ipi Tombi, 1

Explorations in Southern African Drama, Theatre and Performance Ipopeng Drama Group in Mochudi, 151 isikhalo, 169 izibongo, 6, 7 Jacob Zuma, 6, 168, 171, 182 Jamary Molumeli, 18 Janice Wilson, 88 John Kani, 12, 15 John Ruganda, 18 Joseph Tshabalala, 15 Joyce, 3, 228 Jwaneng Mine, 91, 92, 95, 99 Kabayethe, 40 Karl Marx, 78, 85 Kavanagh, 12, 26, 229 Kerr, 2, 16, 100, 101, 150, 157, 159, 160, 229 Kezilahabi, 16 kgotla, 95, 150 Khoisan, 3 khotla, 75 Kidds and Byram, 16 King Mswati III, 11, 62 King Shaka, 7 Kinjeketile, 47, 59 Kopano Ke Matla, 148 Kuper, 36, 37, 39, 40, 41, 43, 44, 45, 229 KwaZulu-Natal, 11, 54, 64, 200, 201, 203, 204 Ladysmith Black Mambazo, 15 Laedza Batanani, 16, 150, 225, 229 Late Nite News, 178, 180 Laughter, 53 Leach, 34, 229 Lebogang Mashile, 210 Lenin, 85 Leselebo Bathusi, 19 Lesotho, 1, 7, 12, 15, 16, 18, 49, 50, 67, 68, 69, 79, 102, 103, 104, 105, 106, 107, 108, 109, 110, 111, 112, 113, 114, 117, 119, 120, 141, 142, 144, 145, 147, 149, 151, 152, 153, 155, 159, 161, 209, 224, 225, 226, 227, 233, 234, 235, 236

243

Letlhakane, 97, 100 Letsema, 88, 96, 97, 98, 99, 100, 228 Lewis Nkosi, 12, 23, 24 liberation struggle, 26, 50, 117 Lifela, 6, 147 lihawu, 11 Limakatso Kendall, 18, 161 Limpho Mokhochane, 18 Lincoln, 36, 37, 229 lipina-tsa-mokopu, 3 literary, 2, 6, 45, 48, 67, 70, 181, 184 Little Karoo National Arts Festival, 13 live band, 212, 216 Lobamba, 44 local contents, 206 Loyiso Gola, 178, 181, 189, 228 Ludzidzini, 9, 10 Lusekwane, 39 M. Moorosi, 18, 161 maboko, 6 Madiba, 169, 223, 226 maidens, 3, 9, 10, 11 mainane, 3 Maishe Maponya, 12 Maitisong Theatre, 19 Major General Lekhanya, 113 Malan, 36, 77, 163, 201, 227, 230 Mama Theatre in Ramotswa, 151 Mamohau Mohatla, 18 mangae, 3 Mangan, 14, 176, 230 Mangaung African Cultural Festival (MACUFE), 13 mantloane, 15, 73 Maputo, 19, 38 Marematlou Freedom Party, 113 Marikana, 136, 137, 184, 224, 237 Market Theatre, 30, 33, 200, 201, 203 Marotholi Travelling Theatre, 18, 119, 144, 145, 231 Marwick, 36, 43, 230

244

Maseru, 18, 104, 105, 107, 108, 114, 119, 120, 153, 161, 209, 226 Maseru Cultural Festival, 18 Masitha Hoeane, 18, 67, 77, 149, 161, 235 masking, 9 masks, 35 Matsemela Manaka, 12 Matsieng, 149 Mbabane Club, 18 Mbiti, 165, 230 Mbongeni Ngema, 12 Mda, 12, 13, 18, 20, 21, 27, 30, 48, 49, 50, 51, 52, 56, 57, 58, 62, 72, 102, 103, 104, 105, 107, 108, 109, 110, 111, 113, 114, 115, 116, 117, 118, 119, 120, 143, 144, 145, 146, 148, 150, 161, 184, 224, 225, 228, 231 medicines, 37, 146 memorabilia, 10, 174 memorial ceremony, 169, 170 Mfecane wars, 7 Michael Etherton, 1 Middeke, 205, 227 migrants, 104, 108 Mike van Graan, 14 mime, 4, 43, 71, 73, 168 mine workers, 65, 92, 96, 99, 100, 137, 147 Mine Workers’ Union, 91 miners, 6, 95, 100, 104, 105, 106, 107, 108, 116, 147, 148, 184 mines, 6, 88, 91, 92, 100, 101, 104, 105, 106, 107, 116, 118, 119, 147 Miriam Makeba, 12 mock trial theatre, 13 mohobelo, 3 mokhibo, 3 monologue, 49, 50, 133, 134 monyanyako, 72 Monyanyako, 3 morality, 11, 12, 79, 124, 179, 190

Index

Morija Arts and Cultural Festival, 18 Morrison, 143, 232 Moshoeshoe, 7, 113, 145, 149 Motjoka Ramonono, 18 Mpumelelo Paul Grootboom, 123 Mthatha, 174 multiracial, 22, 32 Music, 2, 169, 203, 216, 223 musical instruments, 5 myths, 35, 152, 159 Mzansi Golden Economy Strategy, 199 Mzilikazi, 7, 8, 106 Mzwakhe Mbuli, 210 narrator, 71, 73 Natal Playhouse, 23 National Arts Festival, 13 National Development Plan, 17, 196, 197 National Lottery Distribution Trust Fund, 203 National Skills Academy, 197 National Sorry Day, 33, 163 National Union of Mineworkers, 136 national unity, 11 National University of Lesotho, 1, 68, 144, 149, 161, 209, 224, 236 Nationalist Party, 20 Ndebele, 3, 7, 8 Ndlela kaSompisi, 7 Ndlovu, 36 Nelson Mandela, 6, 163, 165, 168, 170 Ngugi wa Thiong’o, 68, 70, 103, 115 Nguni speaking people, 7 Ngwane, 7, 8 Nicholson, 88, 233 Nkandla, 182 Nongqawuse, 59 non-racial, 21, 22, 24, 84 Northern Sotho, 3 North-West Province, 183, 203 Nothing but the Truth, 12

Explorations in Southern African Drama, Theatre and Performance NUL Theatre Group, 149, 153 Nxumalo, 19, 36, 208, 233 Obiechina, 4, 233 obscenity, 123, 124, 125, 126, 138 Ogunba and Irele, 9 Oral criticism, 75 oral narratives, 3 Orange Free State, 108, 114 Orapa, 90, 92, 96, 99, 100, 228 Organic Workers’ Theatre, 14 Orkin, 12, 28, 233 Our Lady of Benoni, 48, 51, 52, 56, 57, 58, 61, 62, 184, 231 Outcomes-Based Education, 192, 193 Pabalelo Mmila, 16 Pan-Africanist Congress, 21 pantomimic, 37, 43, 166 park, 29, 52, 53, 54 parody, 30, 180, 181 Participants, 38 participatory theatre, 68, 89 Paterson Derived System, 93, 228 Paterson Job Evaluation System, 91, 92, 95 patriarchy, 61, 63, 66 peasants, 78, 109, 110, 119, 120, 141, 145, 150, 155 Pedi, 8 Pelias, 43, 233 performance, 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 8, 9, 11, 14, 15, 16, 18, 19, 23, 24, 30, 36, 37, 42, 43, 44, 46, 50, 68, 71, 72, 75, 76, 88, 92, 95, 96, 97, 99, 100, 101, 124, 144, 145, 146, 149, 150, 158, 159, 160, 161, 162, 163, 165, 166, 167, 168, 169, 171, 172, 173, 174, 175, 176, 187, 188, 193, 202, 208, 210, 212, 213, 215, 216, 237 Performance, 1, 2, 15, 75, 162, 166, 167, 168, 176, 208, 215, 221, 227, 228, 229, 230, 231, 233, 234, 236, 237 performative elements, 35, 46

245

performers, 2, 19, 68, 72, 73, 75, 76, 95, 99, 100, 145, 172, 177, 203, 210 performing arts, 12, 16, 17, 178, 191, 195, 196, 197, 198, 199, 200, 201, 202, 204, 206 Performing Arts Companies (PACs), 13 Peterson, 103, 234 phatsi, 3 pilgrimage, 9, 40, 56, 57, 60 pitiki, 8 play text, 2 players, 2, 46, 50, 73, 146, 168 Playland, 12, 23, 28, 29, 30, 31, 33, 226 playwrights, 12, 21, 23, 25, 31, 33, 67, 123, 124, 140, 198, 204, 206 poetry, 6, 7, 18, 104, 147, 150, 168, 173, 208, 209, 210, 212, 213, 214, 215, 216, 217, 218, 219 Poetry Festival, 209 poetry performance, 19, 212 Poets/Rappers, 210 police brutality, 64, 126, 135, 136, 137, 183 politicians, 49, 55, 117, 187, 210 popular tradition, 4 Poqo, 83 post-apartheid, 12, 13, 22, 28, 52, 54, 64, 138, 183, 191, 192, 197, 199 post-apartheid South Africa, 14 Potchefstroom, 13, 104 poverty, 22, 36, 41, 68, 78, 90, 103, 110, 116, 120, 126, 139, 149, 183, 225 Pradervand, 142, 234 Prah, 108, 110, 234, 236 praise poetry, 6 praise singers, 6, 171 pre-colonial, 2, 3 presentation, 2, 9, 33, 34, 42, 72, 75, 125, 142, 152, 181, 184, 186, 192 President Mandela, 22, 32 production crew, 2

246

prologue, 71, 127 prostitutes, 62, 73, 74, 79, 85, 107, 108, 118, 119 prostitution, 68, 73, 79, 103, 104, 114, 118, 126, 154, 182 protest literature, 22 proverbs, 70 provincial governments, 200 puppet, 181, 185, 187 queen, 9, 10, 11, 40, 42, 44, 118, 133 Qunu, 173, 174, 176 Rabboni Ministries, 57 racial discrimination, 32, 122 racist, 22, 23, 64 Rametlai, 53 rape, 64, 65, 85, 123, 125, 126, 138, 183, 190 Rappaport, 34, 234 Reed Dance festival, 9 Reetsanang Association of Community, 19, 160 reform, 48 rehearsals, 44, 95, 172 Reigan (la Rogen), 124 Relativity, 122, 123, 126, 127, 128, 132, 134, 135, 137, 138, 139, 227 religion, 35, 56, 57, 61, 79, 80, 115, 117, 162, 179, 182, 184, 229 Religion, 56, 80, 115, 229, 234 Removals Theatre, 14 representation, 2, 20, 145, 197 Revised National Curriculum Statement, 193, 224 revolutionary, 25, 51, 67, 68, 78, 111, 234 riddle, 73 ridicule, 4, 179 rites, 34, 46, 163, 166, 176 ritual, 8, 11, 34, 35, 36, 37, 38, 39, 40, 41, 42, 43, 44, 45, 46, 80, 98, 165, 166, 167, 171, 175, 176, 177, 185, 234, 236 ritual queen, 40, 44 River in my Soul, 218, 219, 233

Index

Robben Island, 167, 170 role-play, 15, 24, 43, 160 Roman Catholic Church, 59, 117, 175, 212 Royal Kraal, 43 Royal Residence, 9, 10 Rre Phathasane, 88, 95, 101, 225 Ruth Finnegan, 6 SABC, 13, 32, 187, 189, 222 sacred songs, 3, 38, 43 San, 3, 232 Sangoma, 59 Sarah Roberts, 51 Satire, 48, 49, 190, 223, 224, 225, 226, 227, 237, 238 satirical, 43, 48, 49, 51, 56, 57, 60, 65, 178, 179, 181, 184, 187, 188, 189 satirist, 54, 55, 56, 58, 59, 61, 62, 63, 64, 180, 182, 183, 184, 185, 186, 187, 188, 190 Schechner, 42, 44, 45, 162, 167, 171, 176, 234 Seetebosigo Theatre in Gantsi, 151 Selloane Mokuku, 18 senannapo, 72 Serpent Players, 12 seSotho, 53, 67, 70, 71, 72, 74, 83 setapa, 3 sex, 63, 65, 71, 104, 114, 123, 124, 125, 126, 132, 133, 134, 154, 156, 159, 160, 162, 228, 230, 231 shamanism, 3 Sharpeville, 68, 82, 136 Shava, 69, 82, 84, 235 Shillington, 82, 83 Sierz, 123, 124, 235 Simunye, 33 Sirayi, 3, 12, 235 siSwati, 18, 43, 232 Sizwe Bansi is Dead, 1 Sizwe Banzi is Dead, 12 Smith and Dale, 4 Sobhuza, 7, 9, 229 social change, 67, 85, 119

Explorations in Southern African Drama, Theatre and Performance socialisation, 4 solidarity, 11, 71, 74, 78, 80, 97, 99, 112, 120, 141 Solomon, 164, 165, 166, 169, 235 song, 3, 10, 15, 30, 39, 40, 41, 45, 71, 72, 73, 79, 95, 98, 151, 154, 158, 166, 167, 168, 170, 181, 209, 215, 216, 223, 232 Sonny Samson-Akpan, 18 Soshanguve, 57, 123 Sotho, 3, 7 South Africa, 3, 5, 6, 11, 12, 13, 16, 18, 19, 20, 21, 22, 24, 26, 28, 29, 30, 31, 32, 48, 49, 51, 52, 54, 56, 57, 64, 65, 68, 81, 83, 84, 88, 89, 90, 102, 104, 105, 107, 108, 111, 114, 117, 122, 123, 125, 127, 133, 135, 137, 138, 139, 140, 145, 161, 164, 169, 170, 172, 173, 178, 181, 183, 184, 186, 187, 188, 189, 190, 191, 192, 193, 194, 195, 196, 197, 199, 200, 201, 202, 204, 205, 210, 213, 222, 223, 224, 225, 227, 228, 229, 230, 231, 232, 233, 235, 236, 237, 238 South African Communist Party, 21 South African Theatre, 1, 224, 225, 227, 231, 233, 235 South African writers, 21, 22 Southern Africa, 1, 2, 3, 4, 6, 7, 8, 9, 15, 35, 49, 67, 93, 108, 111, 115, 144, 152, 155, 209, 210, 212, 221, 223, 225, 234, 236 Southern African Development Community (SADC), 19, 89 Southern African people, 1, 6, 8, 14 Soweto, 1, 20, 33, 82, 102, 123, 169, 170, 173, 201, 227 Soyinka, 8, 23, 25, 47, 49, 69, 70, 114, 165, 168, 184, 190, 224, 236 spec-actors, 72 Stellenbosch, 13, 196 stereotypical, 33

247

stigma and discrimination, 152, 156, 157 storytellers, 4 storytelling, 4, 5, 73, 210 Storytelling, 4 Sulwe and Fulwe, 4 supernatural, 35, 36, 39, 46 superstition, 57 SWAPO, 29 Swazi King, 36 Swaziland, 11, 12, 16, 18, 34, 37, 41, 62, 108, 212, 213, 218, 222, 225, 229, 230, 233 sycophants, 50 symbol, 39, 77, 81, 83, 84, 86, 114 symbolism, 45, 67, 71, 73, 77, 81, 84 syncretic theatre, 46 syncretism, 67 T. Nzeku, 18 T.T. Mogobe, 16 tales, 4 Tambiah, 34, 236 Tapscott, 22, 236 tax rebates, 202 Taylor, 89, 236 Tennessee Williams, 125, 234 Thabo Mbeki, 6, 171 Thamm, 12, 236 Thamsanqa Jantjie, 172 The Development of African Drama (1982), 1 The Distance Remains, 67, 69, 71, 73, 76, 84, 86, 87, 227, 230 The Hill, 103, 104, 107, 108, 115, 118, 119, 231 The Island, 1, 12 The Mother of All Eating, 14, 49, 50 The Nun’s Romantic Story, 103 The Rhythm of Violence, 12, 23, 24, 25, 26, 233 The Road, 20, 27, 103, 104, 114, 231 theatre, 1, 2, 4, 5, 9, 12, 13, 14, 16, 17, 18, 19, 21, 22, 23, 24, 26, 31, 32, 33, 35, 36, 42, 43, 46, 67, 68,

248

69, 71, 72, 75, 76, 77, 88, 89, 92, 93, 95, 96, 97, 99, 100, 101, 103, 119, 120, 123, 124, 125, 141, 142, 143, 144, 145, 146, 147, 149, 150, 151, 152, 153, 155, 158, 159, 160, 161, 162, 166, 168, 170, 191, 194, 195, 196, 197, 199, 200, 201, 202, 203, 204, 205, 206, 212, 214, 224, 226, 231, 232, 235, 237 theatre companies, 204 theatre complexes, 201 Theatre in Africa (1978), 1 theatre of reconciliation, 12, 23, 24, 31, 32, 33 Theatre of Reconciliation, 14 theatre practitioners, 32, 89, 101, 195, 200 theatre-for-development, 14, 76, 89, 119, 120, 149, 150 Thembu, 174, 175 thusanang, 107 Tinanatelo, 6, 228 tingoma tekutsamba, 3 tingoma temtsimba, 4 Tiphicwaphicwane, 4 Tlhaga Dikgora Theatre in Serowe/Palapye, 151 Tortoise, 4 township, 14, 122, 123, 126, 127, 129, 132, 133, 135, 136, 137, 139, 140, 223 Township, 33, 108, 122, 123, 126, 127, 132, 135, 137, 138, 139, 178, 223, 227, 228, 229, 236 townships, 20, 122, 123, 126, 127, 133, 137, 139, 140, 201, 206 Townships, 122, 201, 222, 232 toyi-toyi, 14, 65 Tracy Chapman, 215 traditional costumes, 10 traditional dance, 3 traditional songs, 71, 147 trance, 3 transformation, 12, 13, 88, 90, 92, 103, 119, 141, 143, 158, 176

Index

trickster, 73 Truth and Reconciliation Commission, 22, 32, 238 Tshwane University of Technology, 16, 195, 196, 213 tsomo or intsomi, 4 Tsonga, 3, 7 tsotsi masculinity, 129 tsutsube, 3 Tswana, 3, 7, 8, 90 Turner, 34, 42, 176, 237 TWIST, 200, 237 Tyrone August, 4 ubuntu, 63 ululating, 168, 174 Umcwasho, 9, 11 umdudo, 3 umemulo, 3 Umhlanga, 9, 36 Umkhonto we Sizwe, 83 Umkhonto weSizwe, 169 umukhwa, 11 UNAIDS, 151, 153, 155, 156, 230, 237 UNDP, 153 unemployment, 68, 184 UNESCO, 192, 228, 237 Union Buildings, 164, 173, 174, 201 University of Botswana, 16, 17, 92, 151, 157 University of Botswana, Lesotho and Swaziland (UBLS), 16 University Travelling Theatre group (UBTT), 16 urban-based, 33, 206 Van Erven, 142, 237 van Heerden, 13 Vandenbroucke, 28, 237 Venda, 3, 7 violence, 26, 85, 86, 115, 123, 125, 126, 127, 128, 129, 130, 131, 133, 135, 136, 137, 138, 139, 188, 214, 218, 225, 235, 238 virginity, 51, 52, 61, 62, 63, 64 visions, 14, 57, 59, 72 warrior-ancestor, 43

Explorations in Southern African Drama, Theatre and Performance We Shall Sing for the Fatherland, 52, 102, 231 When People Play People, 144, 148, 231 White Paper on Higher Education, 1997, 195 Windybrow Theatre, 200 Wolfgang Schneider, 3, 225 workers’ morale, 97 World Health Organisation, 153

249

Woza Albert, 12 Xhosa, 3, 5, 7, 59, 163, 164, 165, 166, 169, 174, 176, 235, 238 You Fool, How Can the Sky Fall, 14 Zimbabwe, 8, 83, 89, 108, 170, 183, 228 Zodwa Motsa, 18 Zolani Mkiza, 174 Zulu, 3, 6, 7, 8, 33, 166, 171, 182