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 A
Changed Woman
By Sandi
Duncan
Bringing
dance -- and love -- to
Africa
yields unexpected rewards
I faced the
most challenging, enticing choreography proposal of my career
in December 2004, when I was asked to go to
Africa.
Namibia, a country in southwestern Africa, is losing its young
generation due to the ravages of AIDS. I was to join a team of
church members, teachers, and school-age dancers, brought
together by the pastor of Christ Church of Amherst, NH, to
present AIDS-awareness programs to school-age children in that
country. Through music and the gift of dance, perhaps we could
inspire the Namibian youth to live healthier lifestyles. I
thought the pastor was out of his mind—what parents would send
their children halfway around the world without them? But I
was intrigued. I had been feeling restless, wanting to find
some way to make a difference through the arts, and the timing
of this proposal seemed perfect.
The next
thing I knew, I was engaged in cross-cultural training
sessions with 14 dancers and a handful of people from the
church who would be organizing and directing our journey—a
journey that would take us thousands of miles away from the
comforts of home and family. Little did I realize what a
life-changing experience it would be.
Music was
chosen, rehearsals began, and we learned more about Namibia,
its culture, and the people we would live with for two weeks.
As our departure date loomed, I began to think about the
reality of what we were about to encounter in this faraway
land. I had taken on a huge responsibility, and the pressure
almost caused me to back out of the trip. I was worried that I
wouldn’t be able to handle the emotional aspects of what we
would be exposed to. I would be there for the kids, but who
would be there for me? But through research, meditation,
prayer, reassurance from family and friends, and trust, I
realized that taking this trip was what I was supposed to do
at that point in my life. For the sake of the children of
Namibia and the students I work with, I had to get past my
fears and accept this challenge.
Leaving our
families and friends was difficult, but after many hugs,
tears, and goodbyes, we began our journey. Although we had
been through many weeks of training, we had no idea what was
about to happen to our hearts and souls.
Four
continents, 28 hours of flight time, and 5 layovers later, we
arrived safely in Namibia under the most beautiful blue sky I
had ever seen. As we traveled to our home away from home, we
saw wild boars, ostriches, and monkeys running wild along the
way. Our bunkhouse resembled a warehouse, with no showers and
running water only on a good day (hot if we were lucky), but
we fell in love with it—spiders, cobwebs, dust, and all.
We were
housed near a small village called Vyf Rand, where people live
in tin huts that stand only five feet tall, without running
water, electricity, or the luxuries that we are used to. As
many as 15 people live in one of these humble ho uses.
I was overtaken by emotion as we drove through the village,
with living conditions like none we
had ever seen. Children of all ages, shapes, and sizes ran
behind our vehicles, following us closely in their excitement
to greet us. Many of them, some as young as 7, carried their
infant siblings on their backs. I got the feeling that each
one of them could tell a different story. They had experienced
severe illness; the death of a parent due to AIDS; limited
food, clothing, and
shelter. Yet despite these hardships, they came to us wanting
to play and be loved. We were there to inspire them to live a
healthy lifestyle, but as we played, danced, sang, snuggled,
or simply held their hands, they inspired us to appreciate all
we are blessed with.
We arrived
at the village’s school for our first show and saw that our
performance venue was an area covered in dirt, rocks, broken
bottles, and other debris. As we cleaned up our “stage,” we
gained a new understanding of the term “flexible.” As the
children filtered out of their classrooms, we recognized many
faces, and the dancers’ apprehension vanished. An incredible
bond began to grow. These dancers, who have performed on
beautiful stages with professional lighting, technical design
teams, and amazing costumes, were now dancing in the dirt with
tears streaming down their faces. The earth became their
stage; the sun, their lighting; their clothing, the costumes.
And the children of Vyf Rand became their inspiration.
As dance
educators we try to inspire our students to dance from within,
to use life experiences to inspire emotions, to allow their
surroundings to take them someplace
else. That day, as I watched our students live that incredible
feeling on the simplest of stages, was—and I suspect will
always be—the highlight of my teaching career. That day, those
children experienced what dancing from the soul truly means.
During our
stay in Africa, we performed for 1,000 elementary, middle, and
high school students on the hot pavement under a mid-afternoon
sun. We danced in private schools and on a multilevel church
stage accompanied by a full technical team with video screens,
lighting, and the most advanced sound equipment. We raised
money for the Hope’s Promise Orphanages in Rehoboth and
Arandis, selling more than 900 tickets to people in the
surrounding areas. We performed by moonlight in an
amphitheater, stopping halfway through the show when the
bluish light faded. We performed under the stars in a
bushman’s camp with no audience other than our own spirits.
But
dancing was not all we did. We climbed the highest sand dunes
in the world, went on safari in Etosha, shopped, and dined on
kudu, zebra, and ostrich. And we learned so much—about the
culture of Namibia and how to live life more simply; about
AIDS and how it is affecting this beautiful nation; about
children and how they can steal your heart. We learned how
hard it is to say goodbye to someone you fall in love with and
may never see again. We learned about courage. We learned
about life, and about ourselves.
He re
at home, life is back to normal for most of us. We go to work,
school, dance classes, rehearsals, restaurants, and grocery
stores. Life is much the same as it was before our journey,
but it is also very different. A song can take me back to a
moment in time and bring tears to the eyes of many of the
dancers. I awake each day thinking of Ndilimeke, the child who
won my heart and soul in the
village of
Vyf Rand. I pray she lives a long, healthy life. A beautiful
sunrise takes me back to the early morning hike we took to
watch light appear on the horizon. A piece of dust in my eye
brings back memories of the students dancing to the song “Dust
in the Wind” with dust burning their eyes, noses, and
throats—and loving every second of it.
Although
many in our group have moved on from their time in
Africa,
I live it every day. It changed my life and the way I live; I
take nothing for granted. I am restless to go back. I went to
Namibia to make a difference, but I have since learned that I
am not the one who made the difference. It was the people of
Namibia,
who changed all of us forever.
Photo
credits: First and last photos: Germaine St. Cyr
Middle
photo: Michael Knight
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