Camp Day 3 at JL Zwane Centre
Finally blogging here at camp after some international computer issues!
What an unreal experience no one could have predicted the magnitude of…the impact on these children AND on the artists is almost overwhelming at points to witness. These teachers have put so much passion and dedication into their lesson plans and I cannot believe the osmosis that occurs with the kids here. Rhythm, dance, and music are so ingrained within them just because of the culture but, as I was telling a reporter yesterday who came to write a story about us, we are providing a structure to harness energy they already have. The self-empowerment I have witnessed with these kids blows my mind — learning to lead and use teamwork to get something done in an acting class, telling a story through the body in dance that comes from their feelings within (and they are DEEP). And hearing all those voices echoing down the hallway as they sing, “You raise me up to more than I can be.” It seems like every day one of us almost can’t take all the joy at one time. Tears are not uncommon these days…of joy or overwhelming.
For myself, I enjoy watching so thoroughly the joy the kids experience in acting, dance, and music, but I find myself time and time again drawn into the playwriting class to see what develops. The stories that are being written give me such a humbling reminder of what is being dealt with in this country and in Cape Town’s townships. Yes, we are not allowed to cross the gate outside the center here in Gugulethu because (as I learned yesteday by experience) once you do, you’ve stepped outside a shield from a cold, cold reality of poverty, alcoholism, AIDS and a need so desperate it’s often hard to watch. What we are doing here is such a drop in the bucket of what needs to happen…but how can you fill this bucket faster than one drop at a time? I don’t know the answer…
But I digress, the point is that these kids live out there in that reality. And it comes out in their writing every day. The exercises are simple…each person says a sentence and then split into groups to finish the story. Today’s first class wrote about a girl named Npumelelo who lived with her mother, father, sister, and brother in a township. The father drinks a lot, the sister hates Npumelelo, but Npumelelo loves her brother. Then in groups they finished the story, and it was quite an eye opener. In my group, they wrote together (five girls) that the sister pushed Npumelelo on the floor and then the mother beat the sister for pushing, so the sister ran away and became a street kid. Then the father came in drunk and beat the mother for scaring the child away. The end. My God. In another group, the father was killed in a drunk driving accident and then the children were forced to live on the street where Npumelelo was raped. And the harrowing thing about these stories was that they all just nodded and talked like it was totally normal. Normal. I have so much to learn, and so much to be grateful for in my life. And I don’t want to send these kids back out there every day at 3.30. It hurts me.
Sorry to end on a sad note, but it’s time to get lunch together! I still always remember that their is joy in the fact that we are all together at this beautiful center (with an AMAZING staff to help us) in the middle of that harsh reality and it is a sanctuary for us all to learn, dream, and create. More to come, as well as some great pictures later on. And sorry for any typos because of the rush.
-Zach Bandler, Co-Executive Director Broadway in South Africa
3 years ago