I have been visiting Uganda every few months since last year July. And every time I visit I feel like my humanity is stretched a little more. When I visited last year, I was here for an introductory trip. It was just a week and I had come to introduce myself to people I had been chatting to over email. I've had a bee in my bonnet about a South African woman who moved to Uganda in 1939 and married a Ugandan man. She lived such a storied life I convinced myself I should write her biography and now here I am: reading about the Buganda, the women’s movement in Uganda, pre-independence Uganda and making new friends and family in another country. When I visited in January earlier this year, I was welcomed into a family who looked after me for two weeks. This past week I have been here for a conference and reconnecting with some people. I have been stunned that the research journey has been as equally fascinating as the archival and writing journey. Maybe I will follow DDT Jabavu and write a travelogue about visiting East Africa. I definitely won't be following in Noni Jabavu's footsteps whose writing about her experience in Uganda caused much umbrage when her memoir Drawn in Colour was published in 1960.
I'm writing this post sitting in a hotel room in Nakasero, passing time in anticipation of the midnight trek to the airport for an early morning flight at Entebbe. I have been rehearsing this post for months (initially as an op-ed rather than a blog) because every time I visit Kampala my heart rate drops, my life moves a little slower and my humanity is restored. This is not to romanticise the city and the country but rather to recognise that despite the context, I have been able to witness and experience the complexities of freedom and questions of ubuntu.
I will not regale you about the many experiences thus far but offer a snapshot of what I experienced a few hours ago. After a slow day recovering from a conference at Makerere University, I had lunch with what I have decided to call my Kampala family. After a few hours of some soulful connection and warm hugs and affection I left to get ready to meet a friend to watch a production I had seen on Instagram: Nambi: The African Shieldmaidens at the National Theatre.
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| Source: Batalo East Twitter |
I didn't google the production. I was mostly interested in the experience and wanted to see the theatre as I only know about it through the market situated behind the theatre (which has been my Kampala card with friends who live in Kampala but had never been to the market: blog post for another day). The poster gave me Wakanda vibes and I decided to suspend some of my cynicism. When my friend cancelled I had a moment of doubt, but when I saw the theatre is five minutes away from the hotel (only when there's no traffic on a Sunday) I felt compelled to go.
I arrived 5 minutes before the show was about to start and the foyer was definitely giving me African-theatre vibes. The theatre was smaller than I had imagined but a solid building with good bones that probably hasn't been upgraded too many times. But it had the same quaint feeling I get at the
Labia Theatre in Cape Town in a strange way. The foyer was an African jungle aesthetic with grass on the floor. I braced myself. Before the production began there was a voice over prompting the singing of the national anthem (insert eye roll). I sat near the front. There was a healthy sized audience with most muzungus I've seen in a week (much like the Jane Goodall lecture I had attended earlier in the week when I arrived; another post for another day). There was a red velvet curtain covering the stage which reminded me of school productions. More nostalgia.
And then the production began. There was smoke emerging from behind the curtain as it was rolling up. The music and the special effects had me spell bound. Five beautiful women appeared on stage. Their focus and postures signaled something important was about to unfold. Even while their costume (especially their hairstyles) screamed Wakanda Forever (I'm being tongue in cheek; if I wasn't so cyncial I would be referring to
Miriam Makeba's iconic hairstyles inspired by traditional African hairstyles like the one Thandiswa Mazwai and Simphiwe Dana have also had) I decided to pay attention and allow myself to get lost in the music and the smoke. When the smoke cleared the stage set was bare with the exception of bamboo looking sticks suspended at the back of the stage.
The shieldmaidens captivated me with their movements. Their costumes were not quite as scant as the warriors in the movie Woman King, but the women were definitely Agoji adjacent. There was something heavy and dignified about their presence on stage. Regal. Their movements however, were not loud, but their bodies carried the story. They occupied the entire stage in synchronous moves that were disciplined and edgy. After about 30 minutes my cynicism returned. I was getting tired of the intensity that seemed to lack range even while it was rivetting and beautifully choreographed. Without any knowledge about the story I had to make it up on my own and read the story carefully through the movements. And then something changed.
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| Source: Ojok Okot, Twitter |
The first layer of the costume (which I interpreted as the army uniform) came off. Beneath were chiffon dresses and tassles. This felt like a moment of shedding skin. This was followed by a solo performance by one of the maidens which drew me in. The intensity of the first half softened. There was a vulnerability and an openness in the solo piece. When the other shieldmaidens returned on stage the softness continued. Until this point, the shieldmaidens had not made much physical contact with each other. They were constantly well choreographed, in formation. Army-like precision. Until they shed off the capes. The contact was gentle and at times even sensual. It felt like an introduction to the shieldmaidens behind the masks of precision and order. There was a tenderness and beauty. There was a cradling and being in each others arms which revealed a perhaps more human side to the strength and edginess in the first half.
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| Source: Procy Arinaitwe Twitter |
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Source: Batalo East, Twitter
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There was a moment when all their bodies were woven together as though they were one body rocking a baby. It reminded me of the moments of warmth and care when women gather together to look after each other. However, this did not last very long, a shadow emerged when the flimsy dresses were discarded signaling and unlayering of the maidens' complexity.
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| Source: Andrew Kaggwa Mayiga Twitter |
There was a shadow cast and dances between the maidens felt like animosity and danger between each other. The rawness had me gasping out loud at some of the movements and interactions amongst the shieldmaidens because they were no longer in formation but at times scattered and violent towards each other. This was another layer unfolding in the story. That behind the facade of perfection and even some of the warmth in the previous scenes, there is a shadow in women's relationships. There is a shadow amongst strong, black women. Not simply the stereotypical and sexist 'pull-her-down' rhetoric but something about the shadows we carry in all of us. That ,it is in the spaces of intimacy that we experience the most difficult parts of ourselves and those we are close to. But there was also a de-individuating where the choreography was not synchronous but it was jarring and angular. It was the music and the lighting that signaled the final shift where there was a resolve amongst the shieldmaidens.
I haven't experienced this kind of journey and teleporting through a theatre production in a while. I was mesmerised by the ways in which the women's bodies could sustain a story and shapeshift throughout the hour (though the show felt longer). I wondered what it meant to showcase such intimacy and beauty using the body in a context that is so hellbent on policing bodies in light of the homophobic laws in Uganda. There was something subversive about the production, even while there was a simple beauty in portraying a story about women who are powerful, strong, beautiful, tender and soft all at the same time. It was groundbreaking to watch the ways in which bodies can carry a story without using words and excessive props. There was an expansiveness for the audience to imagine what is unsaid and remains in a gesture and a look.
The production received a rousing standing ovation. It was deserved. It was at the end of the production that the cast and production team were introduced: Nabaggala Lilian Maximilian, Nakato Rachael, Natabi Salama, Nambooze Haula, and kawesa Shanta. I also heard about
Batalo East and the rest of the team joined the cast on stage. Lilian shared how this had been a journey which begun in 2017 as a cast of three women and performed in Ethiopia and Rwanda.
This production was the best way to end the week in Kampala. It was a witnessing of what is possible when the arts are taken seriously. It was a suspension of time in order to experience a beautiful story. It was also another window into the creative world which is thriving in Kampala. I walked away wishing I had a blesser and/or patron that could support this work so it can travel into the world. There is something about beautiful experiences which edify and expand our humanity. Nambi was an edifying experience.
I plan to return to Kampala in November for more research which is to say, another experience that will stretch my imagination and sense of being in the world. There’s so much that happened in this short week. Perhaps there will be more reflections about Kampala. But for now, thank you Kampala.
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