lunching with lions

What's in a Name: Abby Jackson

“Murasa.”
A quiet giggle bounces around the classroom as I announce the name of our play’s main character. Our students have just finished sharing what their own names mean and brainstorming possible titles for the brave, honest, question-asking girl whose journey ties our play together. The board is covered in names-- everything from Rihanna and Frank to more traditional tribal names, like Murasa.

Lauren and I gently prod the class to find out why they laugh when tribal names are spoken. We struggle for a few minutes to get them to move beyond their shy smiles and teach us about the culture. Finally someone stands, in the tradition of students here in Tanzania, and says, “I think maybe Joyce would know. It is her name.”

The energy shifts a bit and the room softens as Joyce rises from her chair to answer our question. She stands slowly, her head swathed in scarf and her eyes seeming to hold some secret.

“Murasa,” she begins tentatively, “is a person who is confidence and respect and happy all the time.” She glances up at me. For a moment I see that this is her true name-- somehow a truer name than Joyce. She is suddenly older to me. Perhaps it is the elegance of the scarf, or the knowing smile, or the secret-keeping eyes, but I think it might be that in the revealing of her name, she too has been revealed. Not exposed or stripped of defenses....but beautifully unveiled. The confidence and respect and joy within her become visible in the owning of her name. I wonder how she would be different if she was called Murasa....would something new emerge? Is it possible to become a Name?

As she sinks back into her chair, I look around at our students, with the meanings of their names still ringing in my ears. Brightness of heaven....honest one....gift of God. Their faces are full of an innocent strength I have not encountered in American students. Their willingness to play, their imaginative minds, their generous spirits....there is such a childlikeness about these teenagers, and yet somehow I always feel they know things about life that I will never know....at least not yet.

With only a little over a week left, I have so many unanswered questions about our dear bunch of students...so many conversations to have, dances to dance, drums to beat, and stories to tell. I cringe at the pressure of time. But I am so thankful for the time I have had with them....for these beautiful, wide-eyed souls....for their dreams and for their stories and for the names that contain them all.

Dwelling in Possibility: Lauren Lanker

Wednesday, June 29th

Daniel beats the drum. He is one of the smallest in our class, one of the quietest, but his hands pounds the drum with a lion’s ferocity. The rolling rhythms welcome us when our van bounces in each day and bid us farewell at the end of our teaching days. Our students are always at play. They are actors through and through.

We have been teaching for four days now. Abby and I work with Form III students at Nkoanrua Secondary School who range from age 14-18, all new to ITLP and soaking up every moment along with us. We spend our days together flexing our bodies and voices, awakening the imagination, and playing games that bolster creativity and concentration; we dredge for stories through writing and poetry prompts, on a quest for individual voice and not an examination essay. We learn to articulate ourselves more clearly to our students, using our bodies more and superfluous words less. Overcoming the language barrier has been one of our greatest struggles, but after four days we note progress.

These have been our days of exploration and now, Abby and I sift through the work and “ah-ha”s of the past four days to begin shaping our play. Here are a patchwork of just a few of the moments strewn before us:

The beating of a drum, sending bodies in motion.
A magic scarf that can turn into ANYTHING: a crying child, a mango tree ripe for the picking, the dress of Miss Tanzania.
A car rolling in slow motion, its parts made up of 10 people.
A museum of sculptures that morph and change into new stories with each clicking of the clave.
A character named Strong Tom, created from an image from National Geographic. He is a researcher who survives a wrestling match with a snake in the “colorless” water (according to Baracka).
A flock of students soaring in unison to “Just Dance” by Lady Gaga.
A line from Jackeline’s journal: “I worry about a day I will become an old woman.”

Somewhere in here lies a play, waiting to be uncovered, discovered, made. Or rather, there are 1,000 plays, and it’s just a matter of plugging in coordinates and setting sail--selecting one thread from the back of the quilt and following it. We aspire to do our students justice and to help shape the story they are already telling us in their wide eyes, heartfelt stories, laughter, dances, and chants. Also, we are aware of the delicate balance of beckoning them to new possibilities in theatre while honoring what is important to them. It must be their play, and it must push them beyond what’s comfortable.

So, here we are: “dwelling in possibility....” Marilyn Chandler McEntyre uses this phrase in her book, Caring for Words in a Culture of Lies, to describe the feeling of being taken into a story--and it’s exactly how I feel, being taken into the stories of the 20 students of Form III.

Although the possibilities are endless, one thing I know for sure: our play MUST include Daniel’s drumming.

Hope-full: Felicia Bertch

Listen to the MUSTN’TS, child,
Listen to the DON’TS
Listen to the SHOULDN’TS
The IMPOSSIBLES, the WON’TS
Listen to the NEVER HAVES
Then listen close to me—
Anything can happen, child,
ANYTHING can be.

-Shel Silverstein


We are in the land of Base-Coat-Brown. Vibrant splashes of color, pattern, and chaos dance across this layer bringing Tanzania to life. If you squint just-so it all becomes a kaleidoscope- a moving, breathing organism. There is the appearance of people standing, sitting, waiting, being… But even in stillness, there is movement: an eye darting; the flick of a finger; the flash of a smile, the ponderings of the mind... Somehow the space-time continuum has negotiated different terms with the Tanzanian people. Each day is teeming with the tasks of survival constantly interrupted by the obligation (or admirable desire, I would argue) to commune with your fellow Livers of Life. This is the land of “Never hurry; Never rest.”

22 students. 2 weeks. A world of theater. 2 weeks. The depths of the imagination. 2 weeks.

Where and how do you begin a creative exploration in a world where hunger generally dictates the routine? Despite appearances to the contrary, this is actually a place of strict rules and structure.

But, we’re one week down and somehow we began. Our students have been excused from classes in Math, Science, Geography, History, etc… to participate in the only artistic outlet this school (or any school in Tanzania, for that matter) has to offer. Each day Laura and I attempt to whisk them away to a land of creative writing prompts [ “Tell us and draw us the best dream you have ever had” OR “If you found a magic lamp and could make any 3 wishes, what would they be?” ]; explorations into the world of story-telling; and dance. And ever so quickly these students have proven that they are still the creativity bearers of our planet. And they have proven that despite the shouldn’ts, mustn’ts, won’ts, and impossibilities that seem to reign supreme in their precious lives, hope is alive and well.

Anything can be…