One night I had a dream.
And - as most dreams do - the images displayed one of my worst fears at that time: the fear of belonging (or not.) I wrote it down and ended up with something that could be the making of a new-age choreopoem:
A traditional African dance group is dancing and a lady is clumsily trying to keep up. It's a long intricate piece and at a certain point she is out of breath, pleading with her eyes for the drummers to stop but they can't stop dancing until the drummers are done. When they finish, she collapses and they laugh.
They all start chanting oooooyibo and they create a new dance to mimic her (including the collapse). There is sucking of teeth. “Leave ha a lone she's not a woman." “This one na no be oyibo.” “She dey be acata". They all say acaaataaa! And create yet another dance to mimic acatas. The dancers remove their wrappers completely to walk across the floor and stick out their butts in a very exaggerated way. They walk around the stage doing the Black American male “hip walk” with their wrappers sagging. (Impersonations can happen in reverse order.) A big chorus laugh signals the group to leave the stage and it's just the lady sulking on the floor holding her belly.
She starts dancing her own improvised choreography of a blend of African and modern dance (think dress-down version of Ailey) and she is dancing to silence (or maybe a soundtrack of blues, jazz, R & B, hip hop and world music creeps in. The music changes genres and so does the dance.)
Her performance ends in a fierce pose.
