tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26982153700654976462024-03-13T12:08:51.987-07:00Goodness in RwandaA Canadian play travels to Rwanda to perform in a unique festival on the 15th anniversary of the Rwandan genocideVolcanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10502676133310181171noreply@blogger.comBlogger20125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2698215370065497646.post-79514283223286341212009-10-15T00:20:00.000-07:002009-10-15T23:34:25.826-07:00The Last Word<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I write this final blog entry from the Bourbon Cafe in downtown Kigali. I fly to Nairobi in a few hours, to meet some Kenyan theatre artists, and look into possible venues and partners for the Africa Trilogy - Volcano's next big international project. Soon after that, I will return to Toronto, and jump into the next project. Life will carry on.</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">After closing night for Goodness here in Kigali, I received an email from Michael Redhill. I had written to him about how the success, the impact of his play here made me feel that we had somehow failed, that I had not understood the value of what we brought, and had given it to too few. Since then, a first few steps have been made on making a reality of Michael's offer to give Goodness to Rwanda for a production in Kinyarwanda, free of rights (an idea that came to us from Kent Lawson, our NY-based supporter). This seems to me a good thing.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">But after that closing night, Michael wrote me a wonderful email assuaging my initial doubts on what we had accomplished. I asked him if i could publish it, and he said yes. And it seems fitting that Michael Redhill should have the last word on this most remarkable of trips:</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Calibri, Verdana, Helvetica, Arial;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Dear Ross,<br /><br />Don't be torn and don't wonder "what might have been" if more people had seen this play in Rwanda. If you'd even had one Rwandan tell you what so many have told you, Goodness would still have succeeded there beyond any of our aspirations. But seeing what is possible makes you hungry, understandably, and you'll have to whet that hunger somehow. That's one of the things, among many, that you are brilliant at.<br /><br />But for now, I'll give you a Jewish prayer that will help. At Passover every year, we say "Dayenu" (pronounced "die-ay-NOO"). It's a narrative prayer that thanks God for fifteen gifts bestowed on the flight from Egypt and into Jerusalem. But in typical Jewish fashion—from this prayer one is convinced the Arameans were Yiddishkeit—it doesn't so much thank as it expresses relief that ANYTHING good happened. "Dayenu" means "it would have been enough for us"—so, at Passover we say "If God had lead us out of Egypt but not slain our oppressors, DAYENU. If God had slain our oppressors, but not destroyed their gods, DAYENU ..." You get the idea. I hope you realize how many dayenus there have been with this play. If it had had one good run and never gone to Edinburgh, DAYENU; if it had gone to Edinburgh and not won the biggest prize in the room, DAYENU—man, any of this would have been enough! But we've made a work of art that has gone well beyond success to something more ephemeral and rare, something not worth even wishing for. And you’ve all done it. This is a work of art that is more than merely good, it's transformative. Some of the only people on the planet who could tell you that have told you. We have changed their lives, and if it's only for one evening, then DAYENU.<br /><br />Be of good cheer without any reservations, Ross, and tell the others as well. Goodness has not only led us out of Egypt, it also built a temple. Which is to say, in bringing even an atom of healing to people who have suffered as much as many of your audience members have, our work has been raised above the material and been made holy.<br /><br />M</span></span><br /></span></div>Volcanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10502676133310181171noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2698215370065497646.post-51118290690573390642009-10-15T00:19:00.001-07:002009-10-20T05:30:23.334-07:00The Last Images<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">A collection of photos from our trip, in no particular order...</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><br /></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/St2qauty6bI/AAAAAAAAAUE/InkV3z2pWBI/s1600-h/IMG_0625.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/St2qauty6bI/AAAAAAAAAUE/InkV3z2pWBI/s320/IMG_0625.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394655304853154226" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">The future</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><br /></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/St2obK_lb-I/AAAAAAAAAT8/e-kMysIia2A/s1600-h/IMG_0667.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/St2obK_lb-I/AAAAAAAAAT8/e-kMysIia2A/s320/IMG_0667.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394653113420705762" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Listening to my As it Happens interview online during a break in rehearsal in Kigali (CBC radio, my bit begins at 5 minutes in: http://www.cbc.ca/mrl3/8752/asithappens/20091006-aih-3.wmv)</span></div></span><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/St2n7BgwqaI/AAAAAAAAAT0/rO7HO0Iim-s/s1600-h/IMG_0624.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 254px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/St2n7BgwqaI/AAAAAAAAAT0/rO7HO0Iim-s/s320/IMG_0624.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394652561119685026" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Nuns in Butare (now called Huye)</span></div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/St2n6pUwTKI/AAAAAAAAATs/PqON-Szy3rk/s1600-h/IMG_0568.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/St2n6pUwTKI/AAAAAAAAATs/PqON-Szy3rk/s320/IMG_0568.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394652554626878626" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Our commodious transportation to and from the venue in Butare</span></div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/St2n6CeRZhI/AAAAAAAAATk/8DKW6a4G74w/s1600-h/IMG_0569.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/St2n6CeRZhI/AAAAAAAAATk/8DKW6a4G74w/s320/IMG_0569.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394652544197813778" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">The path to and from the campus at the National University of Rwanda</span></div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/St2n5QMAmcI/AAAAAAAAATc/larvbo-vWQo/s1600-h/IMG_0975.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 251px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/St2n5QMAmcI/AAAAAAAAATc/larvbo-vWQo/s320/IMG_0975.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394652530699442626" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Prize-winner for The Biggest Thing Carried Atop One's </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Head, </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Kigali</span></span></div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><br /></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/St2lrXM5MZI/AAAAAAAAATU/cvC15yB5Te4/s1600-h/IMG_0832.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/St2lrXM5MZI/AAAAAAAAATU/cvC15yB5Te4/s320/IMG_0832.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394650093040775570" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Gisenyi - condemned building</span></div></span><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/St2lq8YmUnI/AAAAAAAAATM/qBY6O7PdCLg/s1600-h/IMG_0650.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/St2lq8YmUnI/AAAAAAAAATM/qBY6O7PdCLg/s320/IMG_0650.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394650085842113138" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Rebecca and Guillaume at Chez Robert in Kigali</span></div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/St2lqRPBJ6I/AAAAAAAAATE/SZyAp82gXEQ/s1600-h/IMG_0866.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/St2lqRPBJ6I/AAAAAAAAATE/SZyAp82gXEQ/s320/IMG_0866.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394650074259204002" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Goma DRC - the Volcano Danger-of-Eruption sign: Yellow flag means not too dangerous today...</span></div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/St2lpwhhXjI/AAAAAAAAAS8/32X2OXvoBA4/s1600-h/IMG_0893.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 243px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/St2lpwhhXjI/AAAAAAAAAS8/32X2OXvoBA4/s320/IMG_0893.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394650065478442546" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Goma DRC - living atop the lava flow from 2002. That would have been a red flag day...</span></div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/St2lpcNCfhI/AAAAAAAAAS0/IuFDc91JfI8/s1600-h/IMG_1082.JPG" style="text-decoration: none;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 306px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/St2lpcNCfhI/AAAAAAAAAS0/IuFDc91JfI8/s320/IMG_1082.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5394650060023823890" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Nyamata, Rw</span>anda</span></div><div><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StlEWI9kfaI/AAAAAAAAASs/bWwOPNPc_5k/s1600-h/IMG_0757.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StlEWI9kfaI/AAAAAAAAASs/bWwOPNPc_5k/s320/IMG_0757.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393417175906418082" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Rwanda</span></span></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StjYhUa3H3I/AAAAAAAAASk/stHCX5ipasw/s1600-h/IMG_0612.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StjYhUa3H3I/AAAAAAAAASk/stHCX5ipasw/s320/IMG_0612.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393298620704825202" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Gord models his Butare-bought Obama pants</span></span></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StjYhOhDAqI/AAAAAAAAASc/zt9nPljXqXs/s1600-h/IMG_0836.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StjYhOhDAqI/AAAAAAAAASc/zt9nPljXqXs/s320/IMG_0836.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393298619120157346" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Gisenyi, Northern Rwanda. We did.</span></span></div></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StjYgkZkjWI/AAAAAAAAASU/E2rsVFu8lfs/s1600-h/IMG_0477.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StjYgkZkjWI/AAAAAAAAASU/E2rsVFu8lfs/s320/IMG_0477.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393298607814511970" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Southern Province, Rwanda</span></span></div></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StjYgFVm8pI/AAAAAAAAASM/zzZyq5GV6II/s1600-h/IMG_1077.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StjYgFVm8pI/AAAAAAAAASM/zzZyq5GV6II/s320/IMG_1077.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393298599476392594" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Tyler and Gord at lunch in Nyamata</span></span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><br /></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StidyyKtxbI/AAAAAAAAAR8/S-cJLleSZj4/s1600-h/IMG_0484.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StidyyKtxbI/AAAAAAAAAR8/S-cJLleSZj4/s320/IMG_0484.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393234049561904562" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">The bicycle. An invention that finds great use in Rwanda.</span></span></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StidycwHgtI/AAAAAAAAAR0/g8E5aTImjCo/s1600-h/IMG_0250.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StidycwHgtI/AAAAAAAAAR0/g8E5aTImjCo/s320/IMG_0250.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393234043813200594" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Amy Rutherford on tour</span></span></div></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/Stidx7CownI/AAAAAAAAARs/hsUIUFGoIvU/s1600-h/IMG_0982.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/Stidx7CownI/AAAAAAAAARs/hsUIUFGoIvU/s320/IMG_0982.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393234034764071538" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">A view from the third floor of the Hotel des Milles Collines, Kigali</span></span></div></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StidxfhA2nI/AAAAAAAAARk/LD1auq5TOug/s1600-h/IMG_1067.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StidxfhA2nI/AAAAAAAAARk/LD1auq5TOug/s320/IMG_1067.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393234027375286898" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Bananas and sky.</span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/Stidw30qCpI/AAAAAAAAARc/Q1B061teCMs/s1600-h/IMG_1084.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/Stidw30qCpI/AAAAAAAAARc/Q1B061teCMs/s320/IMG_1084.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393234016720259730" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">A boy in his school uniform near Nyamata Primary School "B"</span></span></div></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/Stglq11-r5I/AAAAAAAAARU/8vwRFXJVP2M/s1600-h/IMG_0266.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/Stglq11-r5I/AAAAAAAAARU/8vwRFXJVP2M/s320/IMG_0266.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393101971714387858" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Boda boda driver in Kigali</span></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StgiWnqQKfI/AAAAAAAAARM/C4L08QDzjvI/s1600-h/IMG_1114.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StgiWnqQKfI/AAAAAAAAARM/C4L08QDzjvI/s320/IMG_1114.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393098325774838258" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Dancers in a village near Nyamata</span></span></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StgiWTBuiBI/AAAAAAAAARE/C0aK60fii98/s1600-h/IMG_1112.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StgiWTBuiBI/AAAAAAAAARE/C0aK60fii98/s320/IMG_1112.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393098320236152850" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Mind the Gap</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StgiV4XBHeI/AAAAAAAAAQ8/_0yEKnD1178/s1600-h/IMG_1000.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StgiV4XBHeI/AAAAAAAAAQ8/_0yEKnD1178/s320/IMG_1000.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393098313077693922" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Amy Rutherford on tour</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StgiVXQJqUI/AAAAAAAAAQ0/qpxIMeQRSgc/s1600-h/IMG_0905.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StgiVXQJqUI/AAAAAAAAAQ0/qpxIMeQRSgc/s320/IMG_0905.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393098304190523714" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">The market in Gisenyi, Rwanda</span></span></div></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StgiVIaFF-I/AAAAAAAAAQs/2l8R395B4K4/s1600-h/IMG_1079.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StgiVIaFF-I/AAAAAAAAAQs/2l8R395B4K4/s320/IMG_1079.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393098300205635554" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Handmade cinder blocks, Nymata, Rwanda</span></span></div></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/Stgbv3k7GrI/AAAAAAAAAQk/otYz33HPA74/s1600-h/IMG_0927.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/Stgbv3k7GrI/AAAAAAAAAQk/otYz33HPA74/s320/IMG_0927.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393091062962789042" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:verdana, serif;">At the Green Hills Academy, Kigali, where we went to look at a possible performance space: The Ghandis are out in front, just ahead of a pair of intrepid Martin Luther Kings, but the Mandelas are coming on strong...</span></div></span><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StgbvWTQnKI/AAAAAAAAAQc/YyisUoPHgUI/s1600-h/IMG_1007.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StgbvWTQnKI/AAAAAAAAAQc/YyisUoPHgUI/s320/IMG_1007.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393091054030331042" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">The human form at Nyamata, Rwanda</span></span></div></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StgbuzRhS4I/AAAAAAAAAQU/pXy3wkzRI6s/s1600-h/IMG_0999.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StgbuzRhS4I/AAAAAAAAAQU/pXy3wkzRI6s/s320/IMG_0999.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393091044627794818" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:verdana, serif;">Laurette Kabanyana at Shokola, Kigali</span></div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StgbuWiubPI/AAAAAAAAAQM/zuN62Fko8QY/s1600-h/IMG_1052.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StgbuWiubPI/AAAAAAAAAQM/zuN62Fko8QY/s320/IMG_1052.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393091036915330290" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:verdana, serif;">So much depends on a yellow wheelbarrow / glazed with brown earth / beside the red sorghum</span></div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia, serif;"><br /></span></span></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div></div>Volcanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10502676133310181171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2698215370065497646.post-49609875353977998122009-10-14T23:52:00.000-07:002009-10-15T23:41:49.792-07:00The Last Days - part two<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StgNpPl4ZrI/AAAAAAAAAQE/RMlevwMVzB0/s1600-h/IMG_0996.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StgNpPl4ZrI/AAAAAAAAAQE/RMlevwMVzB0/s320/IMG_0996.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393075555987383986" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Saying Au Revoir to Laurette Kabanyana - we dine at Shokola in Kigali. 14 Canadians and the Rwandan woman who had to put up with us. Judging from my gut, I have been having a few too many dinners like this one.</span></span></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StgNo6tZVEI/AAAAAAAAAP8/wN55P3sLvNg/s1600-h/IMG_0986.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StgNo6tZVEI/AAAAAAAAAP8/wN55P3sLvNg/s320/IMG_0986.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393075550381757506" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Rick Banville enjoys a post-dinner bong</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StgNoTNjf7I/AAAAAAAAAP0/8py8jUOuIyU/s1600-h/IMG_0963.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StgNoTNjf7I/AAAAAAAAAP0/8py8jUOuIyU/s320/IMG_0963.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393075539779223474" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Lunch the next day at Bourbon Cafe with Hope Azeda (left) and Carole Karemera (right) to discuss moving Goodness into Kinyarwanda. Hope and Carole are among the tremendous theatre artists that make the scene happen in Kigali.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StgNn6EAQ4I/AAAAAAAAAPs/jpO_n6jknkU/s1600-h/IMG_0944.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StgNn6EAQ4I/AAAAAAAAAPs/jpO_n6jknkU/s320/IMG_0944.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393075533028279170" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;">Space Research - looking at performance space options in Kigali for the next time. This is the theatre at Ishyo Arts Centre</div></span></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StgJJc9PKrI/AAAAAAAAAPk/QzGFlOLuXAs/s1600-h/IMG_1004.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StgJJc9PKrI/AAAAAAAAAPk/QzGFlOLuXAs/s320/IMG_1004.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393070611772680882" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Florence Kabanyana, our guide for a day-long tour of Nyamata and environs</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StdfFrJ3KiI/AAAAAAAAAPM/svG9GWrOXbc/s1600-h/IMG_1031.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StdfFrJ3KiI/AAAAAAAAAPM/svG9GWrOXbc/s320/IMG_1031.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392883629887531554" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">A section of the church at Nyamata, where the clothing of the vicitims is placed (as indeed it is throughout the church - the site of 11,000 murders). It was in this section of the church that children under five were killed. Some of their blood is still on the walls.</span></span></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/Stdd28Z4cHI/AAAAAAAAAPE/1_EfaKyAEfs/s1600-h/IMG_1049.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/Stdd28Z4cHI/AAAAAAAAAPE/1_EfaKyAEfs/s320/IMG_1049.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392882277308461170" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Gord sits alone after visiting the Nyamata site.</span></span></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/Stdd2dZPbfI/AAAAAAAAAO8/gbIrpRw4PrE/s1600-h/IMG_1048.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/Stdd2dZPbfI/AAAAAAAAAO8/gbIrpRw4PrE/s320/IMG_1048.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392882268984274418" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Layne sits alone at Nyamata</span></span></div></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StdaJjKO6uI/AAAAAAAAAO0/nYqglDD30k0/s1600-h/IMG_1039.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StdaJjKO6uI/AAAAAAAAAO0/nYqglDD30k0/s320/IMG_1039.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392878198902942434" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Skulls in the crypt behind the Nyamata church. This one has the tell tale sign of melted plastic on its forehead. This person was tortured before being murdered.</span></span></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StdaJB8722I/AAAAAAAAAOs/NdDkQssjAS0/s1600-h/IMG_1025.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StdaJB8722I/AAAAAAAAAOs/NdDkQssjAS0/s320/IMG_1025.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392878189988797282" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Belongings. The church is full of the clothing and objects of the dead.</span></span></div></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StdaI12lptI/AAAAAAAAAOk/nofOayy1MGQ/s1600-h/IMG_1024.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StdaI12lptI/AAAAAAAAAOk/nofOayy1MGQ/s320/IMG_1024.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392878186740950738" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:verdana, serif;">A skull upon which someone had written a name: Patrice.</span></div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StdaH4RtOXI/AAAAAAAAAOc/WZbEzyzas_g/s1600-h/IMG_1045.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StdaH4RtOXI/AAAAAAAAAOc/WZbEzyzas_g/s320/IMG_1045.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392878170211694962" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Charles Mugabe, one of only seven survivors from the slaughter at Nyamata, shows us the crypt with some of the victims' remains.</span></span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StdUZQ9G04I/AAAAAAAAAOM/_mWz4T3ACr0/s320/IMG_1019.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392871871824188290" /><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">A blood spattered Mary at the Genocide memorial church at Nyamata</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><br /></span></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StdaHThy6lI/AAAAAAAAAOU/CEVa8UVqVGI/s320/IMG_1098.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392878160347064914" /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">At the Nyamata Primary school "B". We met a roomful of ten year olds. They showed us the beehives they've been making.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StdUY9iH7BI/AAAAAAAAAOE/W-repyE5KmI/s1600-h/IMG_1059.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StdUY9iH7BI/AAAAAAAAAOE/W-repyE5KmI/s320/IMG_1059.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392871866610740242" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">A farmer whose farm we visited. He fled the approaching RPF in 1994, and lost everything. He now farms bananas, mangos, oranges, casava, sorghum, beans and owns two cows. </span></span></div></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StdUYWb9Y1I/AAAAAAAAAN8/xZW82zS8dv0/s1600-h/IMG_1104.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StdUYWb9Y1I/AAAAAAAAAN8/xZW82zS8dv0/s320/IMG_1104.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392871856115901266" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Basket weaving lessons. Lili learns the art of the distinctive Rwandan weaving method.</span></span></div></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StdUXTjbskI/AAAAAAAAANs/nozxl80W5wg/s1600-h/IMG_1121.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StdUXTjbskI/AAAAAAAAANs/nozxl80W5wg/s320/IMG_1121.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392871838162072130" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Dancers dance for us at the Millenium Village near Nyamata. An amazing day.</span></span></div></div><div><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Among the final sights and sounds:</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>1)</b></span> A tour of Kigali, looking at possible theatrical spaces for The Africa Trilogy - Volcano's next large project, and one which I would love to have tour here.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>2)</b></span> A meeting at the Bourbon Cafe with Hope Azeda and Carole Karemera about finding a translator for Goodness into Kinyarwanda, and how to begin the process of creating a production here. Both women run theatre companies, and are keen to team up with Kiki to create a Rwandan production. Essentially, I pass the torch to them, and offer to help, should they want me to.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>3)</b></span> A final dinner for our new and dear friend, Laurette Kabanyana, at Shokola - a local, Morrocan-influenced restaurant. Laurette has become much more than a translator to us. She feels like part of the family.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>4)</b></span> We make a day-long trip to Nyamata and environs, guided by the effervescent and articulate Florence Kabanyana. We visit a church where 11,000 people were murdered, and meet one of the seven survivors, Charles Mugabe. Charles is a remarkable young man. Powerfully built, and gentle. He tells us what he saw in the church that day. It is a vision of hell. Babies and toddlers being dashed against the walls. Grenades. Educated victims having their brains literally smashed out with hammers. Rape. Burning plastic dripped on faces. Dismemberment. Some of our group break into jags of crying. Charles remains calm. Soft spoken. He shows us the mass grave behind the church, where his parents and four of his family are (he is one of the lucky ones to know which bodies were his relatives', if one can call this luck). There are and rows of rows of skulls, piles of bones. He shows us where he lay for days under bodies, covered in other people's blood. His brother had told him to play dead, and put his head in a small space in the wall where some bricks had been dislodged. It worked. Rick asked him if he had ever told his story in its entirety to anyone. No, says Charles. It is long. Every hour has a story over the 30+ days of hiding and running through swamps. It would take many hours to tell it. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">I hope some day he can.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Charles Mugabe. Survivor. A gentle and lovely man.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>5)</b></span> We visit a primary school. The students all think Gord looks like Jesus. Gord is embarrassed.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>6)</b></span> We visit a village that is part of the Millenium Village Project - where former perpetrators, survivors and returnees are living together. This is a pilot project whose goal is to create a reconciled, self-sustaining village, where the UN's Millenium Develoment Goals are being met (the project that Josh Ruxin is involved in). It is working. The village performs for us - dancers and singers dance and sing. A former perpetrator speaks to us, formally. Telling of his years in prison, his release, and the slow journey towards living together with trust. A victim then gives her testimony. This is clearly a damaged human being, but she speaks of the importance of living for the future, not the past. We are offered food and drink. We are pulled from our seats to dance. We then offer to sing for the village, and they gather around us. We sing some songs from Goodness - which clearly are welcomed. I don't think many Muzungus sing for this village. Emails are exchanged. Many hands are shaken. Smiles abound. We drive back to Kigali.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>7)</b></span> A gathering of Rwandan and international artists happens at L'Atelier - a small restaurant on a steep hill. Theatre artists from Kigali, London, Brussels, Melbourne and Toronto exchange notes. Theatre in Kigali is in a remarkably similar place to theatre in Toronto in the late sixties, early seventies - i.e. at the beginning. We meet Rwanda's pioneers. They are - like so many people we have met here - articulate and visionary.</span></span></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div></div></div></div></div></div>Volcanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10502676133310181171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2698215370065497646.post-49437985231651817432009-10-14T23:09:00.001-07:002009-10-14T23:52:06.902-07:00The Last Days - part one<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StbF9PuQLBI/AAAAAAAAANk/QHkQGOZGEk4/s1600-h/IMG_0851.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StbF9PuQLBI/AAAAAAAAANk/QHkQGOZGEk4/s320/IMG_0851.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392715259805969426" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">On the shores of Lake Kivu, Gisenyi, Northern Rwanda</span></span></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StbF8qgPQSI/AAAAAAAAANc/r3z8fn-uJ3I/s1600-h/IMG_0732.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StbF8qgPQSI/AAAAAAAAANc/r3z8fn-uJ3I/s320/IMG_0732.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392715249815077154" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Josh Ruxin and entourage, Heaven Restaurant, Kigali</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StbF8AQDDEI/AAAAAAAAANU/kCErU1I4QTs/s1600-h/IMG_0817.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StbF8AQDDEI/AAAAAAAAANU/kCErU1I4QTs/s320/IMG_0817.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392715238472879170" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">The drive to Gisenyi</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StbCmbTAKFI/AAAAAAAAANM/OPkLDdX37Lk/s1600-h/IMG_0865.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StbCmbTAKFI/AAAAAAAAANM/OPkLDdX37Lk/s320/IMG_0865.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392711569241024594" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">A child on the streets of Goma, DRC</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><br /></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StbClgjCmnI/AAAAAAAAANE/YrHz-ygaEO4/s1600-h/IMG_0891.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 267px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StbClgjCmnI/AAAAAAAAANE/YrHz-ygaEO4/s320/IMG_0891.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392711553470601842" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Living atop the lava flow from 2002, Goma, DRC</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StbClYh27ZI/AAAAAAAAAM8/uskQzCGLJAY/s1600-h/IMG_0899.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StbClYh27ZI/AAAAAAAAAM8/uskQzCGLJAY/s320/IMG_0899.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5392711551318158738" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">A view of the volcano over Gisenyi, Rwanda</span></span></div><div><br /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">After closing Goodness, we have four days left in Rwanda. They are packed.</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>1)</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> We drive to Gisenyi, on the shores of Lake Kivu in the North. The drive - 3 hours from Kigali - is beyond beautiful. Gisenyi, a resort town, borders the Democractic Republic of Congo. Both towns lie under an active Volcano, which, in 2002, erupted. Gisenyi was spared. Goma - a town that has seen more than its share of extreme hardship - was hit with a lava flow. While in Gisenyi, we lounge on the beach. We visit the local market. We relax.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>2)</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> Rebecca, Guillaume and I venture into Congo. It is $35 USD for a visa. Josh Ruxin, the Columbia prof and one of the architects of the Millenium Village Project, had recommended a trip to Goma. For the first time in many years, the town is stable, he says. We would be among the first non-specialist Westerners to enter. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">The contrast is shocking between Gisenyi and Goma. The latter is poor and dirty. There are luxury homes behind high walls with razor wire, and there is garbage in the streets, and evident poverty. The people are not smiling as we pass. UN planes fly low overhead every few minutes as they approach a landing strip nearby. UN and Medecins Sans Frontieres Land Cruisers are everywhere. We ask at a hotel where the lava flow is that destroyed a swath of the town in 2002. We walk to it. The flow is mostly built over now - again with luxury homes, not yet finished or occupied. The road almost disappears in one section, though, where the lava is still present. The landscape is apocalyptic. There are small shanties occupied by extremely poor people, living next door to the monster homes-in-the-making. I take surreptitious photos, but make the mistake of visibly lifting my camera for one last shot of an empty building. A woman with a baby strapped to her back tears over to us - livid. She begins a tirade which we cannot understand. A crowd begins to gather around us. Another man happens by who speaks French. Well-dressed, and sympathetic to the westerners-in-trouble. He translate: "You Europeans cannot take pictures away and leave nothing in return". Guillaume hands her a 500 Congolese Franc bill. She is incensed, insulted. She is yelling. The crowd began with children, then women, and now men are gathering. Some people are clearly amused. Others aren't. Our translator begins to get nervous. The woman's anger does not abate. She continues to shout. At one point,our translator tells us to "Leave. Now." It is only at this point that I feel that perhaps a tipping point is about to be reached. We begin to walk away, the woman following us, screaming, and making the gesture of drawing her hand across her throat, and throwing it to the ground. Two boda bodas (motorcycle taxis) materialize. One of the drivers yells for a third. We hop on, and are spirited away to the border.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Back on the Gisenyi side, we feel enormous relief to be back in safe, welcoming Rwanda. Josh Ruxin had told us that 5 million people have died in the DRC. Disease, war, displacement. It is the greatest single disaster since the Second World War. One feels that in Goma.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>3)</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> The drive home through darkness. As the sun sets, we begin to see the ever so dim glow of the volcano, reflected in the smoke rising from its cone. </span></span></div><div><br /></div></div></div>Volcanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10502676133310181171noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2698215370065497646.post-53832311183711076442009-10-10T08:44:00.001-07:002009-10-15T22:31:43.008-07:00Closing in Kigali<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StgE2Z9yE-I/AAAAAAAAAPU/jjWjmzsW4bY/s1600-h/IMG_0724.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StgE2Z9yE-I/AAAAAAAAAPU/jjWjmzsW4bY/s320/IMG_0724.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393065886505636834" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">The final minutes of the final show in Rwanda</span></span></div><div><br /><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Saturday Oct 10</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana; min-height: 17.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>1)</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I spend the day in bed. Cipro, arnica, charcoal, ibuprofen and gatorade. I am feeling much better than last night, but certainly not well yet. I do have time to catch up on some blogging though. The internet connection at the Milles Collines is slow, and keeps going down, so the photo backlog is large. I do have some new shots posted, though (see below).</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana; min-height: 17.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">We will be closing in Rwan</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">da tonight. I hope to be recovered more by then. </span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>2)</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">The final show. I am feeling almost normal again (thank god). I arrive at Heaven to find it occupied by a predominantly white crowd, and my heart sinks a little. But it is still early. By showtime (which is an hour later than advertised), we are at about half and half between ex-pats and Rwandans.</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">The show goes very well - as they all have here. The actors have found something very deep during this tour, and it is translated into their performances. It's sad that our last audience isn't a little less Euro - this is a by-product of too little PR, our American-owned location, and the first night of the big Beer Fest (daunting competition - like Soccer games in Butare!) - but many of the Rwandans who come to see it stay afterwards to talk to us, one on one. We decided to change the format from a formal talkback, to informal discussions, and the result was overwhelming. One on one, the Rwandans who wanted to talk felt much freer to enter into deeper, more personal conversations with us. As, in fact, would I in a similar situation.</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">And without exception, they speak about about how important it was for them to see this play. It actually seems to have been a more powerful experience than I had imagined it would be for people here. I listened to about half a dozen incredibly articulate, and very moved people describe to me the worth of the experience they had just had. The key, it seems, was how complicated the play is. These Rwandans were almost relieved to encounter a work of art that DIDN'T reduce or simplify just how complicated genocide is, how ubiquitous pain, anger, hatred and love is - among victim and perpetrator alike - a play that didn't solve anything, but instead somehow asserted what it is to be human, and in chaos. This - seemingly counterintuitively for someone like me - seems to be what the Rwandans I spoke with last night called a way forward towards forgiveness. Because the situation here is impossible, the tentacles of the genocide are everywhere, and yet people are moving forward in a way that is, I believe, unprecedented in history. And the message of this play, if there can be said to be such a thing, supports this: that there is no simple way to account for what happened, that there is no answer, and that complexity is what must be grappled with. No one is simply good, or simply bad. Even as I write this, I see how inadequate my own words are in comparison to what I listened to last night, but perhaps you get the idea - the welcome they gave the play was without reservation. The impact was palpable - perhaps for the first time to us in this very polite, and reserved country. Our Rwandan audience found this work essential.</span></span></p><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br />Which makes me feel very torn. I didn't expect that Goodness would have such value here, would find such approbation. That's not even the right word - I can't actually put it into words. The play hit something true, and in this context, hearing the words of the people I spoke with, seeing in their faces that they meant what they said, shaking their hands, feeling their emotion, in THIS context, the worth of a piece of theatre seems exponentially more than it has ever seemed to me before.<br /><br />And so, it makes me mourn that more people didn't see it. This was also said to me over and over again - it's a shame that more Rwandans didn't know about this play, didn't come to see it. "Why wasn't there better publicity?". Even if there had been, there was another barrier. As one man said last night, he thought at first: "Oh God, not another play about genocide". But then he was astounded by Goodness. </span></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">So - we came with something more valuable than we knew, and we leave with having shared it with too few.<br /><br />Michael Redhill has offered to give the play rights-free to Rwanda for translation into Kinyarwanda. I think this idea is a beautiful one, as does Kiki (the head of the festival) and many of the theatre artists I have spoken with here. And so I will pursue finding a translator with Kiki and Michael. One man said to me he wanted us to play in schools all across Rwanda. I said this is simply impossible - I cannot raise that much money. But i said there might be a Kinyarwandan translation that could travel with Rwandan actors. He lit up. This is something like Jen Capraru is already doing here with Colleen Wagner's The Monument, so there is precedent.<br /><br />Anyway - my emotions are mixed because it went so well. What is my duty now? Do i return to Rwanda? I have been asked to. So i ask myself - why do I do theatre? And I suspect it is to satisfy myself as an artist, first and foremost. Often, theatre and development can go hand in hand, but sometimes, they don't. So I have to decide if I will pursue the funding to return, to perhaps try to facilitate the conversion of Goodness into a Kinyrwandan production. It would be a big commitment. And I also ask myself, does such a production need me?</span></span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Verdana;font-size:medium;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">As my good friend Michael Greyeyes has said, when confronting a big decision, sometimes the best course is this: wait. Time will tell.</span></span><br /></span></div></div></div>Volcanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10502676133310181171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2698215370065497646.post-40470963773129324212009-10-09T04:15:00.000-07:002009-10-15T22:42:26.151-07:00Opening in Kigali<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StgF9q8j1DI/AAAAAAAAAPc/-eHjtRxzDlI/s1600-h/IMG_0712.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StgF9q8j1DI/AAAAAAAAAPc/-eHjtRxzDlI/s320/IMG_0712.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5393067110834623538" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">The Man in the Bar scene in the restaurant in Kigali</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="color:#0000EE;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Friday, Oct. 9</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">1)</span></span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> I awake feeling less than good. I think it might be a hangover from the US Embassy reception, and subsequent dinner, but the bad feeling moves down into my stomach soon after breakfast at the Milles Collines. The crew is loading into Heaven today for tonight's opening. I catch up on my blogging, lying in bed. I will need to recover enough to get there for sound levels and LX focus. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Here's hoping...</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>2)</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> The stomach doesn't seem to be getting better. I spend the rest of the morning in bed, then go to the "theatre" for the afternoon. The "theatre" is Heaven, a restaurant that we are turning into our performance space. It is stunningly beautiful. We will be performing outside on a large covered terrace, set at treetop level. We orient the show so that the audience will face us, and, as our backdrop, they will look out onto Kigali, and the hills of Rwanda. Gord would later say that he found this particular backdrop intense while he was performing. This is why i wanted to orient the show this way: could there be a more meaningful backdrop to this particular play?</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana; min-height: 17.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">The tech is going relatively well. Our two Belgians and Judo, the TD from Butare, are here now with gear. One of our dimmer packs doesn't work, but before we get too worried about this, Judo arrives with another dimmer pack. SO - we will have dimmable lights. </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana; min-height: 17.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I hang around to position chairs so that Rebecca can focus her lights in the right places. I go through sound levels with Guillaume, then crawl back to the hotel, and fall into bed again. </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana; min-height: 17.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Gastrointestinal problems in Africa. What one doesn't want.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana; min-height: 17.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>3)</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> I sleep much of the afternoon, then go to Heaven. It's 8:15pm when we arrive. Outside are parked a row of SUVs. This will be a very different crowd than the one we played to in Butare.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana; min-height: 17.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Dinner service at the restaurant is slow finishing. Our curtain time is advertised as 8:30, but we know it will be more like 9:30. As diners finish eating, their tables are struck, and rows of chairs are set out. The place is packed to overflowing. There is - as we'd suspected - a large ex-pat audience. I'd guess that just over half the audience is white. But this is also the biggest audience we've faced, so there are many Rwandans there, too. </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana; min-height: 17.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>4)</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> I do the introductory chat in English - Laurette says this audience doesn't need translation. And then we do the show - Volcano's Kigali premiere. Or rather, the actors do the show. I sit in a little room off to the side, listening, sometimes lying on the floor, drinking gatorade and popping charcoal pills.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana; min-height: 17.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">It goes well. There are some new things to contend with. Because we hung the lights in daylight, Rebecca couldn't set LX levels. So she designs the show on the fly. This woman is a genius. Her lighting looks tremendous. There is occasional traffic noise - the sound of a diesel Land Cruiser starting up, cars passing. Men walk into the courtyard beside the restaurant to talk on their cell phones, not realizing the sound carries onto the stage. I pop out of my wee sick room about three times to ask for quiet. The talkers are very apologetic. There are occasional loud bangs as something hard is dropped on the roof over the patio (a bird dropping something? a tree releasing a nut?). But - all of this seems inconsequential. The audience is focused and responsive. This crowd speaks English fluently, and I get the feeling they are understanding everything. </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana; min-height: 17.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">At the play's end, the applause starts slowly, then builds. This is the response i like - it signals there's been an effect. Some people rise to their feet. The actors get about six bows. </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana; min-height: 17.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">It went well.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana; min-height: 17.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>5)</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> I emerge for the talkback, with the actors. It is fascinating. The most interesting comments come from the Rwandans who stay. It is clear that they really received the play. One woman - Carole, an actress i met at the US Embassy the night before - speaks of how impossible simplicity is when dealing with genocide: you can't bring back the dead, you can't jail everyone who took part, you can't satisfy the wants of everyone, you can't have answers. She thought the play beautifully captured this complicated reality. Another man who was not in Rwanda during the genocide spoke about his desire to own the pain that his country went through, to make it part of himself. He was fascinated by the way pain worked in the play - and particularly that the Michael Redhill character could travel from pain to pain - from his divorce to the murder of his mother's people in Poland - from a pain he knew, to one that had occurred before his birth. This hit a chord with the young man, who found himself identifying completely with Michael Redhill.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana; min-height: 17.0px"><br /></p></span></div></div>Volcanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10502676133310181171noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2698215370065497646.post-1845988257617126982009-10-09T04:00:00.000-07:002009-10-11T13:54:07.113-07:00Heaven and America<div style="text-align: center;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StHv9poaUMI/AAAAAAAAAMk/-GEAbSQBj-o/s1600-h/IMG_0660.JPG"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StHv9poaUMI/AAAAAAAAAMk/-GEAbSQBj-o/s320/IMG_0660.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391354071365603522" /></a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">We vist the National Commission for the Fight Against Genocide</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StHu4ftfVsI/AAAAAAAAAMc/-6o0TkjwjvU/s320/IMG_0653.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391352883291576002" /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Inside the offices of the CNLG</span></span></div><div><br /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StHst70H5SI/AAAAAAAAAMM/SKzV944WK_0/s320/IMG_0668.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391350502833775906" /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">The front gate of our venue in Kigali - Heaven - a wonderful restaurant owned by Americans Josh and Alissa Ruxin</span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StHsuvrFtMI/AAAAAAAAAMU/B1AWN8K11Dc/s1600-h/IMG_0664.JPG"></a></span></span></div><div><br /></div><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StHsuvrFtMI/AAAAAAAAAMU/B1AWN8K11Dc/s320/IMG_0664.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391350516754527426" /><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Rehearsal on the terrace of Heaven. Goodness becomes an outdoor theatre experience, for the first time in its performance history.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StHstC1YRQI/AAAAAAAAAME/6Mro2KqZtLI/s320/IMG_0669.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391350487538222338" /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Rushing from rehearsal to a coffee meeting - I hop on a motorcycle taxi. It's about 60 cents CDN to get from Heaven to the Bourbon Cafe.</span></span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StHyFiHZgiI/AAAAAAAAAMs/ZftaeU07MLc/s320/IMG_0671.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391356405810299426" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Coffee with Gloria Macambo and Pam Acaye. Above, Gloria, the Ugandan-raised Rwandan tries on a Canadian theatre director's Berlin-bought sunglasses in Kigali. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StHqEGjajiI/AAAAAAAAALs/gZn3BDjI3Yw/s320/IMG_0682.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391347585138724386" /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">A sumptuous party for us at the US Ambassador's residence. Above, Rwandan co-founder of the Centre for Arts and Culture in Butare, Alice </span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Rwamasirabo, American Carol Tambor, founder of the Best of Edinburgh Award, and one of our benefactors, and US Deputy Chief of Mission, Anne Casper.</span></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StHssnQV7_I/AAAAAAAAAL8/Z-ykof61Ewg/s1600-h/IMG_0688.JPG"></a></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StHssnQV7_I/AAAAAAAAAL8/Z-ykof61Ewg/s1600-h/IMG_0688.JPG" style="text-decoration: none;"><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StHssnQV7_I/AAAAAAAAAL8/Z-ykof61Ewg/s320/IMG_0688.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391350480135122930" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:verdana, serif;">Pam Acaye writes at the US Ambasador's residence</span></div></span><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StHqEwdkaVI/AAAAAAAAAL0/2-P2XO3XUHM/s1600-h/IMG_0697.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StHqEwdkaVI/AAAAAAAAAL0/2-P2XO3XUHM/s320/IMG_0697.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391347596388493650" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:x-small;">Dinner at Heaven. A lovely end to an enormous day.</span></div></span><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Thursday, Oct 8</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana; min-height: 17.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>1)</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> We are up early to go meet with Jean de Dieu Mucyo, the head of the National Commission for the Fight Against Genocide. This is a meeting set up by Lili Matabishi, who is donating her services as a publicist in Kigali for us. Lili has printed and distributed flyers for us, visited universities, and has contacted embassies. Lili thinks it important that the right Rwandans see Goodness - especially young Rwandans. We are both worried that the crowd we will attract in Kigali may be largely an ex-pat crowd. So Lili is hoping that Jean de Dieu will be taken with the project, and may suggest it to some of his many contacts. Jean de Dieu is a lovely man - himself a survivor, and picked to head up this organization at its founding in 2007. He tells us of their work, we tell him of ours. He promises to do what he can, and says he looks forward to seeing our play. He seems to me to be a very good man.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana; min-height: 17.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>2)</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> Rehearsal at Heaven. We go through the show in an "acting optional" run, to finesse spacing. I am treated to a range of accents - English, Scottish, and various American drawls. At one point, Gord seems to be possessed by Gary Busey. It is not pretty. Jack does the whole run with his camera - photographing his scene partners. The gremlins have come out, but damn, it's fun.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana; min-height: 17.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>3)</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> Coffee at the Bourbon Cafe with Pamela Acaye and Gloria Macambo. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana; min-height: 17.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>4)</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> Off we go to the American Ambassador's house for the reception in our honour. WHAT a party! The yanks are gracious and welcoming and articulate. The Deputy Chief of Mission, Anne Casper, is our host (the Ambassador himself is out of the country). There are delegates from the South African embassy, the German embassy, USAID, the Centres for Disease Control. There are a great many US Embassy staff. There are a great many Rwandan government officials and artists - the Head of the Rwanda Film Festival, a young documentary maker and his subject (a survivor), actors, directors, writers. Jean de Dieu is there, from the National Commission for the Fight Against Genocide. It is a high-calibre crowd in a sumptuously appointed estate, with magnificent catering. Canada is represented by a single, very young junior staffer, Karolina Guay. She has only been in Rwanda for a couple of weeks. She looks barely over 25. She is lovely, but I can't help but think that she is a visible metaphor for Canada's commitment to its Artists abroad. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana; min-height: 17.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">The speeches begin. The guest of honour - Kiki - is unable to attend, as she is in meetings in Butare concerning funding for her festival. In her place is Alice Rwamasirabo. Alice has just returned from Japan, where her husband served as Rwandan ambassador. She was a co-founder of the Centre for Arts and Culture in Butare, where the festival is hosted. She and her husband were responsible for sending Kiki to L'Ecole Jacques Lecoq in Paris, years ago. She now works for the Culture and Conflict Management Centre. Anne Casper leads off with a wonderful speech about the place of art in international relations. It is heartfelt, articulate, and intelligent. Alice speaks of the role of art in Rwanda. She is grace itself - a shimmering speaker. Compelling, articulate, poetic in her support of Kiki, and the role of art in her country, and the world. I go up (a hard act to follow), and further the theme of how crucial artistic exchange is, since the conversation that peoples can have through art is unique, and is not touched upon by any other sphere, be it politics, finance, development, or journalism. May thanks are given and received. I present Gloria Macambo with a copy of Goodness signed by all of us, and she shrieks in surprise at being so publicly honoured. She gets the warmest hand of the night. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana; min-height: 17.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Carol Tambor - whose name graces the "Best of Edinburgh" prize that Goodness won in 2006, speaks last. She and her husband, Kent Lawson, have arranged this reception in conjunction with the US Embassy. Carol and Kent have helped fund our tour, and have flown all the way from New York to Kigali to be at our opening here tomorrow. Carol is also a lovely speaker - a woman whose passion for theatre has shaped her life. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana; min-height: 17.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">It is an amazing night.</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana; min-height: 17.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>5)</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> We all go the Heaven to eat. The food is superb. So is the conversation. </span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana; min-height: 17.0px"><br /></p></div>Volcanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10502676133310181171noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2698215370065497646.post-81470334537657531352009-10-09T03:59:00.001-07:002009-10-10T10:00:20.156-07:00Au Revoir to Butare<img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StCyaZr5rCI/AAAAAAAAAKc/Z9Y054FLuis/s320/IMG_0620.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391004920603847714" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small; ">Pamela Acaye and Gloria Magambo bid us farewell. We will catchup with them both again in Kigali.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><br /></span></div></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StC8vl1VwnI/AAAAAAAAALM/Ii7hMeKcIK4/s1600-h/IMG_0639.JPG"></a><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StC8vl1VwnI/AAAAAAAAALM/Ii7hMeKcIK4/s1600-h/IMG_0639.JPG" style="text-decoration: none;"><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StC8vl1VwnI/AAAAAAAAALM/Ii7hMeKcIK4/s320/IMG_0639.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391016279758193266" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">The drive takes about 3 hours. We pass glorious sights en route, including this market.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StC7nXxiauI/AAAAAAAAALE/qCTeaHLOdj8/s1600-h/IMG_0642.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StC7nXxiauI/AAAAAAAAALE/qCTeaHLOdj8/s320/IMG_0642.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391015039033567970" /></a><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StCya86H7nI/AAAAAAAAAKk/csStejeQ-2w/s320/IMG_0632.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391004930058743410" /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StC6cUpKnqI/AAAAAAAAAK8/FQeP7PhCnz8/s1600-h/IMG_0635.JPG"></a></div><div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StC6cUpKnqI/AAAAAAAAAK8/FQeP7PhCnz8/s1600-h/IMG_0635.JPG" style="text-decoration: none;"><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StC6cUpKnqI/AAAAAAAAAK8/FQeP7PhCnz8/s320/IMG_0635.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391013749702958754" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Banville snoozes.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StC5mJrNmcI/AAAAAAAAAK0/Qd3SBfXRYYA/s1600-h/IMG_0633.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StC5mJrNmcI/AAAAAAAAAK0/Qd3SBfXRYYA/s320/IMG_0633.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391012819045816770" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Rand and Houët-Brisebois snooze.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StC4w98BnOI/AAAAAAAAAKs/6h_zefoiCNA/s1600-h/IMG_0634.JPG" style="text-decoration: none;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StC4w98BnOI/AAAAAAAAAKs/6h_zefoiCNA/s320/IMG_0634.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391011905362042082" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Hughes and Francks snooze</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Wednesday, Oct 7</span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana; min-height: 17.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Our last morning in Butare, and the drive back to Kigali, where we stop by our venue - Heaven. This is a restaurant in Kigali owned by an American couple, Josh and Alissa Ruxin (http://www.heavenrwanda.com/). We decide how we will orient the show in this large, outdoor patio. We choose to use the view of Kigali and the surrounding hills as out backdrop. It is stunning.</span></p></div>Volcanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10502676133310181171noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2698215370065497646.post-80590909842655338442009-10-09T03:41:00.000-07:002009-10-10T10:39:05.476-07:00On God, Genocide, and Funding...<img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StCiQSUca8I/AAAAAAAAAKM/NRdXyzJO7HI/s320/IMG_0567.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390987154641677250" /><div style="text-align: center; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">The National University of Rwanda Campus</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StCf5l2_4kI/AAAAAAAAAJ8/CXgHRQiIEUk/s320/IMG_0565.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390984565726634562" /><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Dr. Silas Lwakabamba, Rector of the University</span></span></div></span><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Tuesday, Oct 6</span></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Verdana; min-height: 17px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">A busy day. Each day in Rwanda is beginning to feel like an entire week.</span></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Verdana; min-height: 17px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>1)</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> We have a meeting with the Rector of the University (this is the "president"): Silas Lwakabamba. He has summoned the artists at the festival so he can meet with us, and thank us for coming. This is a good sign, as the University's financial support for the Festival was in doubt. Silas lets us know that we are welcome as Canadians, since it was a Canadian who built this University in 1963. None of us knew that, and, given how beautiful the University is, it makes us proud. Speeches are made, including one by me, thanking the University for its involvement. Our documentary camera captures it all.</span></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Verdana; min-height: 17px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>2) </b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">I walk back from the meeting with an American theatre artist who shocks me by saying that the genocide is always spoken of as "bad bad bad", but she sees the good in it. None of this progress would have happened without the genocide, she asserts. We wouldn't be here without it. No one would have heard of Rwanda. She is a Christian, and has invested a great deal of her energy and spirit in Rwanda - making theatre, and adopting children from here. But I ask her - just to make sure i am understanding her -"Do you think that all this progress is worth one million lives?". She says yes, certainly. These people died for the good of their country. When I dispute that there may be more to it than that, that so much murder is perhaps not a good thing, and shouldn't be construed as such, she asks me, "Is there someone in your life you haven't forgiven?". I leave her at that point. A woman with answers, rather than questions ("I understand how someone would want to kill. Sometimes i want to kill my husband"). I am frightened by such an utter lack of doubt, by such a simplistic equation (things are good after the genocide, therefore the genocide is good). It will haunt me for a long time, this certainty. It is the most dangerous thing I have seen on this trip. When I tell my newfound African friends about this, they are shocked. One asks, "Was there a big African Mama there to to give her a beating?" Layne Coleman raises the point - "Yes, and just look how well genocides do for peoples generally, throughout history."</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><br /></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Verdana; min-height: 17px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StDA7XREzyI/AAAAAAAAALk/gBf_idH6T1M/s320/IMG_0583.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391020880052932386" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Kiki and niece.</span></span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Verdana; min-height: 17px; "><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Verdana; min-height: 17px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StC-42QFe2I/AAAAAAAAALU/gFEHGjYpnNs/s320/IMG_0582.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391018637807418210" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Ross and Kiki's niece (as photographed by Kiki's daughter!)</span></span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Verdana; min-height: 17px; "><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Verdana; min-height: 17px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StDAEpyU8BI/AAAAAAAAALc/5EmaFHMjyrk/s320/IMG_0584.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5391019940131434514" /></span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Kiki's daughter, Aurore<br /></span><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>3)</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> Lunch with Kiki. Kiki invited me to her house to have a chat about the festival's financial woes. She has been feeling tremendous guilt about us being here, without a clear picture of whether or not her own funding will come through. The meeting this morning with the Rector is a good sign, though, and Kiki now thinks it may all come together. I meet her daughter, Aurore, and her niece. Kiki's sister is in the States on a scholarship for a year, so Kiki has become the defacto mom. These children are WONDERFUL!</span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Verdana; min-height: 17px; "><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana; min-height: 17.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StCmqxU5itI/AAAAAAAAAKU/QoB9GdmSxvY/s320/IMG_0590.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390992007688194770" /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><b><br /></b></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><b><br /></b></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>4)</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> At sunset, we visit an evangelical church, to which we have been invited to listen in on a choir rehearsal. The music is gorgeous. The church is very simple, very poor, and entirely beautiful, filled, as we come to it, with music and faith. The power goes out several times during the practice, and the organist switches seamlessly over to a large drum whenever we are plunged into darkness. The singing doesn't stop. The beauty of this experience is a stark contrast to the earlier Christian, mentioned above. I don't think these parishioners look on the genocide as a good thing. But they are entirely welcoming, and the lead singer has the voice of an angel.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana; min-height: 17.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">www.iribachoir.fr.gd/Ikaze-murisanga--s-Welcome.htm</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana; min-height: 17.0px"><br /></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">5)</span></b> We see the Monument, by Colleen Wagner, in Kinyarwanda. This is another Canadian play at the festival, directed by Jennifer Capraru, who has formed a theatre company here in Rwanda, called ISOKO (www.isoko-rwanda.org/). The audience - mostly university students - is entirely captured by the play. They laugh, they breathe with the two main performers (Jaqueline Umubyeyi and Jean Paul Uwayezu). I learn that the audience here is vocal when there is no language barrier, and i regret that we cannot give them our play with such directness. Colleen has traveled from Canada to see this production, and we meet for the first time, her and i, after hearing about each other for years, in Butare, Rwanda. Moreover, our new pal, the Ugandan poet, playwright and activist Pamela Acaye, is someone that Colleen had been hoping to track down in Kampala, after hearing that Pam was exactly the person to act as a guide for a project that Colleen is doing in Northern Uganda - interviewing women. They will travel there together in a week's time. </span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Small world.</span></span></p><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Verdana, serif;font-size:130%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:14px;"><br /></span></span></div></div></div></div>Volcanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10502676133310181171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2698215370065497646.post-79071179376182055812009-10-09T03:38:00.000-07:002009-10-14T22:54:02.011-07:00Murambi Part Two<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StCZ_bqOcSI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/uwpGa6t3F5I/s1600-h/IMG_0524.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StCZ_bqOcSI/AAAAAAAAAJ0/uwpGa6t3F5I/s320/IMG_0524.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390978068998156578" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">The main building at Murambi. </span></span></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StCZ-5_iDeI/AAAAAAAAAJs/W1sKi-TiX00/s1600-h/IMG_0520.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StCZ-5_iDeI/AAAAAAAAAJs/W1sKi-TiX00/s320/IMG_0520.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390978059960716770" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">The Murambi Memorial Centre</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StCZ-Qn4snI/AAAAAAAAAJk/BJu_PkQPAsA/s1600-h/IMG_0496.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StCZ-Qn4snI/AAAAAAAAAJk/BJu_PkQPAsA/s320/IMG_0496.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390978048855683698" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">This woman was the keeper of the keys at the centre. She would unlock all the doors to the rooms housing the bodies as we approached.</span> </div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StCVqYQOhII/AAAAAAAAAJc/nCWOPJ9tz_s/s1600-h/IMG_0516.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StCVqYQOhII/AAAAAAAAAJc/nCWOPJ9tz_s/s320/IMG_0516.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390973309260039298" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Laurette, Tara and Lili walk together back towards the main building. </span></span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Monday Oct. 5, later the same day...</span></span></div><div><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Verdana; "><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>1)</b></span> After the drive from Butare through hills and villages, past people out walking on the roads, pushing bicycles laden with goods, walking with backpacks, and baskets and bundles of sticks balanced on heads, we arrive at the village of Murambi, and the genocide memorial site. </span></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Verdana; min-height: 17px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">We climb out of our packed van, and mill around in front of a large building. High elevation. Stunning scenery. A place where 50,000 people were murdered.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Verdana; "><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">We meet our guide, Francois, and he tells us the story of the place. We then walk through rooms full of corpses preserved in lime. Room after room after room. One room was entirely children. I remember one baby in particular. Chubby legs. The smell. Emaciated, sculptural corpses, all white, due to the lime. Little pellets scattered on the bodies to keep the smell somewhat in check. Many rooms, but still only a small fraction of the tens of thousands murdered here. It is almost too much to bear.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Verdana; min-height: 17px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">And outside, children playing and laughing in the nearby farms. </span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Verdana; "><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StBS3JD7b3I/AAAAAAAAAJU/jnJHCvyiT0k/s320/IMG_0500.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390899861241163634" /></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Verdana; min-height: 17px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">It's hard to know whether to post photos of the corpses. Francois encouraged us to take pictures - he wants the world to take note. This is perhaps the most manageable image of the very few i took. It was difficult to point a camera at these bodies.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Verdana; min-height: 17px; "><br /></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Verdana; min-height: 17px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StBS1ImEDGI/AAAAAAAAAI0/iRDcg4YqOxA/s320/IMG_0518.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390899826756160610" /></span></span></p> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Verdana; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Some boys who followed us around the site, and wanted us to give them "Bics". I had a spare pen i gave to one. The others had to make do with 100 franc coins. There were many children playing close by. </span></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Verdana; "><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">This trip is enormous. I am hearing now from the Rwandans we are working with about their own family histories. Gloria, the festival organizer, walked to Uganda with her grandmother during the genocide as a ten year old. Laurette, our translator, moved back from Burundi weeks after the genocide ended and, as an eleven year old, discovered corpses in buildings, on the streets. Eleven years old, surrounded by corpses.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana; min-height: 17.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">And yet the country is beautiful and vibrant and full of people with spirit and energy - like Gloria and Laurette. I may be imagining it, but there is a feeling of damage, of deadness, buried somewhere alongside the forward momentum. The inescapable awareness of what has happened, coupled with the collective striding forward, the undeniable energy, beauty in the people. It is extraordinary, and contradictory, and entirely outside my experience.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana; min-height: 17.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">The guide at the genocide memorial, Francois, had lost his entire family here. Many thousands of corpses had been exhumed from the mass graves the murderers threw them in, but, given their condition, Francois could not identify any of his own family. Is THIS skull his mother's? His child's? Is that the body of a loved one? He doesn't know. He never will. He said this is a hard job, yet it also gives him some peace to be working here. The place is remote and unkempt - they have so little money for upkeep. It is raw, and, as such, is a step closer to the reality of genocide than even Auschwitz - the only other place i've been that has a similar feeling. </span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Because there are so many bodies here. With bits of hair, and clothing, twisted in death, and mutilated by machetes and bullets. One doesn't need much imagination to know what happened here. You can smell the death.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 14px/normal Verdana; min-height: 17px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Francois said to us that we must all tell those we are closest with about this place.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana; min-height: 17.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">And so. Murambi. One of the most beautiful places i've been. An unfinished technical school to which Tutsis were lured with the promise of shelter, so as better to kill them. 50,000 murdered - killed by paratroopers with guns, by militias, and then - for those who ran - by ordinary citizens with machetes and hoes and axes. A site occupied by French troops (Operation Turquoise) as the Hutu extremists began their escape from the RPF. The French came at the end of June, 1994. The genocide ran through April. This is a site where French troops played volleyball beside the mass graves. Did the soldiers know? France asserts they were preventing further violence. Rwanda asserts that France actively armed the Hutus, and then provided the killers safe passage out of the country. Francois's condemnation of France's complicity with the murderers is complete. He, for one, has reached his conclusion. So has Rwanda - the teaching of French has been removed from the school curriculum, and Rwanda has severed all ties with France.</span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><br /><img style="text-align: left;display: block; margin-top: 0px; margin-right: auto; margin-bottom: 10px; margin-left: auto; cursor: pointer; width: 320px; height: 240px; " src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StBS2gXnN6I/AAAAAAAAAJM/kabnzqbro2Y/s320/IMG_0507.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390899850317871010" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">A room with clothing taken from the exhumed corpses. Most of the corpses have been reinterred elsewhere on the site, with proper burial rites.</span></span></div><p></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><br /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/StBS1uMMgKI/AAAAAAAAAI8/azX8GFQlBkA/s320/IMG_0509.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5390899836848210082" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"></span></p><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Laurette walks by herself near the memorial site. Soon after i took this picture, she would tell Lili and I her own family's story. Her grandparents were from very close to Murambi. They left Rwanda after the killings in 1959. She and her mother were born in Burundi, and moved back weeks after the 1994 genocide. This was her first visit to this site.</span></span></div><br /><p></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>2)</b></span> While still at Murambi, I get a phone call from As it Happens, the CBC radio program. They want to interview me later today. Oddly, it is while talking to the producer in Toronto that I begin to cry.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>3)</b></span> Back on Butare that evening, i am interviewed by Carol Off. The show is broadcast the next day, Tuesday, Oct 6. To listen to what i said, go to http://www.cbc.ca/mrl3/8752/asithappens/20091006-aih-3.wmv. My bit begins about 5 minutes in.</p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><br /></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 14.0px Verdana"><br /></p><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Verdana, serif;font-size:130%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:14px;"><br /></span></span></div></div></div>Volcanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10502676133310181171noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2698215370065497646.post-2756887766187165252009-10-06T23:31:00.000-07:002009-10-07T01:42:13.468-07:00Murambi Part One<div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Monday, Oct 5.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">A day off. We travel to Murambi, a genocide memorial in the Southern Province, about a 35 minute drive from Butare. The drive is spectacular. Here are some images - from before we visit the site:</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsxQJWbj8oI/AAAAAAAAAIM/jPkVHQ-HI30/s320/IMG_0446.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389770975625867906" /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">In the minivan, as we set off.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsxNodd_zCI/AAAAAAAAAIE/ZsSl8Thxu1Y/s320/IMG_0538.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389768211556191266" /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">On the road to Murambi</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsxNnxRjmyI/AAAAAAAAAH8/yNK-Fz4Y8q0/s320/IMG_0441.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389768199692852002" /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">John Westhauser and i exchange image capture before we leave for Murambi.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsxNnq9kgQI/AAAAAAAAAH0/Fn7it0J15jU/s320/IMG_0482.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389768197998412034" /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">The roads in Rwanda are covered with people walking. The road to Murambi is no exception. Rwanda is the most densely populated country in Africa.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsxNnHRFByI/AAAAAAAAAHs/JgqFyePs-HU/s320/IMG_0444.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389768188416558882" /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Laurette in the van before we leave Butare.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsxNmhw846I/AAAAAAAAAHk/hkE_Ud3JOWk/s320/IMG_0443.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389768178349695906" /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Supercalafragilistic Tara Hughes.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsxBpkzOneI/AAAAAAAAAHc/6lkfW7MztnY/s320/IMG_0468.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389755036564626914" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">A wee Rwandan pig living its wee Rwandan pig life.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsxBpFS19kI/AAAAAAAAAHU/GJhCCcpkNoI/s320/IMG_0459.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389755028107294274" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">A woman walking on the road to Murambi</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsxBokz231I/AAAAAAAAAHM/DhXbEHVfmGo/s320/IMG_0453.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389755019387395922" /></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">A glimpse of the countryside of southern Rwanda</span></div>Volcanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10502676133310181171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2698215370065497646.post-32548210399721972312009-10-05T23:17:00.001-07:002009-10-06T23:17:20.388-07:00A Unique Two Show Day<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">SHOW ONE:</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><br /></span><div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsrtqGBdY0I/AAAAAAAAAGs/f_UFX4QM7Jg/s320/IMG_0431.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389381211529241410" /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Soccer chat outside the theatre, as the mob assembles...</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>1)</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> We had offered to add an extra show on Sunday afternoon when we arrived. The festival had said yes. Little did we know what would lie ahead.</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>2)</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> We show up at the theatre, and we're ready for our 2:30pm curtain time. Unlike last night, there are only six audience there for the start. I talk to them. All are university students. They say the timing of our show is very bad - there are important exams tomorrow for almost everyone. They also say the advertising has been poor, and that nobody knows about this aded show. We ask them if they would prefer to come back to the evening show, when there will be more people. They deliberate. This deliberation stretches on. A few more people arrive. Then a few more. We decide to go ahead with the show. At some point, someone tells us that a group of students expect to use the auditorium to watch a Champion's League soccer game at 5:30. We say we don't want this to delay our evening show, and then don't think much about it. We being our matinee about an hour late.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>3) </b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">At intermission, a group of men arrive. There are two student leaders, and the Director of the Centre, Jena-Marie. The students are vibrating with anger. They are the organizers of the soccer match. Gloria and Kiki from the festival arrive. A discussion begins that gets increasingly heated. There has been a lack of comunication between the two groups. The theatre folks have the official booking, but the soccer folks have numbers - as we talk, hundreds of soccer fans begin to gather outside. The student leaders are rude and barely in control. Laurette, our translator, begins speaking to them in Kinyarwanda, saying they can't just take over the building in the middle of a play. The man she is speaking to begins to shout at her, and raise his arms. Laurette recoils, afraid, raising her arms to shield herself, stumbling backwards. I scream at the man in my loudest actor voice. This stops him. I tell him, quite volubly, that i am the director of the play, and that if he has an argument, it is with me, not with her. He dials everything back, and the discussion continues. All this is during our intermission. Some of the actors begin to gather. Our audience is wondering what to do. All is being captured on camera by the film crew. Finally, the soccer boys are pursuaded to step outside. Amy says to me - "Soccer is important here - we should let them watch their game". She's right. I go outside to tell Kiki that i will be happy to cancel the show tonight, if it becomes an either/or situation. We then learn that the match ISN'T at 5:30. It's at 4:30. We are currently at 4:15.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>4)</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> We begin the second half of the show. Outside, a mob is gathering. Lili's second act monologue about the genocide is accompanied by the sounds of hundreds of men just outside the building. The actors rise to the occasion and turn in piercing performances. Our audience is entirely focused. I am not. Nor are Rebecca and Guillaume. We exchange worried looks. I finally slip outside to see what's happening.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>5)</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> Outside, I find Rick and Stefan, who had agreed to stay with the discussion when it moved outside. Rick tells me there is now a compromise. We will finish our show, and immediately set up the giant screen, and open the main auditorium doors. The soccer fans will miss only part of the first half. Rick tells me the scene was a nervous-making. At one point, there were five theatre people standing in front of the closed doors, and hundreds of men staring at them, wanting to be inside. That is the energy i step out into, but it dissipates quickly, as the news spreads through the crowd that they will be let in soon. Later that night, Jean-Marie, the Director, speaks to me. He apologizes, but says the students in such a situation can turn violent, and it's best to let them have their way.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Wow.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>6)</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> Our show finishes. We spring into action. The hall fills with men. Chelsea versus Liverpool comes to Butare on a giant screen. At Rick's suggestion, Gloria finds the young soccer organizer and drags him over to Laurette. He apologizes for threatening her. The apology is sincere. Laurette is very upset, still. She accepts his apology. She then tells us that he is a friend of hers, and she cannot understand how he could have done that. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>7)</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> I watch a bit of the match. It's really good. Then go for a beer. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">SHOW TWO</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">The evening show goes much more smoothly. The crowd is almost all male, but they are riveted to the show. I believe that the language barrier adds to this attention, but nonetheless we have a good show. The local police commissioner attends. He asks questions at the talk-back - wondering why we had some details in the play, and not others. He speaks about the machinery of genocide: the army, the decision-makers, the militias, the propaganda, the elaborate facilitation of murder. He wanted to see a more complete revelation of this complex and powerful machinery. I answer that there is so much that we leave out because of the time constraint of the play. We have 2 hours to tell a story that is bigger than our imaginations - so our playwright makes choices, focuses on the personal as a way to speak to the societal. We hint at the powers that are engaged during such killings, but we don't focus on them. He is satisfied by this answer. Later, he tells me that he really liked the play, but still wants this story told, examined: the machinery of mass murder. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Like so many of the audience, like so many people on the streets, he is young. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><br /></div></div></div></div>Volcanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10502676133310181171noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2698215370065497646.post-59412003123455204052009-10-04T23:30:00.000-07:002009-10-05T08:06:23.260-07:00Goodness Opens in Rwanda<div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: verdana, serif; ">Saturday, Oct 1.</span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">This is one of the biggest days of my life.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsnT0ThCruI/AAAAAAAAAGk/THfxil2PLxU/s320/IMG_0387.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389071324671028962" /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Rebecca and Laurette at load-in. Laurette works on the Kinyarwanda synopsis. Rebecca runs the lighting hang.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsnTz92y11I/AAAAAAAAAGc/L6vFsGoHt5M/s320/IMG_0386.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389071318856685394" /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">The indomitable Rick Banville. And his broom.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsnFc2q9ipI/AAAAAAAAAGU/xGWjw4G-mYc/s320/IMG_0395.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389055528628226706" /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Rick atop the rickety scaffold, refocusing a light.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsmnmXdCpnI/AAAAAAAAAGM/uku6DSANVmo/s320/IMG_0396.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389022706698200690" /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Rebecca and Guillaume in the 'booth".</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/Ssmnl2uCagI/AAAAAAAAAGE/9tvDtZ_XTzE/s320/IMG_0401.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389022697911118338" /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Our audience begins to arrive.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsmjoAri5cI/AAAAAAAAAF8/vKHVhS0JVMo/s320/IMG_0415.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389018336898246082" /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">The after-party at the Hotel De Mont Huye. Jack serenades.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/Ssmjnmu3ayI/AAAAAAAAAF0/UUj6vh3o5DI/s320/IMG_0412.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5389018329932852002" /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Lili Matabishi, an actress based in Kigali (coincidentally, i had recently read about a show she was in New York - a Rwandan production of The Investigation, by Peter Weiss). Lili is tremendous - and offers to handle our publicity in Kigali - all from the goodness of her heart.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">1)</span></b> We're at the theatre at 9am. Our crew is two cracker-jack Belgian technicians, and the never-daunted Rwandan technical director, Judo. The Belgians came to teach a workshop, and assist, and have ended up working very long hours just to make the tech possible. Judo is the epitome of competence and friendly energy. We will have only this one day to install our seating (we're performing on the stage of the large theatre, with the curtains drawn, and the audience with us on the stage), clean the stage and dressing room, hang and focus our lights, set our sound levels and light levels, rehearse, and open at 8:30pm. We work in three languages. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>2)</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> It's a lot of work. But it goes well, mostly. There is a scare when one of the Belgians, Carrie, atop a rickety scaffold, is nearly electrocuted. The voltage here is 240, and he gets a shock that sends him cursing down the scaffold in seconds - not bad for a man who weighs well over 200 pounds. The gear is not all in the best of shape. Some is new, some is old, all comes from different continents, and is difficult to make work together. We take a break.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">3)</span></b> We begin to realise that there isn't much help to be had, outside of Gloria, and the core crew. It's an election day, and the whole country is not working. We have to carry all the seating ourselves across campus from the library - Rick, Guillaume, myself, and a student good enough to help. 70 chairs in several trips under a hot African sun. Two risers we wanted are locked in a room elsewhere in town, and the man with the key makes it clear to Gloria that he is not coming in to work until Monday. That's after our closing. So, we make do. The dressing room needs a substantial cleaning, and Gloria brings mats and a rug from her house to make a pleasant space for the actors. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>4)</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> Rehearsal begins at 2pm. We gather outside under a spectacular tree for notes. The atmosphere is charged. We are all acutely aware that we are about to open a play about genocide in Rwanda. The film crew is present, and documents everything.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">5)</span></b> Song rehearsal in the dressing room. Then a few scenes are run to make sure they are tight. We move to the stage.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>6)</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> Onstage, there is a problem. The lighting board we are using is new, and has been brought for us from Belgium. None of us have seen a board like this before, and Rebecca can't get it to record cues. This discovery is made when the Belgians have gone on their dinner break. We call them, and Manu comes back. He, too, can't get the board to work. Out comes the instruction manual. They figure it out, and we can begin making light cues. But there is now only about an hour and a half of rehearsal time left. We jump from cue to cue. Rebecca works as fat as she can. We build the lighting for the first act, then lose the actors to their dinner break. Rebecca builds the second half with Rick and i pretending to be the cast. Guillaume works on sound levels, and setting up all the props. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>7)</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> We finish, and actually get a dinner break ourselves (we had worked through lunch). We're ready to open. Nerves ensue.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>8)</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> We have a full house at 8:30 - on time. We hold for ten minutes, for a few stragglers. I give a curtain speech in French and English that Laurette translates into Kinyarwandan (Laurette speaks about half a dozen languages). And then Michael Redhill's Goodness begins. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">9)</span></b> I don't relax. I sit behind the audience, and watch both the show and the crowd. The show is ON. The actors are charged and giving the performances of their lives. The audience is silent. There is no laughter at the jokes, almost no visible reaction at all. But there is silence and focus. Intermission happens. A group of young men leave. The rest of the audience returns. I still have no idea what is happening. Are people understanding this complicated, English drama? Are they silent because they are bored? Offended? I have no idea. It's disquieting, to say the least.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">10)</span></b> The show ends. The audience rises to its feet. Cheers. Oh. My. God.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>11)</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> We hold a post-show talk. It is an intense experience. There are comments that are tremendously moving. Gloria speaks of how this play helps her reconcile what happened to her family in the genocide. Kiki asks if art can do anything, if a play can have any effect. Several people ask why is this play called "Goodness". IS there goodness? One woman - Lili - speaks of how this play tells her that this experience - genocide - is shared, or born, by people the world over. The actors are asked to speak to why they are doing this play - what does it mean to them. I hear my friends speak with a deep honesty about this project, and its significance in their own lives. It is very emotional. Big questions are asked, and answers are struggled with, because there are no answers to many of them. At the same time, there is a large group of yong men who say nothing, ask no questions, simply listen. What are they thinking? I have no idea. The experience of this talk is almost too big for me to process. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>12)</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> We party. We go back to the hotel and drink and sing. Rick plays Jack's guitar. Jack plays Jack's guitar. They are both amazing musicians. Jack's voice is stirring. We then ask for some songs from the Africans who have joined us. Kiki and Lili (the Rwandan Lili - not our Lili) sing a Rwandan ballad. It is one of the saddest songs i've heard. Gloria sings a haunting lullaby. Pamela teaches us a refrain, and as we all sing it, she speaks a poem about the struggles in her homeland of Northern Uganda. It is colossally moving. A man named Sammi borrows the guitar - which he plays masterfully - and sings a song in Swahili that his father wrote. It is beautiful. We drink and talk and sing through the night. Until the Dutch man (we think he's Dutch) across the compound finally asks us to keep it down. We're mostly in bed by 4am. Some are still up, though, when i retire.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">What a day. A day like no other.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><br /></div>Volcanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10502676133310181171noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2698215370065497646.post-55592099052401822342009-10-04T03:11:00.000-07:002009-10-15T23:49:05.692-07:00The Opening of the Festival<div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:verdana, serif;">October 2 - in Butare</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;">We awake in Butare. Today the actors will have the day off. Rick, Guillaume and I will prep for our opening tomorrow - retrieving, in particular, the handgun we are borrowing from the Army for our show. We will all attend the opening ceremony in the afternoon, and another show in the evening.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><br /></span></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/Ssk91ODYObI/AAAAAAAAAFs/QryZLEcYmIQ/s320/IMG_0278.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388906413640137138" /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">The sign by the front gate of the National University of Rwanda, where we will be performing.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><br /></span></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/Sskz6g6fVGI/AAAAAAAAAFk/k5DD7n1b6pg/s320/IMG_0317.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388895509486195810" /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">A menu from the restaurant in the Super Market on the main street, where we buy our water, whiskey and wine. It seems the Philly Cheese Steak knows no bounds, geographically.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/Sskz6NmLLlI/AAAAAAAAAFc/l0_4VIjQ3lA/s320/IMG_0333.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388895504300715602" /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">The view on the walk to the University from downtown. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/Sskz5uIIcgI/AAAAAAAAAFU/ugTaJX9pwIo/s320/IMG_0307.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388895495853208066" /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Kiki Katese (left) and Gloria Magambo (right) join us at our hotel.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/Sskz5Dk4loI/AAAAAAAAAFM/MPd3aUbY0cA/s320/IMG_0305.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388895484431079042" /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">We meet a Colonel from the Rwandan Army. He is in charge of the battalion that is stationed in the four southern districts of the country. He is also the man who has arranged to lend us a handgun for use in the show. It's a disabled US Army issue Colt. Gloria, who comes along, has never really seen a gun, and asks about it. The colonel calls the Colt a "stick", and not something for killing. If you want to kill someone, you use one of those, he says, indicating the machine guns the soldiers in the next room are carrying. He shows her bullets from his own handgun, which he carries tucked into his belt. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/Sskz4k_HedI/AAAAAAAAAFE/qlXTBZtsERI/s320/IMG_0306.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388895476219607506" /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">My first interview on Rwandan television. I speak in English, and Guillaume speaks in French.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><br /></span></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsiBXaFOWmI/AAAAAAAAAE8/2Og5FM-34pM/s320/IMG_0316.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388699193287006818" /><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Th</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">e boys that live in a house outside the gate of our hotel. Amy gave them some hats, and a Leafs t-shirt.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsiBW3uKAEI/AAAAAAAAAE0/P3pN9GskgpQ/s320/IMG_0321.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388699184063447106" /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Jeanie and Laurette at dinner on the main street in Butare.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><br /></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsiBWYs7z2I/AAAAAAAAAEs/aM3mDFxu-l8/s320/IMG_0347.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388699175736823650" /></span></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">The Women Drummers at the opening ceremony. Mind blowing.</span></span></p><p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><br /></span></p><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsiBVw_9gNI/AAAAAAAAAEk/lOsHD6-5cGc/s320/IMG_0354.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388699165079208146" /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Dancers at the opening ceremony. All the dancers were orphaned during the genocide. All were wonderful</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsiBVTZJ2HI/AAAAAAAAAEc/omBlotAlagk/s320/IMG_0302.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388699157131810930" /> <p style="text-align: center;margin-top: 0px; margin-right: 0px; margin-bottom: 0px; margin-left: 0px; font: normal normal normal 12px/normal Helvetica; min-height: 14px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Playwright and poet Pamela Acaye outside our theatre at the National University of Rwanda. </span></span></p><p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><br /></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>1)</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> The day of the opening ceremony. We see the Rwandan Women Drummers. Drumming was a male preserve before the genocide. Now, women have taken possession of the drum, and they are transcendent. The joy with which they drum, the power of it: beyond words. We see a troop of dancers - all orphans from the genocide, now young adults. We see a dance theatre piece made by a choreographer from France, a music director from Burkina Faso, and our host, Kiki, who wrote the text and performed the role of the mother. The story was that of the lone surveying son of a family killed in the genocide. The other characters are ghosts - played by dancers. Astonishing imagery.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">This is an amazing place to be.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>2)</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> I realize i should introduce our cast of characters:</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><b>The Actors:</b> Lili Francks, Gord Rand, Tara Hughes, Amy Rutherford, Jack Nicholsen, Layne Colemen</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><b>The Technical Cohort:</b> Rick Banville, Production Manager; Rebecca Picherack, Lighting Designer; Guillaume Houët-Brisebois, Stage Manager.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><b>The Rwandans We Know:</b> Gloria Magambo, works with the Festival Arts Azimuts, the woman who is making it all happen for us; Laurette Kabanyana, our translator and guide, a lovely and very bright woman, whom it seems all men in town are smitten with, (i don't blame them); Kiki Katese, the artistic director of the festival, a woman who is bearing a lot of stress these days; Judo, the technical director.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><b>The Ugandan:</b> Pamela Acaye, a playwright and friend of Gloria - special-ness incarnate. </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><b>The Belgians:</b> there are two. Carie and Manu. They are the technicians we work with. They are tireless.</span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><b>The Film Crew</b>: John Westhauser, DOP and co-director of the documentary being made about this tour; Tyler Cook, sound man and the youngest of us all (aka "John Smith" - from the hotel reservation that was made for him before we knew his name!); </span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica; min-height: 14.0px"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></p> <p style="margin: 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px 0.0px; font: 12.0px Helvetica"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><b>The Significant Others:</b> Jeannie Calleja, Gord's wife, and AD for the documentary; Stefan Monnet, Amy's partner, along for the trip, and generally helpful.</span></span></p><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Helvetica, serif;font-size:100%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:12px;"></span><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">These are good people to spend this time with, time that will change us all.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Helvetica, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:medium;"><br /></span></span></div>Volcanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10502676133310181171noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2698215370065497646.post-53519471787475647202009-10-02T14:45:00.000-07:002009-10-04T02:57:19.878-07:00The Volcano Bus: from Kigali to Butare<div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Thursday, Oct 1 - a long day continues...</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/Sshtw-_H4jI/AAAAAAAAAEU/gfjnQ6p4w4k/s320/IMG_0272.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388677642457702962" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;">Ditch repair on the road to Butare - the roads are in amazing condition. </div></span><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SshtwfaOgBI/AAAAAAAAAEM/MjLW3F80UWg/s320/IMG_0261.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388677633981448210" /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">The bus that arrives for us at the Milles Collines, for the trip to Butare.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><br /></span></div><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/Sshtv6p64RI/AAAAAAAAAEE/cMiKw1MOW_8/s320/IMG_0274.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388677624115159314" /><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">A work gang of prisoners on the road to Butare.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsePQIucHqI/AAAAAAAAAD8/xxlbplHw_MM/s320/IMG_0285.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388432986555031202" /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Arrival at the Motel de Mont Huye in Butare</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/Ssb1SOrarbI/AAAAAAAAAD0/PAuJnHu3UhY/s320/IMG_0290.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388263697722027442" /><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;">At a hardware store in Butare - a long translated negotiation to buy supplies for home-made footlights.</div></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><br /></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsbrklKmdtI/AAAAAAAAADs/pVajn6G3jhg/s320/IMG_0297.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5388253017879770834" /></span><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Rick at the Mont Huye - a beautiful place</span></span></div></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><br /></span></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">1) </span></b>We get caffeine at Bourbon Coffee in Kigali.</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>2)</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> We get in the Volcano Bus. Seriously. Volcano. Gets in. The Volcano Bus.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>3)</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> We are driven south to Butare. About 3 hours. When they say Rwanda is the land of a thousand hills, they underestimate. It is rolling, beautiful, crowded, cultivated land. People work with hand tools. The roads are in amazing shape. Drivers are much less crazy than in Uganda, or Montreal. We see farmers, students, women with bundles on their heads, prisoners in work gangs wearing bright orange jumpsuits. We see the evidence of both genocide, and recovery. It is a big drive.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>4) </b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">We arrive in Butare, in Huye district. Much bigger than we thought. The Hotel de Mont Huye is lovely. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">5)</span></b> We meet Gloria Magambo - who will become our guide and organizer. Gloria works for the festival, and is Help incarnate. She quickly becomes our hero. We visit a hardware store to buy wire, bulbs, and fixins for the homemade footlights we will need for the Kigali shows (we will be performing in a restaurant). We choose a different venue to do the show in in Butare - on the stage of the large Main Auditorium at the National University of Rwanda (a very beautiful campus). We begin to make plans for the lighting hang, sound and riser installation. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>6)</b></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> In a cab back from the theatre, I have my first conversation about the genocide. Gloria grew up in Uganda, exiled. She was a child when the genocide began. Her father escaped with her. They walked to Uganda. She is now the only relative her father has left. Rick asked her where she feels her home is. Nowhere, she says. In Uganda, she was called a foreigner. In Rwanda, she speaks the native language only haltingly. She is caught between places. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">But she is radiant, and very good at her job.</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><br /></div></div>Volcanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10502676133310181171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2698215370065497646.post-33586633229724884212009-10-02T00:54:00.000-07:002009-10-02T15:08:29.956-07:00Arrival<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsXQXKPx18I/AAAAAAAAAC0/zCqog2p6keY/s1600-h/IMG_0237.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsXQXKPx18I/AAAAAAAAAC0/zCqog2p6keY/s320/IMG_0237.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387941625524770754" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:verdana, serif;">On the runway.</span></div></span><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsW7Le5gaWI/AAAAAAAAACs/IUeWNYMypXE/s1600-h/IMG_0238.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsW7Le5gaWI/AAAAAAAAACs/IUeWNYMypXE/s320/IMG_0238.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387918335165884770" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Gord anticipates disembarkation.</span></span></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsW7KoLTajI/AAAAAAAAACk/5TPWozQaMEQ/s1600-h/IMG_0249.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsW7KoLTajI/AAAAAAAAACk/5TPWozQaMEQ/s320/IMG_0249.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387918320476580402" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:verdana, serif;">Room party in the Hotel des Milles Collines, Kigali (aka the Hotel Rwanda). </span></div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsW7J3VO-3I/AAAAAAAAACc/Civv8xl3AF0/s1600-h/IMG_0251.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsW7J3VO-3I/AAAAAAAAACc/Civv8xl3AF0/s320/IMG_0251.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387918307364895602" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:verdana, serif;">Breakfast at the Milles Collines the next morning. Eggs taste like eggs. Fruit tastes like fruit. SOOO much better than in Toronto.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><br /></span></div></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsW7JHSz6EI/AAAAAAAAACU/5v9UVWygI9I/s1600-h/IMG_0252.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsW7JHSz6EI/AAAAAAAAACU/5v9UVWygI9I/s320/IMG_0252.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387918294469830722" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">We go to change money at a local establishment recommended to us by Laurette - our local liaison. The Obama bill was on the door</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">.</span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;">We arrive in Kigali at just before 2am on Thursday, Oct. 1.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>1)</b></span> We are met by Laureete Kabanyana - our "fixer" Steve's associate. Steve is currently in Lebanon, but Laurette will stay with us from here on to translate, and problem-solve as necessary. Laurette is lovely. We are 14 Canadians, and we occupy one van, two taxis and Laurette's car for the 30 minute drive into the centre of town.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>2)</b></span> We check into the Hotel des Milles Collines - made famous in the West by the movie Hotel Rwanda. The Milles Collines is under renovation, but it's a welcome and comfortable place after our very long trip. We open some Nairobi duty-free in Rick Banville's room, and toast our safe arrival.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><b>3)</b></span> We pass out and sleep. Breakfast at 9. Out to change money and buy phones at 10am with Laurette. Back to the hotel for the drive to Butare at 1pm.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;">We're here.</span></div></div></div>Volcanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10502676133310181171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2698215370065497646.post-68229523225713722532009-10-01T03:14:00.000-07:002009-10-01T03:37:52.830-07:0030 Hours, Part Two<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Flew more. Here are more images:</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsSEYqUrqWI/AAAAAAAAACM/JfEL7Iz8fDI/s1600-h/IMG_0209.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsSEYqUrqWI/AAAAAAAAACM/JfEL7Iz8fDI/s320/IMG_0209.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387576613454719330" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:x-small;">The map on the seat-back screen. I realized that I was flying over places i had never heard of before...</span></div></span></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsSEYKc0AhI/AAAAAAAAACE/TJIWSr97xnQ/s1600-h/IMG_0215.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsSEYKc0AhI/AAAAAAAAACE/TJIWSr97xnQ/s320/IMG_0215.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387576604898886162" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;">Arrival in Nairobi. Spent several hours at the airport here, and rendezvoused with the rest of the gang, who had arrived from Amsterdam about 20 minutes before me. 2 Nigerian beers were sampled: Tusker and White Cap. I think White Cap edged out Tusker - but they were neck and neck, so to speak.</div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsSEX8ufx-I/AAAAAAAAAB8/v_7Al_qoN6I/s1600-h/IMG_0220.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsSEX8ufx-I/AAAAAAAAAB8/v_7Al_qoN6I/s320/IMG_0220.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387576601214961634" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-size:x-small;">Our first African fauna: a cockroach. Fast little guy...</span></div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsSEXZaLGWI/AAAAAAAAAB0/W6qGTiWDDfU/s1600-h/IMG_0233.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsSEXZaLGWI/AAAAAAAAAB0/W6qGTiWDDfU/s320/IMG_0233.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387576591734479202" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">Airplane three: Nairobi to Bujumbura, Burundi. We would wait there for refueling, and new passengers, then continue on to Kigali</span>.</div></span></div><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsSEW9wfpjI/AAAAAAAAABs/MbwJ_fRR_qE/s1600-h/IMG_0234.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsSEW9wfpjI/AAAAAAAAABs/MbwJ_fRR_qE/s320/IMG_0234.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387576584311907890" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:Georgia, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;">Kenya Airways making sure everyone is getting on the right plane</span>...</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div></div>Volcanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10502676133310181171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2698215370065497646.post-35742683413774233792009-10-01T02:51:00.000-07:002009-10-01T03:36:14.375-07:0030 hours<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Flew. A lot. Here are some images:</span></span><div><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsSAH5oYy8I/AAAAAAAAABk/c22MwOHhaXI/s1600-h/IMG_0196.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsSAH5oYy8I/AAAAAAAAABk/c22MwOHhaXI/s320/IMG_0196.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387571927459613634" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;">First airplane. 747 Air France from Toronto to Paris Charles de Gaulle. Slept almost the whole flight.</span></span></div></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsSAHoXQ7AI/AAAAAAAAABc/z4rRa8FuwMA/s1600-h/IMG_0198.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsSAHoXQ7AI/AAAAAAAAABc/z4rRa8FuwMA/s320/IMG_0198.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387571922824391682" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:verdana, serif;font-size:small;"><div style="text-align: center;">Paris Charles de Gaulle, Terminal 2F. Spent several hours here. Watched Jacob's Ladder on iTunes.</div></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsSAHNzkhvI/AAAAAAAAABU/HqCIfBC9niI/s1600-h/IMG_0202.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsSAHNzkhvI/AAAAAAAAABU/HqCIfBC9niI/s320/IMG_0202.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5387571915695359730" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">A</span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">irplane number 2: 767 from Paris to Nairobi.</span></span></div></div>Volcanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10502676133310181171noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2698215370065497646.post-11326182427169533182009-09-28T07:23:00.000-07:002009-09-29T04:24:35.752-07:00Between the closing and the leaving<div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><b><br /></b></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsDLsBdMGGI/AAAAAAAAABM/COwRKa50vX0/s1600-h/IMG_0171.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsDLsBdMGGI/AAAAAAAAABM/COwRKa50vX0/s320/IMG_0171.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386529111500658786" /></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Goodbyes after the last show in Toronto: Amy and her mutt and Amy's mutt's new best friend - Gord's son Jeremy</span></span></div></span><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsDLrpoTdSI/AAAAAAAAABE/RD3dYRKyneg/s1600-h/IMG_0179.JPG" style="text-decoration: none;"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsDLrpoTdSI/AAAAAAAAABE/RD3dYRKyneg/s320/IMG_0179.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386529105104827682" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Jerem</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">y feeds me some ice cream after the show</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsDI_dGzAYI/AAAAAAAAAAk/nnYmkAIwdbs/s1600-h/IMG_0167.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsDI_dGzAYI/AAAAAAAAAAk/nnYmkAIwdbs/s320/IMG_0167.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386526146805563778" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">Our final audience in Toronto: Sept 27, 2009</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsDI-x8vAqI/AAAAAAAAAAc/k_M1oIBzB3E/s1600-h/IMG_0159.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/SsDI-x8vAqI/AAAAAAAAAAc/k_M1oIBzB3E/s320/IMG_0159.JPG" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5386526135220634274" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;">The real Michael Redhill at the Midpoint (the local post-show hang out)</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Parting is such sweet sorrow:</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">1)</span></b> Meredith (Volcano's General Manager) calls the Hotel des Milles Collines in Kigali to confirm our airport pickup. The front desk says they have no record of our staying there. 14 people. Meredith's first heart attack of the day. They subsequently find the booking.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">2)</span></b> Experienced international traveller Ross (that's me) realizes he's booked onto flights to Kenya and Nigeria after the tour (research for the Africa Trilogy - the next big project), but somehow neglected to get visas for either country. This lack of visas has managed to escape the attention of all of us: AD, GM, travel agent. Volcano - the international touring company! Our excuse is that we've been entirely focused on the logistic s of the Rwanda tour. In any case - this touches off a hectic day. Heart attack number two.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">3)</span></b> The visa hunt. After failing to reach the Nigerian High Commission in Ottawa (i don't think anyone actually works there) for HOURS; after discovering there is no Nigerian embassy in Rwanda (online, at least - no record); after talking to Nigerian friends in Canada (only way in now would be bribery!); it is determined that i need to change all my travel plans. So - the day before he leaves - Ross gets booked on an entirely different flight from the rest of the team (cheapest way to do it). I now will fly Air France through Paris. I will meet everyone else (they're on KLM through Amsterdam) in Nairobi. We will all arrive in Kigali together - a couple days from now! No more Nigeria. But Kenya is still on: a wayward Canadian can buy a visa at the Jomo Kenyatta airport. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;">4) </span></b>Our stage manager - Guillaume - gets a call from the dry cleaner on King St. in Toronto: he is told that the men's suits have been damaged in the dry cleaning process. Heart attack number three. How are they damaged? Faded. But information is not solid as there is a considerable language barrier (neither party speaks the other's native tongue). Practice for the tour? It turns out there is no perceivable damage in one suit - and they didn't clean the other, for fear of damaging it. We still have costumes. We will not use that dry cleaner again.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;">Off we go...</span></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-small;"><br /></span></div></div></div></div>Volcanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10502676133310181171noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2698215370065497646.post-45296501472046744842009-09-26T09:49:00.000-07:002009-09-26T10:24:06.296-07:00Toronto Before Departure<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/Sr5I5iJslkI/AAAAAAAAAAU/GLzOlmUkq4A/s1600-h/_MG_8197C.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 236px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_bInSzUNQlho/Sr5I5iJslkI/AAAAAAAAAAU/GLzOlmUkq4A/s320/_MG_8197C.jpg" border="0" alt="" id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5385822357638911554" /></a><div style="text-align: center;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-small;">Lili Francks and Gord Rand in Goodness. Photo by John Lauener</span></span></div><div><div style="text-align: center;"><br /></div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">This is the story of a Canadian play traveling to Rwanda to take part in a theatre and music festival. The play is Goodness, by Michael Redhill. The festival is Arts Azimuts, organised by Odile Gakire Katesi (aka "Kiki"). 2009 is the 15th anniversary year of the Rwandan genocide, and Kiki's theme for programming is "Culture and Conflicts: genocide, slavery and apartheid". Goodness is a play about genocide, but we have only ever played this story in the West (Toronto, Edinburgh, New York, Vancouver). We have no idea what the Rwandan audience will think of us...</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:x-large;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;">1)</span></b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:small;"> </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">We open in Toronto on Sept 16, 2009 for a tune-up run before we travel to Africa. The reviews are strong:</span></span><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana, serif;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" ;font-family:Verdana;font-size:medium;"><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">NOW Magazine (5 / 5 stars): </span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-weight: normal; font-family:Verdana, serif;"><a href="http://www.nowtoronto.com/stage/story.cfm?content=171435"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">http://www.nowtoronto.com/stage/story.cfm?content=171435</span></a></span></span></b></div><!--StartFragment--> <!--EndFragment--> <div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">extraordinary"</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"haunting"</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"a passionate, enthralling production, not to be missed "</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 20px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The Globe and Mail (3.5 / 4 stars):<br /></span></span></b><a href="http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/arts/redhills-goodness-prepares-for-rwanda/article1291632/"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">http://www.theglobeandmail.com/news/arts/redhills-goodness-prepares-for-rwanda/article1291632/</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />"Stories might not be enough, but this story comes close"<br />"a play that fearlessly throws itself at the thorniest questions posed by the violent last century and leaves no audience member unscratched"<br />"under Ross Manson's skillful, simple direction, Goodness works on all its levels"<br /><br /></span></span></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The Toronto Star (3.5 / 4 stars)<br /></span></span></b><a href="http://www.thestar.com/entertainment/theatre/article/696977"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">http://www.thestar.com/entertainment/theatre/article/696977</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />"smoulderingly intense"<br />"gut-wrenchingly convincing"<br />"you won't find it easy to forget"<br /><br /></span></span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The Toronto Sun (4.5 / 5 stars)<br /></span></span></b><a href="http://www.torontosun.com/entertainment/columnists/john_coulbourn/2009/09/18/10970496-sun.html"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">http://www.torontosun.com/entertainment/columnists/john_coulbourn/2009/09/18/10970496-sun.html</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />"Goodness reigns supreme"<br />"play about genocide brought to dizzying new heights with tremendous cast and inspired direction"<br />"it is a work that demands to be seen"<br /><br /></span></span><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">The National Post<br /></span></span></b><a href="http://www.nationalpost.com/story.html?id=2010257"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">http://www.nationalpost.com/story.html?id=2010257</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />"powerful"<br />"superb"<br />"the personal and political... collide and explode"<br /><br /></span></span></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Mooney on Theatre<br /></span></span></b><a href="http://www.mooneyontheatre.com/2009/09/goodness-volcano-theatre/#more-1443"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">http://www.mooneyontheatre.com/2009/09/goodness-volcano-theatre/#more-1443</span></span></a><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br />"the perfect balance is kept and the work is seemless"<br />"a marvel to watch"<br />"if you want a moving piece of theatre, go see it"</span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">Classical 96</span></span></b></div><div><b><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" font-weight: normal; font-family:Verdana, serif;"><a href="http://www.classical963fm.com/arts/reviews/item/goodness"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">http://www.classical963fm.com/arts/reviews/item/goodness</span></a></span></span></b></div> <!--EndFragment--> <div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">"</span></span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family:verdana;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">a triumph"</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: x-large;"><b>2) </b></span>We are all getting organized. There have been many emails back and forth to Rwanda about accommodation, transportation, venue, equipment etc. We are coordinating the tour with Rwandans, Belgians, Americans and Canadians on the ground in Butare and Kigali. There have been vaccinations and malaria pill prescriptions filled. We have learned that plastic bags are not allowed in Rwanda (an eco-law), so we are organizing our luggage appropriately. We are buying bug spray and sun block. </span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 22px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">We are beginning to believe that </span><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 31px; "><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;">we are really going...</span></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 22px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="line-height: 22px;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size: small;"><br /></span></span></div><div><span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-size:130%;"><span class="Apple-style-span" style=" line-height: 22px;font-size:14px;"><br /></span></span></div></span></div></div>Volcanohttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10502676133310181171noreply@blogger.com0