WHUDA: Preserving the art of Stonemasonry

*Stonework by Rivaldo Diamoh Sithole of WHUDA*

WHUDA (Winfried Holze Urban Design Architectures) a marble artworks studio which was started by Winfried Holze in 2018. It has since become one of the few marble arts companies actively preserving and transferring the art of stonemasonry.

Stonemasonry has, in the past decade, been cited as being amongst the fading forms of indigenous knowledge in Southern African countries. The Great Zimbabwe Museum, with the support of the Endangered Material Knowledge Programme, has been particularly focused on conserving the knowledge around dry stone masonry and encouraging a movement to reinvigorate the practice. It is an understatement to say that patronising this craft is a positive step in cultural appreciation.

The WHUDA team not only preserves this craft as artisans but they extend this skill to explore contemporary social narratives as well.

On the 6th of March 2025 the National Art Gallery of Namibia will be hosting WHUDA in an exhibition titled “Earth to Light” and the possibility of seeing some great works while exploring some insightful themes is palpable. The team’s recent works include an exhibition during KIFA Week 2024 (Kalahari International Festival of Arts), where the WHUDA team showcased works inspired by cultural integrity and mental healthcare which are very crucial subjects in our globalised world. Their latest work, “Silhouette Evolution” was a multidisciplinary event which portrayed the potent role of stonemasonry in contemporary arts and culture. Here’s a dive into that event;

Silhouette Evolution: Stonemasonry on perception and transformation

*William Tonderai (Left) and Ino Ati the painter (Right)*

On the 25th of January 2025, I had the exciting experience of attending the Silhouette Evolution live session by William and Ino Ati. A silhouette is an image often in a single hue and tone against a brighter background, usually a black shadow against a white backdrop. Evolution has to do with the gradual development of something. This event made use of these concepts to explore perception and transformation.

This was the scene of the event; a painter painting the image of a sculptor who was in the process of sculpting while the audience dipped in and out of observing that process. Going to add their strokes on two group paintings that were in the next room, having conversations and drinks or playing a game of pool. Meanwhile, the stone being carved, the reason we were all there, was going through its transformation amid all these activities.

This event was without a doubt, an insanely creative way to explore the nature of transformation. That the world doesn’t stop to watch you change and grow, you just do as the world goes on, so that Pinterest quote saying “Stop waiting for the right time, and just start working on being who you want to be” has some truth to it.

One of the collective paintings the audience worked on, led by Shamoulla

In terms of perception, it seemed, the idea of a silhouette captures this very well. Fundamentally “what is your single hue image as everything else falls in the background?” and that “simply because it’s not the center of your perception doesn’t mean it loses value or ceases its own evolution” (your main character is not the only main character).

The event masterfully showcased three ideas associated with perception;

That it is uniquely held; different people may look at the same things yet walk away with different ideas of it.
That to be perceived is not a requirement of transformation.
That what we perceive to be of highest importance is often what shapes our experiences.

While the audience simply watched a man turn a rock into a rock shaped like an owl. The painter created a much more dynamic image,capturing the sculptor’s movements while centering the owl with yellow eyes emerging from a block of marble. I mention the stonework as being at center stage, but, gathering from the painting titled “The sculptor’s nest” it could easily be the sculptor’s immense focus around all the movement and noise that could be said to be the crowning piece of the event, or the painter’s creative eye and craft in his portrayal of the transformation taking place in front of him that were the event’s masterpieces, or the paintings in the next room that the audience passively worked on together with less attention given to them until the sculpture was done. Or someone could’ve walked away remembering the owl in the painting and how it’s yellow eyes were watching us, and the guys playing pool could be looking on the day they had a great game of pool which stopped because it rained.

Ultimately, the title Silhouette Evolution perfectly captures this idea of a fantastic transformation taking place in the background. The question of which fantastic transformation takes the forefront depends on the viewers perspective, at the same time, that single perspective doesn’t lessen the value of the other transformations taking place.

William at work

*Close Up of the Sculptors Nest by Ino Ati*

Conclusion

Go visit the exhibition on the 6th of March 2024 at the NAGN to experience WHUDA artworks. The Silhouette Evolution is only one of the many means of storytelling and exploring of concepts that the WHUDA team has participated in. As they continue to contribute to the preservation of stonemasonry as an art form, their creations and the narratives they explore effectively document the times in culturally specific forms, while having the potential to address several contemporary issues.

Reach out;

WHUDA:

Instagram: @whudamarbleartnamibia

Website : http://www.whudamarbleart.com

Ino Ati (Painter of “The sculptors nest”) : @by_ino_ati (instagram)

Shamoulla (Coordinator of the group paintings): @shamoulla_creating (instagram)

The Story of Zuva and Mwedzi

In the spirit of romance, love and union, I decided to revisit an old folktale I came across some year back about how the world came to be. For a good while, I believed that this was the Shona, world creation story. I’d later find that there were different versions of it, all written with the bold claim of being the single story of how the Shona lore described the creation of the world, each with the same characters, Musikavanhu/Nyadenga (God), Zuva (the Sun), Mwedzi (the moon), Hweva (Morning star) and Morongo (Evening star).

This story I’ve shared is a blend of all the versions I’ve encountered, enjoy ❤ …

This story goes…

Many years ago, before the great hammer hit the ground and before the world came to be, there was Nyadenga, who sat in constant contemplation. A moment came when he decided to move, in this moment he felt a great joy followed by an intense desire to share this experience. So he created to Zuva, full and fiery with a portion of Nyadenga’s greatest sense of passion and joy.

After a time, it became clear that Zuva could not relate to Nyadenga, he had a loneliness about him which saddened Nyadenga. On a certain day, Nyadenga shed a tear at the sight of a lonesome Zuva, who’d been yearning for something he’d never known before. Nyadenga kept this tear and breathed life into it. Giving birth to Mwedzi, a companion for Zuva.

The two shared a beautiful romance, and Nyadenga delighted in it. He gave them the ability to realize this love through creation. Together they were amazing creators, Zuva would create beautiful plants and vegetation and show them to Mwedzi, and Mwedzi would create insects, birds and many gentle animals to show to Zuva. The more they created and shared in the beauty of their creations, the more their love grew. Nyadenga had been gifting them with inspiration when they created and stoking their love when they were apart, it gave him a sense of whimsy to do this for them in secret, and the amusement he felt when they’d each come and talk about the other in their private times with Nyadenga, filled him with more gratification than he’d ever anticipated.

Gradually, they grew more and more distant from Nyadenga, relishing only in their union. No longer speaking to their creator, leaning into a vanity over the works they had done.

Nyadenga grew furious at this, after all, the entire reason he created them, was to share the joy of life with them.

He watched as their vanity transformed their love into arrogance, believing they had done it all on their own. He leaned further back when they no longer sought to create as a mark of affection and their once heartfelt devotion to each other turned into competition.

Their new commitment to outshine each other increasingly became fuelled with spite. Each one determined to prove that their creations were more beautiful, more important, more useful than the other.

In a moment of rage, Zuva, knowing that Mwedzi’s animals fed on his plants, began to lace some with poison, and sure enough, the animals began to die off. A grief stricken Mwedzi, not knowing how to deal with this deception grew angry at her creations, she had often bragged that her animals were stronger because they could move freely as they pleased and that she could easily command them to stomp on Zuva’s motionless plants if she wished. She never imagined that he would poison them, or that they could succumb to the attack of a motionless creature. Soon after she created more violent animals to hunt down and kill the ones that had embarrassed her.

This war that grew between Zuva and Mwedzi was felt by their creations. The plants vowed never to speak, fearing their father would set them ablaze. The herbivorous creatures grew more anxious, and uncertain, not knowing why they were punished with such violent siblings. And the carnivorous animals turned on each other, those who revelled in their roles as predators making a sport of attacking those who had sunken into shame and guilt for their violent nature.

Nyadenga could no longer bear the chaos. He called Zuva and Mwedzi and showed them the pain they had been causing. But they were too caught up in their strife to truly care about the harm they were causing to their creations, only choosing to blame each other.

So one day, Nyadenga took from Mwedzi’s smaller carnivores, the snake, which at the time only hunted for mice, and he filled it with poison from one of Zuva’s plants and set it loose. As Zuva paced and inspected his garden, he grabbed this snake with careless rage, mistaking it for a fallen branch and it’s hiss for an expression of disrespect, he had believed the plants honoured him with their silence.

He felt the poison shoot up and without much time he was with Nyadenga.

Mwedzi would meet a similar fate, when she grabbed the snake to return it closer to the mice after seeing it wonder near Zuva’s garden.

The two pleaded with Nyadenga, begging to be sent back, Nyadenga wouldn’t have it, but he allowed each of them a single ask for their eternal lives in Nyadenga’s house. Mwedzi begged for them to be able to watch over their creations. Nyadenga granted this with the condition that they never do this together, that they were to spend eternity watching over their world apart, and were to never directly interact with their creations as they did before.

After hearing that their union would not continue in eternity. A teary eyed Zuva begged for a chance to work on one last creation with Mwedzi, as a monument to their love. She accepted this, it hurt her too that their relationship would end, even though it had become so bitter. Together, with the help of Nyadenga they spent time creating mankind and womankind, pouring bits of themselves and their shared love and knowledge into them, and placed them on earth to help keep harmony amongst all creatures.

Soon after they were done, they shared a final kiss and a teary farewell then Nyadenga kept his word and separated them. Calling Zuva’s watch time day time and Mwedzi’s watch time night time.

They drew nearer to Nyadenga, in their separation and the love that they had shared for each other resurfaced. So Nyadenga, not wanting them to suffer the lonesomeness that had once caused a heartbreaking isolation in Zuva, allowed them to send messengers; Hweva and Morongo, between each other, while keeping the vow that they never meet again.

The End

ǂAONI //AES : Reclaiming the Historic Narrative of the ǂAoni People Through Theatre

Section 6 of the Swakopmund Protocole

The owners of the rights shall be the holders of traditional knowledge, namely the local and traditional communities, and recognized individuals within such communities, who create, preserve and transmit knowledge in a traditional and intergenerational context in accordance with the provisions of section 4.

The application of this section is partially significant for how it allows customary groups to take ownership of their stories. The colonial era had oppressors taking the role of the authority on people’s stories. While we remain grateful for education, we can’t neglect the messaging that, “foreign knowledge is superior to indigenous knowledge.” This has played out as indigenous people not often being at the forefront of being historians of their own cultures. Since independence, many cultural groups have been making efforts to correct the stories that have been told about them. In this article we’re covering two works that have been conducted in Namibia, surrounding the cultural relationship between people and the ocean.

A phenomenal production retelling the story of the ǂAoni people and the ocean. The play consists of a cast of three, the father (Dawie Engelbrecht), the mother played by Hazel Hinda and their daughter Khoendikhoes, played by Chantell Uiras (Diolini). The story follows the three as they revisit the events of the colonial past and how these impacted on the current socioeconomic position of the ǂAoni people, a clan of Nama people mostly found around the !Kuiseb river in the Erongo region also referred to as the Topnaar community.

Setting things straight

One of the main issues covered in this play is that of the history of the community. Colonial era historians alleged that the community’s displacement during the colonial era was in response to countering fighting within the community and harm to the natural environment. The story starts by letting us know who these people were recognized as, ‘the water people’ or guardians of the water and marine life. Their role as caretakers was undermined by the ambitions of the colonizers. It was also clear that they were moved without consultation and that it was carried out in a forceful and chaotic manner. They did not stand a chance against the armed invaders and had no other choice but to comply. An all too familiar history. Before anyone else felt the hit of the colonial invaders, they, being at the coast, felt the first and strongest blows, and because the settling of foreign invaders on the coastal territory did not help their case much.

They spoke of the !Nara fruit (Acanthosicyos horrida), how it was not just food, but the unique way in which each family farmed it was a way to distinguish between families. After the displacement, restoring the practices that were central to their cultural identities has been a struggle not so much because they have lost the capacity to do so, but more because of the policies put in place to make sure that they never do Policies that have seen their way into post-independence Namibia. The play was not made out to be an attack on the contemporary government, but a channel to shed light to the fact that they (the Topnaar community) too are a people that were uniquely disempowered by the apartheid system, and that their story continues to be swept under other emerging and apparent issues. The story has been written in collaboration with academic research institutes like the University of Namibia (UNAM), One Ocean Hub, Global Research Fund, and UK Research and Innovation. Researchers such as Robert Vigne are also amongst those who have showcased the significantly disproportionate level of harm faced by the Topnaar Community during the colonial era. It’s safe to say that the message shared is one grounded in facts not a baseless critique.

When speaking to the audience after the play, a leader from the ǂAonin community, Joel Kooitjie, as well as, acting chief of community Stoffel Anamab, pointed out the struggles that their people continue to face today. Some impacts include the fact that they are only about two Topnaar people in local authority offices and that decision makers in their area can sometimes fail to capture their context very well and ultimately miss their needs. Furthermore, as a community that had largely survived on marine life for sustenance, bearing witness to the harm the ocean and its creatures have faced while disempowered from taking any feasible steps to help serves as a testament to the gradual weakening of their own development, this is in part because a great amount of their income came from inland circulation of oceanic goods. The historical and cultural relevance of ocean governance in this community has been significantly undermined and resulted in having to re-adapt to a life where their strongest skills remain in the backburner. It goes without saying that this need to suppress who they are in order to be convenient for invaders is a level of robbery that digs at the core of personhood.

Conclusion

The play ǂAONI //AES is an example of the Swakopmund Protocole at work. It’s the active reclaiming of a history by the people. It is also an assertion of who they are and who this land has known them to be. The impoverishment and struggle they face today is a result of being subject to a system that has unfortunately kept them down. The post-colonial government canntot take the blame for this, but, in their continuous efforts to decolonize Namibia, they can take the Topnaar Community and their pleas into consideration.

Understanding the Swakopmund Protocol: Empowering African Traditional Knowledge

The Swakopmund Protocol was created to make sure that Africans are the beneficiaries of all African Traditional Knowledge and it’s the central player in our latest exploration of rights in the series, Africa for Africans. We’re diving into works by some artists who have been using these intellectual property rights to pay homage to their cultures and contribute to the evolution of folk telling.

In a nutshell, this protocol was developed by the African Regional Intellectual Property Organization (ARIPO), with the goal of allowing customary groups to have their traditional knowledge and expressions of folklore protected. The colonial era brought about the consequence of demonizing African lore. All of a sudden stories that had been shared for educational purposes, entertainment and community building became sub-par. It’s no secret that such systemic changes had greater, long lasting impacts. Some notable impacts are biopiracy, the false retelling of local knowledge by invaders, and a forced depersonalization of cultural identities.

Protecting the knowledge and how it is expressed and who gets to express in allows African groups to reclaim narratives and forge new, desired identities. In this legal tool, “expressions” include:

verbal expressions, such as stories, epics, legends, poetry, riddles and other narratives such as signs, words, symbols and names;
musical expressions, such as songs and instrumental music;
expressions by movement, such as dances, plays, rituals and other performances, whether or not reduced to a material form; and
tangible expressions, such as productions of art, in particular, drawings, designs, paintings, carvings, sculptures, pottery, terracotta, mosaic, woodwork, metal ware, jewellery, basketry, needlework, textiles, glassware, carpets, costumes, handicrafts, musical instruments and architectural forms.

ARIPO was established in 1976 in Lusaka, to specifically regulate and address the intellectual property rights of Africans. Soon after this, the Harare protocol was created in 1982, giving special attention to patents and industrial designs. Following this was the Banjul Protocol of 1993 which addressed trademarks and service marks.

Neither addressed traditional knowledge and folklore. In 2004 ARIPO sought assistance from the World Intellectual Property Organisation seeking assistance with formulating a legal tool that could address this. After all, traditional stories, lore, music and art are aspects of cultural identities and are not like other creative works that can be copywritten and attributed to specific, clearly identifiable, individual artists.

So, the Swakopmund Protocol was created to address the need to protect traditional knowledge and folklore in August 2010. There are still some conflicts surrounding rights over traditional knowledge, like ownership of brewing processes or rock painting styles that stretch across different cultures, these aspects are still being worked around and well dive into them more in upcoming releases. This introductory post gives a brief glance at this tool, stay tuned as we talk more about how this has helped in the development of Afrofuturism, contemporary artworks and economic development in different African countries.

UNO and HATAGO : Review

***SPOILERS***

RATING: PG (Depictions of Sexual Assault)

Uno and Hatago is an aptly timed production. It was largely marketed as a lesbian film, and it is, but it goes beyond that by addressing harmful cultural practices and promoting unity.

Uno and Hatago follows the story of a nurse, Uno, played by Diana Master, who’s world suddenly crashes when her family finds out about her sexual orientation. Up until then, Uno had been living in Windhoek with her partner Hatago, a feminist and LGBTQ+ rights activist played by Uakamburuavi Jeomba.

Patriarchy, Family Secrets and Tradition

The film is centered on how Uno’s family of OvaHerero traditionalists react to finding out that she is a lesbian woman. The traditionalism is explored from two ends. First is the ‘traditionalist’ idea that lesbianism is not acceptable or that is something foreign, and second is a traditionalism which acknowledges that lesbian women (and other members of the LGBTQ+ community) have always existed in Namibia and that true tradition is that this is not unAfrican.

The patriarchal nature of the first perspective is perfectly portrayed by Uno’s uncle, played by Mervin Cheez Uahupirapi, and her father, played by Lesley Tjiueza. These two played these characters so well, I left the theatre with so much animosity for fictional characters. The way they are written doesn’t stretch far from reality at all, the audience is likely to think of characters in their own lives who are like these two.

We meet Uno’s uncle during an intimate gathering at a restaurant, where they (Uno, Hatago and a few of their friends), have gone to celebrate Uno’s graduation. During that same night, Uno’s uncle is having dinner with his girlfriend, an extra-marital partner. His girlfriend insists on taking a picture of him, and as he protests this, he notices that she also captured his niece, Uno, kissing a woman right behind him. Suddenly his focus turns away from the possibility of being caught cheating to excitement having caught his niece in what he considers to be a cultural ‘sin’. He asks his girlfriend to share this picture with him and takes it to her father under the guise of taking immediate action to save the family’s reputation. His solution to this is to marry her off to Tove, his nephew with seemingly low marital prospects. The two agree on a dowry that Uno’s father can pay and thereafter, call Uno to the homestead to tell her that they found out about her ‘city life antics’ and about the marriage they have organized for her. In line with unspoken cultural norms, this uncle sexually assaults Uno to ‘prepare her’ for marriage.

Her father shows pride in his recently graduated daughter for her qualifications before completely discarding that in favour of viewing her as a shameful person. From the moment he finds out that his daughter is a lesbian, he focuses on hiding this “shame.” Essentially, it seems like, she is not truly successful if she does not let a man dominate her. He expresses this more by defending her uncle and disowning her after she reports the assault and carries on her relationship with Hatago. Embracing her lesbianism is a rebellion against the idea that she is not a real woman if she is not in a relationship with a man, just as being gay may be falsely viewed as not ‘real manhood’ if one is not dominant over a woman.

This form of ‘traditionalism’ which focuses on filling heteronormative and patriarchal templates completely undermines that dignity of women and this film explores this in a realistic way. The fact that Uno’s uncle was cheating is a non-issue while Uno’s committed and healthy relationship is. The fact that he has violated his niece is less of an issue than the fact that she is a lesbian, even to the police officer who recieves the matter.

It is Uno’s grandmother who sheds light on another of the other view of ‘traditionalism.’ The idea that lesbianism has always existed and that assault on women is an unacceptable norm. She helps Uno escape and return to the city after finding out that her uncle has attacked her, and the film ends with her sharing a story of a same-sex partner that she had before being married off to her husband. She shares about the grief she experienced when that partner passed away and the pain she felt not being able to express the extent of that grief given the nature of their relationship. She emphasizes togetherness through love and acceptance within a family, rather than allowing harm to go on, in the name of protecting family honour. She frames honour as being something that can come from showing up for each other rather than maintaining socially imposed images. In this case, the images of the ‘macho men’ and ‘high achieving, good girl daughter.’

Uno’s mother starts off with a similar stance to that of her husband. Rejecting her daughter because of her sexual orientation. However she gradually leans towards accepting her daughter after seeing that her family is becoming torn apart because of this, and worse still, that Uno’s sexual orientation has not stopped her from becoming a productive, successful and helpful member of society, or from having a child. Throughout the film, she maintains a regal and stoic disposition, not showing affection and avoiding vulnerability until it becomes clear that her husband’s stubbornness may force Uno to completely cut them off. This may have also been amplified when she meets her daughters mother-in-law, Buruxa (I hope I spelt that right), who shows unconditional love, encouragement and acceptance to Uno. Buruxa is the mother Uno needed and this may not have landed well with Uno’s biological mother. Soon enough, she takes on the grandmother’s stance, to lean into love and acceptance, while maintaining her rigid mannerisms. The character doesn’t change drastically, but in subtle ways like inviting Uno home and making her tea, and in her most expressive moment when she stands up for Uno to her husband, pointing out that his pursuit of family honour is fueled by hatred and that this is not the kind of family that can stay together for very long. She seems to represent anyone who has experienced this changing of perspectives, from a tradition rejection to one of radical acceptance.

Criticisms

Unfortunately we do not get to see Uno’s mother reacting to the assault and we do not get to see her express pride in her daughter’s achievements. We just see her expressing a whole lot of disappointment and coldness. Which can bring up the question of whether her distant nature is just who she is or if it came as a result of finding out that her daughter is a lesbian. Sure, Uno becomes tense when she notices that her mother is upset with her but the inexpressiveness seems to continue even after they have made amends, and seems to be there when Uno’s grandmother shares her story. It is not clear if we should expect affection from this woman if this is the personality she has always had or if she has taken on this persona as a reaction to Uno being a lesbian.

With the exception of Uno and Hatago’s friends whose cultural backgrounds and sexual orientations remain a mystery, the OtjiHerero heterosexual women we meet are all homophobic. On the other end of the scale, Buruxa, the only other woman we meet who is accepting of Uno and Hatago’s relationship, is of Damara heritage. Her sexual orientation doesn’t come up, but there would have been some reality balance in seeing a non-Herero speaking homophobe or a non-LGBTQ+, OtjiHerero speaking ally. This may come off as pitting the two customary groups against each other in how they view LGBTQ+ issues given that Namibia has the added context of tribalism and these two groups are mentioned on opposing ends of this issue. (But then again, the existence of this dynamic in this one story doesn’t mean there’s no alternative dynamic elsewhere, so don’t miss the plot by centralizing these criticisms)

Conclusion

More LGBTQ+ stories are needed in media, especially one’s like this one that humanize same-sex partners. Homophobia is just dispensed without consideration for the humanity of the people being attacked and the fact that they too are members of society (Just scroll through the comments section of any LGBTQ+ related post on the Namibian pages, it’s a mess). Beyond this, the authenticity of LGBTQ+ stories told by a predominantly LGBTQ+ production team didn’t go past any of the audience members, and likely contributed to how impactful the overall story is. The story touches on other themes that are not LGBTQ+ centric such as family, harmful cultural practices, civic action, women’s rights, gender norms and romance (I didn’t get into it but Hatago is such a supportive and loving partner, they’re a wholesome couple which makes it so much easier to root for them. The way their relationship is depicted is enjoyable and if not for the political aspect of this movie, you may want to watch it for the romance story.)

Definitely a must watch.

The Wasp (A Review)

Age Rating: 16+

*There’s a couple of spoilers in here*

NTN (The National Theatre of Namibia) came back with a bang and I am more than glad that I didn’t skip this play, The Wasp was, in one word, jaw-dropping. When we act like there’s no elephant in the room, it will eventually stomp us. That’s one of the major themes in NTN’s latest production “The Wasp.” This play is not for the feint-hearted, you might just question your own ethics while watching it, at least that’s what I found myself doing during the climax of this, thriller.

The Wasp is the story of two women, who reconnect after years to rekindle what they keep referring to as a friendship, but, friendship is the furthest term I’d use to describe this relationship. They are the only two characters we meet and they’re all we need, Morgan Lloyd Malcom’s writing this had a fly on the wall effect to it, giving us the sense that we know the characters very well through us eavesdropping on some very hush hush conversations, meanwhile still being able to deliver twists that keep the audience hooked. So a 10/10 from me on those stage directions and the dialogue. Here are my biggest takeaways from this play:

On Friendships and “Friendships”

Ever wondered what the worst case scenario could be in a friendship where unaddressed competition and bitterness are at the core? Well The Wasp does a great job at showing us just what might happen if you and that frienemy keep walking on blurred lines. This play shows us that things can change and eventually something has to give in blurred line based relationships.

The play starts with a meeting at a café between the two, Heather and Carla. Heather has become wealthy since their school days while Carla lives more paycheck to paycheck, the remnants of what was a love-hate relationship between the two are clear in how they speak to eachother. In in their first meeting in years, the awkwardness of an unlikely meeting between two people who had fallen out was very well portrayed and spilt over into the audience. It was clear that there were a lot of unspoken words between them throughout that first meeting. Carla has little patience for any outside opinions about her, she has shown up fully prepared to fight Heather, should the need arise, it doesn’t, but if it had, best believe Carla was ready to go from the very beginning. Meanwhile, Heather is the embodiment of the seemingly polite aristocrat whose back handed statements are delivered like they are either facts or gifts.

Heather has a proposition, for Carla to kill her husband. Why Carla? A strong belief in her capacity to be callous. The oddness of the proposition struck us all, a very much needed “o O” from one of the audience members, vocalized what we were all thinking. If someone wants their husband, or anyone killed, why would they reach out to an old high school frienemy? Well the twist ending was the perfect pay-off for this confusion.

All too often fears of being alone, the need to assimilate or be one of the ‘cool kids’ can lead to whitewashing rather than confronting violations. This play shows how, if left unaddressed, these dynamics can spill over well into adulthood. How talks of ‘healing the wounded inner child’ don’t just stop at some internal reflection, but also involve looking at addressing conflict and hurts from other people, and how if that doesn’t happen, the cycles continue until either you or the cycle are broken.

The Authority of the Sacred Victim

*Big spoilers here*

Molly Brigid McGrath published a paper called “The Authority of the Sacred Victim” in 2020 which talks about the harms of maintaining a template of how a victim should be observed. That the possibility of harm by a social victim can result in the creation of new villains. It is wrong when an individual uses their trauma to justify causing trauma, it explains it, but it definitely doesn’t make it right or acceptable. This play does an excellent job at exploring that. It takes this a step further by giving us two protagonists who have understandable backstories for why they are the way they are, and why they do the things they do. Heather is the one looking to murder her husband for infidelity, resorting to catfishing Carla and spying on her before presenting this proposition, and even convincingly threatening to torture and kill Carla after the proposition is made. On the other hand, Carla violently bullied and sexually assaulted Heather in high school, because she was the more teacher’s pet type and her family was more loving than Carla’s abusive family. I’ll admit that it’s easier for me to lean towards Heather in this situation, bullies, especially the ones who do it intentionally not out of ignorance, are disgusting. Yup, I said it and I’d say it again. But the play is written in a way that asks us to both empathize with and dislike these two. Both are ‘sacred victims’ and the finale has one offering the other a way out, to choose to walk away and be forgiving, and start a new chapter or to embrace animosity. The choice she made was definitely worth the wait (not spoiling everything ).

Perfect is in the eye of the beholder

We are introduced to Carla the pregnant Mother of five sitting outside a café and smoking and Heather enters the scene making her out-of-placeness apparent. This place is a casual enough place for Carla yet too casual for the likes of Heather. On first listening their ‘have and have not’ relationship makes Heather’s situation more preferable until she speaks about how much she’s been struggling to have children. Carla dangles her upper hand in this instance and even offers to become a surrogate for some money, bragging about how easily she can get pregnant. After some awkwardness over this, the two gossip a little about a former classmate who is in a relationship with a serial cheater, briefly sharing a high horse over this before even that high horse is broken by how differently they think about it. Carla thinks its normal for men to cheat, the role of the woman is to tighten the leash on him, while Heather believes men should not be excused for such behavior. (Very much noted the heteronormativity of these views and their normalcy.)

Each woman is desperate to escape aspects of their lives. Heather longing for a healthy family of her own while Carla hopes for financial freedom. In our discovery of this, each one is free and confident with whatever they have over the other, and to point out the inferiority of the other. It is Heather who announces Carla’s difficult financial situation, repeating how desperate she must be, and that she’d “obviously” do anything for money. And while Heather speaks of her marital and fertility struggles, it is Carla who emphasizes how easy this part of life should be and adds salt to the wound by making light of Heather’s struggle, the discovery of the abuse in high school make Carla’s jokes more jarring and almost make her seem inhumanely cruel.

Conclusion

All in all, this play is fully worth the watch. If the opportunity ever presents itself, GO WATCH IT!!! These are only a few of the themes I picked up but there’s a lot more I left out. The cast, stage design, directions, all of it were a superb “welcome back to the theatre.” I hope to see more from this writer and can’t wait to see what else NTN has in store for us.

March Stories : Girls Night Out

Happy April first, we’ve got a new addition to our mini-March stories series, where we’re sharing stories written that center the holidays that we celebrated in the month of March, International Women’s Day, Independance Day and Easter. Girls Night Out is a story that acknowledges violence against women and girls following independence, how it has become something that spoils freedoms hoped for by many freedom fighters and how these terrifying situations have often become just common cautionary tales.

The dance started promptly at 6pm. Thandeka and Mary and I were already there by 5:30 , we didn’t know that people never came early for these events and we’d soon find out that we didn’t need to save up for new high heels unfamiliar make-up and heavy jewelry, we could have easily pulled off a look with some high tops, tube-tops and flared mini-skirts or shorts and lipstick. But it didn’t matter, we had just made it to our first school dance and that’s what mattered the most.

It was well orchestrated, we had told our parents that we would have a hockey match, an away game, and that’d work for a good cover to see the dance through to the end. None of us was particularly good at hockey, we’d made the team thanks to a quota formality and would tag along and bench. There was no game this weekend though, but we needed an excuse to make this happen, it was the last year of high school and we were going to make it count. The night would end with a sleepover at the home of Thandeka’s aunt, Ms Marange.

She was one of the teachers at the school with a house on campus, and, had played the role of a fairly open-minded older sister to her rather than that of an older mother as her familial title “mainini, young mother” had demanded. She’d go along with their plan as long as they promised to report to her every 15 minutes and to make sure they would head home and do their homework as soon as the dance was over. She was in her late forties, a former soldier who met her husband when he was in exile and moved to his home town soon after the war. He’d remained in the army, and travelled on missions with the NDF and she left that life and was now a drama teacher and writer, known for being unreserved and amicable enough for students to be very liberal in her presence yet firm enough to innerve cold-feet in anyone who thought of disrespecting her. “Yho, maborn-free with your pre-occupations” she mused upon seeing our shoes. I felt a slight wash of embarrassment because I really felt like an adult in my peep-toed heels.

People started piling into the school hall by 6:30, this was the big Independence day bash that took place annually and was always the source of the juiciest gossip and stories that would illicit a fear of missing out that served as enough justification for lying to our parents. “We were doing this for a greater cause…we must enjoy our youth,” we agreed. By the time everyone was settling in, we were barefoot, dancing in the glory of a very well executed con on our parents and a coming of age moment being experienced. Our fifteen minute report-backs to Ms Marange started off as a group endeavor and after around 8pm became individual check-ins. We’d separated after Terrance, a classmate of ours, had asked Thandeka to dance, Mary and I didn’t want to hover around them, so we moved away and soon enough Mary was swept away by Ndapewa, a girl she’d been enthralled with in the previous year while I remained absorbed in the music and dancing. Ms Marange didn’t seem to mind us splitting up, her responses to our check-ins were a slight nod and waving away while talked to some of the other teachers.

I was just about to show off my routine to Soulja-Boy’s Crank That when Mary tugged at my arm asking where Thandeka was. My impulsive shrug-off was met with a loud, “Where did she go!” from a raging Ms Marange. I knew the fifteen minute mark had just passed but this was a rare opportunity to show off that I knew all the moves from the music video. “I told you girls to make sure you report back every fifteen minutes. Both of you, go and find Thandeka now!” We raced out of the room, averting our eyes from the gaze of our nosey peers, none of whom had a word to say about Thandeka’s whereabouts.

“You were on the dance floor, didn’t you see where she went?” Mary asked.

“Honestly Mary, I wasn’t paying attention. Where’s Ndapewa, why isn’t she helping us look?” I responded in a tone that made my irritability very apparent.

“She’s checking the bathrooms, Marange started with me before we got to you, Ndapewa and a couple of other students were told to go check the bathrooms and the junior classes, you and I should probably head over to the car-park, the sports field and senior block.” Mary remained unbothered

“Why is she so furious, it’s not like Thandeka has been missing for hours, it’s just been a few minutes. Did you tell her she was with a boy?”

“No, and let’s keep it that way, you just know she would never let us forget if we did.”

“I don’t know, all I know is that I would rather search for Thandeka for the rest of the night than have my mother know where I really am.” Mary said, making me focus on the bigger picture.

We called for Thandeka and Terrence, scanning through the car park and the sports fields. The more we looked, the more the thought that they were somewhere fooling around eroded. She and Terrance flirted often and passed each other notes from time to time. She once said they had been texting on Mxit throughout the holiday before her phone was confiscated. So we had no reason to suspect that anything was awry. Our walk up to the classes was silent. Neither one of us wanted to discuss the possibility of anything terrible happening to Thandeka. The distress Ms Marange had shown had caught up to us, but neither of us would acknowledge it, jokes about horrid possibilities and expressions of annoyance turned into fast paced marches and echoed calls.

So when we headed back up-school to a crowd in front of the science lab, I was certain that the anvil I felt weighing on my chest had also struck Mary. She was braver than I was though, she shoved through the crowd to find a bleeding Thandeka centering this crowd of mumbling students being herded back by teachers. A teary eyed Ms Marange pacing rapidly on the phone, coupled with involuntary eaves dropping confirmed a worst case scenario that had just been too convoluted for us to plan for. Thandeka wasn’t moving, and Terrance had been taken to a separate classroom. My mind couldn’t comprehend it. Suddenly what had been my worst fear earlier that night paled in comparison to the actual reality. My parents were called, and they too were caught in the surrealness of what had taken place.

A combination of piecing together questions from the police interrogations and newspaper articles eventually helped us draw pictures of what had happened.

Thandeka and Terrence had been dancing, a supervisor who had been reminding them to stay at an arm’s length distance apart, claimed they stopped keeping track of them after realizing that they had been reporting to Ms Marange, and that they generally had been trusted students, so “…they didn’t require as much monitoring as more rowdy students.” A line in a newspaper article read. Eventually they left the hall and snuck into one of the science labs. They began to make-out and eventually she worried about her aunt looking for her, she wanted to head back to check-in, but Terrance insisted that she stay longer, he claimed that they tussled and she fell and hit her head on the corner of the table. Mary and I think he wanted a lot more, she’d wanted to save herself for marriage, and was deathly paranoid about becoming a mother before she was ready. But we only had his version of events.

We didn’t get to talk to Ms Marange after that night, not even at the funeral. To apologize for being lackadaisical about her panic that night. To apologize for putting her in that position and for causing this, to be part of her legacy at the school.

Photo by Hashtag Melvin

Anita

Anita is a fictional short story of a mother on the search for her daughter, admist frustrating bureaucracy, finding out that she didn’t know her daughter as well as he thought she did and the legend of the Zambezi water goddess Kitapo. It is written in honour of International women’s day, recognizing the lives of women who are extraodinary despite traits that may not be widely likeable or ‘perfect’ but simply because they exist as themselves on a day to day basis, the ancient lore that centers women and the incredible love held by many women who are mothers and daughters.

Anita

Anita woke up to the usual morning routine. Her alarm clock rang at 06:45, but she had hit the snooze button automatically. Anita would drift through some comfortable haze until her body had finally woken her up at 07:10. With bleary eyes, she scrolled through Instagram, chuckling to herself as she passed by memes and checked in to her horoscope. On any given day, she would see a motivational video on YouTube coaxing her out of the morning fog. At 07:20, she would jump out of bed and go through the routines as a matter of course: drag her from her sleep right to the kitchen for a piping hot cup of coffee, on which some Allan Watts-esque video droned in the background, accompanied by a steamy, self-indulgent shower into which she slipped herself-just long enough to clear the remnants of sleep.

This two-year ritual had been part of her life, interspersed periodically with stretching exercises or switching over to Pinterest to get her fix of inspiration. That is, until last week-Tuesday, to be exact-when everything changed. She called in late to work, and at first, coworkers thought she was merely ill and hadn’t called it in to human resources, so they weren’t alarmed. But to her mother, Mai Mushawako, the silence was loud. It was highly out of character for Anita not to call that evening, and highly unusual for her to completely ignore the myriad of messages sent onto her phone.

Anita’s studio apartment was on the ground floor of a newly built estate and told volumes about her Bohemian character. It was decorated with bottles reused as lamps, a shelf full of vinyl records, though sans phonograph, fiction novels, and books on African gods and customs. The walls were pasted with motivating sentences, and plants were thriving on every available nook. Nothing was disturbed; she looked like she had just stepped out, having left no traces of a tussle or kidnapping.

Mai Mushawako had become a fixture in the complex, knocking on doors in a frantic search for her daughter. She was clad in a chitenge, tightly wrapped around her body, with feet dragging in worn flip-flops. Many residents-who, because of her normally polished appearance, could barely recognize her-implored her for information. Each of those questions was tinged with increasing dread, building into a suspicion that maybe, just possibly, one of them knew more than they were letting on. They could not turn a blind eye to her desperate appeals; rather, they almost wished for some sort of answers while at the same time not wanting the worst to be confirmed.

The police at the missing persons’ unit reacted with a shrug, labeling Anita’s absence as youthful rebellion. Detectives Haufiku and Majapo were parents themselves, inured to such cases. When Mrs. Mushawako urged them, they would say some stock phrases: “We are doing our best,” “We are still waiting on more information.” With each rebuff, some of her respect for them eroded, and this amateur sleuthing became her only source of hope.

Mrs Mushawako put together over six months of details about Anita’s life in order to paint a fuller picture. There was Samantha, her close friend, pursuing her PhD in African studies, and a new connection in Anita’s life in the midst of discovering that she had been increasingly interested in the lore of Bantu, aspects of identity that Mai had hardly realized. Anita had been reading stories about their ancestors, learned the totem chants, and the long trek from the Congo basin to Zambezi. Mai felt guilty over the distance she had created between them with her heresies. Was she stifling the inquisitiveness in Anita with dogmatic Christian dogma? In a supposed attempt to piece together what might have been going on, Mai noticed that Anita had been communicating with a Professor Matenga, who was reported to be a specialist on the Kitapo water goddess legend. A water goddess named Kitapo, dear to the Tonga, miraculously shared a love with the Nyaminyami spirit-the walls of colonizers’ dams separating them both. This story, which would otherwise be considered a simple cautionary relationship tale, seemed to take whole new meaning now that her daughter was gone.

Confronting him with raw emotion, her voice cut through the air at a café meeting with the professor. “Have you involved my daughter in ungodly rituals?” she shouted, anger spiraling to despair. He attempted to calm her: “Your daughter has answered a call, wherever she is, she is safe…”. The words fell flat against her growing outrage. She stormed out, leaving the professor bewildered and detectives full of doubt over where this case was headed.

Mai Mushawako drove her Nissan into her village homestead. The loneliness of the journey weighed heavily on her. VaMushawako had remained in South Africa, saying life must go on, but to Mai every quiet moment felt like an eternity of anguish.

Gogo Mushawako sat on a lowly wooden stool, her body worn by time, but the presence of a queen. The two buildings behind her, a modest two-bedroom house built by VaMushawaro and a round hut kitchen, were a testament to the meaning of family and history. As Mai drew closer, Gogo’s knowing eyes met hers; an understanding which needed no words was made.

“I have to tell you what happened to Anita,” Mai started, a quiver in her voice. Gogo cut her off, “Your daughter was here, mwanangu. She has answered the call of Kitapo.” It was like thunder that hit her, sparking an instant storm of denial in her mind. Memories came flooding back-stories of her cousin who disappeared, elders’ whispers accompanying the absence.

“Do not be sad, mwanangu, Gogo said firmly yet calmly. “I will explain it all when the time is appropriate, but she is safe.” The reassurance fell flat – starkly in contrast to the deep bubbling sorrow within Mai. Overwhelmed by all this knowledge, she collapsed into sobs – her terrors fell like waves to the shore.

Her cries echoed in the homestead as neighbours averted their eyes; this was avoidance to not confront the grief they felt was imminent. In that instant, a piece of Mai’s heart broke, an impregnable bond that she felt with her daughter against the fraying mark of uncertainty.