Dancing

I used to dance, often. I'm convinced that dancing can turn any circumstance into something free and spontaneous - even when we have to force ourselves into rhythm. Few things have such an effect.

But at some point, I quit dancing. Life became all too serious. During college, it seemed like there was always another pending decision or opportunity. And there were any number of voices tugging at my attention. Through ignorance or confusion or pride or insecurity (probably some combination), I just wasn't very good at sorting through, terrible sometimes. I tended to isolate myself. Somehow, I let go of certain parts of my personality. It's amazing how easy it is to lose touch with self, no matter how independent we think we are.

Sometimes I think this adventure is about simply muddling through on my own, being quiet for long enough to figure out where I lost touch. Africa brings with it a lot of perspective. As much as anything, I wish you could see the way they dance here. Any momentary celebration or rush of emotion is reason for dancing. They dance with their entire bodies - hands and wrists and arms and heads and faces and feet and ankles and legs - all flailing about. They chant and sing and clap and yell. Africa is unique because - perhaps more than anywhere else - the people remain deeply in tune with their identity and culture. It is a culture filled with color and emotion - greens and purples (and blues and reds and yellows) and sufferings and elation like nowhere else on earth. And they wear it all on their faces when they dance.

I'm swept up, and I dance with them, more often than ever before. Every day brings some cause for dancing. Here are a few highlights:

• The night before the World Cup kicked off, I was in a massive crowd of people in Rwanda, watching the opening ceremony in a public square. There are two signature songs here for the tournament. People are crazy about them, and strike into dance whenever they are played in public. But never like we danced that first night. During the concert - hundreds, perhaps thousands of people stomping and yelling and cheering, relishing their moment to host the world's attention. I was right in the middle, hugging and stomping along. Everyone in that crowd owned the moment individually, for different reasons, but danced like it was their moment to share. And it was. Their passion was contagious. In that moment, I felt slightly more African myself.
• When I arrived here, there was a group of American college students visiting and staying in the same guesthouse. They all had great insight about being in Rwanda, and I hit it off with them quickly. They stuck around for my first couple of weeks before turning to go back to the States. The weekend before they left, I went to meet them in Kigali, and we decided to go on a bar crawl. Clueless of anything around us, we set out in a general direction to see what we'd find. But I was insistent that we find a way to go soak of the atmosphere of an African night club. They all attend a small Christian university together and hardly make a habit of dancing at all, but we found our way to a place called New Planet nonetheless. The club is divided in half (similar to Workplay), with a local music venue and a dance venue. I was interested in the music, so we went with that half first. It was absolutely packed, and there was a midget rapping on stage. He was incredible. Except that, on closer inspection, this 'midget' turned out to be a kid - no more than ten years old - absolutely tearing up the stage. But this was only a detour. Dancing was the goal. We crossed sides to find a weak scene - three people on the floor while the rest sat around the edge in conversation. The DJ was good, but the juvenile rapper had stolen the crowd away. I wasn't about to give up on the place, so I walked out and claimed the floor for myself, yanking along my friend Heather (who looked utterly terrified), dancing about and winking at all moderately attractive African ladies around the edge. Soon enough the gamble paid off and the enthusiasm began to catch on. For them there was novelty in dancing with Americans; for us there was novelty in simply being in a night club in central Africa. People began to drift over from Kris Kross 'R Us to join this American style of dancing. Fast forward three hours, and it was absolutely ferocious. People everywhere, laughing and jumping about - a hot, sweaty, ecstatic mess of Africans surrounding a few white faces. I dare say the Americans made the party. By the end of the night, I was shirtless, drenched, and too tired to walk home. It was one of the best dancing nights of my life.
• I mentioned the local trade show in the previous post. Really this was more like a fair in the evenings. There was food, drink, music, and local business, so everyone turned out. In a place where such events are rare, it was the thing to do for five nights. But my favorite part was the dancing. Like clockwork at 8 each night, the show turned into a community dance fest, with hundreds of people - mostly children and teenagers - dancing together in the middle of the soccer stadium. For the countless orphaned children who don't attend school, this was a rare chance to join the party, and they certainly didn't waste it. They danced like crazy. It was hilarious. I joined in one night, but most of the time I had to stand by and man our product booth. Apparently many of these children wanted to show the white man their skill(z), so they made a habit of forming a huge circle right in front of our display. It may have kept a few customers away, but I loved it. On the final night of the show, I walked into the circle, held up some money (about three bucks) and offered it to the winner of a dance off. My judgment here was questionable. Twenty people quickly turned to over a hundred, but it remained peaceful. One little boy danced like mad for about ten minutes and even showed a little Michael Jackson improv; he was clearly the winner. After two songs I presented him with the prize money, which was promptly snatched away and ran off with. I should have thought that through a little better. In case you're wondering, I did pay him again.
• The most recent story: I visited a village called Nyamutera yesterday. There is a savings group there, our largest with 217 members. This group is remarkable because it is a so-called 'reconciliation group' - meaning it is filled with Hutu and Tutsi neighbors who literally killed each others' family members during genocide 16 years ago. They have reintegrated their villages, returned from refugee-status, and born the painful and monumental (though not impossible, as all of Rwanda has proven) task of forgiveness, and formed this association together to share their savings and loan to each other. Like the visit to Jomba last week, they greeted me with a ceremonial dance. However, this was not a rite of passage like at Jomba. It had another meaning. They drummed and clapped and danced to celebrate unity in Rwanda. I was sitting at the edge of the circle, watching two young men and one young woman dance in the center. The moment was significant because of the meaning, and everyone there was overjoyed - the type of joy that can only be understood (paradoxically) through suffering and healing together. They were proud to have a visitor recognize their progress. As I was soaking up the moment, the young lady started to dance in my direction. I should mention she was absolutely beautiful, wearing a hypnotizing yellow and blue swirled skirt. She stopped in front of me, smiled, grabbed my hands, and started to lead me to the middle. I had a split-second decision to make - pull away because you have no clue what this ritual is, or say to hell with it and claim another magical African moment. I kicked off my sandals and waded in. So I just danced like I knew how, to the beat of their sheepskin drum. They went crazy, and other villagers quickly ran to join the commotion. Eventually it turned into a bit of a dance-off between myself and the girl, which was the most fun. It all lasted about five minutes, and when the drumming stopped everyone erupted. I was laughing hysterically. Later I was told that the young lady was the 'village virgin' - their most eligible. I concur.

For those wondering, I haven't even busted out the Justin McKay moves yet.

Random Note - In the absence of American music for such a long stretch, it's interesting to note the songs that come and go through my head. For some reason (apparently the setting), they are different songs than normally stick there when I'm at home. Today it was the White Stripes (Seven Nation Army), out of nowhere. Phish and the Beatles have been mainstays in my mental playground.

Remember: Music is our common ground. There ain't no other way around. Dance this week.

Peace & Love.