In the US it is often said that life has a certain flow to
it. It moves at a certain pace--the “rhythm of life,” as it is called. The sun
sets and rises—at which time many of us also rise—go through the motions of our
often monotonous days. We drag ourselves out of bed and into the shower to wash
off the dirt and the residue of weariness and frustration from the day before.
We button up crisply pressed shirts and tuck them neatly into the uncomfortable
pants we wear…along with all the anxieties and fears that greet us at the
breakfast table so no one will see them. Thus made presentable, we march out to
our places of work with our strongest mask on and best foot forward. We go
through the day in a blur with the clock ticking out the pace of our march like
a drum…a pace often too fast for our legs to keep up. By the time we get home
the best we can do is collapse into the sofa and shut down for a while. We
shuffle from sofa to bed---hopefully to sleep—and everything thing repeats
itself the next day. Whether it be our 9-5 job, the demands of family life, or
the combination thereof. In the end, this one truth prevails: Even though we
may have all we ever wanted or be doing a job we love the tempo of our daily
lives can often be overwhelming. Our hearts and legs can’t seem to keep time and
become “burned out.” Most Americans I know cry out about that asymmetry. They
complain. They shed tears. Some fly into a rage or dig in their heels, grit their
teeth, and force their legs to march to the beat.
Here in South Africa life has its own rhythm as well. In the
place of crisp button up shirts, however, there are worn shoes two sizes too
small—like the old ways of doing things that make progress painful, and the restricting
circumstances that keep so many from reaching their full potential. Instead of
a ticking clock compelling people to rush, there is a lethargic clock that
causes the unbearable hours people spend in the company of hopelessness to
stretch on indefinitely. And instead of waking up to the monotony of a
repetitious schedule, people are greeted with uncertainty. Uncertainty of
whether or not they’ll have dinner that day; whether their child’s father will
finally give them money for the rent; whether their mothers will still be alive
when they come home from school (without exaggerating!) Yet somehow, in the
face of all this South Africans seem incredibly resilient. Every weekend there
are one or two funerals in my village. At school 1 learner has lost their parent
every week for the past month—often leaving them alone with their elderly
grandparents or just plain alone! People struggle to find meals each day and
many children come to school simply because they can at least get something to
eat there. Yet, I have never seen one them crying. Or heard them saying life is unfair. I have
wondered how it is that they manage to cope when the rhythm or their lives
seems so much harsher than what we’ve known in the US. My simple theory is
this: the reaction of most South Africans to the crazy rhythm of their lives is
not to march or run as we Americans tend to do, but to dance.
No matter what the issue, or what the occasion, the universal
response of South Africans to life’s ups, downs, twists and turns, is simply to
dance. You will see them dancing at celebrations and at weddings—in fact you
can’t have a wedding without dancing. The entire bridal party and all of the family
and guests, both young and old, dance throughout the entire two day affair. They
stop only indulge themselves with healthy portions of the traditional menu for
all Tswana events: stewed goat and beef, maize meal porridge, pumpkin and
cabbage. At funerals they also dance. The whole community comes together and
they dance and dance. They sing hymns with all their passion and strength in 4
or 5 voice harmonies. I have found it to be one of the most intense cultural
experiences I have had since I’ve been here. The whole procession of guests
dance and sing all the way from the home of the deceased to the graveyard where
the casket is lowered into the earth. It is a mysterious and powerful kind of
song and dance that gives me goose bumps every time I witness it, without fail.
At meetings and workshops you will find a similar scene. Even at strikes and
political protests you will see the people of South Africa dancing, singing,
and chanting their slogans. From the youngest to the oldest the response is the
same. At the elementary school some students come to school wearing
hand-me-down uniforms so holey and stained they aren’t fit to be seen and some
of them have walked up to 15km on foot to get there, but if you even mention
the word “dance” to them they will burst into motion pulling moves that would
cause many American jaws to drop in amazement)…all in perfect time to an
internal rhythm (which they seem to share, as their movements seem to correspond
to one another's—even without any music to guide them.)
It seems as if every extreme emotion people experience here
in South Africa—whether joy, grief, or fear—all is channeled from the heart
into the legs. So instead of crying; instead of wailing and gushing to friends
and family about all their deep hurts; they just DANCE. It is a coping
mechanism I’ve been learning to emulate. Sometimes my work here is frustrating.
Sometimes I feel I’m getting nowhere. Sometimes people do things that are
hurtful and disappoint me. Sometimes I feel quite alone. But before I cry or
scream or throw in the towel, I will remember what my friends here have taught
me and JUST DANCE!
