Marianne Merten
Okiep, an almost forgotten bleak former mining town in the Northern Cape. Every afternoon, music pounds from the cement- floored community hall as dozens of youngsters learn dance and movement – anything from jazz to kwaito.
It’s a lifeline for youngsters such as Ilse Carroll (18) living in this desolate town, where streets beyond the main road remain untarred and the only visible sign of economic activity is the local hotel, filled with tourists during the Namaqualand flower season.
Two years ago, Ilse dropped out of school. Like so many youngsters in the town, she was hooked on booze and drugs. Today, Ilse is back in Grade 10. She attends dance classes most afternoons and has mastered steps from gumboot dancing to kwaito bump and grind moves.
“When I was a little girl, I always had this in my mind. I’d like to dance. It helps me relax,” she says.
It all started in May 1997, when Dawn Langdown arrived in the town determined to teach dance. She put up posters advertising dance and movement classes.
Three children attended the first class. Today, about 90 pupils, ranging from pre- schoolers to young men and women in their 20s, pay R5 per month to participate.
Langdown encourages other initiatives, such as rugby and soccer clubs, but admits it has been a long process of overcoming prejudices and reluctance.
She says part of it is changing a culture of non-payment, which dates back years when the mines paid for everything from housing to electricity and schooling.
Langdown hopes some of her pupils will become professional dancers. But that is not her main reason for teaching dance.
“The children learn to look to themselves for solutions. They learn to trust themselves,” she says.
There is little to do in Okiep. There are no movie houses, there is one dilapidated library, alcohol is freely available and teenage pregnancies are common. Money is scarce, so are jobs. Families scrape together a living through casual work or rely on remittances from relatives working in big cities.
But the youngsters of Okiep bristle with energy after their afternoon dance sessions.
“We never knew we could do these things with our bodies. And we support each other,” says Adelaide Rooi (16).
One of their proudest moments was when the community hall was packed for two nights in a row for their show Raap en Skraap (Scratch and Gather).
The teenagers workshopped the show themselves to put into dance the stories of their lives, including difficult topics such as domestic abuse and drunkenness.
“It’s their stories. It’s their lives,” says Langdown. “The kids have to realise they have it within themselves. It’s the know-how that’s important, not the steps.”
The feat of hosting the show tells a tale reminiscent of Langdown’s own efforts to get the classes started, and the life of the town itself. The costumes and props were put together using old clothing and curtains.
Change has come slowly for the youngsters, but it is starting to show. Before, they would watch each other carefully, and groups did not mix. Now, they have found common ground, at least for the afternoons.
“Why should everything happen in the cities? There is so much talent here,” says Langdown.