Who are we? Where are we coming from? Where are we going? Gregory Vuyani Maqoma’s work examines these questions that resonate through the best of the world’s traditions of expression through the arts, but in his own particular way. What he comes up with, on a wide stage filled with many strongly defined characters, goes beyond the bounds of ”contemporary dance”.
His latest work, Somehow Delightful, seen recently in Johannesburg under the auspices of the Dance Umbrella, amply demonstrates that his is simply the best and bravest all-round theatre that is going on around here today.
This is not to put down other exceptional theatrical offerings on show around the country. Lara Foot Newton’s Tshepang, for example, takes a harrowing but initially indirect look, brilliantly written, crafted and performed, at one of the scourges that threatens to drag back the dramatic advances of post-apartheid South Africa — baby rape. Then there is Jonathan Timms’s Barbershop, which borrowed from the conventions of mime, slapstick and township/protest theatre and added sophisticated technique to give a humorous perspective on urban black life today.
A new brand of South African theatre is indeed emerging that gives a new country a new voice.
What is different about Maqoma’s work is his use of a broad canvas to examine the psychological state of the nation — intimate and public at the same time.
Of course, it does fall under the umbrella (excuse the pun) of ”dance”, since it is minutely choreographed to live and recorded music, and performed by the energetic members of Maqoma’s own Vuyani Dance Company — all trained by the man himself.
But it is so much more. It uses all the conventions of theatre, territory into which few ”dance” companies would dare to stray. It is carefully scripted, and the dialogue is delivered with clarity and style by the performers — a gift one would not necessarily expect from a dance troupe. And each one of them has a distinct character, carried off with aplomb, the whole ensemble interacting among themselves with casual stylishness.
A regal figure, a mediaeval European queen in a heavy, floor-length, elaborate, red velvet dress strides across the stage to the strains of Carmina Burana. She is followed with a sense of dutiful expectation by a bunch of Jo’burg tsotsis in perfectly tailored Katz and Lurie suits, sharp shirts in an array of colours, and black and white shoes.
After some initial show of braggadocio and preening among themselves, she calls out to them: ”Idiots, come here!” They stare at her in disbelief, then break into incredulous laughter. But she repeats herself: ”Idiots, come here!”
After some hesitation, they go meekly to where she has seated herself on her throne. They sit at her feet as she begins to recite a European fairy tale to them.
And so it goes. They seem to be torn between her imperious authority and the demands of their own pride and tradition. They make weak protests and argue among themselves. But in the end, of course, she wins. She is, after all, the Colonial Imperative.
And so, having ”empowered them to serve her”, as Maqoma puts it, and having accepted their ”idiot” status, their only escape is into the self-mocking yet elegantly executed steps of the isicathamiya singing and dancing contests of the migrant labourer hostels.
Haltingly, we move into the present. On Clifford Charles’s sparse, beautifully-painted set video clips (curated by Palesa Letlaka Nkosi), narratives of real people, tell the story of the recent past — how we ended up with the scars that tell the story of our personal journeys. These scars have barely had time to heal.
Maqoma says he tries not to be political in his work. He rather tries ”to create some sort of debate on issues that affect everyone in this country.”
But the politics inevitably comes through — how can it be avoided, given our troubled past and inconsistent present where, as he points out, some people live in shacks and others live in luxury? For most people in the country, it is simply a question, not of living, but of surviving.
But he is not pessimistic. This work, he says, shows not only how far we have come in our politics, problematic as they might be, but in our articulation of the arts as well.
And this is true. The sophistication of Maqoma’s work, the intensity of his choreographic style, can stand up to any theatrical company in the world — and frequently does as he takes his company to Mexico, Japan, Europe and elsewhere.
So why hasn’t he taken the gap, like so many of his contemporaries, and taken up residence with some well-heeled company in Europe or the United States?
Well, because he loves the work he is doing here — and he does it well. He sees no reason to leave. This is his soil.
I ask the question I have been burning to ask for years. Is he related to the great Xhosa king Maqoma, eldest son of Ngqika, the man who defended his homeland and gave the British army hell for about 30 years?
He nods, a soft smile around his mouth. Yes, indeed, his father is a direct descendent of Maqoma, and so by extension is he.
It is part of the story of South Africa, and the inner story of Somehow Delightful, that the descendent of Maqoma should grow up in unremarkable circumstances in Orlando East, Soweto. But this is also where his dance and theatre career began to take shape, and where his perspectives on the country and the world were formed.
And so the gentle enfant terrible of South African dance theatre is staying at home, sharing his gifts with the people. We are the beneficiaries. How delightful.
Gregory Maqoma’s Virtually Blonde will have another airing at the Wits Theatre in Johannesburg on March 12 and his Ketima shows at the Artscape Main Theatre in Cape Town from March 16 to 19