Archives for April 2023

Collage and illustration by Bruna Borges
[ID: A black and white collage with a man dancing down on the right, in the middle there is a woman dancing, on the left there are some women looking at them. In the back, there is an animated illustration in blue and yellow showing movement.]

 

I’m not from a dancing family! But some of the most iconic family memories have come through dance, particularly the Soul Train Line. Like the time Granny almost fell while doing her infamous “Twist”, or the time when my reluctant uncle who rarely attends family events went into his Michael Jackson bag and to our delight gave us some thriller moves. Then there is the newest lil’ addition to our family who is cheered on and ushered down the line for simply walking. One cannot forget the family member that is known for their dancing filled with technique, choreographed moves and even rare dance moves brought out only to declare a dance off when another dancer has joined the line.

The Soul Train Line comes from the popular syndicated weekly show “Soul Train” that began in the 1970s and lasted thru the early 2000s. Soul Train featured Black musicians and most notably dancers that captivated audiences as they made their way down the Soul Train Line. What began as a way to end the show evolved into an essential part of Black cultural celebrations bringing people of all ages and abilities center stage. My family was no different and though we rarely broke out in dance, on cue someone would yell out “Let’s do the Soul Train Line.” Effortlessly the parallel lines were formed, the bravest went to the front and it naturally ended; something I thought innately everyone knew. But after countless failed attempts at social gatherings by someone trying to get the party started. I have come to realize the Do’s and Don’ts of the Soul Train Line in group settings need to be explained.

Get in formation and stay in it: Parallel lines are essential to a successful Soul Train Line! There should be enough space where someone is able to bust a move without busting someone in the head. This is not the Conga Line, wait until the person has reached the end of the line before you start. Unlike circle dances where someone is in the middle and onlookers and dancers alike fight to get to the center. The parallel lines allow everyone to see and be seen.

Move authentically: The Soul Train Line is your moment to shine; Do the dance you finally mastered in private. Feel the beat and work with what you got. I will never forget an event where a woman dropped it low and swung her cane in the air #toptier. Know thyself and determine your comfort level from the sidelines. If the idea of everyone looking at you while you’re dancing causes instant panic, it’s best to stay at the end of the line and high five people.

Do the most, it is expected: It is mandatory that you show out with old school moves and dances associated with the song playing. Then there are partner dances like “The Bump” or ” Kid and Play.” These dances can be tricky and require coordination and finesse. If done correctly you and your dancing partner will definitely wow the crowd.

Don’t skip the line: Now this is very important depending on how turnt up the group is, this might save your life. Whatever you do, don’t skip the line. Your turn will come, I promise. The only exception to this rule is if someone isn’t ready to go down the line and tells you to go in front of them.

Do not repeat dance moves: Unless you’re going to up the ante, don’t repeat moves someone else has done. The Soul Train Line is all about creativity, nostalgia, and originality. No one wants to see the same moves over and over. If you must repeat a move, put some stank on it, add razzle dazzle or something extra.

Keep it moving, literally: The Soul Train Line is a conveyor belt of movement and good times. Don’t stay in the same spot. The goal is to get everyone to the front and down the line. I have seen the epic fail of the Soul Train Line simply because people stopped moving. If you’re scared or changed your mind it’s okay to just step out of the line to keep the train moving.

If you find yourself in this, now rare, group dance, no excuses you know what to do!

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This article appeared in the Spring 2023 issue of In Dance.

Illustration by Bruna Borges
[ID: Illustration shows a wash machine dial with a center circular button and various wash cycles, each with a small drawing of one or two people dancing. Clockwise from the top, the text indicating the different cycles reads: “On/Off. Brights. Quick Wash. Easy Care. Spin + Drain. Delicate. Heavy. Power Wash.”]

 

Heavy Duty

Heart severely stained the day my dad left behind his human shell

A muddy mess of ruin and denial

Unable to grasp the emptiness stinging me to a low hummmmm

Bone aching waves in this whirlpool of breath snatching sorrows

Tumbling from one memory to the next

The emotions ricochet

Soggy and heavy when I think it’s over

The flood is back before my lungs can get air

Rinsed and twisted with a ear splitting feral cry erupting from a place I don’t know

And when it’s done I’m not soggy but still definitely heavy

The pure scent of smiles and laughter diverge

Examining each wrung out piece of me when my heart contracts

Missed a spot

Start cycle again

 

Quick Wash

The feelin’ of warm light signals my eyes to open

I’m not down bad but I ain’t fresh either

i need to shake things up for a quick reset

Slow hustle to the bathroom

Slow hustle to my damn room

Hell I deserve a joint for a treat

 

The music trembles through me I’m moving all of me

My hands wave in the air

I’m whipping my hair

I’m tryna see if I got stallion knees!

 

Hand Wash/Delicates

Oh, Mommy!

Worn out wouldn’t accurately express all this mess

Milk soaked shirts and jammies covered in poop

Food spills as I hurry to eat before those precious cries tell me my time is up

On the tenth day I cried.

Thought it was all under control

The help that’d been promised was hard to find.

So it proved true, the responsibility would be all mine.

I’ve always wanted to be a mom

I had no idea it would beat me through my transition

Giving so much of me that it feels I’d need forever until I noticed me

And when I get that break I’ve been dreaming of I spend it looking at pictures and videos

Reminded that such a beautiful mess needs to be treated with care

Spot cleaned by hand

Brightened up by those wide eyes

A very gentle cleaning seeing those tiny fingers on my chest

 

Normal

It’s a rite of passage

The music wakes you and instantly you wish you could have slept through it

If you don’t leave your room now your mom will be in there any minute doing it for you

Throwing you into the load of refreshing your home

If you stay on top of the mess there’s not much to do

Sloshing around and sudsing down

Before you know it’s you waking your little ones up to shuffle around the home you’ve made

 

Brights

If I could choose my sisters I’d choose these joyous headaches every time.

The first babies I raised

The people I’d go to war for

Yeah they work my nerves but even a global cooties outbreak couldn’t keep me from sharing space with them

Your cooties are my cooties

Teach me the TikTok let’s shake our booties

 

Wash spin repeat

Goes life and all its memories

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This article appeared in the Spring 2023 issue of In Dance.

Photo by Isabel Chigamba
[ID: Kanukai Sitting in the middle of the verandah at the first Chigamba family home in Zororo, Highfields. There are a couple of white buckets to her left side and a kid on her far right side. Kanukai’s head is tilted down while her hands are on her head.]

 

“Madhuweeeee, nyatso kuchema kunge wafirwa. I need to hear the sadness of the little girl you are singing about in your voice.” Mhamha Henry would shout during Mhande rehearsals where I had to lead the song Mudzimu Wangu. I would play around with high and low cries while singing it until she said “yeaaaahhh, that’s it, we are almost there.” The memory of how I learned this song has stuck with me until today. It is one of my favorite songs to sing and dance to. Everytime people hear me sing this song, they are moved which always takes me back to when I learned it.

Mhamha Henry, my aunt, the oldest child in my mother’s family. One of the greatest mbira players and dancers in Zimbabwe. Mhamha Henry always had a way of getting you to reach a part of yourself, you did not know you had, until she shook you a couple of times. Some days, she would show you a dance move or song once, and you better make sure you do something as close to that, if not better, when it’s your turn. For the most part, this has been how I learned music and dance. In my family, we learned our traditional dances by watching older family members during Bira ceremonies or while hanging out at home.

“Zvinhu zvese zvatiinazvo…zvinoda kupembererwa baba…”, different high and low pitches of people who were singing and celebrating in one of the new thatched houses at our family home in Hatfield would wake the dead. Whether it was the sharp down and the heart of the beat, hosho being played or maoko arikuomberwa, or the drum or a long line of mbira players running their fingers on that instrument like it doesn’t hold about 28 keys on it, every intricate sound made in that room created one beautiful mbira song that highlighted how people felt in that moment.

Around 2002-3, Asekuru Chigamba and Gogo Achihoro, my maternal grandparents, hosted an all night Bira ceremony to bless our new home in Hatfield. Think of a house warming party, but instead of people bringing gifts such as plants or wall art, people brought all-night prayers and a search for guidance and protection of the new home from the ancestors through music and dance. Family and friends from afar danced, sang, ate, and drank hwahwa, masese eseven days. At eight years old, I struggled to stay awake. Yet, in the early hours of the morning, my uncle, Sekuru Joe, decided it was the best moment to have my cousins and I sit in front of him to sing the Zimbabwe national anthem and create choreography to it. Thanks to Solomon Mutswairo & Fred Changundega, who composed a song with very similar sections, so we mixed up the lyrics and struggled through the whole session.

“Okay, iwewe Wadza, imba tione, since you want to act like you already have it all set.” Sekuru Joe gave Wadza, a tyrannical look as he put her on the spot to sing. As we fought yawns, and the shutting of our eyelids, Wadza, my older cousin sister, got up, fixed her skirt and stood in front of us giggling like a baby hyena. Buju, my older cousin brother, and childhood partner in crime, who sat next to me, bumped my shoulder to draw my attention to Wadzas nervousness. Of course, this made us all laugh like water faucets that couldn’t shut. Through our shenanigans, with her chest up and head help up high, Wadza sang the “Kubvira, kubva Zambezi kusvika Limpopo…” part first, instead of the “Neropa, neropa zhinji ramagamba…” Before we could utter ours, Wadza led the choir by laughing like a lost wild goat.

Sekuru Joe’s chronicles of teaching us dance were always comedic. One day, while practicing Dinhe, my cousin, Moses/Mhozi, struggled to coordinate his arms and legs. After he’d had enough, Sekuru Joe’s tall frame rose up from his chair asking us if we do not know how to walk normal. “When you walk normal, your arms and legs naturally go opposite. I have never seen a person that steps with their right leg and their right hand follows.” Again, uncontrollable laughter ensued. We had created complexity from a part of our everyday life activities.

“Ndave kuenda ini…” Ambuya would calmly sing and pause from her favorite sofa in the living room, the one with the best view of the TV. Once we heard her sing this line, we knew we were in for a long night. Ambuya Chihoro was our matriarch, and whenever she had us dance and sing one of her favorite songs ‘Ndave Kuenda (I am leaving)’, she took her time. How dare you start clapping before we arrive at the right groove for the call and response? Ambuya would silently give us another chance to get the song right. She would give us the lead line again, just a little louder than the last time.

Singing this song now, hits differently. Chinyakare Ensemble, our family performance group in Oakland, founded by my mother, Julia Chigamba recently performed at Ashkenaz Music and Dance Community Center. I am convinced that our family has a deep connection to Dinhe rhythm. During our soundcheck, Ndave Kuenda was the song that came out of me unknowingly when I was asked to check the mic. I respected Ambuya wanting to be in the space and went with the flow, but I could not finish as tears flooded my eyes and cheeks. My grandmother died in 2005, and her passing left a huge hole in my family. She was the keystone to the family. Everyone knew you could always come and dance kumba kwaAchihoro. Growing up, our time was filled with each other. When there was no electricity we would sit around the fire with Ambuya and other adults. We would sing, play games and dance until people started retiring to their bedrooms one by one. Our personal lives were not separate from our artistry, it was all blended in one like a hot pot of gango.

“Nyarara mwana, Nyarara mwana…” I started slowly pronouncing the high and low parts to Mudzimu Wangu’s response at Dance Mission Theater during a closing circle after the viewing of the Mixtape of the Dead & Gone #1 performance I was a part of in 2022. It was a room filled with people who had just experienced death at a very intimate level through Nkeiruka’s work. A smile of “yes, that’s it, we are almost there” feeling escaped my mouth the moment I felt people had reached a good place of pronouncing and singing these Shona lyrics beautifully. I reached for the girl Mhamha Henry once helped me search for within me, and we sang until everyone was sounding like one voice.

My grandmother had a way of expressing love through dance and music. Even if you did not know the song she was sharing with you, you could feel the warmth of her heart through her voice. Since moving to the Bay Area in 2010, I have felt a similar feeling from my mother. Whether we are singing “Kura Uone” for the 100th time at home or at performances, or as she decorates our house like a museum with endless Zimbabwean and African artifacts, my mother has found a way to keep my siblings and I connected to our roots. She has built a home away from home. This has also given us a way to communicate and learn in ways that I did not know would help me stay grounded in my own journey as an artist.

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This article appeared in the Spring 2023 issue of In Dance.

Illustration by Robert Liu-Trujillo
[ID: A brown boy with a flat top dancing with a brown girl. Boy is wearing a grey shirt and pants. Girl wearing blue tank top and tan colored pants. There are black thought bubbles with white writing.]

 

I was 10 years old, a total nerd. And one of my best friends invited me to his house for a party. “A house party?” I thought. He said it like it was nothing. I was both excited and terrified. I’d never been to one before. What do I say? What do I wear? Will there be kids I know there?

I told mom, she pressed upon me the need to look my best.  What fly means to a kid and an adult are totally different though. I know she meant well. I got dressed up. Nice shirt, pants, dress shoes, and even cologne!! I went and not a single kid was dressed up. They all were wearing their school clothes, sneakers, sports gear, etc.

Dancing and music. I love hip hop and Rnb and they were playing good music. In fact we listened to MC Breed’s “Ain’t no future in your fronting” 10 times or more through the course of the night. Most of the kids were dancing, with the lights off. They kept stopping the music and turning on the lights to say “y’all better dance”. And I was. By myself.

This older (loud, pretty, confident) girl noticed and grabbed my hand saying, “you need to dance with somebody”! Before I could say anything she was pulling me to girls in the “garage” where it was held w/ a boombox for a sound system and asking girls ”you wanna dance with him?” OMG, how embarrassing!

Finally after multiple NO’s, a girl relented. She put my arms on my shoulders and I put my hands around her waist. Of course they didn’t replay Breed, they played a slow jam. Agggh, I awkwardly tried to dance “with” her. Her breath was not the best smelling I remember, but she was nice. I can’t remember her name but that was it. I survived my first Richmond California house party. 5th grade. 1990.

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This article appeared in the Spring 2023 issue of In Dance.