Review of the Creation

Praise for the “Creation”! This was an experience of the how Namibia struggled to gain independence through the medium of musical theatre. But this was unlike any old musical, mere a play with singing and dancing. This was an amalgamation of dances, songs, multimedia and dialogue between a young girl and young woman. Songs from the protests against the regime and church hymns sung in our languages were woven together with poetry and dance to evoke the past. My only criticism is that there was no program, which was a shame, because the artists responsible for the Creation deserve recognition.

Having given it praise, now I want to give an appraisal of the parts of the Creation that I found most meaningful. The entire piece had a dramatic arc to it and it was principally driven by movement which defies typical conception of dance. At the start, we observe a dimly lit stage with two figures moving in the shadows. A narrator reads the poem of Andimba Toivo ya Toivo, the one he gave beginning with “we are Namibians and not South Africans” back in the Pretoria court in 1968. Suddenly, people rushed from all corners of the stage, against the black and white images of combatants shooting, helicopters falling and the like. They are dashing about, searching, fleeing, falling to the ground sequentially. Their bodies come to a clump where some jolt up with their limbs leaving the ground, before they slowly come down again. Killed or defeated, these people seem to be at the start of the Creation.

The end of Creation contrasts the beginning, as those once defeated march forward in the steady step-forward-step-back dance, jiving with glee. In the fore of the stage, two men play the common Oshiwambo dance or jumping over each other. One leaps up over the other who just ducks his head before the roles are switched. They also join the marching ensemble and sing the quintessential song of going into exile “Kana ka meme, owumbo o lo lo”. “Owumbo, Owumbo, o lo lo…” they belt out fiercely with their fists reaching up to the heavens in a pose reminiscent of victory (and the SWAPO man) at the edge of the stage. What a powerful closing!

Yes, the power of the ensemble was prominent in the dance creating that sense of a united armed struggle. But there was also a precious solo moment. A young woman danced while another young woman recited the poem beginning with “when I come back from exile, I want someone to touch me” written by the poet Mvula ya Nangolo more than thirty years ago. The recitation was rhythmical, like that of beat generation in New York City of 1960s. The dancer looked around her, her head swiftly moving about vigilantly. Her legs created a world of lines that either jutted up to the heavens or curved quickly through the space as she revolved through the air to land and turn once more on the ground before standing up. At times I though she was acting out the “touch” of the poem, by putting her hand on her heart, but I was mesmerized by the how she moved slowly and quickly around her own circumference that what the poem said did not matter. Indeed, this was a performance of an independent dance in communion with a poem.

Though I could not possibly do justice to “Creation” in just one review, I want to relate this experience to you. Whether you experienced the performance or not, you should know that the creation of our nation was and is still happening through the creation of art.

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