Today we meet the kids we will be working with over the next few weeks on the Hand in Hand project. The project is a christian charity that provides education and food for 218 children affected by AIDS. Today I become a piece of climbing apparatus. Please bear in mind that on my own as an individual I bear no more resemblance to a climbing apparatus than you or anyone else. But add any number of ethiopian children to the equation and the result is a walking, talking climbing apparatus. Today I met Sadaa, Yodit, Samira and about 50 other budding climbers in the community centre of the Hand in Hand project in Lideta, one of the sub cities of Addis Ababa. Tomorrow (naga) is the first day of school and the project leaders Tesfahun and co. had arranged a ceremony of sorts to hand out the new school uniforms to each of the 218 kids. They also received textbooks (jefte) and pencils and pens. The huge community centre hall has walls that look as if they've not been cleaned in 40 years, an enormous number of plastic chairs and a roof which is immaculate. It also contains 218 children from ages 5 - 17 and some of their parents. The wiring hangs down at various points and I am warned by several of the kids who shout "Danger!" with worried looks on their faces whenever my hair brushes one of the wires. As soon as we sit down, Amanda has Samira on her knee and we are quickly introduced to her friend Sadaa. Most of the kids seem very shy for about three seconds until you extend your hand, smile and say Salamno (peace be on you) and then it's like you're a member of the family (a long lost one at that). You're immediately introduced to all of their friends and it is then that the climbing begins. I spend half an hour with a group of young girls, one of whom apparently has aspirations to be a boxer, and another two who are just simply super sweet and lovely. They try to teach me amharic words for things. They laugh when I get them wrong and say them over and over until I get them right. I spend another half hour with a group of boys who teach me how to roll the inner tube of a bicycle with a piece of wire along the floor. Again, I fail, but eventually manage a roll of about 4-5 metres. My achievement is met by smiles and applause and is immediately undermined by a five year old who rolls his innertube a good twenty metres before running out of space. The boys try to teach me more amharic and my brain is on the point of explosion. I'm glad I have three weeks with them, if only to learn all the words and phrases they are teaching me. They are fascinated by my glasses. Amanda teaches them all "Fat" and points at my stomach. They are all in such high spirits and within a second of shaking a hand, out come the smiles and the endless talking, climbing and hugging. It's hard to believe that these children are all either living with AIDS are orphans or who have parents who have the disease. There is such a vitality in the room. In fact, its only in writing this now that I remember the presence of the disease in their lives. Being in that hall with them it goes completely out of your head at the first smile. We go for lunch with Tesfahun, Sha and Geditchu and their friend, an Orthapaedic surgeon who as it turns out adores Cliff Richard. Amanda is over the moon. Enrique Iglesias "Hero" plays on the stereo in the restaurant as we talk. In Addis, weddings are an enormous deal. They cost more than a house and everyone is invited. The boy who shines your shoes, the guy you met on the street once. Your wedding photos are also likely to bear a startling resemblance to everyone elses wedding photos. For one simple reason. They are all taken in the same place on what seems to be the same day at the same time. We are in Ghion gardens, or as I shall refer to it from now on "Wedding Central". As we walk through the gardens there must be at least 20 wedding parties being photographed, dancing, singing and being filmed. Everywhere you look there are horrendous bridesmaid's dresses, beautiful brides and proud grooms. Everytime you see a bride she is being followed by an entourage of clapping, singing, instrument playing minstrels. If this was a drinking game, you'd be wasted in seconds. It's just one huge happy celebration and it's a fantastic thing to see. Also in Ghion gardens there is a pool. It's fairly warm outside and most of the Ethiopians are sitting in the cafe, standing under the showers or watching their children in the kiddy pool. Again, Frank tells us there is a simple reason as to why there is practically no one in the pool. No one knows how to swim.
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When the rain descends suddenly on Addis, the sky blacken and the rain rips down at an incredible rate. Within moments streets have become muddy rivers. There is thunder and lightning every day but it seems to start at about 2pm and finish by 4pm so we have managed to plan our days around it. Today we went down to the Megananya road, everyone calls it that, but only because it goes to a junction called Megananya. Apparently it's real name is Queen Elizabeth Street, but no one knows that. We caught a mini-bus today. People stand outside their blue and white vans shouting the names of the places their bus is visiting. I wish drivers in London would do that. The names are shouted in such quick succession that we have to stand at the stop for about 5 minutes before we can understand what they are saying. We catch one to Megananya. A huge bus junction. Me and Manda sit next to the driver and wait for someone to take our money. A fellow taps us on the shoulder and we hand over 3 birr (10p) for both of us. He gives us change. It's impossible to know if we are being ripped off, since everything is so insanely cheap anyway. The journey is fine and the driver honks and swerves his way through the traffic like a zebra in a herd trying to avoid a lion. We park eventually at Megananya bus station. Not only is it a bus station, it's also the home of free enterprise. Shoe stores abound on the dusty ground and toothpaste, hairclips and everything else you could possibly need just after you've gotten off a bus. Frank leaves us here and we decide to wander back in the direction of the house to a place called Sol Seattle. Good beer and good food. Manda and I talk about lots of things, including where she thinks she's going with her life. I think that what she has done so far is incredible. So much more than what I had done at the age of 22. She's a good one though and I have no doubt she'll make of the world what she wills. She has such a good soul. I'm looking forward to our first day at the project tomorrow... Today I saw three donkeys walking down the side of a highway.I saw a naked man next to a bus station. I saw a mini bus being pushed by five fellows to start the engine but stopping regally everytime they pushed their bus into another bus. I saw people strolling nonchalantly across five lane highways and I saw cows being herded with a stick next to the airport. I saw the only two working traffic lights in a city of five million, including one where an old woman just walked right out in front of a green light probably because she'd never seen a working one before. I drank water out of a bottle, because if I didn't I'd be vomiting out of the wrong end for a week. I saw people carrying enormous steel poles across streets for unfathomable reasons. I saw wooden scaffolding wrapped around a hundred concrete building shells (halfway finished because they ran out of concrete). I saw houses made out of mud and I saw mansions in the hills. I drove past a hole in a wall that turned out to be an off-license. I was patted down by a stern looking guard before entering the post office. Amanda wasn't allowed inside said post office because she had her camera with her. I learnt that the average waiter earns 400 birr a month (16 pounds). I learnt that beer costs 20 pence. I learnt that the students at university here don't pay any fees or have to buy their own food or pay for accommodation. I learn a lot of Amharic words and promptly forgot them. I ate delicious food in our villa up on Addis Ababa's skyline. I saw a thunderstorm and sheet lightning. We were caught in a freak rainstorm. I learnt that car prices rise the older and more crap your car gets. I heard the sounds of the orthodox church being broadcast across the twilight city. I drank lots of tea and sat on terraces. I broke a chair. I helped change a tyre on a car. I met Frank and Tesfahun. I marvelled at how different life is in this city. I waved at kids who called me Ferenge (foreigner) with smiles on their faces. I ate, fish, soup, pasta, bread, avocado and tomato and I watched the news. I am now going to bed. As I sit writing this at the table in a conservatory overlooking the lights of Addis, Frank tells us of more attacks on the US, British and German Embassies by the muslims across the African Union. It's always strange to think of attacks happening in a place that seems (while frenetic, hectic and exciting) very friendly and calm underneath it all. But today we had to avoid the streets with mosques during the call to prayer. Today I saw a row of mud huts with corrugated tin roofs, each with it's own private satellite dish. I saw more of everything I saw yesterday. I drove down a road that Amanda calls The Dusty Road. That's not to say that every road isn't dusty, it's just that this one, past the Mexico roundabout is dustier than most. The Project is down one of the side streets off the dusty road. I say street, but it's really just a series of large holes and rocks with little bits of street in between. We go through a massive corrugates iron gate and there we are at the project. We are greeted with smiles and kisses on cheeks, the kind where you never really know when they are going to stop, but in a good way. In the office, a small room, with several chairs, bags of new school uniforms and pictures of smiling children covering the walls there is one computer, one printer and four cheerful and optimistic workers. They are the founders of the charity, Hand in Hand. Tesfahun, Getachw and Sha welcome us warmly. They are obviously very proud of the work they do and rightly so. Providing education and food for children who have AIDS or whose parents have the disease. They are also huge Arsenal fans. As we are sitting there a small girl called Samira arrives who Amanda greets with a huge smile and unceremoniously hoists her onto her knee and starts poking her playfully. Amanda's eyes are fully of light and playfulness as she sits there childishly torturing this little girl. It turns out Samira is the sponsored child of one of Amanda's friends Heidi and has brought some gifts for her specially. In the next moment Samira is decked out in gloves, woollen hat, baseball cap and clutching a small teddy bear. Even in the hot weather. She looks like she's about to go on a skiing trip and it's just beautiful. We spend an hour or so in the office, talking and learning more about the project, 218 kids in total. More like a family than anything else really. They call each other brother and sister. An old man wanders into the office and he smiles hugely when he sees Amanda. He is the father of her sponsored child Rahel. We will come back on Sunday to visit the Sunday school and meet some of the kids. We drive to a restaurant for lunch and have a delicious meal for about £2 each. The heavens open and hailstones rattle on the roof. When we leave a parking ticket girl comes and asks us for 3 birr for two hours parking. Roughly the equivalent of 5 pence. Prior to visiting the Project we have been to the Hilton to exchange our money. A place where once Frank's mother was having her haircut, exited the salon and was confronted by a lion. It's the home of the expats really and if you were to stay there ($200 per night) then you wouldn't really begin to get a sense of what this city is about. I find it more interesting and exciting than any art gallery or museum. Everything is so different. Men hold hands with each other. You rarely see couples in the street. Shoe shine boys line the streets and I wonder what they do when it rains. I don't have to wait long. They disappear down rabbit holes and reappear the moment the sun returns. There are blow-up mannikins. Manda and I wander down a street and discover how to cross a road in a world without traffic lights. Apparently what you do is you just start walking and hope that people will stop if they see you in time. It's no wonder that in such a place as this where a million minor miracles (like not getting run down by a car every time you step out into the street) happen every day that people believe in God. The Orthodox Ethiopian Church is the big one, with Muslim in 2nd place. I suspect agnosticism wouldn't go down too well so I'm keeping quiet. After visiting the project we come home for a nap. Herds of sheep line the mud road at the bottom of our street. The Toyota Hilux climbs the steep, heavily cobbled street that leads to our house and I am reminded of a roller coaster climbing clunkily to the top of the first big dip. Our gate is opened by the Sabanya (guard) who is on site 24 hours a day, in a small hut to the left of the gate. He also does some gardening and other odd jobs. When we wake up, we are introduced to Rob and Ann, married volunteers at a school just outside Addis. They are a bit older and met here in the early to late 70's. They've returned to volunteer for a year. Apparently they hated each other when they first met. We all go out for dinner, into the Ethiopian night. It's home time for most, and the streets are filled with people wandering backwards and forwards, herding sheep, cattle, carrying enormous packages on their heads. I've not seen anyone run yet. Strange given the great tradition for long distance running Ethiopia has. But no, everyone walks at a leisurely pace. Even in the rain. We have another delicious meal for another ridiculous price, with beer (St George) and learn a little more about what Addis was like in the 70's from our new friends. The Prime Minister of Ethiopia has just died and there are pictures of him everywhere. Rob says that "everything slowed down a bit when I hit Bob Marley", it takes me a a moment to realise that he is talking about the Bob Marley roundabout in central Addis and that he did not in fact secretly punch a jamaican reggae singer in the face during the 1970's. Amanda has now coined a new phrase: "I just hit Bob Marley at rush hour", meaning "I've seriously got the shits". I think it must have begun in 2009. My friend Jenny was visiting London from Edinburgh and she brought her friend Katie along with her. They were hungover and came to visit me one bright Sunday morning in my London flat. Katie was a children's theatre practitioner and was interested in using music in her ideas. I was a musician who had written a few songs for some shows at Putney Theatre Company at that point and Jenny introduced us...
I suspect that was the real beginning for me in the world of Professional Theatre composition. Up to that point the people I had worked with were interested in creating high quality theatre but had no interest in making it their living. This is the wonderful thing about London's amateur theatre society, a huge amount of talent and high quality productions are the perfect training ground for honing your art and making important connections whilst at the same time dancing like an idiot and getting horrendously drunk three nights a week. Katie was my way in. She was motivated in a way that I had not seen before and had a real drive to make theatre (her passion) her career. I had toyed with the idea but really had not idea how to go about it. If I had any advice for young theatre composers wanting to earn some money from what they love it's this: Attach yourself to someone who is talented, has vision, has a practical knowledge of the industry and the motivation to always be seeking the next level. These people are not easy to find but you'll know them when you meet them. And fortunately it happens that when you meet one, you meet plenty more through them. Katie asked me to work on a project for her MA at RADA. That was the beginning of the Paper Balloon Theatre Company. Katie, Kirstin, Alex, Jen and Dorie became a group of theatre practitioners making work for young people over the next three years. None of us paid, just doing it because we wanted to make good theatre in a professional setting. Two shows on and I am very proud to say that Katie and Alex applied successfully for Arts Council Funding and we are now being paid to create a new piece of theatre with the extraordinary international children's playwright, 'Finegan Kruckemeyer'. It's called Zachary Briddling who was awfully middling. All about a normal boy. A painfully normal boy. A boy so normal in fact that he goes on an adventure in an attempt to make himself less normal. Katie is Director, Alex is Creative Producer and I am Composer and Lyricist. At the beginning of August, just after I finished work on 'You Obviously Know What I'm Talking About', we found ourselves down in Oxford working on the first Research and Development period for the show. The days were long (with workshops with children in between rehearsals) and we learnt a lot about how to handle the time. The actors were great and very enthusiastic, (and excitingly for me all possess really good singing voices). During the week I wrote three songs for the show. I met some brilliant people, Rachel (associate director), Karl (movement director). The Pegasus Theatre staff were (as ever) wonderful. Special thanks to Angharad for facilitating my songwriting workshop with some of the kids. We found a really interesting physical language for the show as well as interesting use of music and song throughout. The week was hard work but really successful and interesting. Following that we had a Skype meeting with Fin to discuss how my songs might fit in with the writing. It was great that he was so enthusiastic about their inclusion in the piece, I was delighted to receive such positive feedback from such a fellow. So currently the show is undergoing tweaks and rewrites and inclusion of songs etc. ready for a rehearsal period early next year... watch this space. |
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