The Sunday News
Raisedon Baya
I MET a few artistes who were on a tour of Harare recently. When I asked them how they were finding Harare and the tour in general they nearly dropped down and cried. Things were not as they had imagined leaving Bulawayo. A lot of things were not in place and they really wanted to abandon the tour and go back home. I laughed. I laughed, not at them, but with them. It made me remember the tours I had taken to many different parts of the country in the name of arts — some very memorable for both the right things and the wrong things.
Things have really changed. When we were growing up and starting in this sector things were a bit different. The rules were different. Now it is a nightmare to organise an arts tour. The requirements have changed so much to when we were young, and dreaming big. These days artistes sleep in hotels, they eat proper meals, they want per diems and at the end of the tour they want to get paid. Full stop. Hotels need money. Buses need money. Restaurants need money. And artistes need money. This is now the reality on the ground. And there is nothing wrong with that. The only problem is today’s producer has to have this money before embarking on a tour or else there will be serious “jambeau” with the artistes. Which is what I almost witnessed in Harare. Jambeau pa hot era.
Now here is the big problem. Do we have producers with enough resources to take productions and performances on tour, even to rural areas? I mean producers with enough money to provide transport, accommodation, food, per diems and wages at the end of the tour? The sad answer is a No. The sector doesn’t have such people. And it is the reason why we produce so many shows that go nowhere. They cannot go anywhere because no one has the means to take them anywhere.
Back then when we were starting in this sector we believed so much in building — brick by brick. We believed in arts for art’s sake. We sweated and sacrificed. We went hungry. Maybe, it was because we had a lot of dreams and believed. A lot of us believed we would tour the world and make a lot of money. And so we pushed dreams more than anything else. Groups used to tour rural areas for months. They would walk long distances, from one school to another. They would eat what was there — mostly bread and maize — sometimes stale bread for that matter. They would sleep in classrooms — most with broken windowpanes. I remember at one or two schools being told there are ghosts that terrorised people in the area. In most cases these groups would use money from the gate to transport them to the next school or next show or back home. After months of touring artistes would come back and not expect much from the tour. They would be aware of how much was made during the tour and so they would let their dreams sustain them. No much complaints. (Not saying this was right but it was the reality.) And maybe that’s is why a lot left the sector with a lot of frustrations and anger.
There are two tours I will never forget. First, was when we travelled to J Z Moyo High School in West Nicholson. We didn’t know where the school was and how long it would take us to get there. We travelled to Gwanda and got a connecting bus. But the bus had tricked us. It was not going to the school and so we were dropped off some 14km away from the school. So carrying our bags, drums and costumes we walked, and walked and walked. We got to the school when we were all dog tired. When we got to the school it was then revealed to us that we had no money to go back home. We had to make it at the gate. So we moved around the school encouraging the students to come to our show. Luckily some of our cast had appeared on television during a performance for the Mayor’s Christmas Show and the students remembered them and word spread quickly. It was sheer luck and the whole school attended!
The second unforgettable incident happened years later. We were booked for a performance at George Silundika High School — far away from the city. We travelled to the school on a Saturday and unfortunately got there and found the school had double booked us. It was two rival groups for that matter. The teachers in charge of the event tried to get us to perform together and split the money but we could not face each other so our group, in anger, left the school to go back home. But it was already too late. When we got to the main road there was no transport to take us back to Bulawayo and so we were stranded. A lorry picked us up and dumped us at Nyamandlovu Shopping Centre. There we had no choice but to sleep at an empty, wide open railway station waiting room. And that night was one of the coldest nights in my life and it inspired me to write arguably one of my best plays, Umhlola, which for years was performed to critical acclaim and won some awards with National Theatre Organisation (NTO).
This was before donor money came into the sector and before we all knew about hotel accommodation and per diems. Of course, our time was certainly not the best of the times. The conditions were certainly not the best conditions. But passion drove the players, and things got done. Now passion alone cannot push anything. You got to have the money to make things happen or you soon you will be accused of abusing artistes. Our past experiences hardened us. It is that glamour was a result of sweat, that there were a lot of tears behind one story of success.
