Namasagali productions were the talk of the town. Around
March, girls in brief red dresses flowered the streets of Kampala, especially
near Uganda National Theatre.
I looked forward to this time of year, my brother would be
home in the middle of school term – a change up from my mundane routine. He’d
come with stories and lots of friends.
I attempted to hang out with his friends, they’d pinch my
cheeks and tell me how cute I was. I felt prized, like I belonged in this group
of boisterous, sexy, carefree grownups.
Sitting on the edge of the green worn out theater seats I’d
marvel as my brother captivated the audience. He’d spin, leap and swing from
one corner of the stage to the other in his leotard. His strong muscular frame
moving to the rhythm of a song that rose from under our feet and out through
each strand of hair on our heads.
A pretty girl also in a leotard would emerge, twirl and jump
into his arms. He’d raise her into the air like an empty delicate pot – the
magic! The audience clapped and I’d be like “Yeah! That’s my bro!”.
At the end of the show I’d walk out expecting to be greeted
and patted on the back like I was the star. Like, “Did you see my bro? We live
in the same house. Family genes please!”
Nobody knew me. The crowds gave accolades to the rightful
owners.
I grew older. A shy, impressionable twelve-year-old girl.
At another production a girl strode on to the stage. Her
tall, svelte frame captivated the crowds. Her skin was the color of dark
chocolate – the darker the berry the sweeter the juice kind of beauty. Her
posture and presence brought the building to a pause. Her confidence carried
the auditorium.
Her dance moves had the audience in get-set mode. She’d
mastered her lines.
It was easy to see she was all that – “Oil wells pumping in
my living room” kind of sassy.
I admired her severely.
After the show and enshrouded in the crowds making their way
out the theatre corridors, her beautiful face stayed imprinted on the ceiling
of my mind.
I’m sure many girls wanted to be like her.
Something about artists portraying the best self we secretly
desire.
In the theater’s restroom, I looked into the mirror.
A certain reality stared back.
