Newspaper Page Text
Page 13
Spelman Spotlight, Atlanta, GA
March 4, 1993
SISTER TO SISTER
"Celebration in Black"
Strengthens Bonds of Sisterhood
By Riche Daniel
Sister to Sister Editor
Once a year the students of Spelman
College are given an opportunity to
build bonds of sisterhood that transcend
everything including dormitories,
classifications, majors and homestates.
This unique experience is called
preparation for "Celebration in Black"
and though each of us complained of
late night practices, unnecessary
attitudes, "too small" roles, and
incomplete scripts, it was a most
memorable and enjoyable experience.
It really confirmed the Spelman
sisterhood we all boast about.
When we began rehearsals for this
performance we were faced with the
unique challenge of putting on the first
"Celebration in Black" performance
written, produced, directed and
performed by an all-female cast.
From there, the experiences became
more unique and memorable by the
minute.
When rehearsals began we knew
faces. We were familiar with some
people through classes and other
activities. Some of us were best
friends, some were roommates. Some
didn’t know each other at all.
At the end of the last performance
we had all spent over 100 hours
Sleepless Nights
I have never seen a black woman in such a heavenly light
Ax the fire that exudes from these walls.
Breaths of ancient lives lingering in it,
Drawing us to it,
Begging us to ask it
For the magic that makes things come together.
On the eve of the end
I take mental photographs of what will be memories.
Keelah running things,
"Let’s move it like we want to get out of here, and pro-JECT!"
Nicole and Colette directing folks,
Richelle working those slides,
Stacey taking care of business in the lightbooth,
Meera and Dejay creating 100 years
(out of twenty bucks and some closets)
Donnica watching it come together.
Sisters’ Chapel at two in the morning,
Again.
Attitudes flying.
Backstage talk,
English majors, Economics majors, Music majors,
Telling our business to people we never saw before.
Talking about where we come from,
What our schools were like,
Men
(or boys, as the case may be.)
Bukola hyping herself up to like Christopher Williams.
Darla, still on them crutches,
Kanika tripping off her one - liner.
We don’t always get the chance to breathe each others’ air.
To find out where we come from,
Who we are,
And why.
To even stop to ask a sister her name.
And when we do,
We do it in the name of wasting valuable time
Which could be spent memorizing
Somebody’s theories on something someone said was important.
But now,
On the eve of this celebration
We decided to have on purpose,
The only word that comes to mind is
Beautiful.
together. We had shared food, we had
shared clothes and shoes (costumes),
we had shared beds (in between
rehearsals) and we had shared rides (for
those who lived off campus).
We were sharing our inner most
thoughts and feelings with people we
probably would never have met under
normal circumstances. We readily
accepted advice from people who knew
nothing about us.
Through the concentration games,
the voice exercises, and the character
sketches that revealed more about each
of us than anyone realized, we were
able to really become "Spelman
sisters."
We did everything from trusting
perfect strangers to lead us blindly
running and jumping, to falling
backwards off of a four feet high table
into the arms of sisters who might not
be so "anxiously" awaiting the fall.
After all is said and done we lived
the bonds that permeate throughout the
history of Black women.
Although we were working hard to
be, feel, and create our characters and
the situations in which we performed, it
was the bonds of sisterhood we created
that built our characters for us.
We began to care for each other, feel
for each other, really know each other
and in that way we were able to feel the
pain our foremothers and foresisters felt.
Photograph by Pam Jones
Bright African colors coupled with exasperated smiles.
Ama, graceful and agile,
Keeping in step while waving her arms and yelling,
"Gotta make a straight line!"
Kenja, with her bad self,
Directing each dancer to raise her leg above her head.
Sisters speaking to us through their movement.
Kelly, singing up a storm with those slippers on.
Laquiana’s voice physically raising the hairs on our necks.
Malika, the embodiment of dignity.
And Ina - full of passion.
Me, I’m cherishing every face, every movement, every word-
Those filled with resentment as well as those said with love.
But are we listening to ourselves as we go through the motions ?
Do we hear the words we’ve been saying
When we talk about our grandmothers and great - grandmothers?
Women who must have tossed in their sleep,
Looked up at ceilings and skies,
And into their faces in mirrors,
In the waters.
Searching, scheming, praying.
Real women who were stolen,
And stolen from,
Raped,
Beaten up, locked up, and locked out.
Real women who didn ’t sleep,
But pushed always forward,
Who survived.
For what?
For whom?
Yes, we are tired.
But three weeks and a few sleepless nights are
Only a small part of this endeavor.
This work is labor of love for our mothers,
And a prayer that in their shadows
We might strive to shine ever on as brightly as they do,
And leave in the fire of these walls a breath of our lives
For our daughters.
(completed 4:41 am, February 13, 1993)
By Mendi D.S. Lewis