Kigali Genocide Memorial Amphitheater
In July 2019, I traveled to Kigali, Rwanda to help write, music-direct, and perform in an original play to commemorate the 25th anniversary of the Rwandan Genocide. This was a collaboration between the Rwanda-based Mashirika Theater Company and the USA-based Peace Studio. The play was called Generation 25. This title comes from the group of Rwandans in their mid-twenties who were born immediately after the 1994 genocide, who didn’t necessarily experience it firsthand, but rather inherited its aftermath. Together as a team of fifteen artists, we wrote an original 60-minute play, which we premiered on July 14th as part of the Ubumuntu Arts Festival. The premiere took place at the Kigali Genocide Memorial, the resting place for an estimated 250,000 victims.
The cast included musicians, actors, and dancers, and the members were: Hope Azeda, Kambi Gathesha, Aubaine Hirwa, Peace Jolis, Queen Kamanzi, Yannick Kamanzi, Jules Latimer, Jihad Niyonkuru, Gaby Saker, Aaron Stokes, Ashley Teague, Thomas West, and myself.
Ubumuntu can be described as “being human”. Hope Azeda began the Ubumuntu Arts Festival in 2014 to present performance art that is—in her words—“created for the sake of humanity”. Since its founding, the Ubumuntu Arts Festival has hosted artists from over 30 countries, giving over 50 performances every July.
Set for the Ubumuntu Arts Festival at the Kigali Genocide Memorial Amphitheater
Rehearsal Process
The first rehearsal for Generation 25 in Kigali
Our rehearsal process began in June, prior to the USA-based artists’ arrival in Kigali. Kambi, Jules, Gaby, Aaron, Ashley, Thomas, and I all met for the first time at our first rehearsal in a small dance studio in New York City. As a classically trained bassoonist, this was the first time I had ever done devised work, and it was my first time composing an original score. Aaron—a cellist—and I pulled from standard solo repertoire for our instruments as a point of departure. As our actor colleagues wrote text, we improvised music that matched the character, texture, and pace of the spoken word they had composed.
In order to give continuity to our work (as we devised separately in Kigali and New York City) we considered these single words to begin creating content:
Home
Motherhood
Childhood
Remembrance
Walls
These words—all intentionally vague– allowed us to narrow the focus of our rehearsal time, while not limiting our creativity.
Our USA-based team arrived in Kigali ready to delete any of the content we had devised in New York City; we were guests in the home of our Rwanda-based colleagues, and our priority was to assist in the telling of their stories. As we worked with our Rwandan cast members, questions echoed in our minds:
Hope coaching Aubaine and I on our “Motherhood” scene
Why are we Americans in Rwanda? What can we offer?
How do we tell these stories—ones that don’t belong to us—honestly?
How do we stage the aftermath of genocide when we’ve never experienced it?
The echoes of these questions were especially noisy during the most emotionally taxing moments of creation. While building a scene about childhood and lost innocence, Yannick explained a common experience of a child born immediately after the genocide: while chasing a soccer ball to an overgrown part of the playground, you might find a human skull that had been untouched since 1994. Imagining this experience, one that all of our Rwanda-based colleagues had undoubtedly lived, made the work of writing this play feel like such an insurmountable task to the USA-based cast members. But Hope advised, “Ladies, I’m sure you all remember a time when an older man looked at you and let you know that the world no longer saw you as a child. Think of that moment. You don’t need to have inherited genocide to know what it feels like to lose your childhood innocence.”
The cast of Generation 25
The spirit of calling on our own experiences—our own identities—resonated throughout the entire rehearsal process. Our Rwanda-based colleagues invited us to use our own stories to tell theirs. In this moment, I felt compelled to tell the story of my grandmother’s lost childhood: when she was forced into an internment camp for Japanese Americans during World War II. This story eventually became the monologue which I shared with Aubaine in the “motherhood” scene of Generation 25.
Performance
Our performance began from candlelight in the full amphitheater, and a spotlight came up as Aaron and I played a somber violin duet by Dmitri Shostakovich. The final note of the duo became the first note of the Kinyarwanda song Inkotanyi Duhuje Amarembo, which we played in canon with Queen and Aubaine singing. As this musical interlude faded, the sequence of scenes that flowed together without pause began:
“Motherhood” Scene
Queen and Jules in “I Remember”
Gaby screaming at the end of “Childhood”
Jihad in “Walls”
1. Crimes Against Humanity: Actors listed crimes against humanity—both past and present—in overlapping text as Jihad violently danced to the music of their voices.
2. Motherhood: Aubaine and I spoke while draped in a large cloth. For her character it represented the blood-stained clothes as she spoke to her mother; for my character it represented the only clothes that my grandmother could carry into the internment camps. As we spoke, Jules and Peace sang an unaccompanied duet in both English and Kinyarwanda.
3. “I Remember”: This was the first moment of levity in the performance so far. Gaby and Kambi defined what it is to remember—“to remember is to recall, to remember is to remind, to remember is to reunite”—and what home is to them— “home is Puerto Rico…home is melted ice cream in Brooklyn.” We recalled favorite songs that sound like home and sang as a complete cast. The final songs in this set of memories was a layering of the gospel tune Precious Lord and Michael Jackson’s Man in the Mirror sung by Jules, Aaron, and Queen.
4. Childhood: Our joyous singing faded as the actors melted into emotionless statues. In unison, and again emotionless, everyone recited, “We were young, so young. So innocent.” Aaron and I played similarly expressionless music, which consisted of oscillating seconds and thirds. The actors moved through poses across the stage, and the scene ended with a heart wrenching scream from Gaby.
5. Rage: From Gaby’s scream, Philip entered the sound with a rap he wrote about being born out of genocidal rape. This transformed into Yannick’s violent monologue about rage, which he performed in French.
6. Walls: The final scene was an exploration of both the physical walls we build, and the metaphorical walls that divide us. As I played an excerpt from Philippe Hersant’s Hopi, the actors entered the stage to join Yannick. My playing was haunting, almost sounding distant, and was entirely extended techniques for the bassoon. Some actors discovered the stage, as if returning to a home they did not recognize. Others scattered fistfuls of flour across the stage to make it unrecognizable. This was the beginning of the build to the epic finale of the piece. Aaron joined my playing as the tempo of the actors’ movements accelerated. Our playing became more dissonant and actors began hitting the drums that were placed on stage, as if they were gunshots. As the tempo increased even more and drumming became more frequent, the sound of two pianos joined Aaron and I, causing even louder dissonance. This erupted into a choir singing with us in E Minor for the final moments of the performance. The actors moved in choreographed duos and trios and the twenty-person choir encircled them, forming a wall with their bodies. Aubaine leapt with all her strength to try to break through this wall. She made several attempts, and on the final one was successful with the help of the rest of the cast, lifting her off the ground. She reached toward the audience and the human wall broke apart as the cast lowered her to the ground. Our music modulated to E Major, and Jules appeared by her side to yell, “Run my child!” with a tone of hope and resilience.
7. “Light a Candle!”: The cast retrieved their candles from the opening of the show, which were lit the whole time. They used them to form a path around Aubaine pointed toward the audience and she ran in place on the path. As a complete cast, and with the choir, we finished with another gospel tune, “Light a Candle for the Earth”. The audience was on their feet singing with us and I wept.
Reflections
After writing, music-directing, and performing in Generation 25, I continue to notice the impacts the experience had on my life. As a bassoonist, I’m almost never tasked with devising work or collaborating across disciplines. Engaging in these tasks has permanently transformed my bassoon playing:
I have a broader color palette on the bassoon. Performing in Generation 25 required that I play sounds and musical ideas I had never played before. This has expanded my technical abilities and the variety of timbres I can bring to my bassoon playing.
I can create from scratch. My orchestral training was mostly focused on reinterpreting what had already been written. Now I can improvise and make original work.
I am unafraid to share myself. Reciting a monologue about my grandmother’s history showed me a vulnerability I never knew on stage. I know how to recreate that feeling now with a bassoon.
I know that bassoon is part of my identity. Discovering the limitlessness of my instrument helped me to feel more connected to it. Now it is an even more crucial part of who I am.
I can communicate deeper musical ideas. I think back every day to Hope’s words about lost childhood. I know now how to tap into my own experiences in order to more convincingly and honestly tell musical stories.
I created for the sake of humanity. This is the proudest work I have ever done. It showed me the impact art can have when we create for a cause.
Bows after Generation 25
Photos courtesy of Ubumuntu Arts Festival.
