Thoissane West African Dance Institute

A Movement Analysis – Thoissane West African Dance Institute (Act 1)

Friday, September 27, 2019 at the Barnett Theatre, The Ohio State University

By Michaela Neild

I chose to sit in the front row. Massamba Diop, Drum Master from Senegal, West Africa stands directly in front of me with his tama—or talking drum— slung around his shoulder, hanging by his left hip. He squeezes the drum between his arm and ribs. Leaning his face in towards mine he smiles, looking directly into my eyes. My heart pounds in my chest and throat. Chills crawl up my spine. My mouth is dry. The fingers of his right hand roll one at a time across leather stretched over the head of his drum, and different pitches vibrate through my bones. He pauses; we find a brief moment of silent connection before he breaks eye contact and slowly begins to recede. Massamba Diop contemplates his next muse. My heart rate subsides. I moisten my lips. The lights come up. The show begins. This is one of many exhilarating moments experienced at the Thiossane West African Dance Institute concert on Friday night at The Barnett Theater in Columbus, Ohio.

Lamban/Djollidon, a traditional West African Dance of the Malian Empire, establishes an energetic and celebratory atmosphere for the evening. Performers flood the stage in a flurry of brilliant colors and patterns, accompanied to live sounds of the Djembe Orchestra. As dancers spread across the floor their thigh bones lift toward their chests and swivel in the hip socket from internal to external rotation, a buoyant reverberation developing from pulses of the pelvis. The women take multiple facings, ensuring acknowledgment of each observer. Their torsos are light and fluid, floating over a weighted and grounded pelvis as they consume the entire room. They shift their weight from one foot to another, sinking into the floor with bent knees. Their spines twist, causing their arms to swing freely at the joint. The tips of their fingers bring every molecule of air along as they carve down, out, and up in opposition until gathering at the shoulders—only to be tossed back out with momentum as their weight shifts to the other leg. It is apparent in the brightness filling the women’s eyes and in their broad smiles that this dance is sacred.

The second work of the evening, Djola Suite, is a clear example of a rich and deeply rooted marriage of song, dance, and music in West African culture. Elaborately costumed, dancers enter and become one with percussionists as their weight bounces and rebounds to the rhythm. Wearing headpieces and skirts strung with beads, each shake of the head and thrust of the hips creates a trickle of sound. The women lift their chests and throw their heads back, shouting “Hey!” Audience members become involved, calling back and clapping to the beat in an intimate game of call and response. The dancer’s feet boom as they converse with the floor, clanks emerge from their colorful stick-like props clashing together, and observers tap their toes—all communicating, harmonizing, and contributing to the same song. Similarly, musicians are equally involved in movement. The percussionist births a rhythmic pulse as he allows his head to follow undulations initiated by his spine. His ribs and shoulders jostle. One palm slaps the head of a drum freely. The opposite arm only moves from the elbow down, creating small twitches at the wrist in reaction to quick rotations of his forearm. His fingers gently hold a drumstick. At this point, even the lights are dancing along.

As the first act concludes, guests are informed intermission will involve audience participation. A wave of nervous glances ensues, and artistic director Susan Bradford Kounta begins to coax viewers to the stage floor. I decide to join in. As I climb out of my seat and into the crowd, I can feel my anxiety heighten. Instructed to follow along, I learn movement vocabulary from the performance, an opportunity to learn about West African culture via embodiment. I now understand the stamina involved in the works I just viewed. While fighting to keep up I scan the room. What I find, and what I believe to be a throughline of the evening, is community. Community was established in the first moment of the concert as Massamba Diop looked directly into the eyes of his guests, breaking down barriers before they were built. Community shines through an interrelation of musicians, dancers, and audience members giving to and taking from each other. Community closes the show as guests are told their programs allow free admittance to a class at the Thiossane West African Dance Institute. The dances, songs, and music shared by the performers Friday evening are their home—and they invite us, the audience members, in.