Shakespeare in Africa

This week I found myself in Form 4 literature class expounding on Mercutio’s endorsement of the “bros before hos” philosophy of friendship.

Mercutio hates this whole Rosaline fiasco, I tell my students; Romeo’s just mooning around all the time mumbling about brawling love, loving hate, hateful lightness, blah blah blah. Sure, Mercutio digs ladies (high five, wink wink) but Romeo needs to straighten out his priorities. And then, after the big party, Romeo ditches him—again—for another girl. Mercutio would never do that to a friend.

Most of my students watch me with unblinking, confused stares that need no translation: what the hell is the crazy azungu talking about now? As if in agreement, a rooster, which has wandered into the unfurnished classroom and perched on the dusty window ledge, stops pecking and eyes me suspiciously.

Later I make the class stand up and read together the melodramatic scene where Juliet is discovered, seemingly dead. I belt it out: “O woe! O woeful, woeful, woeful day! … O day, O day, O day, O hateful day! ”

“SHOUT IT!” I scream and the rest of the class murmurs nervously and laughs. I should have been in theater, not a classroom, I tell myself.

Then I wonder: does this count as accomplishing Peace Corps Goal Two—promoting a better understanding of Americans abroad?

With less than a term before national exams, the Form 4 literature teacher realized they had left to cover two books of a four-book curriculum, so I volunteered to step in and teach this crash course in Shakespeare. It’s hard to gauge how much the students are getting out of these lessons, and even harder to gauge whether I’m teaching anything they need to know; the national exam writers seem to interpret Romeo and Juliet as if Shakespeare were a Life Skills teacher, not a bard with a dirty sense of humor. Did you know, for example, that a theme of the play is risky decisions? Forget the lovers’ star-crossed fate! Forget Fortuna’s fickle wheel! This is the test to which I teach.

My lasting memory of Mrs. Garrison’s nine-grade English class: we are watching Zeffirelli’s 1968 production of Romeo and Juliet, replete with leggings, codpieces, and shaggy haired hotties. Skin and bare bottom flash just before Mrs. Garrison, screaming “NOOOOOOO!,” has time to dive and block the television with her entire body, as if the nudity, pushing against her, might literally escape the screen and couple with our, um, untainted fourteen-year-old minds.

Remembering this, last month I advised the Head of Department that we pre-screen the film before showing it to the Form 4 students. “It’s racy,” I assured her. She was disappointed when the peep show was little more than a long take of Romeo’s rear.

Of course, the Form 4 students loved that scene best. “JAMBULA MTSIKANA! (SHOW THE GIRL!)” the boys shouted in Chichewa.

I tried to muster my most sour-teacher glare of disapproval.