Monday, October 31, 2005
Konni: My first Rocky Horror Picture Show Halloween
For me, Africa has been full of firsts. Some have been predictable: first time seeing hippos in the wild, first time seeing a village full of topless women, first time eating rat, first time catching malaria, first time drinking millet beer and palm wine. Stuff like that. But I've also been becoming more western out here, accumulating bizarre firsts that are fairly inappropriate to this continent: first time joining a country club, first time going on golf outings with caddies, first time owning two motorized vehicles, first time supporting two employees (servants?) who attend to my security and cleanliness, first time rubbing elbows with western diplomats, first time learning how to surf, first time staying up until four am to watch American sporting events, and now, first time watching the Rocky Horror Picture Show.
For a quarter century I avoided the Rocky Horror Picture Show with total success. That was for theater kids, loud and dramatic people who wanted to change my attitudes about sex. And if I was going to watch a midnight movie it was damn well going to be Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. I never planned to watch this "show" but I also never planned to celebrate Halloween on Niger's border with Nigeria in the company of twenty odd Peace Corps Volunteers, as one of them put it, with "every white person for three hundred miles".
Their transit house at Konni is halfway to Agadez and was our logical stopping point. We just tweaked our schedule to arrive in time for their festivities. It seemed like a normal get together, modestly stocked with alcohol, well-equipped with western music and a crisp sound system, several pots of food. And it was Halloween, so I didn't pay much attention to the people who were dressed in a somewhat provocative and semi-gothic fashion. I started paying attention when Sean reappeared in an eye-catching outfit that was supposed to make him "Brad Majors". Whatever. So it's a theme party and Sean is making us all more welcome by being a good sport and playing along. A few hours pass and somebody stops the music to say that we are going to watch the Rocky Horror Picture Show. Okay. It's a bit strange that they would insist that we watch their movie; but they'd gone through the effort of rigging up a projection system and they seemed into it, so I moved to the viewing area and waited. Giant lips started singing about transgender aliens and entirely too many people began singing along.
Suddenly, Sean was standing in front of everyone in something I wouldn't wear in front of a mirror; alongside him was a girl I'd never met; they were acting along with the movie behind them as the audience barked "Janet" and "Oh Brad". Within a matter of minutes it became clear that the most outrageously attired celebrants at this party were dressed as characters from this movie and had every intention of acting out the entire thing. Last night I realized that the Rocky Horror Picture Show does not feature man eating plants. Before the screening began, I was sure that the most scandalous moment of the evening had already been provided by a tall girl in a vampire's cape who intoned "AAAaaalllaaaahuu Spank Bar" prior to slapping a crossdressing man square in the ass with a board of religious verses. But I was wrong. This show corresponded to an uncanny degree with my teenage suspicions about the true nature and style of the theater crowd. This is how I feared they would behave. They wanted to do these things to me. And there was Sean, um . . . into it.
By the time the spectacle was concluded, many people were asleep on the ground, paired off beneath mosquito nets or singing loudly. Only the most vile alcohols had survived the earlier stages of the party and I didn't have the need. I lost energy and retired for the evening. I was lifted out of early sleep by some ecstatic shouts about a shower party; I shuddered and let them pass ignoring giggles and splashing as I drifted off.
To be fair, this was the best conceivable way to celebrate a pagan holiday and these people should be forgiven all of their trespasses against good taste because, for the most part, they spend two years trying to be patient and sensitive cultural ambassadors in rough and invasive circumstances. If they grew a little irreverent, they chose a good day for it. I'm also the last person to exclude anything from the world of acceptable jokes. There can be a problem with an audience. There cannot be a problem with a joke.
For me, Africa has been full of firsts. Some have been predictable: first time seeing hippos in the wild, first time seeing a village full of topless women, first time eating rat, first time catching malaria, first time drinking millet beer and palm wine. Stuff like that. But I've also been becoming more western out here, accumulating bizarre firsts that are fairly inappropriate to this continent: first time joining a country club, first time going on golf outings with caddies, first time owning two motorized vehicles, first time supporting two employees (servants?) who attend to my security and cleanliness, first time rubbing elbows with western diplomats, first time learning how to surf, first time staying up until four am to watch American sporting events, and now, first time watching the Rocky Horror Picture Show.
For a quarter century I avoided the Rocky Horror Picture Show with total success. That was for theater kids, loud and dramatic people who wanted to change my attitudes about sex. And if I was going to watch a midnight movie it was damn well going to be Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. I never planned to watch this "show" but I also never planned to celebrate Halloween on Niger's border with Nigeria in the company of twenty odd Peace Corps Volunteers, as one of them put it, with "every white person for three hundred miles".
Their transit house at Konni is halfway to Agadez and was our logical stopping point. We just tweaked our schedule to arrive in time for their festivities. It seemed like a normal get together, modestly stocked with alcohol, well-equipped with western music and a crisp sound system, several pots of food. And it was Halloween, so I didn't pay much attention to the people who were dressed in a somewhat provocative and semi-gothic fashion. I started paying attention when Sean reappeared in an eye-catching outfit that was supposed to make him "Brad Majors". Whatever. So it's a theme party and Sean is making us all more welcome by being a good sport and playing along. A few hours pass and somebody stops the music to say that we are going to watch the Rocky Horror Picture Show. Okay. It's a bit strange that they would insist that we watch their movie; but they'd gone through the effort of rigging up a projection system and they seemed into it, so I moved to the viewing area and waited. Giant lips started singing about transgender aliens and entirely too many people began singing along.
Suddenly, Sean was standing in front of everyone in something I wouldn't wear in front of a mirror; alongside him was a girl I'd never met; they were acting along with the movie behind them as the audience barked "Janet" and "Oh Brad". Within a matter of minutes it became clear that the most outrageously attired celebrants at this party were dressed as characters from this movie and had every intention of acting out the entire thing. Last night I realized that the Rocky Horror Picture Show does not feature man eating plants. Before the screening began, I was sure that the most scandalous moment of the evening had already been provided by a tall girl in a vampire's cape who intoned "AAAaaalllaaaahuu Spank Bar" prior to slapping a crossdressing man square in the ass with a board of religious verses. But I was wrong. This show corresponded to an uncanny degree with my teenage suspicions about the true nature and style of the theater crowd. This is how I feared they would behave. They wanted to do these things to me. And there was Sean, um . . . into it.
By the time the spectacle was concluded, many people were asleep on the ground, paired off beneath mosquito nets or singing loudly. Only the most vile alcohols had survived the earlier stages of the party and I didn't have the need. I lost energy and retired for the evening. I was lifted out of early sleep by some ecstatic shouts about a shower party; I shuddered and let them pass ignoring giggles and splashing as I drifted off.
To be fair, this was the best conceivable way to celebrate a pagan holiday and these people should be forgiven all of their trespasses against good taste because, for the most part, they spend two years trying to be patient and sensitive cultural ambassadors in rough and invasive circumstances. If they grew a little irreverent, they chose a good day for it. I'm also the last person to exclude anything from the world of acceptable jokes. There can be a problem with an audience. There cannot be a problem with a joke.
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