The Taxi Driver and The Stage

“When the Engine Sputters, Maybe It’s Time to Let Another Drive”

I was on a jaj on Saturday night returning home when I saw an interesting picture. An elderly taxi driver, his shirt well tucked in, wore a floral necktie. Every time the taxi stopped, he had to get out of his seat and move to the passengers’ door to open it. But that wasn’t what entirely caught my attention. It was the sound of the wheels. Squeaky, tired and how weary the taxi and its driver looked. The fatigue on the faces of the passengers added to the entire picture. It was a vivid metaphor of many institutions in this country. And being an artist, the first institution that came to my mind was one I am attached to… the national stage.

Sometimes I catch myself wondering: would the “Mbowas” be happy if they came back to life today? Have you noticed the age group of the people leading the theatre versus the ones they are leading? Have you visited the website of an artist’s institution? Oh… you haven’t? Well, you should. You will enjoy the view. I’ve lost count of the times I’ve heard complaints about overbooking. And lest I forget, the complacency of the very people who are meant to help you, pushing you to tip them to do their jobs. Jobs they are already paid to do at the end of the month. I’ve seen countless artists’ visions collapse because a single light blew months ago, and no one cared enough to replace it. Or because there was suddenly another activity scheduled in the same space. Or because the person in charge decided not to pick up their phone until Uncle Kent shows up and ensures you’re sorted.

That taxi driver reminded me of the drivers of our arts institutions. The ones who want to gatekeep until they literally can’t gatekeep anymore. The ones who set outdated rules for young artists. Rules that no longer apply, and then when the young ones struggle to keep up, they are called lazy. If you’ve really paid attention, you’ll notice something else: these same elders often cannot even sit at the same table with each other. They whisper about each other in corridors, creating division among their followers. Isn’t it ironic how they talk shit (forgive my French) about one another, yet replicate the exact same dysfunction in their own organisations?

Let’s pause and think about the young people who’ve missed opportunities, not because of a lack of talent, but because they were seen talking to the wrong person. Producers, mentors, and gatekeepers, tearing down young people based on affiliations. What do I know anyway? I’m not a producer. Oh, and then there’s that producer who will let you go because you “don’t look okay,” or because you have “too much power.” Or the one who dismisses you for not being “Christian enough,” all while cashing cheques from funders with roots in Sodom and Gomorrah. The hypocrisy is breathtaking. Truly. It’s just so beautiful how all these things now play into the arts.

There’s something I truly admire about the young people: they will always recognise game. They want to work with the best regardless of someone’s looks, sexuality, religion, or lifestyle. They’re not interested in the old masks. What happened to art being a universal space? A safe space?

Well… the brilliant adults set the tone. And here we are.

But this isn’t to downplay the role the adults have played. Here’s my one cent: we recognise your work. We are grateful for how far you’ve pushed this industry and the foundation you’ve built. But you see, even the best dancer eventually leaves the floor. Make room for fresh feet so that you don’t have to grumble every time Amapiano is played. Because yes, it is music. Authentic music. The revolution might feel like an insult, but it’s really just a new rhythm.

Someone asked me recently, “Why not start staging performances in alternative spaces?” Spaces that respect what you do. Spaces that cancel the noise and give you room to breathe. I once questioned the age group of the board members in the institution. I didn’t believe they even understood the basics of theatre, or represented the needs of the artists they claimed to serve. And I was told, “Be grateful that we even have artists on the board.” Ha! That’s like telling a daughter to stay in an abusive marriage because at least she has a husband no matter how broken the system is. I’ve heard of young people who offered to volunteer, to be mentored, to help build these institutions. Only to face resistance. Told that they were “sabotaging” the institution. And then, when they eventually leave those toxic spaces to protect their peace, they’re called lazy. It’s become so easy to tag young people.

Here’s what many don’t see: Young people are hurting. They’re organising fellowships just to vent. They’re faking smiles with the same abusive adults in public to make things seem okay. They’re writing articles hoping to be heard. They’re creating WhatsApp groups just to talk about how to heal… or simply survive. Meanwhile, the adults? They’re busy starting initiatives and writing proposals to funders, promising to “address youth mental illness.” Well… guess who’s causing the mental illness?

Funny, isn’t it?

This is not a call for a war between generations. This is a call for honesty, for integrity, for accountability. It is a plea for the elders to stop holding the mic if they have nothing left to sing. It’s time to pass the baton with grace, with humility, with vision.

The taxi may still run, but if the wheels are squeaking and the driver is too tired to move, maybe it’s time to pull over. To fix what needs fixing or let someone else drive: someone with fresh energy, new ideas, and the humility to learn from the road travelled before them. The national theatre doesn’t need saviours. It needs collaborators. It needs room. It needs us, young and old, working together. But to work together, you must first let us in. You must first let go.

Let us dance our dance even if it’s to a beat you don’t understand. After all, you taught us how to take our first step and encouraged us to dance. So, why is our movement bothering you so much?

@UlokcwinyuUbia Img: hangspots.com