It was easier for me to imagine this grand theatre out in the yard rather than in the constraints of the living room, so my grandparent’s porch became my stage. I could be louder/bigger there, and me stepping through the double french doors from the house to the porch was symbolic of my shift from reality to imagination.

And my reality was life in a cultural cocoon, living in a bubble created by race. In South Africa during apartheid, you’re either black, white or colored. As colored people we had more priviliges, and if you were light enough, the government gave you the option of passing for white. When I was a few months old, my mother took me to a government office where civil servants measured my skin color and hair texture. Of the nine colored categories, I was considered “Colored Other” being mainly West Indian and European. Basically, they called me a mutt. As I grew older,culturally I was taught to fear black people and look up to white people. It was a very limited existence. My brave mother made a difficult decision and  eventually moved me halfway around the world.

After I graduated high school I was working a couple of waitressing jobs and just felt kind of lost. I was passionate about medicine and wanted to follow in my grandfather’s footsteps but quite honestly money was an issue. One day, my 36-year-old mom got a call from a colleague asking if she wanted to play a 17-year-old coloured girl in a Fringe production of Athol Fugard’s Valley Song. My mom was like, “Mmmm. Maybe you should talk to my daughter.”

Cecil Herschler, my soon to be costar, sat down and read the play with me cover to cover over coffee one day. The story centred around Veronica, an orphaned coloured girl who dreams of being a star but lives in South Africa’s post-Apartheid rural Western Cape. Raised by her grandfather, Veronica is faced with the choice of leaving the only home she’s ever known to pursue her dreams in Johannesburg. By the time I finished my first read through, it was clear Cecil and I would be working together. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I spent that whole summer driving my mother’s vehicle (an old K-car) to the William B. Davis Centre where we’d rehearse 8 hours a day. It was guerilla theatre training. I learned to take direction, workshop scenes and understand theatre terminology. We sold out 4 of the 5 shows when the Fringe opened!  A funny little play about South Africa sold out at the Fringe! For every  performance after the opening there were lines around the block and an $8 ticket could easily be sold for $25 or more!  When I was on stage, I was incredibly nervous but focused on what was most fun for me — getting to sing a song of my choosing which happened to be R.Kelly’s “I believe I Can Fly”. I would lose myself in the moment every time with a complete lack of self consciousness. Memories of performing for the neighbours on my grandma’s porch would come flooding back. Especially during the scene where Veronica, acting out her fantasy, silences a cheering crowd chanting her name. I’ll never forget the night when the audience, swept up in the story, actually started to chant, “Veronica! Veronica!”

I was petrified. Would it work? The chanting built as I stepped up on an apple box, “Veronica! Veronica!”

I swept my arms out like a seasoned maestro, and suddenly there was dead silence in that room. You could hear a pin drop. In that moment, I  realized the power of storytelling and the relationship between an actor and a captivated audience. I’ve been

chasing that moment every since.

To find out where my journey led me next, Click here