Some of the cast of Aida, Metropolitan Opera, NYC. That’s my face on the far right.
Dear Nabachwa,
Earlier this year, somewhere during my fifth performance of Aida at the Metropolitan Opera, it dawned on me that it was the 30th anniversary of the first time I ever danced an Aida. I caught feelings about it, had to ask my colleagues for the microphone for a moment to tell them how much it meant to dance with them, to fellowship in a process, to feel both their reverence and social preference all at once.
As gratifying as it felt, it was incomplete. The performance ended before I figured out the connective tissue is you. You were there with me in Orange County for my first professional performance of Aida—or any opera for that matter—at 17 years old. You were there twirling Lula’s choreography with me, dancing the trio on that diagonal like it was the last time we might ever use our legs (per old school training mandates).
And you’ve been there with me ever since, constantly telling me the truth, hitting life full out every time. We survived undergrad iin the 90’s, the Laurelton Queens LIRR schedule, This Little Light knee dance, 93 in Redlands, Donald Byrd in general. I cheer-led you back from that leg break, you recovered to become legendary at DCDC for far more than dance, and then put Schehimezade Productions on a tank for my birthday.
We took chances.
Nabachwa Ssensalo, Dayton Contemporary Dance Company
You went full James Bond “M” and jumped me into COVID concierge testing covert op style, two-hour mission deadline and all.
You were one of my first (torturous) clients when I became a licensed insurance broker.
You annoy me with insights on myself that I did not ask for and desperately need.
You remind me every time I run to the sun that you hate heat.
That I love you is clear in these words you will suffer every one of on principle, since you are exhausted with people who don’t read the entire email or text.
We adapt on jobs, as equals when I drag you and your rolling eyes to IABD to curate the auditions. As my supervisor/advisor/headhunter on Production gigs. As my assistant (which made me useless) choreographing that epic The Parts They Left Out, which we need to reset in Africa.
You have been my work wife.
You have been my work husband.
We consolidated tears when Jeremiah passed and championed Bernard every opportunity we got.
Nabachwa and me with other key Lula babies, Tamica Washington and Bernard Brown
You have maintained the thespian part, ready for stage or camera. Because you are out of your mind and can play all the parts. So many of us have enjoyed the beauty of your Wakanda even before we knew what that was. You are inspirational, passionate, thorough, brilliant and Black every time you wake up.
. As I stood in my costume as an ancient Egyptian warrior for my sixth show, it is you that I thanked for being there my entire artist journey, for talking me into not giving it up when I sucked at partnering (Charlton helped here too). You are a big part of the reason this body still goes.
Nabachwa as Kalidah Queen in The Wiz for Sinclair Community College
Happy 134th birthday, diva. Thank you for being available to service the deeper world with joy co-signed by the ancestors. And know that I am hardly done annoying you.
Asę -
Jamal