In recent weeks, I've had lots more chances to do fagogo sessions with schools and church groups here.
It's all very lovely but there's been moments where I just wanted to leave the room and weep.
Some of the sessions involved young people from very challenging backgrounds. What I was not prepared for was the sharing of experiences that are so sad and heartbreaking, and the 2 other adults I had asked to help with my sessions were weeping in the corner. Thanks guys.
Sometimes, you just gotta stay standing and then find a corner to sulk in when the crowd has disappeared.
Speaking of sulking,
Recently I went home - and whenever I return, I have weeks where I wonder - what the duck I'm doing with my loife - away from home (Cue - makagaga moments).
In any case, I'm one of those people raised in a family where big girls don't cry. If you're emotional, save your drama for yourself. And so I went into the spare room, shut the door and wept.
I didn't realise La Tuif was in the room (in the cupboard- don't ask, that's another essay) and he yelled out to his sister, "Mom is crying! OMG! Mom is crying!" (Loud enough for the neighbours to hear ). Thanks La Tuif. Anyhow, both little humans hopped in bed with me, patted my head, and then they started making up fagogo to make me laugh at.
Obviously, La Tuif's ones involved lots of superheroes, butts and farts. MM was as usual, a thoughtful measured story that soothed the soul. They both took my tears away and even more so when La Tuif said "I'm only looking after you because when I fell off my bike, you carried me upstairs and gave me candy and watched pokemon with me" Fefe ia pols.
In any case, I feel like this fagogo journey takes its toll on me sometimes but I just have to put on my ninja undies and get on with it.
Doing fagogo has led me to numerous discussions with people - many of whom were raised listening to their elders telling stories. Many who recall their own favourite stories or methods of sharing stories which they recall with joy. I love that in the midst of a classroom or a church hall, we - grown adults - revert back to our childhood memories and laugh a little - or reminisce about our pasts.
But you see, it's the ones who were not told fagogo who appeal to me the most, because I'm finding out that in the absence of legends, myths, fairytales, chants, poetry and song, sadder stories were more prominent. Stories of violence, drug addiction, rejection and worse, all of which are now forming the fagogos they share in a circle now.
Sharing stories is great, but sometimes, you go home carried the weight of someone's past.