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fear death and cholera

How do we come to terms with the worst natural disaster, perhaps ever, in the world? When the death of one person can be devastating, how do we comprehend the deaths of hundreds of thousands of people? There is the initial killing by the 'event' but then there is the aftermath as the infrastructure is destroyed and disease and hunger set in. The figures may spiral to millions with no guarantees that recovery will be unhampered by further earthquakes. This raises the question of refuge. Where is a safe place for survivors to live? The right “to leave” a country, laid down in Article 13 (2) of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, has no corresponding right “to enter” a country. Hence there are millions of people throughout the world, waiting in displacement camps or leaking boats to be allowed entry to a country where they can have the most basic of human rights; food, clean water and shelter. António Guterres, the UN High Commissioner for Refugees stated that 80 percent of the world's refugees and internally displaced people are in developing nations, underscoring the disproportionate burden carried by those least able to afford it as well as the need for more international support. It also puts into proper perspective alarmist claims by populist politicians and media that some industrialised nations are being "flooded" by asylum seekers. Most people forced to flee their homes because of conflict or persecution remain within their own countries and regions in the developing world. Major refugee-hosting nations in 2008 included Pakistan (1.8 million); Syria (1.1 million); Iran (980,000); Germany (582,700), Jordan (500,400); Chad (330,500); Tanzania (321,900); and Kenya (320,600). Major countries of origin for refugees included Afghanistan (2.8 million) and Iraq (1.9 million), which together account for 45 percent of all UNHCR refugees. Others were Somalia (561,000); Sudan (419,000); Colombia (374,000), and the Democratic Republic of the Congo (368,000). Nearly all of these countries are in the developing world. (1)

So who will open their doors to the victims of the Earthquake in Haiti? Aside from throwing money, a reflex response to disaster and of course a laudable one because money is needed. Spending it on the 'right' things and getting it to the people who need it is another matter. I am interested in a change of individual attitudes, public policy and international law that allows everyone freedom of movement. But what if....? What if we were prepared to let go of our fears? Fear is what prevents people from opening up their hearts and homes to others. What do we fear? Loss? Change? If we really want to see justice served and that everyone enjoys basic human rights, then there must be an equitable distribution of wealth. After all how did the rich get rich? On the backs of the poor. The land, labour and resources of poorer nations and communities have provided and sustained the wealth of rich people and nations. The rich nations of the world must let go of their irrational fears of invasion and not only open their coffers, but also their borders. The only thing that should be left outside the border is Fear.

(1)The UN Refugee Agency Website http://www.unhcr.org/4a3b98706.html (19th June 2009)

Fear, Death and Cholera

Fear, Death and Cholera visited the Holy City of Mecca each year. Death and Cholera would meet the gatekeeper to the city and come to an agreement as to how many victims they would take. Fear remained in her brother's shadows and slipped into the city unacknowledged by the gatekeeper. One year, Fear decided to visit the city alone and when she came to the gatekeeper, he did not know her, and let her enter. When Cholera and Death arrived later that year, the gatekeeper asked how many victims they would take.

'Not more than 500 I'm sure this time,' said Cholera.

'And you Death, how many will you take?' the gatekeeper demanded.

'As always, I will take only what Cholera gives me,' he answered.

Satisfied, the gatekeeper let them enter.

A month later, Death and Cholera left the city and upon arriving at the gate were stopped by the gatekeeper.

'Open the gates, gatekeeper,' they demanded.

'Cholera, how many victims did you take?' the gatekeeper asked.

'Only 499,' Cholera answered, 'less than I said I would'

'And Death, how many did you take?' the gatekeeper asked.

'I took more than a thousand,' he said.

'But you promised you'd only take what Cholera gave you!' said the angry gatekeeper.

'Yes, I know that is what I said,' Death explained, ' But that is before I knew our sister, Fear had come to the city beforehand. You did not recognize her so you let her in. Most of those who have died were taken by her. Left alone to infect the people, she is capable of causing more deaths than Cholera!'

Story Source:

The Three Companions

Indonesian Legends and Folk Tales

Told by Adele de Leeuw, Illustrated by Ronni Solbert, Published by Thomas Nelson and Sons, New York 1961

Hope by Roman W. Schatz

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The Drum

This tale has evolved in meaning for me over the years I have been telling it. In my first tellings I saw it simply as a tale of 'exchanges' advocating that we all have something to exchange with each other. A few years later I described it thus; ' A chain tale with variants throughout the world. In this version the child wishes for a drum and through his own generosity initiates a process of exchanges and eventually has his wish granted. The drum is a metaphor for the folktale. Only when we freely give it away through the act of telling do we unleash its power to serve and transform our lives.'

Now I see this tale also as a metaphor for letting go of attachments. If we are to move on and experience all that the moment has to offer, we must be prepared to release whatever we are holding on to.

Every 'thing' has a purpose, but what many of us tend to do is horde 'things' for a time when we think it may be useful. But if we are honest, these 'things' often clutter our space and clog up our lives.

It is the same with storytelling: the clangor of critical words, both real and imagined, clutter our minds and the fear of failure, ridicule and dismissal, clog our channels of communication. Tell the tale, release your fear and receive love. The rewards far outweigh the risks.

THE DRUM

There was once a boy who wanted a drum. He would walk around pretending to play a drum and singing,

'Tum de dum, I want a drum te dum, tum te dum, I want a drum.'

One day his mother said that she was going to market and asked the boy if there was something she could bring back for him.

He replied,

'Tum de dum, I want a drum te dum, tum te dum, I want a drum.'

His mother smiled and went on her way.

After she had sold her wares she had a few coins left to buy rice and spices, but no money to buy a gift for her son. She looked around until she found a a straight, strong stick. She picked it up and took it home.

When the boy saw his mother his eyes lit up.

'I have brought you something from the market,' she said.

The boy was excited. His mother held out her hand and gave him the stick.

'Thank you,' he said, knowing that his mother could not afford to buy him a drum.

But he immediately began to tap the stick against his side and sing.

'Tum de dum, I want a drum te dum, tum te dum, I want a drum.'

He walked down the lane out of his village and soon came to an old woman sitting by her cook fire coughing and spluttering in a swirl of smoke.

'What are you doing Grandmother?' he asked.

'Can't you see I'm trying to light my fire but I have no dry wood and that's why its smoking enough to choke me.' she replied between coughs.

'I have a dry stick,' he said, 'take it.'

The boy handed the old woman the stick and she lay it on her fire. The flames immediately danced around it and the smoke soon disappeared. The old woman was delighted.

'Thank you boy,' she said, 'in return for your kindness have this chapati I made yesterday.'

She took the Indian flatbread from beside the fire and gave it to the boy, who smiled and continued on his way singing.

'Tum de dum, I want a drum te dum, tum te dum, I want a drum.'

Soon he came to a woman making a pot out of clay. Beside her a baby wailed loudly.

'Why is your baby crying?' he asked.

'Because he's hungry,' said the woman, 'but I can't get him any food until I finish making this pot.'

'I've got this chapati, he can have that,' said the boy, passing it to the baby, who took it and immediately stopping crying as he shoved it into his mouth and began to chew.

'Thank you,' said the mother, 'now I can work in peace. Please boy take that pot standing by the big one. I have no use for it.'

The boy took the pot and went on his way singing,

'Tum de dum, I want a drum te dum, tum te dum, I want a drum.'

It wasn't long before he found himself beside the banks of the river watching a washerman and a woman fighting.

'Why are you fighting?' demanded the boy.

'Its all her fault,' accused the washerman, 'she broke my best washing pot for all the silks.'

'But if you hadn't left it standing around, I wouldn't have tripped over it,' countered the woman.

'I have a pot,' said the boy, 'why don't you use it?'

The boy handed the pot to the washerman who took it and thanked the boy.

'You have helped me out of a predicament boy, and I want to give you this coat as a way of saying thank you,' he said.

The washerman left and quickly returned with a large coat and hand it to the boy who took it and continued on his way singing,

'Tum de dum, I want a drum te dum, tum te dum, I want a drum.'

He was at the foot of the hills when he saw a naked man standing by a tree.

'Why haven't you got any clothes?' asked the boy.

'Because I've been robbed,' answered the man, 'and I'm freezing.'

'Then have my coat,' said the boy.

The man took the coat and put it on. It was then the boy noticed the horse tied up to the tree.

'I don't need that old horse now,' said the man, 'I've missed my appointment so I'll just walk back home. You may as well have him.'

The boy took the horse and continued on his way back towards his village. As he walked he sang,

'Tum de dum, I want a drum te dum, tum te dum, I want a drum.'

When he arrived back at the village he saw a great number of people all gathered in the centre, wearing their finest clothes. And yet there was none of the gaiety and excitement that accompanies such a celebration. Surely it was a happy event that the people had come to, but there was an aura of doom and gloom upon them.

'What is wrong,' asked the boy of one of the people.

The man threw up his hands in despair.

'This is supposed to be a wedding we are celebrating, but the man with the horse has not come. The bridegroom must attend the wedding on horseback and if this does not happen the best time to be married will be past and the bride and groom will not be blessed with good fortune.'

'Oh,' said the boy. 'I have a horse. The bridegroom can ride him.'

The man noticing the horse for the first time was filled with joy.

'Yes, I will take him straight away, and you boy, he said, looking around the gathering, 'you can have anything you want. Just ask.'

In the midst of the guests were the musicians, and in the centre of them were the drummers. the boy spotted the drum he wanted and turned to the man who had given the horse to the bridegroom.

'I want that drum,' said the boy.

The man paid the musician for his drum and handed it to the boy, who took it and made his way home singing,

'Tum de dum, I got a drum te dum, tum te dum, I got a drum.'

As he neared his house, the boy's mother cam outside to hear what the thumping sound was.

She stood and stared in amazement as her son came toward her.

'Where did you get that drum,?' she asked.

The boy smiled at his mother and replied.

'Don't you remember that you went to market this morning mother and you brought it back for me?'

The mother was puzzled, and never did work out how a stick could turn into a drum.

But you know and I know and now we can tell the world.

Source:

Ramanujan, A. K. (1991) A Drum. Folktales from India: A selection of oral tales

from 22 languages selected and edited by A K Ramanujan, Pantheon Books

New York.

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Storyteller's Story

At the conclusion of the school's activities celebrating oral culture, we sat in the staffroom enjoying the elation a successful day of creativity elicits. A teacher sat beside me and told me she had read the story of the Mermaid of Zennor eight times that day, once for each of the groups who visited her. A tale from her own cultural tradition and home country, it brought her great joy to be able to share it with the International school community. She confided in me that even though she knew the story well, she read it rather than told it, because the text gave her security. This was not the first time I had heard a teacher say this. The transition between reading a story and telling it can be a difficult one for many people to manage, and the reason for this is Fear. I said to her that if she told the story she would attain freedom. As we didn't have a lot of time to discuss what this means in depth, I will explain it now.

Firstly it is important to differentiate between literary stories and oral stories. The former is meant to be read, the latter told. Folktales are essentially tales passed on from mouth to ear over many years. Because of war, disease, famine and displacement, many stories have died with the tellers. However, the advent and pervasiveness of the printing press and an interest in the collecting of folklore has enabled many stories to be recorded and printed, thereby available to the world to be read. Audio-visual technology plays an important role in continuing the documentation of folktales, particularly by members of the culture whose stories are being recorded.

Storytellers source their repertoire through either listening to other storytellers (both professional and those within their own communities) or reading folktales in books. A storyteller must consider both the prejudices and preferences of folklore collectors in written versions of folktales, especially those that were collected in previous centuries, and also their own relationship to the story. By relationship I mean that the storyteller may be intimate with the setting of the tale, familiar with the events described or know the traditions associated with its telling. What is often called 'owning the story' does not mean that the story is from your cultural tradition, although it could be, it means that you tell the story in your words, in your way and from your heart. This doesn't mean that you don't borrow some of the words from a written text or storyteller you love, because they best create the image you want to convey to your audience; all storytellers are guilty of some word or phrase appropriation. But the most authentic tellings are in your words.

Now to forsaking the security of the written word in the pursuit of freedom. You can begin telling your tale with an acknowledgement of the written source as a version of the tale you know, and if listeners want to read the story, you can give them a reference. But follow on with an assertion like, 'this is the way I tell the tale.' Or you can frame the story by explaining to your listeners your relationship to it. For example, 'this tale was told to me by my mother, who was told it by her mother and her mother before that, and now I am telling it to you.' Or, 'this is a traditional tale from the first people to live in this country and if you live here then its important you know this story.'

When I first started storytelling I thought that meant finding a written tale and memorising that version. Other people's words are easy to read but not to tell. No matter how many times I tried to remember the exact words of a story I was learning, I failed. Very few people learn a folktale word for word because this is not the natural way to pass a tale on to others. It is good to learn by heart any repeated rhymes and know the phrases you will use to begin and end a story, but the substance of the tale is easiest learnt by imaging, or making pictures of the story in a sequence in your mind, much like a film. The words which you use in your telling may not be as descriptive as those in a written version, but you won't have to wrestle with trying to retrieve those words from your memory, because they're your own words, describing simply and accurately what is happening in your pictures. The immediacy and directness of your account to your listeners will more than make up for literary devices used in a written work you are reading.

Direct communication between storyteller and listener is the essence of storytelling, because it is an interactive process. The teller is guided by the listener's engagement with the telling. Not having a book as an intermediary liberates the teller to use their whole being to tell the story. They can modify their telling to suit the preferences of their listener rather than be restricted by the words on the page. Even the most expressive reader has to look at the text every few sentences, and therefore their eyes cannot always be looking at their listeners. Their hands are generally involved with book holding and page turning and therefore cannot be used to gesticulate. Reading done sitting or standing takes place in the one spot, so dramatic expression is limited to that area. However the most important difference between reading a story and telling it in your own words is that the tale's presentation, progression and resolution are in the hands of the teller. Therefore, the story becomes their story; shared with their listeners. This doesn't negate any acknowledgement of story sources, but defines the storyteller as the giver of the tale.

Initially I said that Fear is what prevents people storytelling. What are people afraid of? I have heard many teachers say that they can tell a story to young children but not in front of colleagues or parents. Fear of criticism, judgement and ridicule by peers begins in childhood and often continues through into adulthood. We live in a world where humiliation is served up to us in the guise of entertainment. One has to be brave or desperate to volunteer any public performance, so choosing an empathetic audience is important. It is worth noting that in an educational environment the majority of parents and work colleagues are going to be supportive rather than antagonistic to your storytelling endeavours. Fear of failure is another barrier to beginning storytellers. 'What if I forget what comes next in the story, what if I trip over my tongue, what if nobody listens? All of these fears can be addressed through good preparation and compassion. Generally your listeners will be understanding and forgiving if you make a 'mistake'. I have found children as a class, to be the most forgiving and generously spirited souls. The compassion you need to develop is towards yourself. If you find this difficult then imagine that you are a friend who is beginning storytelling. Are you going to demean or applaud her attempts as a storyteller?

Now for that paradoxical fear; the fear of being listened to.

When I first started storytelling I was in a character costume and I always told stories sitting down. There is nothing wrong with a sitting position for storytelling, if that is what is most appropriate for teller and listeners, and there's nothing wrong with adopting a storytelling persona. But I sat down because I was afraid of standing up and claiming the storyteller's space. I was in character because the storyteller was another separate identity, not really me. My fear was about being myself, and allowing others to see and hear me.

I worked with a drama consultant on how to stand up and tell, but it took quite a few years to discard my fairy costume and become Morgan, the storyteller. The fact that much of my work was in an 'entertainment' capacity prolonged the fairy persona, however, when I did move into telling stories in the arenas of education and health promotion I felt that I was beginning to understand the real power of storytelling.

Over the years people have asked me why I became a storyteller and I've responded with various answers about love of books, stories, performing, communicating with people etc. However these answers never seemed accurate or comprehensive enough. Until one day I had what is referred to as an 'aha moment'. I became a storyteller because I wanted to be heard!

Once I understood this, it was as though a veil lifted from my eyes and I was able to see into my heart. Knowing what you are doing is one thing; knowing why you are doing it gives clarity to your purpose. It is also the best antidote for Fear. So what do I want people to hear? Stories of empowerment, compassion, tolerance and the celebration of community strength and diversity. Essentially the stories I tell have Love at their core. Traditional tales tell of love withheld, the desire for love, it's absence, it's expression and ultimately it's triumph. Love can conquer Fear. For me storytelling is a gift of Love.

Photo by Roman W. Schatz

Morgan performing on Folkways Day 2009, at the International School of Augsburg

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