PAGE TO STAGE, Zeraffa Giraffa – Dianne Hofmeyr

André Refig helps Zeraffa onto a felucca in Khartoum – photo Ellie Kurttz

It’s been a long journey… that frisson of excitement when a theatre contacts you and says – there’s a story in this picture book perfect for adaptation… that smile that can’t be knocked off your face for days to come!

Then the first discussion in the lovely front of house bar café that is part of Omnibus Theatre that smells of good coffee with plush old sofas and a cat that twines its way between your legs and then falls asleep between some props. It seems perfect that my story has found a home in this beautiful old building that still has the letters Clapham Library in stone across its portals.

There’s much excitement as Artistic Director, Marie McCarthy, and Senior Producer, Felicity Paterson, explain how they see it… how shadow and puppets will evoke Africa, how they will introduce humour but at the same time plumb what the story has essentially to offer – strangers finding a home in a strange land.

It all sounds great. My head swims with visuals. But there’s a tiny loophole. For the green light, finance is needed. Actors, scriptwriters, directors, puppet designers, composers of soundtracks, lighting experts, set and costume designers and sound engineers all need to be paid. Nothing can proceed until there are funds.

Omnibus Theatre is an independent London theatre, with no source of guaranteed funding. Their audience spreads out from Clapham to include Balham, Battersea, Brixton, Putney, Streatham, Wandsworth and way beyond... but funds are dependent on box office sales and hires.

I wait for news. A year passes. Then a phone-call. An anonymous donor concerned by the plight of refugees has given support for the underlying message of the play. The reach is extended by the Little Angel Theatre in Islington coming on board and stepping up to co-produce. Doors open. The Arts Council England gives some funding. The play Zeraffa Giraffa becomes a reality – the giraffe starts another journey, a true North South crossing of London. Hooray!!!

Sabrina Mahfouz is asked to write the script ­– a perfect choice, born in Egypt and living in London, with an understanding of issues relating to the immigrant experience, she taps into the authentic voice and brings Arabic and French into the story. And Elgiva Field with her huge energy levels and vast knowledge of planning theatrical events in abandoned mansions and festivals like Latitude, comes in as Director. Then maestro designer and director of puppets in the shape of Matthew Hutchinson is called in. So meticulous is he that he studies the giraffe's anatomy and the affect different tendons have on its walking pattern. Then the talented set designer Ingrid Hu works her magic into the story and Candida Caldicott creates a soundtrack. And so the play is born.

My first view is in a rehearsal room. There’s so much to take in – the dynamics, the movement, the strong voices, the device of scale to portray such a vast journey. Rehearsals go on then a break for summer. A change of cast. Will this play ever happen? Then a date is ringed. It's my first proper viewing at the Little Angel. I step into the dark theatre to the sharp sound of cicadas. I’m totally submerged in Africa. I even smell the dust. Suddenly I’m very emotional. In a bright circle of light in the centre of a dark empty stage stands a small gathering of three giraffes. The baby one is there too.

There’s nothing more to say. Except that I'm totally transported. It's no longer my story but one that's brought to life by three people – Ashton Owen, Nadia Shash and André Refig, who for just under an hour hold an audience of children and parents in the cups of their hands. There is a fourth actor too that steps onto the stage with all the hesitancy and curiosity that I've seen in any baby giraffe on the wild plains of the African savannah. Totally and utterly convincing.

It’s easy to understand why the people of France fell in love with this creature.

Ashton Owen with the little giraffe

Nadia Shash & Ashton Owen with adult Zeraffa in Paris – photo Ellie Kurttz 

Zeraffa Giraffa based on the book by Dianne Hofmeyr and Jane Ray, published by Frances Lincoln, is presently on at the Little Angel Theatre in Islington for until 5th Nov and then moves to the Omnibus Theatre in Clapham on 25th Nov until 17th December. It’s suitable for 4 -10 year olds and perfect for school visits.

https://littleangeltheatre.com/whats-on/september-whats-on/zeraffa-giraffa/
http://omnibus-clapham.org/event/zeraffa-giraffa/2017-11-25/

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Jane Ray backstage with Matthew Hutchinson 

Dianne Hofmeyr's latest picture book The Glassmaker's Daughter, illustrated by Jane Ray and published by Frances Lincoln, is out now.  Jane Ray has recently been nominated for the IBBY Hans Christian Andersen Award. 

Twitter: @dihofmeyr

www.diannehofmeyr.com 

The Empathy Map (Part 2) by Tess Berry-Hart

"Is a refugee someone who's had to leave their home?" asked Anna.
"Someone who seeks refuge in another country," said Papa.
"I don't think I'm quite used to being one yet," said Anna.

Extract from When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit, by Judith Kerr

When I wrote the first part of The Empathy Map last month about how big business has turned empathy into a tool for selling, I'd planned a very different type of post for my Part 2.

Back then it was the middle of August, and all over Europe the biggest exodus of people from their native lands since World War II was under way. Pictures of desperate and frightened people, travelling for months and months overland in terrible conditions, were filtering through Facebook feeds. Boatloads of starving and fleeing people arrived in the beautiful Greek islands, narrowly avoiding being drowned on the way whilst Western holidaymakers reclined on the beach or complained about the view. MIGRANTS STORM CALAIS! shouted the tabloids. David Cameron talked about building a wall. Macedonia was actually building a wall. The word "refugee" was barely mentioned. Empathy was in short supply.

Along with many people, I felt so upset about the coverage and the political inertia that I got in touch with Libby Freeman, a grass-roots activist who had loaded up a van with much-needed supplies and driven over to Calais with a few friends the week before. "How can I help?" I texted her. "I'm planning to get a load of people and supplies together and go over again next month," she texted back. "Great! I'm in," I replied, before I had time to think. Libby and her friends had received so many offers of help that they were setting up a Facebook group called Calais Action and were putting out calls to collect clothes and shoes for people in the camps. I became the West London collector for Calais Action, and posted on local community Facebook groups asking for donations. I received some grateful replies and promises. Going to be a busy week, I thought.

Then I went away for the Bank Holiday in Somerset. Phone coverage was patchy, so I switched my phone off and went Facebook-free for a couple of days. When I eventually logged back on, I had nearly 100 new private messages. People were frantically messaging me from all over London - "I'm so glad to see your group! I have clothes! What do you need?" My phone was full of texts, my email rammed. There was even wild talk of rallies in London and Calais to show solidarity with migrants, an initiative unthinkable only a week ago. When I got back home, there was a huge pile of plastic bags on my doorstep, overspilling with clothes and shoes.

What? How!

Then I saw the headlines - and it clicked. In the awful photos of drowned children on a Turkish beach, Britain had found its empathy.

Migrant:A person who moves from one place to another in order to find work or better living conditions.(ODD)

Refugee: A person who has been forced to leave their country in order to escape war, persecution, or natural disaster

The words we use to describe something are important as they can skew our perception and understanding of a situation. Take the word "migrant" - in the hands of the right-wing press it became loaded and symbolic of a particular menace; a hooded, dark skinned man, probably a member of Isis or some such, camping in Calais and breaking into lorries to come into Britain and steal our jobs and benefits. Words make us see "a migrant" as “the other” – someone who threatens us, threatens our secure livelihoods, because of ... what? The realisation that the world is not as safe as we would like it to be? That if the genetic chips had been spilled any other way then our lives would not be composed of lattes and Netflix and clean roads - and that we might be in their shoes?

When Al Jazeera refused to use the word "migrant" and instead reported on "refugees" it changed the narrative. Everybody knows what refugees are - the word was picked up immediately by much of the media and it triggered reserves of empathy towards people seeking refuge in another country.

But how are we to instil empathy in our children? The second way of building empathy, as I talked about in Part 1 of the Empathy Map, is reading stories. Studies show that children who read novels are more empathetic, quicker to visualise themselves in the shoes of a storybook character. When I was younger, some of my favourite books were about refugees and immigrants. For me the ultimate refugee/ roadtrip novel has to be Watership Down by Richard Adams, one of my favourite stories for children and adults of all time. It's the story of a group of rabbits in Sandleford whose warren is destroyed to build houses. Together they journey over the South Downs to find a new home, encountering on the way many different types of warrens and the fearsome rabbits who populate them. I defy anyone to read it and not feel empathy towards people who have been expelled from their homelands. When they finally find a warren high on the downs that they can call their own, it is a dream of every refugee who has ever travelled. “It’s not really about rabbits!” shout its supporters, and they are absolutely right. You can find similar parallels of refuge and exile in The Hobbit by JRR Tolkien.

My other childhood favourites were When Hitler Stole Pink Rabbit, by Judith Kerr, about her own childhood as a refugee travelling across Europe from the Nazis. Goodnight Mister Tom, about the "vacuees" - evacuated children from London during the Second World War making a new life for themselves in the countryside. The Silver Sword by Ian Serraillier is another, about a group of children travelling from bombed-out Warsaw to Berlin to find their parents in the aftermath of Word War II. Refugee Boy by Benjamin Zephaniah is a more modern novel about a young boy who is brought to claim asylum in the UK during the 2000/2001 civil war in Eritrea. All of these stories are vastly different - some deal with events long ago, some are about events that have never happened or could happen - but they all contain within them the seeds of empathy that we so badly need.

Indeed, I was so influenced as a child by the ideas of flight and refuge, that the first young-adult novel I ever wrote, Escape From Genopolis, followed the fortunes of a group of refugees in the futuristic world of Genopolis where pain had ceased to exist. Those who still experienced pain were called Naturals and banished to a wilderness because in knowing pain, by extension they still had empathy. In the world of Genopolis, empathy was held as a dangerous gift, because to control people you have to dehumanise them - you must not "understand" them. Words that dehumanise people prevent us from empathising with and helping them; words which foster empathy can change the world.

And the world does appear to be changing from a month ago. Empathy is now front-page news. Libby and her friends have been interviewed by TV and newspapers about the new "grass-roots giving" which refuses to sit back and wait for politicians to take action. And what a powerful force grass-roots movements are. Just two weeks after I set up the West London branch of Calais Action, over four hundred and fifty generous and hard-working people from my local area have either contacted me with donations or volunteered to help collect, sort and pack the giant pile of supplies that I've received - crates upon crates of food, 200 large boxes of clothes and shoes, sleeping bags and tents - which now fill an entire house in a neighbouring square (the house has been also temporarily donated for a week!). This weekend the supplies will be shipped out, to be sent on to refugee camps in Hungary and northern France. A huge rally - "Refugees Welcome" - happened on the weekend in London; another one will happen in the Jungle camp in Calais itself this next Saturday 19th September. A co-ordinated volunteer programme is being set up in Calais by Calais Action and other NGOs and grass-roots groups to repair water pipes, build proper shelter and distribute the vast amount of supplies to the vast amount of people who need them.

Empathy is part of us and what makes us human; we just need to let it flourish.