Somali soap opera
From SPARK
Contents |
Unpublished
Brief Summary
Storytelling in Somali
Introduction
Our first character in "Fresh Breeze" is a milk, seller, Anbaro, with her trusty donkey barwaaqo. We needed a sound effect. Somaliland is full of donkeys. At dawn and dusk their rasping hee-haws fill the towns and villages. But approach one with a microphone and what happens? Nothing. A gentle kick. Nothing. "Try a bucket of water," urges a local militiaman. I get the bucket and let the animal drink. "No, no no! - like this." The gunman, in camouflage fatigues and sandals, picks up the bucket and hurls the water over the uncooperative beast. Still nothing. After a week of trying, I begin to realize why donkeys are so often called stubborn. The next day our studio technician returns with a perfect bray on tape. "It's easy," she smiles "You just tickle its lips." It is the first of many humiliating lessons I will learn as I try to get to grips with producing soap opera Somali style.
Key Factors
Using storytelling with an illiterate group.
What Was Done
Soaps have long been recognized as a hugely effective tool for bringing about positive improvements in health. In a soap you can play out the dilemmas that ordinary people confront, address prejudices and misconceptions and dramatize the difficult choices that so many of the very poor face. This project is aimed specifically at women's health. The Somali state collapsed in 1991 and when medical services break down, it is women who often feel the effects most. In the Horn of Africa this is complicated by the widespread practice of female circumcision. The practice makes childbirth riskier and condemns many women to a lifetime of pain. If we are to succeed in improving the health of Somali women, we cannot ignore this practice.
Drawing in listeners
Whilst targeting women, that does not mean we don't want men to listen. On the contrary, men have a crucial role to play in creating a society where all are treated fairly. The challenge is to create drama that will draw in as many listeners as possible regardless of gender, age or region. Our first task is to get a story line together. One of the "scriptwriters" and half the cast are illiterate, so scripting on paper does not appear to be an option. The Somalis are traditionally nomadic and have a rich tradition of poetry and song.
"Don't worry," the team assure me. "If we tell the actors what the story is, they will improvise it". So on to scene one. Anbaro meets her daughter going to school and tells her that she must go home to work. The actors position themselves in front of the microphones and begin. Twenty seconds later the scene is over. I am speechless. "You must say more!" I whine. "But we told the story like you asked us to!" they answer. And so we set to work on a new skill - creating conversational dialogue.
Whilst it is true that the Somalis are used to story telling, this is something completely new. What I am asking them to do is to make it real. To make the audience think that they are listening to a real family confronting real problems. Only if the audience believe in the characters will the soap succeed. And it must be entertaining. "Write a few jokes in each episode." I urge. Like what? I have a stab: If you drink any more of that camel's milk, you will start to grow a hump." Silence. This not funny. Then they come back at me. "If you drink more of that milk, you will look like a camel on heat." Now that's hilarious.
Childbirth
Because we want to address childcare problems, we decide to include the birth of a baby in one episode. Would the audience object to hearing this? I wonder. Of course not. Unlike the squeamish West, birth is rarely a private affair in Somalia. I begin to anticipate the pinnacle of my directing career. A barnstorming three minutes of dramatic radio that will glue the listeners to their seats - the cries of anguish, the nail-biting tension, the heart-warming relief when the baby utters its first cry. But when we record the scene it is almost silent. "Somali women would never scream during childbirth," I am informed. "It would be so shameful for the family." At the first sign of a contraction, apparently, the mother will stuff a fold of her dress into her mouth. The whole scene, to my Western ear, sounds like little more than a woman with a bad stomach ache. The cast members, on the other hand, are jubilant. "So realistic" they chorus happily and another lesson in cross cultural drama direction is learned.
Circumcision
Much of the action revolves around a battle between a young woman and her mother over whether her eight-year-old daughter should be circumcised. There is an argument, I know, that for outsiders to interfere with other people's cultural practices is morally suspect. Often girls actually ask their mothers if they can be cut, so strong is the pressure to conform. Andy many women are proud to be circumcised. Should one really be attacking a practice that seems so deeply rooted and apparently uncontroversial? But circumcision is not as widely accepted as this might suggest. It is Somalis themselves who have taken the lead in changing attitudes. All the women in our team had suffered the excruciating pain of circumcision - and none wanted their daughters to have to endure the same.
Results
Fresh Breeze is now on air. Anyone who has witnessed the crowds gathering outside Somali teashops when the daily BBC broadcasts are relayed on loudspeakers, will know just how important radio is to a struggling - and largely ignored - population. No one is going to be made instantly rich or healthy by a radio soap opera. But maybe, just maybe, a few problems will be solved, a few lives saved by some timely advice from an old milk seller and her donkey.
Helpful Information from the Author
- By: Jim Clarke
- Date entered: November 14, 2008
- Date range of story:
- Location: Horn of Africa
