FOLLOWING UP WITH THE KIDS FROM B2RD

Contributed by: Dave

PART II

Tonight, we hosted the African premiere of BROWNSTONES TO RED DIRT. The guests of honor? The kids from the Children in Crisis Primary School.

In classic Salone fashion, traffic from the east end of town (where the school is) to the west end of town (where the theater is) was terrible. The poda poda we had hired to get them to the screening arrived an hour and a half late. When it finally pulled to a stop in front of the Lagoonda Entertainment Complex, children came barreling out. And they kept barreling out. Somehow, Aunty Musu and Sento managed to get all of the children from the orphanage into one van.

They occupied the first three rows of the theater. As it went dark, we suddenly went from very excited to very nervous.

We didn’t know what to expect of their reactions. What would they think of our portrayal of them, the school and their stories? It was a feeling we hadn’t had since the kids in Brooklyn saw the movie for the first time.

We certainly couldn’t have predicted the reaction we got.

There were the obvious cheers and laughter when a kid appeared on screen for the first time and there was the rather profound silence when the Brooklyn kids spoke in English (we really should’ve prepared a version with Krio subtitles), but what was shocking were the moments in the film that played with great weight and seriousness back home were met with levity here. Where we saw drama, they saw shared pain that they had overcome together. We thought reliving the memories of the war would be painful, but rather than pain, they found joy in seeing their stories of survival in a darkened cinema because it was a testament that they had been heard. It was surreal.

When the final frame played, it was time to say goodbye… for now. We said goodbye to them in a parking lot as they boarded their poda poda for their long journey home. There were tears from both sides. Promises were exchanged. Hugs were given. And given again. It was horrible and gut-wrenching, yet, somehow uplifting. We always knew we’d never be done with these kids—now, it seems they know it too.