Getting Bossy with the Lion King

Well, I survived having 4 days of contact with my congolese drumming class this last weekend. We had a brief rehearsal without  our congolese master on Thursday, a short performance with him on Friday, another short performance on Saturday, and our regular class on Sunday.  This was about 300% more contact than usual, and there was fallout, just as I had predicted.

On Thursday, I was reluctant to go, got a phone call from the woman who had cooked up this whole thing because she knew the dance teacher who was putting on the show.  She said “Are you Ok? Are you coming?”  I told her yes, that I was running late, would be there and hung up. I knew she would not be calling me unless she had an agenda which included me.

When I got there, it was hurry up and wait. I found out that our woman student’s daughters had danced with the woman putting on the show in the past. Things were Ok until just before we were to be on stage. Everyone started obsessing about exactly what we were to play and being all nervous about it. The Queen mother decided she would play “breaks”. When we did our piece, she choked, and I made a mistake also.

The next day I made it on time and we lined up our drums in a hallway behind the stage. The Lion King  production had a large cast of children in various  jungle animal and plant costumes which had to come through the hallway.  Despite the fact our master was there, the Queen mother decided to micromanage everything and arrange the drums in the order we were to be on stage. She acted exactly like a queen with divine right to command everyone and I had to stifle my furious urge  to tell her off. Another woman student felt she had to make our Master be barefoot instead of wearing the high top athletic shoes he was wearing.

The performance was over quickly. We did Ok considering most of the class regs playing weren’t entirely solid with the piece and we had two newcomers. But then the nitpicking about how we did began. I tuned it out. We went down into the audience and at the intermission did a bit of drumming.  I left abruptly to hit a meeting at 8 pm.

The next day my guy and I went to an air show in very hot weather. W hen I got home, I took my time cooling off and showering, getting ready.  I was late to begin with and the traffic on the coast was bumper to bumper and not moving.  I arrived too late to perform, but went and hung out with the group until the end of the play. I didn’t mind missing the performance and was grateful no one gave me any lip about it.

Sunday I had a bellydancing event to do right after the drumming class. Once again I was late getting there due to the heat, traffic and extra prep I needed to do. One of the other women students took it upon herself to expound at length on how to play something to the other woman newcomer and rearrange the drum lineup. I didn’t like it, but I had to remind myself I got pretty high and mighty when I began to feel I was getting somewhere drumming wise in the class. I started acting like I owned the place and everyone in it and knew everything.

I’ve been realizing lately that I have this huge power issue with women which continues unresolved and riles me up quite badly. I hate women who try to take over, have conditioned myself to do it less and less, but I have the very same desire for attention and impact they do.

Something is very fishy in Denmark.  I suspect that I’ve been conditioned to be passive and take all kinds of shit to belong/ keep the peace or flare up and be angry and shitty to everyone else on the other side of the same coin because I’m female.  Just as I’m feeling good and mature, I have the inner temper tantrums of a 2 year old in response to other women doing stupid, insulting and infantile things.





About Shirley

I started this blog to expand and explore my rhythm horizons as a hand drummer. That exploration includes touching on the rest of my life and inner world as authentically and truthfully as possible.
This entry was posted in Uncategorized. Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *