My eyes dart to the back of the room. The speech of an actor that is clear and center stage, is suddenly blurred as sobs of pain, coming from behind him, apprehended my attention. A line of refugees standing in (almost) silent solidarity behind the individual, painted the big picture. But now taking a closer look, the shaking, sobbing shoulders of a refugee towards the left of the line silenced everything else in the room for me. Time appeared to slow down, as I watched him with immense curiosity and sympathy. There were so many powerful moments that have gone by in the first half of the play, I couldn’t help but wonder: What was it about this very scene that made it a breaking point for him? I lost myself in the moment as I listened and watched intensely; his cries felt pained and uncontrollable as he attempted to hold back, but couldn’t. Tears began to blur my vision and I snap myself out of it. I attempted to convince myself of his skillful acting and dedication to the role, when another refugee came out of line to embrace him. The startled and deeply saddened looks upon the faces of his fellow cast mates struck me as I realized that this moment was raw and unscripted. It wasn’t premeditated and it wasn’t acting. Was this a refugee? Just another actor? Maybe both? This moment in The Jungle, hasn’t left me in the four days that have since passed, and I’m not sure why.
—
The four walls around us shook violently, my mouth ajar as the ceiling of the Afghan restaurant slowly rose; beams of light blaring through the windows and from above. I was painfully blinded and slowly drowning in a sea of fear. I listened to the cries and screams of those I had grown attached to: the refugees, the people of The Jungle. The wind blew my hair in different directions and my skin went cold. I watched in horror as a fog of white smoke filled the room, and violent guards in masks stormed the Afghan restaurant I had come to love. My eyes widened in a panic against the bulldozers tearing The Jungle down – my emotions heightened. In that moment, I forgot I was in the audience. In that moment, I stopped being an outsider looking in, and The Jungle became my home, threatened by those destroying it.
—
In these moments, I was in Calais, I was in France, and I was in The Jungle.
Dear Dominique,
Great job on your blog post. I totally understand how you feel; the images and the stories of the Jungle really stuck with me even though it has been 5 days since we’ve seen the play. The part where the roof was being lifted and the sounds of soldiers and bulldozers really left me traumatized, it all felt too real and I internalized the pain of the Jungle. The play’s layout really made you forget that it was a play; it was so easy to completely get pulled into the environment which made this experience even more heartbreaking. This was a wonderful post, keep up the good work!
I would like to commend your amazing description and your lack of shyness from admitting how thoroughly moved you were by the play. I definitely agree with the fact that I am still thinking of the play and the way it impacted me. The overall message and the way that message was conveyed in terms of acting and story was breathtaking and definitely left a mark on me. Additionally, your distinction of the moment when the ceiling lifted and chaos reigned definitely resonated with me as well. I was quite taken aback by that moment in the play. Overall, very well written piece and I’m glad to see that I was not the only one so heavily impacted by the play.
Great work. I completely agree with the point of the being immersed in the experience of the jungle. Sitting at that table, watching the performers up close makes you no longer a visitor but a participant. I understand the emotional response that the play brought upon you, I watched many others in the crowds brought to tears by the powerful performance of the actors. I too felt the sense of shock and fear when the walls of the restaurant were torn apart. This play was an experience like any other that I’ve seen. One can only imagine the fear the true inhabitants of the jungle must have felt.
Dominique!
I would like to say, I am typing this comment with a heartbeat of 125 bpm. Your recollection of the play left me reading your post in suspense. I wholeheartedly agree that the monologues were a part of the performance that truly set the scene of what the audience is watching. The emotion that was conveyed through many of pieces said by the characters Safi and Salar even left me wondering what was real and what was theatrics. Through the play during many emotional monologues, I also saw stagehands and extras in the audience weeping and shedding tears. I myself also let my emotions get the best of me, and after a while, I found it hard to simply think about the 8 different character situations, and my mind turned to think about the other thousands who have all too similar stories that are filled with grief, and death. I wondered through many parts of the play how the actors were able to passionately convey lines of pure emotional grief, without letting their own persona break out of character and into tears.
The last scene of the play where the ceiling was raised and the bulldozer was introduced definitely stamped feelings of anguish into my emotional vocabulary. I personally couldn’t help but think of the blaring lights of the bulldozer as a metaphorical end. An end of pain and suffering, since we did find out the unfortunate truth of many of the refugees that were in the play. I LOVED how you mentioned that even you felt like a refugee after the play, why? I can confess and say that the few days after the show I felt guilty for having the life I do. Although certain circumstances aren’t in our hands, taking things like national identity and citizenship for granted left me feeling guilty because of the large number of people that just wanted to belong.
Regards,
Rushabh