By Amina Blackwood Meeks, Contributor 
Blackwood Meeks
THE FIRST time I went to England I learned the meaning of isolation, disorientation, apprehension. And I learned it in retrospect on behalf of the thousands of Jamaicans and Caribbean people who had made the trek in the forties and later, in search of the good life, they thought, but really because Mother England had come in search of their skills and talents, with no visa requirements. But that's a different story.
In 1994, she found me in Antigua. Through a group called Language Alive! working in collaboration with the BBC. Their joint mission was to find innovative means to support curriculum delivery at the primary school level throughout the UK. Common knowledge of how Caribbean children have a hard time "keeping up" or, according to people who call a spade a spade, "How the Black Child is made educationally sub-normal in the British system."
Anyway, after some research, Language Alive! had concluded that a separation from culture was at the heart of certain learning disabilities and someone landed upon the idea that Anansi should be brought to help rectify the matter. The search for Anansi led them to me in Antigua where Anansi and I were harmoniously sharing residence. And when the discussions concluded on to what a fabulous teacher Anansi would make in Hinglan dem anansi me an decide sey hevery pikney mus get a tase of him an so comes me hen up dey a run workshops fe primary school teachers on the Use of Anansi in de Classroom.
One morning I decided to get to a school by myself... on the tube, no less, and asked someone directions. I'm sure they thought they were being helpful, but all I heard were colours, red line, blue line, yellow line and dem gone. Isolation, disorientation, apprehension. I reached into my props bag and found a mask called confidence and a costume called self-assuredness and remembered that I was also literate. How about the pioneers who had left to build England short on those resources. Pure acting de whole a we deh pon!
It all flooded back to me as I sat through Alwyn Scott's brilliant performance of the making of Trevor Rhone, the boy from 'Bellas Gate' with a dream to sing, to dance to recite, who crossed every colour line to end up on the world stage performing, conducting workshops, writing movies and cause millions of people to learn the name 'Jamaica' even when the view persists in Jamaica that only the cerebrally challenged carry a dream to sing, to dance and to recite.
You must see 'Bellas Gate Boy'. It is a moving definition of a cultural optimism and self-actualisation, a living demonstration of what it means to be pro-active in order not to end up wutliss. It is what I hear politicians and theorists on development say that we need to help dig us out of the hole they don't say we are in, and build Jamaica. Theatre professionals do it everyday. If politicians and theorists noticed they would put more resources into the development of the arts of this country.
Take performance spaces as an example of the woeful under-resourcing (see, ah learn one of those fanciful words of politicians and theoreticians) of theatre in Jamaica. Do you know how many of them were built out of public funds? The refurbishing of the place where politicians and theoreticians go to coin phrases like under-resourcing, though is estimated to cost $11 million. You and I will end up paying so heavily for that, that the $500 to see 'Bellas Gate Boy' might seem unaffordable.
The Barn Theatre, venue for the show, is the product of sacrifice and vision. According to Rhone, a co-creator of this facility nurturing and showcasing our talent, the sacrifice of working "for nothing and cleaning the Barn, was leaving a legacy behind for the upcoming generation." I think the Jamaica Cultural Development Commission (JCDC) would be delighted for one Barn in every Bellas Gate in Jamaica so that the performers who enrich our lives every year through JCDC competitions would know what it feels like to enter a real theatre.
'Bellas Gate Boy', which also pays tribute to the role of the Barn in the development of Jamaican theatre, is a lesson in how we can employ the creative imagination to use what is available to enhance the quality of who we are and ultimately how we are projected to a world from which we seek to attract resources for further development. In that sense, Rhone also raised for me, again, the role of the private sector, or rather whether the private sector has a view of its role and function in the development of theatre and I mean beyond making a contribution to the production of someone who is a personal friend or colleague or for tax benefits, or in exchange for "placement", as important as all of that is. What, for example, would be the benefit to the attitudes and values of programme if 'Bellas Gate Boy' were to perform in high schools and colleges and our students given the opportunity to interact with Rhone, Scott, and company around this very rich slice of the making of Jamaica?
In another forum Trevor had called attention to the need to see more of theatre that functions "as a mirror that reflects our lives, our society, the human condition." 'Bellas Gate Boy' does that and emboldens us about what we can accomplish at this very important juncture in our lives. See it for Black History Month. See it, amidst the rumblings of war, to remind yourself of how many Jamaicans have come out of their gates in rural communities and impacted positively on the world with a guitar, with a song, with a play, with a movie, with only the ability to recite. And sometimes with more than a little help from Anansi. Thank you, Trevs.
