“IS THIS MS. MALONGA? Oh my God. I Love her. I will be in her dance class Saturday.” This is the hair- dresser E’s response, during our correspondence in my efforts to book a potential stylist for Muisi-kongo’s hair in preparation for our photoshoot for this issue. When I share this with Muisi-kongo, even over voice notes, I can feel her squeamishness. Through her “you shouldn’t have told me that,” I can tell that she’s struggling with the challenges of being a person in the public eye. “You just have to accept that people will see you as roy- alty, even if you don’t think that’s what you’re trying to do,” I offer her. I’m always tickled when I get to witness these sides of Ms. Malonga, the one not in class teaching, the one not on stage performing. The side of her that shows she’s not quite sure it’s nice to know that goddesses use the toilet, and have insecurities. Yet, I totally understand where E is coming from. I too have had many “Omg, is this The Muisi-kongo Malonga?” Even as I’m texting her. Even as we slowly build a friend- ship and comradeship that’s been a long time coming. It’s an early Sunday morning, in an East Oakland home. Furniture has been rearranged for the photoshoot with siblings Muisi-kongo and Kiazi, children of the late renowned Malonga Casquelord, and their children Matsoua and Siama. Muisi-kongo barrels in with piles and piles of items, followed by her eight-year old son Matsoua. “Sorry I’m late, you know I had to get all this stuff you asked for.” I nod in response, and carry on with placing outfits on a clothing rack.
Kiazi shows up about half an hour later, his daughter Siama in the crook of one arm, and bags of what I can tell are all the items for a toddler on his other arm. “I brought a couple of items that are in the car, do you need me to bring them out?” I let him know that I need him to first try on the options I’ve selected for him. I have to admit there’s apprehension in my style direction. “Want me to try this on?… Oh is this vin- tage?… Alright alright I see you!!” Buoyed by his first response, I continue. I hand him flowy orange-orange satin trousers, and pointy cheetah print shoes, and whisper ‘Sapeur’ under my breath, hoping to conjure understand- ing of where I’m going with this. “Oh is this, what we doing? Alright come on then!” I relax. My work is going to be easier than I imagined. Although Kiazi, with his easy-going dispo- sition, and Muisi-kongo with her undercover humor, are charming, the real stars of the show are the children. Siama, a strikingly ver- bal and fully engaged two-year old with firm boundaries, and an ability to clearly articulate her needs, and Matsoua, a friendly, curious, easy-going, and theatrical 8-year old. Siama immediately owns the space, and in response, Kiazi is on full papa duty. Making sure to follow through
with the details; snacks, activities, ensuring that the furniture doesn’t crash into her. He’s speaking to her in Lari, and she’s responding with under- standing.
ALTHOUGH KIAZI, WITH HIS EASY-GOING DISPOSITION, AND MUISI-KONGO WITH HER UNDERCOVER HUMOR, ARE CHARM- ING, THE REAL STARS OF THE SHOW ARE THE CHILDREN.
Not long after this initial exchange, as she walks back into the room, she pauses mid stride, “Ohhh, I see what you did. You told me a time two hours earlier than the real arrival time. Ah I see you. You already knew who you were dealing with.” This is the kick off to Muisi- kongo’s hilarity throughout the session, as we dress her, oil her up, do her make up, we witness multiple sides of Ms. Malonga, from the sage introspect to the class clown. As we go through the suitcases and baskets of fabrics and artifacts that Muisi-kongo brought, I’m struck by how much of a keeper she is. An archive of her family and cul- ture. I feel as though I’m witnessing layers and layers of family story, traditions, that one couldn’t begin to unravel in one sitting. I feel lucky to handle her ancestor bottles. Through these it’s apparent that Muisi-kongo is deeply con- nected, and guided by those rich in cultural traditions, and that she can be that also for her communities.
I crouch down and face her to talk her through the day. “We’re going to do hair, get dressed, and take some pho- tos.” She stares back at me, as though trying to figure out if I’m someone she should trust. Fair enough. To break the ice, I say “alright let’s take a selfie.” This seems to do the trick. “Here’s your dress, your shoes, and your purse.” The purse is the final piece of the puzzle for her to be convinced, and accept me. “I took the screen away, there are other kids here, he can connect with them instead.” Kiazi mutters to his older sib- ling. She responds with an almost imperceptible nod. Mat- soua, the subject of the commentary, is delightful in front of the camera, hardly needing any prompts to activate exciting poses, and faces. “I think she’s pooped.” Muisi-kongo picks up her niece and beelines to the bathroom to change her diaper. And on it goes.
Pictured: Clockwise: Kiazi Malonga, and Muisi-kongo Malonga; Matsoua and Muisi-kongo; Siama
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In Dance | May 2014 | dancersgroup.org
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