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Homa Bay Memories : using research-based theatre to explore a narrative inheritance Lea, Graham Walter 2013

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    Homa Bay Memories Using Research-based Theatre to Explore a Narrative Inheritance   by  Graham Walter Lea  B.Sc., University of Prince Edward Island, 1999 B.Ed., University of Prince Edward Island, 2004 M.A., University of British Columbia, 2010     A THESIS SUBMITTED IN PARTIAL FULFILLMENT OF  THE REQUIREMENTS FOR THE DEGREE OF  DOCTOR OF PHILOSOPHY   in   THE FACULTY OF GRADUATE AND POSTDOCTORAL STUDIES  (Literacy Education)     THE UNIVERSITY OF BRITISH COLUMBIA  (Vancouver)     December 2013   ? Graham Walter Lea, 2013 ii  Abstract In her article When Missions Became Development: Ironies of ?NGOization? in Mainstream Canadian Churches in the 1960s (2010), Ruth Compton Brouwer discusses the move from a missionary to a secular focus in international development.  To personalize this transition she tells the story of a high-school friend who, instead of following her uncle into missionary work, joined a secular Non-Governmental Organization to teach in Kenya.  Compton Brouwer?s unnamed friend was my mother and the stories of her Kenyan experiences became a significant part of my narrative inheritance (Goodall, 2005).  Inspired by these stories I engaged with my narrative inheritance, travelling to, and teaching in Kenya as a part of my teacher training.   At the heart of this dissertation is Homa Bay Memories, a theatrical script developed using research-based theatre and narrative inquiry to explore my and my mother?s Kenyan experiences almost forty years apart.  This exploration is based on letters, photos, and audio recordings left behind by my mother after her death as well as artifacts and memories of my Kenyan experiences.  Through this scripted research I seek a deeper understanding of a little known but influential part of my mother?s life and how her experience has, and continues to, shape my life.   Developing the script Homa Bay Memories also provided an opportunity to critically engage with research-based theatre as a methodology.  Salda?a (2010) notes a lack of accounts detailing the development and ?critical decision-making processes? (p. 4) encountered in research-based theatre projects.  I address this gap through a careful examination of the development of Homa Bay Memories.  The methodological exploration becomes the spine of this iii  dissertation as I closely examine key moments, tensions, and decisions I faced while crafting and conceptualizing this research for the stage. These experiential and methodological contributions are theoretically informed by Bakhtin?s notion of chains of utterances (1986).  This theoretical lens suggests a relentless rationality and ?unfinalizability? (Holquist, 2002, p. 195) that characterizes both the understandings and presentation of the research.  The dissertation concludes by suggesting possible evaluative entry points into the work.   iv  Preface This study was reviewed by the UBC Behavioural Research Ethics Board (Minimal Risk REB) as ?Unasked Questions and Untold Stories: Theatrically Exploring Narrative Inheritance.?  An ethics certificate (ref: H12-01601) was issued on July 3, 2012.  Chapter Two is based on: Belliveau, G., & Lea, G. W.  (2011).  Research-based theatre in education.  In Schonmann, S. (Ed.), Key concepts in theatre/drama education (pp. 333-388).  Rotterdam, NL: Sense. Used with permission. Portion of authorship: 50% and Lea, G. W.  (2012).  Approaches to developing research-based theatre.  Youth Theatre Journal, 26(1), 61-72.  doi: 10.1080/08929092.2012.678227  Used with permission.  Figure 3 was created by Jaime L. Beck.  It is reprinted from:  Beck, J. L., Belliveau, G., Lea, G. W., and Wager, A.  (2011).  Delineating a Spectrum of Research-Based Theatre.  Qualitative Inquiry, 17(8).  687-700.  doi: 10.1177/1077800411415498  Used with permission.  Figures 5, 6, and 10 incorporate sketches by Amanda Wager.  Used with permission.  Figures 17, 18, 19, 22, 23, 24, 25, 27, and the left side of Figure 30 are reprinted with permission of the estate of E. J. Lea (Dingwell).   Figure 34 is reprinted from: Stanislavsky, K.  (1955).  Sobranie sochinenii [???????? ?????????] (Vol. 3).  Moscow: Iskusstvo.  p. 361. Used with permission.  v  Table of Contents Abstract ........................................................................................................................................... ii	 ?Preface ............................................................................................................................................ iv	 ?Table of Contents ............................................................................................................................ v	 ?List of Tables ................................................................................................................................. ix	 ?List of Figures ................................................................................................................................. x	 ?Acknowledgements ....................................................................................................................... xii	 ?Dedication .................................................................................................................................... xiv	 ?Part I	 ?Chapter One:  In the Midst of Stories ............................................................................................. 2	 ?A Quest of Questions .................................................................................................................. 6	 ?Research quest. ....................................................................................................................... 8	 ?Questions. .............................................................................................................................. 10	 ?Experiential. ...................................................................................................................... 10	 ?Field experiences. ......................................................................................................... 10	 ?Research experiences. ................................................................................................... 11	 ?Epistemological. ................................................................................................................ 12	 ?Methodological. ................................................................................................................ 13	 ?A question of focus. .............................................................................................................. 17	 ?Theoretical Chains .................................................................................................................... 18	 ?of utterances and experience. ................................................................................................ 18	 ?of inheritance. ....................................................................................................................... 24	 ?Staging chains. ...................................................................................................................... 26	 ?Chapter Two: Approaching Research-based Theatre ................................................................... 28	 ?Terminology .............................................................................................................................. 29	 ?Integrity and Legitimacy ........................................................................................................... 30	 ?Art and Data .............................................................................................................................. 31	 ?Approaches ............................................................................................................................... 32	 ?Collective approach. ............................................................................................................. 33	 ?Drama as an Additional Language. ................................................................................... 35	 ?Playwright-centered approach. ............................................................................................. 37	 ?Naming the Shadows. ....................................................................................................... 38	 ?Preparing (for) the playwright. ..................................................................................... 38	 ?vi  Enter the playwright. ..................................................................................................... 39	 ?Creative constraints. ...................................................................................................... 41	 ?On the line. .................................................................................................................... 42	 ?Composite approach. ............................................................................................................. 43	 ?Centring the Human Subject. ............................................................................................ 44	 ?Approach and development. ......................................................................................... 45	 ?Situating the continuum. ............................................................................................... 46	 ?Playwright as scribe. ..................................................................................................... 47	 ?Playwright as artist. ....................................................................................................... 48	 ?Playwright in the middle. .............................................................................................. 48	 ?Blending approaches. ............................................................................................................ 49	 ?Chapter Three: Strands of Narrative Inquiry ................................................................................ 51	 ?A Continuum of Narrative Inquiry ........................................................................................... 54	 ?Caught in a Moment .................................................................................................................. 56	 ?Narrative Waves ........................................................................................................................ 60	 ?Alien ?Truths? and Familiar ?Fictions? ...................................................................................... 61	 ?What To Do with a Bowl of Lemon Water? ............................................................................. 64	 ?Spinning Strands and Sewing Quilts ......................................................................................... 69	 ?Chapter Four: Methodological Positionings and Processes .......................................................... 72	 ?Research-based Theatre ............................................................................................................ 72	 ?Narrative Inquiry ....................................................................................................................... 75	 ?and autoethnography. ............................................................................................................ 75	 ?as aesthetic. ........................................................................................................................... 77	 ?Research Phases ........................................................................................................................ 79	 ?Data Set ..................................................................................................................................... 81	 ?Interviews. ............................................................................................................................. 82	 ?Analytic memos and researcher journal. ............................................................................... 82	 ?Coding ....................................................................................................................................... 83	 ?Point of Entry ............................................................................................................................ 85	 ?Part II	 ?Chapter Five: Homa Bay Memories .............................................................................................. 87	 ?  vii  Part III	 ?Chapter Six: Borders and Connections: A Critical Commentary on the Development and Creation of Homa Bay Memories ............................................................................................... 146	 ?Coming to an Objective .......................................................................................................... 150	 ?Version 1: Resonances. ....................................................................................................... 151	 ?Version 2: Research quest. .................................................................................................. 152	 ?Version 3: Super-objective. ................................................................................................ 153	 ?Super-objectives in Research-based Theatre .......................................................................... 155	 ?Staying in the Theatre ............................................................................................................. 159	 ?Theatrical Spaces .................................................................................................................... 162	 ?Immediacy of time and space. ............................................................................................ 167	 ?A space of inquiry. .............................................................................................................. 168	 ?Verbatim and Crossing Genres ............................................................................................... 170	 ?Rituals ..................................................................................................................................... 177	 ?of bread. .............................................................................................................................. 179	 ?as memorial and motivation. ............................................................................................... 181	 ?of theatre. ............................................................................................................................ 183	 ?Mimicry ................................................................................................................................... 184	 ?Troubling Chains .................................................................................................................... 188	 ?Metaphorical chains. ........................................................................................................... 188	 ?Practical chains. .................................................................................................................. 190	 ?Gifts of Data ............................................................................................................................ 196	 ?Appropriate Appropriations? .................................................................................................. 200	 ?Closing the Diaries. ............................................................................................................. 202	 ?Violent Research ..................................................................................................................... 206	 ?What?s in a Name? .................................................................................................................. 208	 ?Narrative Fluidity .................................................................................................................... 210	 ?Fluid author. ........................................................................................................................ 211	 ?Fluid addressee. ................................................................................................................... 212	 ?Conditions of Connection ....................................................................................................... 214	 ?Chapter Seven: Conditions of Evaluation ................................................................................... 217	 ?Content .................................................................................................................................... 221	 ?Substantive contribution. .................................................................................................... 221	 ?Experiential. .................................................................................................................... 222	 ?viii  Theoretical. ..................................................................................................................... 222	 ?Methodological. .............................................................................................................. 223	 ?Reflexivity. .......................................................................................................................... 223	 ?Internal reflexivity. ......................................................................................................... 225	 ?External reflexivity. ........................................................................................................ 226	 ?Expresses a Reality. ............................................................................................................ 226	 ?Form ........................................................................................................................................ 228	 ?Aesthetic merit. ................................................................................................................... 228	 ?Impact ..................................................................................................................................... 230	 ?Impact. ................................................................................................................................ 230	 ?Other Touchstones .................................................................................................................. 231	 ?Cohesion. ............................................................................................................................ 231	 ?Gifting. ................................................................................................................................ 232	 ?Chapter Eight: Epilogue .............................................................................................................. 234	 ?Reconsidering the Addressee .................................................................................................. 234	 ?Last Words and New Links ..................................................................................................... 236	 ?References ................................................................................................................................... 237	 ?Appendix A: Partial Family Tree ................................................................................................ 266	 ?Appendix B: Interview Schedule ................................................................................................ 267	 ?Appendix C: Code List ............................................................................................................... 268	 ?Appendix D: Possible Music Selections ..................................................................................... 269	 ?Appendix E: Honey Bread Recipe .............................................................................................. 271	 ?Appendix F: Phyllis?s letter of May 3, 1970 ............................................................................... 272	 ?Appendix G: June?s letter of May 28, 1968 ................................................................................ 274	 ?Appendix H: Letter of Initial Contact ......................................................................................... 276	 ?Appendix I: Informed Consent Form .......................................................................................... 277	 ? ix  List of Tables Table 1. Dissertation Subdivision ................................................................................................... 6	 ?Table 2. Code Categorization Example ........................................................................................ 85	 ?Table 3. Evaluative Questions .................................................................................................... 219	 ?    x  List of Figures Figure 1. Quest of Questions .......................................................................................................... 7	 ?Figure 2. Subsets of Applied and Educational Theatre ................................................................. 15	 ?Figure 3. Spectrum of Research-based Theatre ............................................................................ 16	 ?Figure 4. Nitobe Garden: April 1, 2011 ........................................................................................ 23	 ?Figure 5. Collective Approach ...................................................................................................... 33	 ?Figure 6. Playwright-Centered Approach ..................................................................................... 37	 ?Figure 7. Research Image ............................................................................................................. 39	 ?Figure 8. Linear Model ................................................................................................................. 42	 ?Figure 9. Non-Linear Model ......................................................................................................... 42	 ?Figure 10. Composite Approach ................................................................................................... 43	 ?Figure 11. Scribe1? Artist Continuum ............................................................................................ 46	 ?Figure 12. CtHS Placement along the Scribe1? Artist Continuum ................................................ 48	 ?Figure 13. Continuum of Narrative Inquiry .................................................................................. 54	 ?Figure 14. Representative Authors on the Continuum .................................................................. 56	 ?Figure 15. Ring of Given Circumstances ...................................................................................... 68	 ?Figure 16. 3D Narrative Inquiry Space ......................................................................................... 75	 ?Figure 17. Crowd Departing from Montreal Airport .................................................................... 98	 ?Figure 18. Interior of Yukon Plane ............................................................................................... 99	 ?Figure 19. Sunrise over the Atlantic ............................................................................................. 99	 ?Figure 20. Barn at Kihuti ............................................................................................................ 102	 ?Figure 21. Kenyan Landscape ..................................................................................................... 115	 ?Figure 22. E. June Dingwell with Puff Adder ............................................................................ 120	 ?Figure 23. Homa Bay from Asego .............................................................................................. 122	 ?Figure 24. Acting out Caesar ...................................................................................................... 123	 ?Figure 25. Harambee Ferry ......................................................................................................... 124	 ?Figure 26. Acacia Trees in Maasai Mara .................................................................................... 134	 ?Figure 27. Homa Bay .................................................................................................................. 135	 ?Figure 28. Mt. Asego .................................................................................................................. 140	 ?Figure 29. Homa Bay High School Logo ................................................................................... 142	 ?Figure 30. June Dingwell (1960s) and Graham Lea (2004) ....................................................... 143	 ?Figure 31. Letter from my Mother to Me ................................................................................... 155	 ?xi  Figure 32. Minor Objectives Functioning Together ................................................................... 157	 ?Figure 33. Minor Objectives in a Broken Line ........................................................................... 157	 ?Figure 34. Image of Stanislavsky's System of Acting ................................................................ 161	 ?Figure 35. Excerpt from June Dingwell's Letter Written in Transit ........................................... 174	 ?Figure 36. Excerpt from My Journal upon Arriving to Kenya ................................................... 175	 ?Figure 37. Photograph of the Letter Left at my Mother/June's Kenyan Home ........................... 183	 ?Figure 38. Expansion of Utterances ............................................................................................ 193	 ?Figure 39. Excerpt from June?s Letter of October 27, 1967 describing No Bride Price ............ 194	 ?Figure 40. Degrees of Distance ................................................................................................... 195	 ?Figure 41. Excised Portion from June?s Letter. .......................................................................... 197	 ?     xii  Acknowledgements This project would not have been possible without the assistance, guidance, and support of a large number of people.  First and foremost, I gratefully acknowledge my advisor Dr. George Belliveau, who provided opportunities for me to engage in this project, the academic and personal support to complete it, and the freedom to do so artistically.  Many thanks to the two other members of my thesis committee, Drs. Carl Leggo and Rita L. Irwin whose guidance, support, and questioning shaped and strengthened this research.   Within these pages I share my and my mother?s experiences in Kenya, which were shaped and supported by countless people.  While I am unable to thank everyone individually, I would like to acknowledge some of the most significant of these influences.   I would like to thank my mother?s parents Phyllis and Walter and siblings Helene, Rodney, Blois, Kevin, and Brian for their support of her Kenyan experiences.  My own Kenyan experience would not have been possible without the collaboration between the UPEI B.Ed. Specialization in International Education program and Farmer?s Helping Farmers fostered by Dr. Graham Pike and Patsy Dingwell.  To my co-student teachers represented in the script as Wendy, Rebecca, and Emma: thank-you for sharing the experience with me.  I also owe a huge debt of gratitude to all those who welcomed us to Kenya including those represented in the script as Mr. Thuku and Hunter and especially to my Kenyan hosts including those I refer to as David, Paula, and Mamma Stef as well as their friends and neighbours.  I also wish to acknowledge the people and institutions that supported the development of this dissertation.  This research was financially supported by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council Vanier Canada Graduate scholarship program.  Thank-you to the faculty, staff, and students of the Department of Language and Literacy Education who provided support and xiii  offered further insights into this project.  I greatly appreciate the gracious assistance of Sam Kima, one of my Kenyan tour guides, in providing the Swahili translations.  And to Shar Levine, thank-you for being a sounding board and for the food.  To my brother Brendan who helped to edit this dissertation, often on short notice, thank-you.  I am very grateful to my cat Macavity who knows when to be a lap warmer and when to ?encourage? me to stop working for the evening.  Finally, thank-you to my parents: Walter M. Lea, who taught me to be persistent, and E. June (Dingwell) Lea, who taught me to question and to think broadly and deeply and both of whom showed me the importance of education.  xiv  Dedication                                     To those whom I would most like to read this yet never will . . . What do you say to your mother when there is no glossy card and little verse to say it for you?  Just thank-you and hope you are as happy as I am that the word exists. 1  Part I 2  Chapter One:  In the Midst of Stories At the heart of this dissertation metaphorically, emotionally, physically is a story a story that begins in Kenya.  or does it begin when I  started to write it in Vancouver?  first heard it in Prince Edward Island? does it begin on a mission in China? a farmhouse in Morell? a school in Labrador? or as my words leap from these pages to play with your thoughts and memories?  to tell this story to imprint, hold, capture it,  even for a moment  to try to stuff a real-live person onto a page1 or a stage (futile as that may be)  begins with a place, and a time, and a word:  Kings University College, London, Ontario, 2010    From there and then Ruth Compton Brouwer (2010; 2013) writes of the missions-to-development move of international development in the 1960s.  With the rise of secular NGOs, many churches ?made a significant break with their missionary past, espousing numerous causes that fit comfortably under the rubric of development? (2010, p. 662).  Yet despite this change, ?globally minded young Canadians were not won over: they overwhelmingly chose to express their interest in development work through secular organizations like CUSO? (Canadian University Services Overseas) (p. 663).  This shift indicates a move in international development, and by extension international teaching, away from missionary work to a more                                                 1 From Denzin (1989) 3  secular approach.  To exemplify this shift, Compton Brouwer tells a short story about a high-school friend:   In the small high school that I attended in Atlantic Canada my friendly competitor for good grades was a girl very different from my self-absorbed teenage self, someone whose all-round seriousness and involvement with church work led some of us to understand that, like her Uncle Roy2, she would become a United Church of Canada missionary.  Instead, in 1966, after graduating from Mount Allison University with arts and education degrees and teaching for a year in Labrador, my friend joined CUSO. ? The first distinctively Canadian non-governmental organization (NGO) to undertake development work from a secular stance and in post-colonial and decolonizing contexts, CUSO sent volunteers to some forty countries during its first decade.  In my friend?s case, the destination was Kenya.  (p. 662)  Or does this story begin in my kitchen? Summer 2006,   across the table, Ruth Compton Brouwer leafs through letters on thin blue air-mail paper each delicately folded and elastic-bound together in a Clover Farm bread bag. The author, Compton Brouwer?s unnamed friend?  My mother.   As my mother drew from her uncle Roy?s experience as a missionary in China, I was inspired by her experience as a teacher.  During my B.Ed. program at the University of Prince Edward Island, I followed her footsteps and also traveled to Kenya.  Rather than travelling abroad as teacher, my journey was as a pre-service teacher on the last of my four practica.                                                  2 Roy Webster later became secretary of the United Church of Canada?s Board of World Mission program.  See Appendix A for a partial family tree. 4  Together these family experiences may be seen as representative of significant changes in the development of international teaching: from the overtly religious missionary work of Roy Webster, to the secular international teaching of my mother E. June Dingwell3, to my experience as an international teacher-learner.  These three stories are also an exemplar of what Goodall (2005; 2006) describes as narrative inheritance:  The afterlives of the sentences used to spell out the life stories of those who came before us.  What we inherit narratively from our forebears provides us with a framework for understanding our identity through theirs.  It helps us see our life grammar and the working logic as an extension of, or a rebellion against, the way we story how they lived and thought about things, and it allows us to explain to others where we come from and how we were raised in the continuing context of what it all means.  (2005, p. 497) Goodall?s personal experience demonstrates that it is not only the told but also the untold narratives that shape our narrative inheritances.  As a child, Goodall lived the high-life in Rome and London through the late 1950s until his family suddenly moved to Cheyenne, Wyoming.  He describes the move as leading to his mother?s nervous breakdown and his father?s suspicious death after visiting the Veteran?s Administration Hospital.  The day after his father?s funeral, Goodall was handed a key to a safety deposit box which contained a diary which told the  story of a man whom I had called ?Dad? for the past 24 years but who was not really my father.  My father had been an ordinary government worker who had retired on full disability from the Veteran?s Administration.  The story I read was about a man with my father?s name who worked for a clandestine organization, a man who ran illegal                                                 3 I use June to refer to situations surrounding her time in Kenya, while mother is used in reference to her direct role in my life. 5  operations during the cold war, a man who communicated through codebooks.  (2005, p. 494) Goodall?s narrative inheritance, both told and untold, shaped his life, his relationship to his parents, and even his choice of academic fields; as he suggests, ?a narrative inheritance touches everything, one way or another, in our lives? (2005, p. 503).  Similarly, the narratives I inherited from my mother have shaped my identity, my choice of career as an educator, my desire to travel to Kenya, and the way I interact with the world.  McNay points out that ?a narrative inheritance is not always readily acquired; important and relevant stories may never have been told, or told incompletely? (2009, p. 2).  Such is my case; much of my mother?s experience in Kenya remained untold and unknown to me.  It was not until just after her death that, similar to Goodall?s experience with his father?s diary, I was told of a collection of letters and journals she kept while in Kenya.  At the heart of this research is a research-based theatre script, Homa Bay Memories, developed using the letters, journals, and other artifacts from my mother?s Kenyan experience, combined with artifacts and memories of experiences from my time in Kenya.  This experiential exploration strives to help understand how narrative inheritance has influenced my relationship to a place to which I had never been, my relationship with my mother, and my way of being in the world.  This script may be found in Part II of this dissertation (see Table 1).    Developing Homa Bay Memories provided an opportunity to closely examine research-based theatre as a methodology particularly when striving toward a script that is systematic in its research approach (Beck, Belliveau, Lea, & Wager, 2011) and artistic in its creation and presentation.  This methodological exploration, found in Parts I and III (see Table 1) comprises the bulk of this dissertation.  These experiential and methodological explorations are 6  interdependent; each informs the other.  While part II focuses on an exploration of experience and Parts I and III on research-based theatre as a methodology, these are not impermeable borders.  There is fluidity among them as methodological understandings are expressed in the script and experiential understandings are expressed in academic prose.  Throughout this dissertation I integrate academic prose, poetry, image, and theatrical script to engage with these explorations and to share the research and theoretical, philosophical, methodological, and personal insights encountered while working on this project.   Part I introduces relevant background information including discussions of theoretical underpinnings, methodology, and relevant literature. Part II contains the script Homa Bay Memories, a theatrical representation of understandings gained during this research project. Part III uses a critical commentary to compliment, rather than re-express, the scripted research.  Part III also provides an evaluative framework for entering the work. Table 1. Dissertation Subdivision A Quest of Questions In his doctoral dissertation, Richard Sallis (2010a) draws upon Woods?s (1986) assertion that ethnography may be viewed as a ?personal quest in method as well as substance? (p. 9).  In doing so, Sallis, positions his research as a quest composed of two research questions.  Similarly, I conceptualize this research project as a quest of questions (see Figure 1).  The questions fall into three classes: Experiential, Methodological, and Epistemological.  I use these classes for clarity; however, throughout the work, the questions continually interact within and among the classes, working together to inform the research.  The three classes of questions all fit under the 7  umbrella of a larger, more personal research quest: to extend my relationship with my mother by exploring a part of her life that, while formative, was not shared in depth during her lifetime.     Figure 1. Quest of Questions In an article putting forth her understanding of performative inquiry, Fels (1998) suggests the methodology does not strive for final destinations instead it seeks the ?opening of new horizon?: the research is ?not a narrowing down but an opening up? (p. 33).  Irwin (2008) writing from an a/r/tographic perspective suggests that ?a/r/tographic inquiry does not set out to answer introductory research questions but rather to posit questions of inquiry that evolve over time? (p. 77).  These methodological positionings are reflective of a broad sense in postmodern and arts-based research that ?because there are multiple ways of knowing and interpreting data, the possibility of discovering a universal transcendent truth outside of a specific context ? or for that matter, a replicable and final solution to any research questions ? is challenged? (Slattery, 2001, pp. 383-4).   Methodological Questions Experiential Questions Epistemological Questions Myriad Web Pro Figure 1 Post Committee 8  Bakhtin, whose theories anchor this work, supports this challenge to ?final solutions? for research questions.  As discussed throughout this dissertation, one of the key elements of Bakhtin?s theories is the notion of ?unfinalizability? (Holquist, 2002, p. 195).  Meanings created in the space between author and addressee are constantly in flux, never fixed: a question never has a final answer.  Building from a Bakhtinian perspective, Fenske (2004) argues that aesthetic research  must construct an invitation to response that does not predetermine appropriate interpretation, but opens up a dialogic space of engagement.  It must be, and desire to be, unfinished: unfinished in that it suggests that meaning has yet to be determined, that form is an act of construction with specific risks and obligations, and that the conversation with form/representation is ongoing.  The force of the frozen moment of representation, therefore, must imply its temporality and movement.  (p. 15)   To position this study as providing answers to research questions would counter the theoretical underpinnings of the research.  Thus instead of being a study indented to make generalizable findings; to prove, disprove, or generate theory; or to provide definitive answers to questions, this research is an exploration of intersecting personal experiences and of methodology.  Similar to Fels and Irwin, I position the research questions below as entry points into the research, opening spaces for understandings and further questions to emerge.    Research quest. My first attempt to dramatize the letters was built on a subset of the data explored in this dissertation.  The first scripted version4 of this research began with my mother and I creating and sharing stories based on pictures of nursery rhymes.  Later in the script, I dramatized one of my                                                 4 Refer to the critical commentary in Chapter Six for more information of the various versions of the script. 9  grandmother?s letters to my mother in Kenya in which she describes the moon and asks my mother if she will see it in Kenya in a few hours.  I was touched by this collapse of time used to draw the two together.  While reading this letter, I vividly recalled during my time in Kenya looking up at the sky to see the stars twinkle; I had never seen stars really twinkle before.  In a later revision of the script, recognizing that part of my work in this research is to draw myself into this world and closer to this part of my mother?s life, I inserted myself into this moment, scripting myself singing Twinkle Twinkle Little Star, tying the nursery rhymes shared at the beginning with the night sky.  However, when I included the familiar lyrics I noticed I made a significant mistake: instead of ?How I wonder what you are?? I typed, ?How I wonder where you are.?  This simple substitution error helped me realize that the main thrust, the quest, of this research is a personal exploration of my mother?s Kenyan experiences, to find where she is amongst these letters and my memories, in an effort to know and understand a significant part of her life, an untold part of my narrative inheritance, and myself.   Goodall speaks of realizing his father?s untold story of life as a spy was ?the story I ran away from for most of my adult life, but it is one that I find now that I must write? (2005, p. 498).  Similarly, I find my mother?s story is one I must now explore both personally and professionally.  In his book Ethnotheatre: Research from Page to Stage (2011), Salda?a suggests ?you really can?t learn how to tell someone else?s story until you first or also learn how to tell your own? (p. 75).  If I am to continue to engage in academic research, telling others? stories, I must, as Goodall realizes and Salda?a suggests, know, and learn to tell, my own story.  10  Questions.  While on this quest, I explore a series of research questions while keeping in mind that this study is not designed to provide concise answers to these questions but rather uses them as a framework for engaging in a variety of academic, methodological, and personal conversations.  To engage with these questions I draw upon research-based theatre and narrative inquiry with support from autoethnography.  Chapters Two and Three contain detailed discussions of research-based theatre and narrative inquiry respectively.  A description of the methodological approaches used to engage with these questions including the influence of autoethnography is shared in Chapter Four. Experiential. Field experiences. ? What were my mother?s experiences of teaching in Kenya?  ? What are key similarities and differences of her and my experiences?  ? How have these particular experiences of teaching internationally varied across the shifts of a) generations and b) from teacher to student? ? How did my mother and I interact with the local populations? ? How were familial connections made and maintained across time and place? Jokikokko (2009) explores not just family connections but the various roles significant others have on the intercultural learning of teachers teaching outside of their culture.  Her study focuses on experiences of students registered in an M.Ed. program at the University of Oulu.  She chose this as her sample both for convenience and because the students ?are able to elaborate their intercultural learning experiences and intercultural competencies as they have experienced an education that focuses on those issues? (p. 146).  To generate data, Jokikokko relied upon 11  Atkinson?s (2002) biographical interviews.  Prior to interviews, she requested participants draw pictures of important moments in their intercultural learning.  These pictures were then used to support their stories of intercultural learning shared during the interviews.  Using this method, Jokikokko provided opportunities for participants to reflect on a variety of intercultural learning experiences before the pressure of an interview; however, in doing so she cued participants that she was interested in intercultural learning, possibly leading to an exaggeration of their experiences in the interviews.  In contrast, June?s letters and journals were not generated in response to a stimulus such as Jokikokko?s request to draw pictures, nor was the journal I maintained during my experience.  As such, they provide an opportunity to revisit Jokikokko?s research questions without the influence of researcher questioning.  When adapted to this study these questions become: ? How did significant others shape my mother?s intercultural learning and experiences?   ? In what ways might June?s intercultural learning experiences have established the conditions for, and impacted, my intercultural learning experiences?   Research experiences. McNay (2009) draws upon Goodall?s narrative inheritance to suggest that when we ?inherit a family?s unfinished business ? those incomplete narratives are given to us to fulfill? (p. 1183).  This research is in part an attempt to engage with and understand incomplete narratives of my mother?s life and how they intersect with my own.  However, I am also interested in my experience of researching a significant and largely untold part of my narrative inheritance. 12  ? What is my personal experience of engaging with significant omissions in my narrative inheritance? ? How might returning to fractures in narrative inheritance influence the lived experience of the inheritor? Foster, who used the experience of having a mother with schizophrenia as part of her doctoral research, writes that she ?found that through the process of sharing my story, and reading about the research on children of parents with mental illness, I have become less emotionally bound to it in terms of my concept of my self and my history? (Foster, McAllister, & O'Brien, 2005, p. 9).  Building upon this, as I engaged with my narrative inheritance I tried to remain aware of the question: ? Was I becoming less emotionally bound by the loss of my mother through the exploration of my narrative inheritance? Epistemological.  During an invited research seminar at the University of British Columbia Challenging Concepts of Place and the Discomfort of a Practical Researcher (2012, March), Sally Mackey was asked to elaborate upon her distinction between place and site.  She described a site as a physical location while place was used to refer both to the physical location and the emotional and ontological resonances associated with that site.  Drawn by my mother?s Kenyan stories, I had an emotional connection to the place without having personally experienced the physical site.  This leads me to ask: ? What is the role of site and place in narrative inheritance? ? Can a place exist without a site? 13  ? Is there a shift in understanding when a purely ontological place becomes associated with a physical site? In establishing his notion of narrative inheritance, Goodall suggests ?what we inherit narratively from our forebears provides us with a framework for understanding our identity through theirs? (2005, p. 497).  This suggests that our identity may be at least partly constructed through our narrative inheritance.  However, Bakhtin?s notion of chains of utterances proposes that meaning is made in the space between the speaker and the addressee (Bakhtin, 1986; Holquist, 2002); that both speaker and addressee imbue an utterance with meaning.  A story given to us as part of our narrative inheritance shapes us, but in receiving it we fill it with meaning from our own perspectives, shaping the story.  Building on these positions, I am left asking: ? How are we simultaneously making and made by stories we inherit? Methodological. In late 2011, I visited the Kyoto International Manga museum which featured a special exhibit on ?gag manga? pioneer Fujio Akatsuka.  The caption for one of his works read Gag manga like ?Tensai bakabon? and ?Rettsura gon? were also revolutionary because they used the breaking of the conventions of manga as an expressive medium itself as a way to elicit laughter. The breaking of the rules was meaningful because it clarified the structure of manga, and was as such also a critique, and even research practice. (Akatsuka Fujio Manga University Exhibition, 2011) Prior to seeing this, I positioned the creation of research-based artwork as a method of engaging with and sharing research about a subject, with learning about the form of the research emerging as a possible secondary outcome.  This caption in the manga museum gave me freedom to see 14  the development of an artwork as a primary research objective: to explore and push the limits of current practice5.  I see the development of this research as an opportunity to explicitly examine the art/research-form of research-based theatre, particularly the script development process.  While Homa Bay Memories forms the heart of this research project, it primarily addresses the experiential questions; the methodological questions and explorations provide the central focus of the rest of the dissertation.  Anthony Jackson explores the relationship between the instrumental and aesthetic functions of educational theatre in his text Theatre, Education and the Making of Meanings: Art or Instrument? (2007).  In it he describes educational theatre as resulting in an ?attitudinal or behavioural change on part of the audience or in the creation or consolidation of consciousness about the audience?s place within the world or, more modestly, the triggering of curiosity about a specific issue? (pp. 1-2).  This closely resembles Mienczakowski and Moore?s description of ethnodrama as ?a utilitarian concept used in understanding experiences of others? (2008, p. 451), suggesting that research-based theatre may be considered as a subset of Jackson?s educational theatre (see Figure 2).                                                   5 While I encountered this idea before, particularly through readings and coursework in a/r/tography (Springgay, Irwin, Leggo, & Gouzouasis, 2008), it was not until this museum visit that the idea took hold. 15   Figure 2. Subsets of Applied and Educational Theatre The subtitle of Jackson?s book, Art or Instrument, suggests a binary relationship between the didactic and aesthetic elements of educational theatre.  A similar relationship ? although a continuous spectrum rather than a discrete binary ? can be seen in a variety of research-based theatre scripts, from the Diamond = Mullen?s didactic Rescripting the Script and Rewriting the Paper: Taking Research to the ?Edge of the Exploratory? (2000) to more aesthetic works such as Gray and her ensemble?s After the Crash: A Play about Brain Injury (2011).  In a review of literature on research-based theatre, Beck, Belliveau, Lea, and Wager (2011) develop a spectrum of research-based theatre consisting of two continua: Research and Performance6 (see Figure 3).                                                     6 I draw on this image as it is the most recent to offer a spectrum on which I can visually depict how I position this research aesthetically.  Had the image been designed with this project in mind, the horizontal axis may have been reversed allowing my work to be positioned in the top right corner of the spectrum. Research-based Theatre  Myriad Web Pro Figure!2!!16   The top left of the spectrum classifies research-based theatre works that are ?aesthetic performances based on systematic research? (p. 695).  However, there appear to be few pieces of research-based theatre written to fit within this area of the spectrum.  I position my research as an opportunity to address this gap, to develop a work employing aesthetic possibilities of theatre to evoke understandings and experiences gained through systematic research.  The intent to explore this portion of the spectrum of research-based theatre leads me to question: ? What academic and artistic tensions are inherent in developing a piece of research-based theatre with the intent to fit within the aesthetic/systematic part of the spectrum of research-based theatre?  Figure 3. Spectrum of Research-based Theatre (Beck et al., 2011, p. 695) Figure 9. Categories on the spectrum of research-based theatreClosed/Conference performances based on systematic researchStakeholder/ Aesthetic performances based on more informal, first-hand researchStakeholder/ Aesthetic performances based systematic researchConference/Stakeholder performances based on more informal, first-hand researchConference/Stakeholder performances based systematic researchAesthetic performances based on more informal, first-hand researchAesthetic performances based systematic researchAesthetic performances based on casual inquiry into historical factsAesthetic performances based on rich sources of second-hand researchStakeholder/ Aesthetic performances based on rich sources of second-hand Conference/Stakeholder performances based on rich sources of second-hand researchConference/Stakeholder performances based on casual inquiry into historical factsStakeholder/ Aesthetic performances based on casual inquiry into historical factsResearch continuumPerformance continuumSpectrum of research-based theatreClosed/Conference performances based on more informal, first-hand researchClosed/Conference performances based on rich sources of second-hand researchClosed/Conference performances based on casual inquiry into historical facts17  Fenske suggests ?forms of aesthetic representation (written or otherwise) have an ethical imperative to demonstrate through their form the investments of their construction? (2004, p. 15).  One of the significant investments in an academically situated aesthetic representation such as research-based theatre is the theoretical underpinnings of the work.  Often these are either omitted from the theatrical presentation or shared in an overtly didactic manner.  This, as Jackson (2007) suggests, may miss the aesthetic potential of research-based theatre to artistically share theoretical as well as experiential understandings. ? How might the art-form of theatre be used to stage theoretical underpinnings of research without relying on didactic explanations? A question of focus.  In Chapter Six, I describe immersing myself in secondary data and arriving at a point where I needed to ask myself: ?where should I stop??  A similar question may be raised with these research questions: where should I focus?  The three classes of research questions described here are all addressed throughout the dissertation.  However, I found I was unable to focus on them all equally within these pages and so chose to focus my research more closely on the methodological questions.  This is not to suggest the experiential or epistemological questions are unimportant; they are discussed independently throughout the dissertation and are the basis of the scripted portion of this research.  As such, they are at the heart of this dissertation metaphorically, emotionally, and physically.  While I chose to focus this dissertation on the methodological, this opportunity would not exist without the epistemological and experiential questions.  18  Theoretical Chains of utterances and experience.7 Their voices bounce back and forth Blending and building over the checkered Starbucks table  Slouched in a soft brown leather chair I look up from my reading  Was it Bakhtin or maybe Dewey?  They disappear into inaudible stories  Living stories Evolving stories Tied together  Travelling on waves in all directions Through the air Through other stories Tangling with mine  Across the room Wisps of hair escape her tightly bound ponytail As she reads Her silent story Tangling with mine  While Bakhtin or Dewey sits dead in my lap Clandinin and Connelly?s emphasis on ?experiencing the experience? (2000, p. 80) in their understanding of narrative inquiry is built upon Dewey?s conceptualization of experience as central to education.  In Experience and Education (1938), Dewey highlights two principles ? interaction and continuity ? that he suggests are central to understanding educational experiences.  Interaction recognizes that human experience does not exist in isolation but emerges as interplay between external and internal conditions, between the social and the                                                 7 Throughout the dissertation, some headings begin without capitalization.  I use this to poetically indicate that the heading may be read as a continuation of its parent heading.  For example, the heading on page 24 may be read as Theoretical chains of inheritance. 19  personal.  Continuity refers to the interrelatedness of educational experiences; that each builds upon ?something from those which have gone before and modifies in some way the quality of those which come after? (1938, p. 35).  This notion of continuity suggests it may be thought of as a metaphoric chain of experiences: each individual experience exists as a link, necessarily connected to all others in both past and future. No man is an island, Entire of itself; Every man is a piece of the continent, A part of the main. If a clod be washed away by the sea, Europe is the less. ? Any man's death diminishes me, Because I am involved in mankind; And therefore never send to know For whom the bell tolls: It tolls for thee.   (Donne, 1841, pp. 195-196) Dewey?s view of experience as contiguous resembles Bakhtin?s notion of a chain utterances (1986).  Bakhtin develops the concept of an utterance as ?a unit of speech communication ? determined by a change of speaking subjects? (p. 71).  Each utterance may be as short as a single response (primary/simple genre) or as long as a novel, story, or piece of theatre (secondary/complex genre).  Instead of being discrete events, each utterance exists within a chain, created not only in response to previous utterances, but shaped by the anticipated response of their intended addressee.   Bakhtin suggests that any understanding of speech is  imbued with response and necessarily elicits it in one form or another: the listener becomes the speaker.  ?  Of course, an utterance is not always followed immediately by an articulated response.  An actively responsive understanding of what is heard ? can be 20  directly realized in action ? or it can remain, for the time being, a silent responsive understanding ? but this is, so to speak, responsive understanding with a delayed reaction.  Sooner or later what is heard and actively understood will find its response in the subsequent speech or behaviour of the listener.  ?  Thus, all real and integral understanding is actively responsive.  (1986, pp. 68-69) This implies that, as a form of utterance, a narrative necessarily impacts its addressee either immediately or in the future; the addressee?s own narratives become shaped by those of others.  This works in both directions as an author?s narration is shaped by the anticipated response of the addressee who comes to a narrative with his or her own chain of utterances.  A narrative thus emerges from the space between author and addressee.  Our stories, our narratives, are influenced not only by our past but also by our intended addressee(s).  Similarly, our intended addressee(s)?s stories are influenced by ours.  Our narratives intermingle and dance, they are not ours alone but are ?filled with others? words? (Bakhtin, 1986, p. 89).   While Bakhtin?s discussion of utterances is based in language and novels, Holquist (2002) argues that he  conceives existence as the kind of book we call a novel, or more accurately as many novels ?, for all of us write our own such text, a text that is then called our life.  Bakhtin uses the literary genre of the novel as an allegory for representing existence as the condition of authoring.  (p. 30) Through this allegorical relationship, Bakhtin provides a framework through which we may understand lived experience as similarly chained.   This further links Bakhtin?s utterance to Dewey?s conceptualization of experience as continuous.  Utterances and experiences also share the principle of interaction.  In describing 21  interaction, Dewey recognizes experiences as constructed through the interaction of the personal and the social.  Holquist points out that an utterance is similarly constructed, that it ?is a border phenomenon.  It takes place between speakers, and is therefore drenched in social factors? (2002, p. 61).  As utterances and experience exist within chains, in relation to others,  the self ? and the other ? exist not as separate entities, but as ?relations between two coordinates ? each serving to differentiate the other.? ? The self, then, may be conceived as a multiple phenomenon of essentially three elements ?: a center, a not-center, and the relation between them.  (Holquist, 2002, pp. 26-29)   Of the three it is the relation between ?self? and ?other? that is most important ?for without it the other two would have no meaning? (p. 38). This suggests that our identities are, at least partially, constructed between the utterances and experiences we share with the world and those of the world to which we are exposed.  As such, our identities are necessarily fluid, constantly adapting and adapted by the utterances and experiences with which we intersect. This opens space for Munro to assert that ?there is no identity outside narrative? (1998, p. 6).  Similarly, in his book The Truth About Stories: A Native Narrative, Indigenous8 scholar Thomas King suggests ?the truth about stories is that that?s all we are? (2003, p. 2).  If we are nothing but stories and our stories influence and are influenced by the stories of others, then  We are nothing but the waves our stories leave in the stories of others.                                                 8 The decision to explicitly identify the Indigenous scholars in this research was not taken lightly.  I worried that as they are the only scholars identified by their ancestry it may appear I am drawing on them, or positioning their scholarship as valuable, only because of their indigeneity.  I was also concerned that as a Caucasian researcher, identifying the indigeneity of these scholars may appear patronizing.  However, I decided to retain this identification as I feel my unease is less important than acknowledging and honouring the influence their voices have had on the research and to identify their Indigenous epistemological influences.  Using Indigenous when referring to these scholars is then intended not as a qualifier on their scholarship but to recognize and honour their academic contributions. 22        Nitobe Garden: April 1, 2011 In the chaos of clouds Countless quivering specks Each like none before Grow fat To   Journey  In umbrella shadows   Clear flat stillness  Rain Joins water Leaving only waves Drop Lapping together Joins water     Leaving only waves     Lapping together   Golden koi swims by Water waves dance flowingly With rain dropped stories 23   Figure 4. Nitobe Garden: April 1, 2011  24  This fluidity of identity amongst an ever-evolving series of narratives and experiences is not limited to our personal lives but also shapes our academic lives.  As academics, we are constantly being remade by our research.  In her article Heartful Autoethnography (1999), Ellis narratively describes a prospective supervisee who intends to use grounded theory in her dissertation study of the post-operative adjustment of breast cancer survivors.  Toward the end of the journey, Ellis suggests to her potential student, a breast cancer survivor herself, that she might wish to consider writing her dissertation as a novel that ?might end by showing how your story changed as you heard their stories and interacted with them? (p. 680).  Here, Ellis points out that even as researchers, we are shaped in relation to the utterances of ?others? in our research.   of inheritance.  Reflecting on the experience of exploring his father?s untold narrative as a clandestine government employee, Goodall (2005) realizes that he would have to broaden his view of family as composed of child and parent.   After all, my father and mother had their narrative inheritances, too.  These inheritances reach much further back in place and time, through story lines that travel through family genealogies and social histories to whatever distant memory first gave birth to our original forebears? tale.  But my point here is that my parents collectively had an extraordinary life before I was born, and individually, they had remarkable ? if even more mysterious ? lives prior to that.  The story I have to tell is, therefore, part of a pattern of secrecy, and of a family, as it was written into their earlier lives.  (p. 510) Goodall here draws attention to the chain-like nature of narrative inheritance.  Like chains of utterances and experience, narrative inheritance is necessarily implicated in a 25  continuous chain of narratives linking them to the past.  While he does not do so explicitly, Goodall also suggests that this chain, like Bakhtin?s utterance is linked to the future.  He describes that the impetus to explore his untold narrative inheritance was to share it with his own child. The story I ran away from for most of my adult life ? is one that I find now that I must write, now that I have become a father.  Now that I have my own son, Nicolas, who asks questions I have a difficult time answering about my parents.  (p. 498)  Holquist points out that Bakhtin proposes a worldview that is ?relentlessly relational ? insist[ing] on the presence of the other, and the inescapable necessity of outsideness and unfinalizability? (2002, p. 195, emphasis added).  Through this Bakhtinian lens, the stories that comprise our narrative inheritance are ?relentlessly relational? and ?unfinalizable;? their meanings exist only in relation to us and as we are constantly in flux (Spry, 2011) so too is our narrative inheritance.  In researching and retelling his father?s story, Goodall is changing both his relationship with the story and the story itself.    Situating my research within Bakhtin?s notion of chains of utterance and Dewey?s continuity of experience allows me to position my Kenyan experience as part of a narrative chain which includes my mother?s time there.  Goodall?s narrative inheritance demonstrates how both told and untold stories of her experience have influenced my existence both in Kenya and beyond.  He also demonstrates the importance of engaging with these untold narratives in an effort to understand ourselves.  Drawing from Bakhtin, I recognize that in exploring my mother?s narratives and adapting them into a research project and a piece of research-based theatre, I am gaining new understandings of the told and untold stories, my mother, and myself.  In doing so I 26  am necessarily remaking these stories.  They are becoming my stories, co-made, quilted together in the space between my mother and I.      Staging chains.   Bakhtin?s notion of chains of utterances extends beyond a way of viewing the experiences of my mother and I in this research to also inform the script development phase of the research.  A piece of theatre may be considered a secondary Bakhtinian utterance (Bakhtin, 1986).  As such, the development of a theatrical work, including my scripted research, is necessarily informed by its intended addressee, the audience.  Denzin (1997) identifies four types of audiences for research-based theatre works: ?professional, participatory, lay, and aesthetic? (p. 101).  Each type of audience comes to a performance with particular expectations and addressing these expectations necessarily shapes both script and research.   As mentioned earlier, one of my objectives in this project is to develop a script that fits into the ?aesthetic performances based on systematic research? (Beck, Belliveau, Lea, & Wager, 2011, p. 695) area of the spectrum of research-based theatre.  The naming of this area suggests a particular intended audience, one expecting both systematic research and a heightened use of theatrical aesthetics to help express that research.  From a Bakhtinian perspective, this intended audience will shape the final product differently than, for example, a script developed for the ?closed/conference performance based on systematic research? (p. 695) area of the spectrum.    Fenske (2004) draws attention to the unfinishability inherent in Bakhtin?s theories and its importance to performance, pointing out that ?the aesthetic act of form creation, however, must not be designed to control, capture, or possess. ? It must be, and desire to be, unfinished? (p. 15).  Building from Bakhtin?s theories of chains of utterance, Holquist?s attention to the unfinalizability inherent in these theories, and Fenske?s reminder to develop performative works 27  that seek to evoke understandings rather than convey meaning, I position this research not as a representation of my and my mother?s experiences.  Instead, I strive to use my engagement with these experiences to develop an evocative and possibly provocative theatrical presentation (Schonmann, 2001).  This moves my work away from the suggestion of Salda?a that ?the live, intimate, real-time nature [of theatre] gives the audience member not a sense of ?being there? but, during performance, ?being here? (2005, p. 141).  Instead I position this work as an opportunity to extend an invitation to the potential audience to engage in a conversation, bringing them into a chain of utterances and experiences. 28  Chapter Two: Approaching Research-based Theatre9 to inform in form As discussed in Chapters One and Four, the principle methodology guiding this work is research-based theatre.  Artists have long used theatre as medium to explore the social world around them.  From Aristophanes?s Lysistrata and Shakespeare?s King Lear (2000) to contemporary works such as Larson?s Rent (2008) and Letts?s August: Osage County (2008), playwrights have used theatre to comment upon, and sometimes challenge, the world outside the theatre walls.  This impulse to explore the social world using theatre has been integrated into academia over the last several decades as both a ?method and methodology? (Mienczakowski & Moore, 2008, p. 451) in academic disciplines including health research (Colantonio et al., 2008; Kontos & Naglie, 2007) and education (Belliveau, 2008; Conrad, 2012; Vanover & Salda?a, 2005).  The use of theatre in educational research has grown over the past three decades from a novel method for disseminating research results (R. Walker, Pick, & MacDonald, 1991) into an emerging methodology that has the potential to simultaneously gather, analyze, and disseminate data (Norris, 2000; 2002; 2009).  In this chapter I explore some of the literature on research-based theatre, examining how the methodology has been defined and some of the current debates and issues within the field.  Following this I identify and describe three general approaches used to develop research-based theatre scripts.  This discussion provides a landscape of the field of research-based theatre.  In Chapter Four, I situate myself within this landscape, using it to describe my use of research-based theatre to engage with my and my mother?s narratives.                                                 9 This chapter is adapted from Lea (2010), Belliveau and Lea (2011), and Lea (2012). 29  Terminology As the field of research-based theatre is emerging, its terminology is still varied and evolving.  In his text Ethnotheatre: Research from Page to Stage (2011), Salda?a lists 82 terms used to describe the integration of theatre into research.  Two of the most common, ethnotheatre and ethnodrama, are described by Salda?a (2008a; 2011) and Mienczakowski and Moore (2008) as modes of using theatre to disseminate data gathered and analysed using traditional qualitative research tools such as action research, narrative, interviews, and field notes.  Norris (2000) argues that theatre can be more than a method of artistic dissemination of data, that ?the potential of drama [theatre] as research is fully realized, not when one translates data into a play, but when the dramatic activities shape the presentation in the same way as quantitative research uses numerical data through all stages? (p. 45).  He proposes playbuilding (2009) as a methodology that provides structures for theatre and drama to be integrated throughout the research process.  Similarly, Schonmann (2001) suggests Playback Theatre as a possible method of ?simultaneously presenting data, analyzing and interpreting them, and delivering a clear meaning? (p. 144).  Despite its potential, the use of theatre throughout the research process, as suggested by Norris and Schonmann, is not explicit in current definitions of either ethnodrama or ethnotheatre.  In light of the literature in the field, ethnodrama and ethnotheatre appear to only serve part of the uses of theatre in the research process.  Research-based theatre may be a more inclusive term to describe the multiple ways of integrating theatre throughout the research process.  Sinding, R. E. Gray, Grassau, Damianakis, and Hampson describe research-based theatre as ?the use of dramatic form to capture research knowledge? (2006, p. 694).  However, this understanding of research-based theatre focuses upon the capturing and dissemination of 30  research data, not the analysis of research data using theatrical techniques as suggested by Norris.  Mitchell, Jonas-Simpson, and Ivonoffski open the use of theatre throughout the research process suggesting that research-based theatre is a way of using theatre for ?enhancing understanding of lived experience in different groups and communities? (2006, p. 198).  This understanding of research-based theatre does not restrict the approach to ?capturing? or disseminating research; instead, it permits the integration of theatre in any part of the research process, encompassing ethnodrama and ethnotheatre as well as research such as Norris?s that uses theatre throughout.   Integrity and Legitimacy While theatre is becoming increasingly used in educational research, Salda?a suggests that ?the legitimacy of ethnotheatre [and research-based theatre] as a credible genre of research reportage remains suspect to many scholars in the social sciences? (2008a, p. 203).  If the legitimacy of such research is in question, why then should research-based theatre continue to be explored as a mode of educational research?  Denzin argues that ?the performance text is the single, most powerful way for ethnography to recover meanings of lived experience? (1997, p. 95).  When theatricalising data, researchers show, not tell the results of their research (Salda?a, 2008a, p. 201) creating a three-dimensional presentation of their research data.  This three-dimensional dramatic form ?allows one to retain, at least somewhat, the human dimensions of the life experience qualitative research attempts to study [helping] to not lose research participants in the data or not transform them into dehumanized stereotypes? (Donmoyer & Donmoyer, 2008, p. 216).   Mienczakowski and Moore argue that theatricalizing data can extend the three-dimensional presentation of research to give ?an empathetic power and dimension often lacking 31  in standard qualitative research narratives? (2008, p. 451).  This ?empathetic power? offers insights between the research presentation and the audience in which ?the overall performance becomes a shared context that the actor [supported by the researcher] and audience member intimately construct and relate to because of their own emotional link to the topic of the research/performance? (Mienczakowski & Moore, 2008, p. 452).  Mienczakowski and Moore stress that when theatre is used as a research approach it is not ?about a tradition of artistic endeavour but explanation and emotion evocation ? with one side critical and emancipatory ?, the other side evocative, self-expressing, and intentionally creative? (2008, p. 452).  Through this dual lens, research-based theatre can provide opportunities for a critical perspective through which to view research as well as openings for cathartic responses for audience members. Art and Data This dual lens requires a balance between the ethical responsibilities of the researcher to his or her data and the artistic responsibilities of the playwright to the art form.  Navigating the space between the artistic and instrumental in theatre education is discussed in depth by Jackson (2005).  This tension is also present in narrative inquiry, as discussed in Chapter Three, and is an important consideration when evaluating arts-based research as discussed in Chapter Seven.  In his early work, Salda?a describes the process of ethnodramatic playwriting as extracting the ?juicy stuff? from ethnographic data (2005, p. 16).  However, the ethnodramatist ?is not a storyteller, she?s a story reteller.  You don?t compose what your participants tell you in interviews, but you can creatively and strategically edit the transcripts assuming you wish to maintain rather than ?re-story? their narratives? (Salda?a, 2005, p. 20).  Mienczakowski suggests that it is the ?verbatim nature of the presentations themselves which lends meaningful authority, import, and significance to the resulting realizations? (2001, p. 468).   32  While the use of verbatim in ethnodrama may lend veracity to research-based theatre, being bound by the data may limit the aesthetic potential of a script10.  Jackson suggests that if we ?lose sight of the aesthetic, the capacity of such theatre is diminished? (2005, p. 106).  In After the Crash: A Play About Brain Injury, Rossiter, J. Gray, et al. integrated dance to ?capture physically and non-verbally some of the core emotional realities expressed in the focus groups, found often in the tone of the words spoken opposed to just the words themselves? (2008, p. 283).  In the development of the dance, the playwrights noted a tension between the duty of the researchers to faithfully interpret their data, and presentations of the data that are deliberately left open to interpretation (Rossiter et al., 2008, p. 283).  However, navigating the space between the aesthetic and the data is a difficult task and at times ?in order to create a more artistically sound product there may be a danger of misrepresenting the data? (Sinding, Gray, & Nisker, 2008, p. 465).  Beare and Belliveau suggest that navigating this balance between art and data while ?staying true to the essence of the data? may be ?one of the biggest challenges of writing scripted data? (2008, p. 144).      Approaches While emphasising distinctions between two approaches to research-based theatre, ethnodrama and playbuilding, Norris acknowledges that they share ?similar epistemological underpinnings? (2009, p. 21) and both integrate the use of ?theatrical devises [sic] to present research findings? (p. 23).  This suggests that while distinct, both approaches are related.  An exploration of the current literature brings forth three principle approaches used by practitioners engaged in various forms of research-based theatre: (a) playwright-centered such as Salda?a?s, (b) collective such as Norris?s playbuilding, and (c) composite bridging the gap between the two.                                                  10 See Chapter Six for a discussion on using verbatim data in Homa Bay Memories. 33  In the remainder of this chapter, I situate each approach within both conventional and research-based theatre literature.  After elucidating each approach, a representative project is explored in depth, providing insight into some of the tensions inherent in working in each approach.    Collective approach.  Figure 5. Collective Approach  Using theatre to conduct or disseminate research often requires a playwright to write from another?s perspective.  Canadian playwright Sharon Pollock uses a metaphorical diamond to explain her approach to this challenging writing task.  I am standing in one place, and I am the result of a certain time and place and experience, and I have a flashlight.  If I never try to expand those boundaries I can only hold my flashlight one way, shine it on one part of the diamond. ?  But I can?t go all the way around that diamond.  I suppose when you have many writers attacking the same story, you get the entire diamond lit up.  (quoted in Jansen, 1991, p. 100) Data Development Team Script Myriad Web Pro Figure 5 34  One method of allowing many writers to ?attack the same story? is through the theatrical development process of collective creation (Barton, 2008; Filewood, 1987).  In this working method, a team of artists including writers, directors, actors, and others work together to explore a topic and develop a production integrating their varied perspectives.  This multitude of perspectives provides an opportunity to light up, if not the whole diamond, a larger portion of it than possible with a single writer.  The Canadian collective play, The Farm Show (1976), developed by Theatre Passe Muraille, ?grew out of the actors? attempts to dramatize their discoveries in daily improvisational sessions? (Johns, 1976), ?the play was not written down; it developed out of interviews, visits, and improvisations? (P. Thompson, 1976).  The Farm Show emerged as a creation of the company, developed through group theatrical activities rather than the work of a sole playwright. Norris (2009) cites Theatre Passe Muraille?s collective creation process as one the influences on the development of his use of playbuilding as a methodology for engaging in qualitative research.  In this collective approach (see Figure 5), data are collected by, or are presented to, a development team to explore theatrically.  There is no central figure with final control over the script; it is co-created by the members of the theatrical research team.  Norris describes his process as a continual and collective process of exploring the data. [In] the playbuilding and rehearsal processes we go through spirals of external research, personal exploration, discussion and dramatic exploration until we have collected a large number of ideas that are potential themes and scenes.  In our work, the process of collection, analysis and dissemination are intermingled as each informs the other.  (2000, p. 46) 35  In this approach, theatrical rehearsals become methods of data generation and analysis as, through repetition, character work, and exploration, new data and understandings may be generated or discovered.  The themes, stories, and scenes developed in these rehearsals are collectively woven into a script for performance.  This script may be recorded on paper or may exist ephemerally, constructed by members of the research-team as a scripted improvisation but not recorded.  Other practitioners including Belliveau (2008) and Bird, Donelan, Sinclair, and Wales (2010) have devised similar collectively-based working methods.  The active and interactive use of theatre in the research process reflects the reconceptualization of theatrical performance ?from theatrical entertainment to performance as a method of explaining, exemplifying, projecting, knowing, and sharing meaning? (Alexander, 2005, p. 415, italics removed). Drama as an Additional Language.11 Drama as an Additional Language was conceived as a conference presentation to contextualize, dramatize, and analyze the experiences of English language learners during an after-school drama program.   While inspired by Norris?s playbuilding methodology, the process of developing Drama as an Additional Language differed substantially in that rather than relying on the theatrical development sessions to generate data primarily from researcher experiences, the theatrical research sessions were based on data that included observation notes, participant journals, photographs, and videos generated in the field.   In a method closely resembling that used by Bird, Donelan, Sinclair, and Wales in developing of Alice Hoy is Not a Building (2010), each member of the Drama as an Additional Language research team first developed two short scripted scenes based upon individual analyses                                                 11 A discussion of this project can be found in Wager, Belliveau, Beck, and Lea (2009). 36  of the data.  These scripts formed the basis for data-informed improvisations and provided a structure through which we developed our work.  These improvisation sessions became what Bird, Donelan, Sinclair, and Wales describe as ?dialogic approach to analysing and interpreting the data and a critical approach to performance making? (2010, p. 91).   While rehearsing Drama as an Additional Language, as a development team we spiralled (Norris, 2000) between the data and dramatic explorations: the data informed the improvisations, which in turn provided new insights into the data.  This reflects the third of Turner?s three stages of performance ethnography: ?ethnography into playscript, script into performance, and performance into meta-ethnography? (1982, p. 90).  The move to meta-ethnography, suggested by Turner, suggests that developing and performing in a performance ethnography allows performers to return to the ethnography ?armed with the understanding that comes from ?getting inside the skin?? (p. 90) of ethnographic participants.  However, unlike Turner?s three linear stages, the spiral process of Drama as an Additional Language allows understandings gained through performance to provide new insights into the ethnography that influenced subsequent performances.  The continued exploration did not end with the development of a script or at our final rehearsal.  Rather, each performance was a scripted improvisation in which new insights were uncovered through performance, audience engagement, and reflection.  By being improvisatory in nature, our presentation, and the insights we gained through the work, became informed not only by the data and ourselves but also by the audience and context in which we were presenting.   37  Playwright-centered approach.  Figure 6. Playwright-Centered Approach The playwright-centered approach (see Figure 6) is characterized by the adaptation of data into a script by a single playwright/researcher.  In the descriptions of his playwright-centered process, Salda?a indicates that data are gathered using qualitative methods such as ?interviews, participant observation field notes, journal entries and/or print and media artifacts? (2005, p. 2).  In this approach, data are usually analysed using non-theatrical, qualitative techniques (Norris, 2009) before being transformed by a researcher/playwright into a theatrical script.  Salda?a notes that his playwright-centered process begins ?not as an artistic vision but as a data analytic process? (1998b, p. 184).  This development process is similar to that used by a playwright developing a script for a non-academic audience (Barton, 2008).  As a form of creative analytic practice (Richardson, 2000b), playwriting is then ?a way of ?knowing? ? a method of discovery and analysis? (p. 923)  When developing Hong Kong, Canada (2001), Goldstein followed this playwright-centered approach, collecting ethnographic data then adapting them into a script.  However, during rehearsals, actors made her aware of dialogue she created that contained ?problematic Data Playwright Script Myriad Web Pro Figure  6 38  representations of ethnographic characters? (Goldstein, 2002).  While she changed the language based on input from the actors, she remained the primary artistic figure.  Thus while the playwright-centered approach may involve critical perspectives from actors, directors, designers, and others exploring and challenging theoretical and artistic elements of the text, the researcher/playwright maintains the responsibility of leading the artistic development during script development.   Naming the Shadows. In the spring of 2008, a grades one to three Montessori class rehearsed and presented Richard Carter?s (2008) adaption of A Midsummer Night?s Dream.  Researchers observed the class periodically through rehearsals and performance, building an archive of data including observational notes, pictures, video, parent comments, student writing, and interviews with the teacher.  These data were collected and presented to a playwright who used a playwright-centered approach12 to develop the research-based theatre script Naming the Shadows (MacKenzie, Belliveau, Beck, Lea, & Wager, 2011). Preparing (for) the playwright. To prepare for the playwright, a four-member research team read and coded the data looking for commonalities, anomalies, and stageable moments.  This preliminary analysis was taken to the initial meeting with the playwright during which researchers and playwright used the coded data segments to create a research image13 (see Figure 7).  While the image provided a visualization to help guide the playwright through the data, the process of creating the image opened space for him to converse with the research team providing another avenue through which he was able to familiarize himself with the data.                                                     12 For a discussion of the playwright?s writing process, refer to MacKenzie and Belliveau (2011). 13 For further information refer to Lea (2010) 39   Enter the playwright. Although the playwright for Naming the Shadows has an academic research background, he was not involved throughout the research process, entering the project only after data had been collected and a preliminary analysis completed.  This is not always the case as entry points for the playwright vary from project to project.  Salda?a demonstrates three possible entry points:   1. From inception: Salda?a was directly involved throughout the research process for what became Maybe Someday, If I?m Famous? (Salda?a, 1998a).  The script emerged from a seven-year longitudinal study led by Salda?a.  After writing a traditional research report, he developed the work into an ethnographic performance text (1998b, p. 184).    Figure 7. Research Image Photo by Graham W. Lea 40  2. Post-data gathering: Salda?a developed the script for Street Rat (Salda?a, Finley, & Finley, 2005) with, and from the work of, Finley and Finley (Finley & Finley, 1999).  Not having been involved in the initial data gathering meant that Salda?a was not as familiar with the research context.  To overcome this, ?Salda?a conducted ?quick ethnography14? (Handwerker, 2002) to become better familiar with the setting and the participants? world? (Salda?a, 2005, p. 140).   3. Post-dissemination: After reading Wolcott?s Sneaky Kid series of articles, Salda?a approached Wolcott to see if he ?willing to let him adapt and direct an ethnographic performance text? based on the articles (Wolcott, 2002, p. 132).  Salda?a based the script for The Brad Trilogy (2002) not on the original research data but on Wolcott?s published articles and input from Wolcott.     These three examples demonstrate possible models of integrating the playwright into the playwright-centered approach.  Rather than being mutually exclusive, the three models may be intermixed, as was the case with the development of Naming the Shadows.  The playwright was neither involved in the initial phases of the research, nor presented with existing research reports.  Rather, he was presented with both raw research data and a preliminary analysis.  To gain further familiarity with the context of the research, in a process similar to quick ethnography used by Salda?a, the playwright returned to the classroom to observe the teacher during rehearsals of the subsequent year?s production of Much Ado About Nothing.                                                   14 Handwerker (2001) proposes quick ethnography as a collection of methods of data collection, analysis, and project management which function to help researchers ?collect high-quality ethnographic data quickly? (p. 3).  Salda?a (2005) incorporated quick ethnography to help ?develop a more authentic staging and production? (p. 140) of Street Rat. 41  Creative constraints. Mitchell, Jonas-Simpson, and Ivonoffski (2006) note that when developing I?m Still Here, playwright Ivonoffski introduced significant ?additional exploration into dementia and was not directly linked to the research? (p. 201).  The research team had to remove this extra exploration suggesting that they may ?not have defined the parameters of the play sufficiently? (p. 201).  To mitigate this possibility, the research team for Naming the Shadows, presented the playwright with not only raw data and a preliminary analysis but also with a set of constraints:  1. The running time of the research-based play was to be approximately 12 ? 15 minutes 2. The script had to represent the spirit or essence of the data (Beare & Belliveau, 2008) 3. The number of characters had to be kept to a minimum 4. The script had to work with the strengths of the research team The playwright described this as being boxed in (D. MacKenzie, personal communication, May 18, 2009).  Although constrained, in the script the playwright indicates that these constraints were creative, that ?people who say you have to think outside the box have probably never made a box and learned the magic that they can contain inside the box? (MacKenzie et al., 2011).   The careful establishment of these parameters/constraints either given to or negotiated with the playwright becomes a significant decision in the playwright-centered approach.  They provide a structure that can be simultaneously confining and creative and have a significant impact on the final production, potentially influencing the audience?s understandings of the research. 42  On the line. The evolution of the process used to develop Naming the Shadows brought to light complexities of a playwright?s relation with the data.  Initially, the research team intended to present data and a preliminary analysis to a playwright who would work with this data and analysis to create a script that would be presented to audiences.  This would have created a linear model in which a field researcher passes understandings to the research team, who pass understandings to playwright, who passes understandings to performers, who in turn pass to the audience.  During each phase, new meanings and understandings are created which then are passed on to the next phase both clarifying and obscuring the original research context (see Figure 8).  Figure 8. Linear Model While developing Naming the Shadows, this linear model was subverted as the playwright returned to the classroom to engage in a form of quick ethnography.  Similarly, as the research team were also the performers they had a strong familiarity with the original data and were able to continually return to them throughout the rehearsal process (see Figure 9).  This non-linear model provides opportunities to recursively revisit the data throughout the development process.   Figure 9. Non-Linear Model Data Researchers Playwright Performers Audience Myriad Web ProFigure 8Data Researchers Playwright Performers Audience Myriad Web  Figure 9 43  Composite approach.  Figure 10. Composite Approach The Joint Stock Theatre Group, a now-defunct British theatre company, used a collective-style development approach in which shows ?have been set up or completed without a writer and material has been improvised by the actors, though the results ? writers will be pleased to note ? have been generally considered less successful? (Ritchie, 1987, p. 18).  The more successful ventures of the group were developed using a three-stage process that merged the collective and the playwright-centered approaches.  In the Joint Stock method, writers, directors, actors, and other members of the company collectively explore the subject being dramatized.  After this exploration, the playwright develops a script inspired by, but not necessarily bound to, the work of these sessions.  During the third and final stage, the work is rehearsed for production (Ritchie, 1987, 18).  The Atlantic Canadian collective Moncton-Sable develops their work in a similar fashion, integrating a playwright not through a script at the beginning of the rehearsal process but as a compositor of the development sessions (Belliveau, 2005; Collete, 2010). }Data Development Team Script Playwright Myriad Web Pro  Figure 10 44  The composite approach (see Figure 10), like that of Joint Stock and Moncton-Sable, merges the playwright-centered and collective approaches.  Theatre artists/researchers are presented with data in raw, analysed, or a combination of the two forms (Mitchell et al., 2006).  The acting group is led through a series of improvisational theatrical techniques using the data as the foundation for their work, much like the collective approach.  Through this development process, powerful stories, themes (Mitchell et al., 2006, p. 201), and visual images (R. E. Gray, Fitch, LaBrecque, & Greenberg, 2003, p. 224) emerge from the data and from actors? and directors? ?emotional connections to the material? (Mitchell et al., 2006, p. 200) that are identified for theatrical development.  Unlike the collective approach, the stories, themes, and visual images are then gathered together and woven into a script by a playwright (Mitchell et al., 2006). Centring the Human Subject.15 The research-based theatre production Centring the Human Subject (CtHS) was developed as part of the larger project Centring the Human Subject: Understanding the Meaning and the Experience of Research Participation, which sought to explore the experience of being a participant in health research16.  As part of the dissemination phase of the study, Susan M. Cox and Darquise Lafreni?re were keen to explore artistic modes of working with data generated as part of the project.  To do so, they engaged academic, professional, and student artists to engage with the data through visual art, music, poetry, and theatre.  Artists were provided coded transcripts of research interviews grouped into four themes: trust, practical costs, relationships, and reasons for participating.  This artistic work cumulated in a production that integrated the                                                 15 More information on this project may be found in Lafreni?re, Cox, Belliveau, and Lea (2013). 16 Centring the Human Subject in Health Research: Understanding the Meaning and Experience of Research Participation is a five-year research project funded by the Canadian Institutes for Health Research. Susan M. Cox, Principal Investigator; Michael McDonald, Co-Principal Investigator; Patricia Kaufert, Joseph Kaufert, and Anne Townsend, Co-Investigators. 45  four artistic media into a 40-minute production presented twice at the University of British Columbia and recorded on DVD (2009).   Approach and development. In describing the development of I?m Still Here, a research-based theatre production developed using the composite approach, Mitchell, Jonas-Simpson, and Ivonoffski identify three development phases, the first two resembling the collective approach and the third, the playwright-centered approach: 1. Data Immersion in which a development team of actors, playwright, and researchers familiarize themselves with the data and their own experiences with the topic,  2. Improvisatory Exploration as the playwright guides improvisations through pivotal concepts, and  3. Scripting during which the playwright weaves ?transcripts of scenes, silent improvisations, highlighted sections of the research interviews, and notations of aha moments that the playwright and the others found useful,? along with actor journals, original research, and the theoretical framework of the research (2006, p. 201).   While CtHS was based upon this model, financial and temporal concerns restricted the opportunities for the development team to theatrically explore the data.  Phases one and two of Mitchell, Jonas-Simpsons, and Ivonoffski?s model were condensed into two development sessions of two-and-a-half hours each.  During each session, six actor/researchers were presented with hard copies of the coded data with the suggestion that while reading they note ?significant lines and images for theatrical development? (Lea, 2009a).   After approximately thirty minutes of discussion and theatrical exploration, actor/researchers were asked to present their work to each other.  The scenes shared ranged from 46  funny to poignant, literal to metaphorical, verbatim to invented, physical to verbal, and monologue to dialogue to choral.  As playwright, I took notes on the form and content of their presentation as well as impressions that came to mind such as references to other plays and possible staging ideas.    When the two development sessions were completed, I drew upon my observation notes, actor/researcher notes, coded data, and my theatrical aesthetic and background to develop the script for CtHS.  While working on the script, I realised I had to decide if I would work as a scribe, copying the work that emerged from the development sessions, or as an artist, inspired but not necessarily copying the work from the development sessions.  Rather than a binary relationship between the scribe and artist identities, scriptwriting was a process of negotiating a scribe1? artist continuum (see Figure 11) in which I became fluidly situated in the space between scribe and artist.    Figure 11. Scribe1? Artist Continuum Situating the continuum. The seminal Canadian collective creation The Farm Show (Theatre Passe Muraille, 1976) was created through the collective research and theatrical development of actors and director Paul Thompson.  The performance was ?not written down; it developed out of interviews, visits Scribe Artist Myriad Web Pro  Figure  11 47  and improvisations? (P. Thompson, 1976), while the published script was ?assembled by Ted Johns? (Theatre Passe Muraille, 1976, n.p.).  Johns?s work as assembler would fall on the scribe end of the continuum as one who attempts to prepare a script that captures as much as possible the work of the collective development team. The playwright of the Joint Stock Theatre Group similarly participates in workshops during which the playwright, actors, and director research and theatrically explore the subject matter of the proposed play.  The scriptwriting however,    is not, as is sometimes assumed, a question of scripting improvisations or following instructions drawn up by the group.  The writer?s work remains an independent creative act and the result may have no obvious relationship to the material yielded by the workshop.  (Ritchie, 1987, p. 18)   The Joint Stock playwright is then not bound as a scribe but rather works as an artist inspired by, but not necessarily re-creating, the work developed collectively in the workshop stage. While developing CtHS, I found I continually moved along this scribe1? artist continuum, working to various degrees as both an artist and scribe.    Playwright as scribe. Scene ii17 of CtHS opens with a chorus reciting interview data taken from the coded data provided to the actor/researchers.  While developing this, I attempted to re-create as closely as possible, the work of one of the development sessions.  During the session, one group presented a scene in which they formed a line and read chorally based on a passage from the data.  The scripted lines were woven from the coded data, my notes, and annotated data created by the actor/researchers while developing and rehearsing the scene.  The attempt to re-create the work                                                 17 Full text of CtHS is available in Appendix E of Lea (2010) 48  of the development session places this section toward the scribe end of the continuum (see Figure 12).  Figure 12. CtHS Placement along the Scribe1? Artist Continuum Playwright as artist.  Inspired by a university production of Project MK-Woyzeck (Scholte, 2009), which was bookended by actors describing themselves as researchers using the theatre as their laboratory, I added two short scenes to the script, a commencement and re-commencement.  These two scenes describe the research and development process used for CtHS while highlighting that the actors were depicting ?a relationship to or reflection on the phenomenon rather than a display or ?reproduction? of the thing itself? (Gallagher, 2007, p. 107).   The commencement and re-commencement scenes did not evolve out of the development sessions, nor were they inspired by the development sessions; I created the two scenes inspired from my experience with the data and development process.  As such, these two scenes would be placed toward the artist end of the continuum (see Figure 12). Playwright in the middle. The body of scene ii was both inspired by and attempted to re-create the work of the development sessions.  This duality makes it more difficult to place on the continuum.  The scene attempts to recreate the work of one development session in which performers circled around a single character who continually denied their machine-like requests to participate in a survey.  The monotonous request used in the script was taken from a line in one of the Scribe Artist Section 1 Commencement & Re-commencement Sections 2 & 3 Section 4 Myriad Web Pro Figure 12 49  actor/researcher?s notes: ?Congratulations we have found you eligible and we would like you to participate in randomized control trial 34624? (Lea, 2009b).   Attempting to re-create the development session would place the body of the scene on the scribe end of the continuum; however, I incorporated the use of masks, complicating this placement.  In another actor/researcher?s notes, the researcher is referred to as ?faceless? (Lea, 2009b).  I theatricalized this faceless researcher by having the researchers wear white masks creating a literally faceless researcher.  While developing the body of scene ii, I acted as both a scribe re-creating the ?monotonous request? and an artist affected by the spirit (Ritchie, 1987) of the development sessions to include the mask.  As such this section would be placed in the middle of the scribe1? artist continuum (see Figure 12). The experience developing CtHS demonstrates that positioning on the scribe1? artist continuum is not a static decision made at the outset of the script development process.  Rather, the playwright and research team must constantly be aware of placement along this continuum and the implications that it has for the research project being undertaken. Blending approaches. The three approaches established in this chapter are intended to be descriptive rather than prescriptive, providing a structure and common language to practitioners instead of dictating forms.  In providing practical advice on the playbuilding process, Norris suggests that at least one member observe the improvisatory development sessions to allow both insider and outsider perspectives (Norris, 2009).  This addition of an observer into Norris?s collective approach moves the process toward the composite highlighting the interrelatedness of the three approaches: aspects of each approach inform the development process.  While they may at times 50  overlap, distinguishing the three approaches provides an opportunity to explore issues specific to each approach.   The approach used to develop research-based theatre scripts can have a significant impact on the understandings of the research.  This suggests that when reflecting on research represented theatrically, the choice of development approach should be carefully considered.  I return to this discussion in Chapter Four to situate Homa Bay Memories within existing discussions of research-based theatre and to elucidate how the methodology is used to help tell and inform the stories of my mother and I.     51  Chapter Three: Strands of Narrative Inquiry We are born into stories. (Leggo, 2008) I grew up with stories.  Stories in books. Stories of family.  Stories enacted as my father and I chased Harvey the invisible rabbit around my basement.  Some of my childhood favourites hung on my bedroom wall, framed pictures of famous nursery rhymes  Sing a song of sixpence, A pocket full of rye. Four and twenty blackbirds, Baked in a pie Instead of book-bound bedtime stories, sometimes my mother and I would read from these story pictures.  We created our own stories, together.  Were these stories shared in my childhood home unique?  No, stories have been shared among people since ancient times (Chang, 2008; Chase, 2005; Clandinin & Connelly, 2000; King, 2003; Lyons & LaBoskey, 2002a; Zatzman, 2006).  Through stories we ?fill our world with meaning and enlist one another?s assistance in building lives and communities? (Clandinin & Rosiek, 2007, p. 35).  As a qualitative research methodology, narrative inquiry aligns with Bateson?s assertion that ?our species thinks in metaphors and learns through stories? (1994, p. 11).  But narrative inquiry is more than the collection of stories.  Chase (2005) suggests that among researchers there is a broad understanding of narrative inquiry as encompassing a broad array of methodologies and epistemologies.   Despite this diversity, she finds commonality among them describing narrative inquiry ?as an amalgam of interdisciplinary analytic lenses, diverse disciplinary approaches, and both traditional and innovative methods ? all revolving around an interest in biographical particulars as narrated by the one who lives them? (p. 651).  These narratives are often supported by other data including: letters, photos, journal writing, family stories, memory boxes, even train tickets 52  help to elaborate and understand told narratives (Clandinin & Connelly, 2000; Denzin, 1989; B. Thompson et al., 2009; Zatzman, 2006).  As detailed in Chapter Four, in this research I work with an extensive archive of supporting data to engage with my and my mother?s experiences in Kenya forty years apart.  However,    invariably  sometimes faster than we expect  the narrator the one who lives the stories disappears.     In cold sterility We share three last words.     In the prologue to her family story Honey and Ashes (1998), Janice Kulyk Keefer questions the duty we owe the dead, to let them rest in peace, their secrets uncovered ? what does this give us but holes in a scrap of cloth?  It?s the holes I need to examine as much as the weave, holes that will take me deeper into the lives of the dead.  Imagining patterns, fleshing out scenes, trying to stay true to what I?ve been told and the manner of the telling.  (p. 6) The stories my mother shared of her time in Kenya were exciting and influential (Goodall, 2005; Leggo, 2004b, p. 20), but they were scant: anecdotes, interesting tidbits that left large holes in the cloth.   53  Lifeless puff adder Draped over a machete To the Bio lab An impromptu dissection!  Heat and stress Strain an anaemic body Until consciousness is bleached white  Seemingly lifeless English teacher Splayed on shoulders To the Bio lab An impromptu dissection? The evening my mother died, when the person who lived the narratives was no longer able to narrate them, I was also given a gift.  My mother?s sister-in-law pointed me to a stash of letters, journals, sound recordings, and artifacts stashed away for thirty years, that could shine a light into the holes in the cloth.   This leads me to question how within a narrative inquiry framework, I might use this data to support an untold, or partially told, narrative?  That is, am I comfortable18 positioning myself within a narrative inquiry framework to tell my mother?s stories without her ? to use what is left behind to explore and share the holes in the scrap of cloth?  I worry that in my position as a male, researcher, and son (Wyatt, 2006), as I imagine patterns and flesh out scenes I risk appropriating what my mother left behind to tell my story.  If so, is it appropriate to appropriate?  As I did with research-based theatre in the preceding chapter, in this chapter I examine several understandings of narrative inquiry to position myself within the various approaches and methods of integrating narrative into research.  In doing so I strive to position my research with narrative inquiry.                                                   18 I draw on Spry?s (2011, p. 101) use of the word comfortable. 54  A Continuum of Narrative Inquiry Polkinghorne describes narrative research as ?the study of stories? (2007, p. 471), a broad understanding reflecting, as Chase notes, a wide and varied integration of stories among narrative researchers.  To help situate this work within the broad understandings of narrative inquiry, I find it helpful to envision a continuum of narrative inquiry with three focal points: story about life, lived stories, and told stories (see Figure 13).    Figure 13. Continuum of Narrative Inquiry  At the left side of the continuum, Pavlenko (2007), writing from an applied linguistics perspective, describes a study by Hinton of autobiographic accounts of 250 Asian-American college students.  In the study, Hinton uses these ?accounts as facts? (p. 168) describing the students? experiences of language discrimination and native language loss.  These student narratives used as factual data function as a story about a life.   Hinton?s positioning of narrative as fact differs from that of other narrative researchers including Clandinin and Connelly who position narratives as constructions of experience.  Rather than ?accounts as facts? they envision narrative as a way of understanding experience and ?the stories people live? (2000, p. xxvi).  This moves Clandinin and Connelly?s view of narrative toward the centre of the continuum, away from that of Hinton?s understanding of narrative as fact toward an understanding of lives lived as stories.     Bell proposes that narrative inquiry is not ?simply telling stories [but requires] an analytic examination of the underlying insights and assumptions that the story illustrates? (2002, p. 208).  Story about life ? Lived stories ? Artfully told stories ? Myriad Web Pro Figure 13 55  She suggests that to facilitate unpacking this sub-textual information ?narrative inquiry is rarely found in the form of narrative? (p. 208).  Rather than separating narrative inquiry and narrative, Clandinin and Connelly draw them together suggesting narrative as ?both phenomena under study and method of study? (2000, p. 4).  Through their book Narrative Inquiry: Experience and Story in Qualitative Research, the authors frequently refer to the work of graduate student Ming Fang He (2002a; 2002b; 2002c) as an example of the methodology.  In a series of three articles, He examines the lives of three Chinese teachers as they move between cultures and languages.  The resulting articles are ?situated between non-fiction, fiction, and academic discourses? (He, 2002c, p. 513) and include portions of participant stories, recreations of dialogue between He and her supervisor, all held together with traditional academic discourse.     Leggo (2004a; 2004b; 2008) diverges from Clandinin and Connelly suggesting a separation of phenomenon and method.  In this use of narrative inquiry the phenomenon under study is the experience or narrative and the method is discourse: ?the art and science of shaping and constructing a story for communicating to others? (2008, p. 1).  This distinction invites narrative inquirers to pay particular attention to the composition of their narratives to create ?stories that are told and written in energetic and engaging and evocative ways? (p. 1).  De Freitas suggests that such artfully told ?narrative is a form of (open) argument in which persuasive causal explanation is embedded in the emotional engagement engendered for the characters? (2004, p. 267).  In stressing energetic, engaging, evocative, and artful discourse, the work of practitioners such as Leggo and de Freitas may be positioned toward the right of the continuum of narrative inquiry, suggesting that research understandings be shared artistically as artfully told stories.   56   Figure 14. Representative Authors on the Continuum  While a simplification of the complex web of uses of narrative in narrative inquiry, I find this continuum a useful structure upon which I can position my work.  My mother?s stories used as part of this research are built not from the memories of someone who lived the experiences but are recreated from artificats such as letters and photos that remain.  As discussed in Chapter Six, these letters were written for a particular audience, her family, which shapes their construction.  As such, the narratives used in this research cannot be viewed as a factual account of her experiences; instead they are a construction of her experience.  However, as I adapt these narratives into a scripted form they move away from being a construction of her experience as suggested by Clandinin and Connelly as she is no longer able to mediate their construction.  Instead, these narratives are constructions of my understandings based upon the letters, journals, photos, and stories left behind.  These understandings are used to create a research-based theatre script.  The use of the art form of theatre to engage, and evoke understandings in this research draws this project in alignment with Leggo on the right side of the continuum as I espouse and strive toward an artful and evocative presentation of these understandings.  Caught in a Moment Clandinin and Connelly situate their understanding of narrative inquiry within Denzin?s fifth moment of qualitative research.  This postmodern period of experimental writing arose as a response to a ?triple crisis of representation, legitimization, and praxis? (2008a, p. 316).  Denzin characterizes this crisis by describing the work of Paul Stoller who became dissatisfied with his ? Clandinin and Connelly He Hinton Bell ? ? Leggo  de Freitas ? ? ? Myriad Web Pro  Figure 14 57  ethnographic writing as he came to conclude that ?everyone had lied to me and that the data I had so painstakingly collected were worthless.  I learned a lesson: Informants routinely lie to their anthropologists? (Stoller & Olkes, 1987, p. 9).  To address this challenge, Stoller changed the form of his text from a traditional ethnography to ?a memoir, in which he became a central character in the story he told? (Denzin, 2008a, p. 315); he wrote himself into the centre of his research.  Stoller?s re-imagination of his traditional ethnography to incorporate a personal narrative reflects the fifth moment?s emphasis on ?new [experimental] ways of composing ethnography ? [in which] theories were read as tales from the field? (Denzin, 2008a, p. 316).  The distant observer, a characteristic of the ethnographic ?realism? of earlier moments of qualitative research, was ?abandoned [and] ? the search for grand narratives was being replaced by more local, small-scale theories fitted to specific problems and specific situations? (p. 316).   The move away from the search for grand narratives is represented in narrative inquiry through its focus on particular narratives.  However, even the particular is challenged in the fifth moment as qualitative research ?struggled with different ways to represent the ?other?? (Denzin, 2008a, p. 316).  This struggle was met with innovative forms, narrative inquiry among them, recognizing these representational concerns including a questioning of the relationship between subject and text.  Zatzman notes ?as a research methodology, narrative inquiry inevitably recognises the impossibility of telling everything, given both the partiality of language and the instability of meaning? (2006, p. 115).  This suggests that it is not possible to fully represent an ?other? (including the self) as the ?other? is continually in flux and constrained by language.   This resembles Munro?s assertion that it is not possible to ??collect? a life? (1998, p. 12).  Goodson and Sikes similarly argue that the life stories they collect are distinct from life 58  experiences, representing only a ?partial, selective commentary? (p. 15).  This recalls Stoller?s experience of feeling unable to trust his informants to fully and truthfully divulge their experience.  However, as suggested by both Munro and Zatzman, not only could Stoller not trust his participants, it would be impossible for them to fully ?collect? their lives within their communications with him as their lives are mediated by language and fluid in their meaning. Denzin approaches the impossibility of ?collecting a life? by suggesting, ?that there is no way to stuff a real-live person between the two covers of a text? (1989, p. 83), complementing his argument by addressing not only the partiality of language but also its reconstructive nature.  He does so by making a distinction between a ?real? person and his or her textual representation.  A writer, in attempting to describe and write ?factual? details of a person ?is, in fact, only creating that subject in the text that is written? (pp. 21-22).  Rather than reporting on ?facts? in a narrative, the author is instead reconstructing that life in a new form.  He goes on to suggest that   to send readers back to a ?real? person is to send them back to yet another version of the fiction that is in the text.  There is no ?real? person behind the text, except as he or she exists in another system of discourse.  (p. 22) Suggesting that there is no ?real? person behind a text, only other texts and discourses, implies that identity is constructed within these systems of discourse.  This resembles Bakhtin?s (1986) notion that it is the relation between self and other that creates meaning and identity (Holquist, 2002).  Leggo draws attention to the ?role of language, discourse, and writing in the construction of identity? (2004a, p. 99), rejecting a direct relationship between narrative, events, and identity.  While Chase proposes that ?speakers construct events through narrative rather than simply refer to events? (2005, p. 656), Leggo and Denzin propose that through narrative, speakers construct themselves.  This leads Leggo to refer to Winterson?s proposal that ?it may be 59  that to understand ourselves as fictions, is to understand ourselves as fully as we can [and that] a writer must resist the pressure of old formulae and work toward new combinations of language? (quoted in Leggo, 2004a, p. 99).   Winterson?s call to resistance suggests new forms of language when telling stories.  If identities are created through discourse, then the form of that discourse will impact identity.  Leggo addresses this call for new writing through attention to ?the language and the rhetoric of story-making? (2004a, p. 99).  Clandinin and Connelly too suggest the potential use of alternative forms of writing such as photography, poetry, and drama in narrative inquiry, recommending that narrative inquirers look to their bookshelves for inspiration on the form of their narrative inquiries (Clandinin & Connelly, 2000).  However, Leggo notes that narrative inquiry often relies on story, the ?simple and straightforward telling of events? (2004a, p. 99).  He suggests instead a focus on plot, which rather than being bound by linearity, arranges events ?in order to evoke in readers a keen sense of emotional engagement? (p. 99).    To do so Leggo bifurcates Clandinin and Connelly?s conceptualization of ?narrative as both phenomena under study and method of study? (2000, p. 4).  He proposes that the phenomena under study be the experience expressed as narrative and the method of studying that experience be discourse, ?the art and science of shaping and constructing a story for communicating to others? (2008, p. 1).  This distinction requires narrative inquirers pay particular attention to the ?ways they write or compose or construct the narratives? (p. 10).   By focusing on discourse and plot, Leggo moves away from attempting to ?realistically? represent the experience of participants to presenting them artistically.  De Freitas suggests that the artful interpretation is not only a part of the composition of narrative inquiries but that ?there is no point when the gathering of data ends and the creative interpretation begins.  My 60  consciousness infuses every moment.  I experience the world through my imagination as though I were simultaneously constructing it and observing it? (2004, p. 263).  De Freitas?s artful viewing and Leggo?s artful representation moves their approach to narrative inquiry out of Denzin?s fifth moment into the sixth.  In doing so they move beyond the postmodern period?s struggle with representation to explore ?experimental forms of qualitative writing that would blur the boundaries between the social sciences and the humanities? (Denzin, 2008a, p. 316). Narrative Waves Their voices bounce back and forth Blending and building over the checkered Starbucks table  Slouched in a soft brown leather chair I look up from my reading  Was it Bakhtin or maybe Dewey?  They disappear into inaudible stories  Living stories Evolving stories Tied together  Travelling on waves in all directions Through the air Through other stories Tangling with mine  Across the room Wisps of hair escape her tightly bound ponytail As she reads Her silent story Tangling with mine  While Bakhtin or Dewey sits dead in my lap 61  Alien ?Truths? and Familiar ?Fictions? Writers and readers conspire to create the lives they write and read about. Along the way, the produced text is cluttered by the traces of the life of the  ?real? person being written about.   (Denzin, 1989, p. 49)  In Narrative Inquiry, Clandinin and Connelly (2000) re-tell the story of an episode of Star Trek: Voyager.  The episode, set 700 years into the future of the show?s principle timeline, features a history lesson told by an alien species.  From the perspective of this species, the crew of the Voyager is seen as ?brutal space warriors ? who commit genocide on the now-subjected race? (p. 83).  Later in the episode, historical documents reveal that the crew of the Voyager was actually concerned for, and cooperative with, the species.  As a result, the species comes to ?understand how a particular set of events, interpreted via a racial ideology crucial to the identity of his subjugated species, led to their entirely convincing but erroneous view of history? (p. 83).   Clandinin and Connelly use this alien example to demonstrate that while field notes are interpretations of experience, they do not change over time.  Thus they provide opportunities for researchers to slip back in time to when they were produced.  They also use the Star Trek episode to suggest that based on the available evidence there are better and poorer interpretations of a narrative and field texts.   This fluidity of possible interpretations exists as ?validating knowledge claims is not a mechanical process but, instead, is an argumentative practice? (Polkinghorne, 2007, p. 471) which leaves open the possibility of ascribing to narratives meanings that are not reflective of experiences.  Like the alien species, there is a risk that as I work with my mother?s field texts, 62  such as her letters, photos, and diaries, I may fill in holes in the scrap of cloth that might not reflect her experiences.  I am particularly cognizant of this as she is not able to member check my understandings. De Freitas suggests that when engaging in the argumentative process of establishing validity that   rigorous thought should remain a foundation of any argument, no matter its form.  The essence of mathematical rigour is not rule following, but rather exhaustiveness.  A rigorous inquiry scopes the entire terrain, accounting for every possible aspect and enlisting every deviant perspective, until the subject has been thoroughly handled and subjected to the process.  ?  It persuades through immersion.  ?  Abandoning rigour to the modernist ?dream of certainty? ? a dream that even mathematicians have woken from ? involves burying our own post-modern potential for political revisioning.  (2004, pp. 268-269) This move from certainty to rigor provides a release from the need to attempt to recreate my mother?s experience for an audience, a task impossible even if she were alive given the partiality and constructive nature of language.  Instead, my responsibility moves to being as rigorous as possible with the data she has left behind.     De Freitas?s suggestion of rigour still places onus entirely upon the author of the research text.  However Polkinghorne notes that it is the reader who is ?asked to make judgements on whether or not the evidence and argument convinces them at the level of plausibility, credibleness, or trustworthiness of the claim? (2007, p. 477).  This requires readers be provided ?concrete examples of actual practices, fully elaborated so [they] ? can judge for themselves their ?trustworthiness? and the validity of observations, interpretations, etc.? (Lyons & 63  LaBoskey, 2002b, p. 20).  However, in a hermeneutic approach, ?the interpreter encounters a text from within his or her ?prejudices?; interpretation is like a conversational dialogue through which meaning is a product of interaction? (Polkinghorne, 2007, p. 483).  This is consistent with Bakhtin?s chain of utterances which reminds that both speaker and addressee bring their own chain of utterances to co-create meaning in the space between them.  While Polkinghorne describes the interaction between researcher and participant, the same may be said for the relationship between reader and research text.  The reader approaches a research text with his or her own ?prejudices? built upon his or her own chains of utterances and experiences which intermingle with those of the research text influencing interpretations of the text.  Thus validation is dependent upon the individual readers, the ?prejudices? they bring to, and the relationship they have with, the text.   Denzin (1989) draws attention to differing evaluative expectations between objective and interpretive narrative approaches.  While objective approaches are judged on such norms as validity, truth, theory, and generalizability, ?interpretive approaches reject these norms of evaluation and regard biographical materials from within a literary, fictional framework (p. 49).  Bruner (1986) similarly separates paradigmatic and narrative modes of knowing arguing that while they function differently,  both can be used as a means of convincing another.  Yet what they convince of is fundamentally different: arguments [paradigmatic/objective] convince one of their truth, stories [narrative/interpretive] of their lifelikeness.  The one verifies by eventual appeal to procedures for establishing formal and empirical proof.  The other establishes not truth but verisimilitude.  (p. 11) 64  As Polkinghorne suggests, the interpreter and author ascribe this lifelikeness, this verisimilitude; it is a shared creation in which ?narrator and audience work together to create a kind of truth ? a lived reality about how people would interpret and react to a situation or a character.  This kind of truth often resonates much more with an audience than a truth backed up with facts and figures? (Rymes & Wortham, 2011, p. 39).   Here I find the most connection to my work.  I recognize that regardless of my level of rigour, I will never be able to know my mother?s story completely.  Even if she were still alive to narrate her experience, to fill in the holes in the scrap of cloth, her narrative would still be an understanding of her experience.  As Denzin (1989) suggests, it will always be a fiction.  Rather than being bound by attempting to theatrically recreate my mother?s experience, an impossible task, I strive for a fiction familiar to the narrative of the data, one that allows space for audience members to enter with their own ?prejudices,? a fiction that resonates with data and audience.   What To Do with a Bowl of Lemon Water? The house I grew up in has been in and out of the family since the mid-1800s.  My grandmother used it as a summer home which she sold to my parents who began an extensive renovation.  After almost forty years the house needs work ? lots of work.  Each spring, my thoughts return to the old house and I begin to make plans for a summer of renovation and restoration.  The house holds echoes of generations: their hard work, personalities, styles, and social norms are physically recorded in walls and wainscoting.  What to keep, what to let go?  My work is always inspired by those who came before.  Without renovation, a house falls apart but done without care, it loses its soul.  What do I keep, what do I let go?  How much do I keep of the work of those before?  How much to I restore?  How much do I reconstruct?  65  Asbestos in the walls Quick choice Yellow seventies shag carpet That too Gone Good riddance  Carefully hung wallpaper Peeling from horse-hair plaster Takes longer. It too must go But what replaces it? Wallpaper or paint? Old colour or new?  Whose decision? Style? Mine or theirs  Worn wainscoting Hand hewn trim Pockmarked pine floors More work to keep More alive than laminate  on sale at Home Depot. Despite an emphasis on narratives as told ?by the one who lives them? (Chase, 2005, p. 651), even in telling a narrative of experience, narrators necessarily recreate experience within a system of discourse ? consciously and unconsciously reinventing experience in the telling.  Thus, as Pavlenko notes ?the act of narration unalterably transforms its subject and any further interpretation interprets the telling ? narrators do not necessarily consciously ?distort the truth,? rather they use the act of narration to impose meaning on experience? (2007, p. 168).   Denzin suggests that the ?the meanings of these experiences are best given by the persons who experience them? (1989, p. 25).  While this gives precedence to a narrative of personal experience, it leaves open the possibility for other methods of developing narratives.  Morgan-Fleming, Riegle, and Fryer (2007) describe a narrative inquiry project in which they attempt to 66  tell the story of Dunbar school from its beginning, through a shooting during desegregation, to its closure in 1993.  As many of the narrators who lived these experiences had been lost to time, they relied on ?the perspectives of a variety of educators and students of Dunbar [that] can be found through archival collections of oral histories? (p. 91).  In doing so, the authors develop their narrative inquiry not based on narratives told to them but on narrators? recorded words.     The notion that narrations are necessarily an interpretation highlights that they are but one of many socially constructed data sources upon which a narrative is built.  Morgan-Fleming, Riegle, and Fryer?s description of the Dunbar school provides a demonstration of the possibility of recreating narratives from archival data (2007).  While they suggest the use of archival data to supplement a missing narrator, they do not problematize its use.   My great-grandfather was a train engineer.  In 1939 he drove the Maritime leg of the royal tour of King George VI and Queen Elizabeth.  At the end of the tour, he was invited to a formal dinner with the King and Queen.  When the dinner ended, small bowls of lemon water were distributed.  My great-grandfather, a working-class train engineer from Moncton had never seen this before.  So, what did he do?  He took out his false teeth and rinsed them in the lemony water.  I was disappointed to later learn that this story was not entirely ?true.?  My great-grandfather was involved in the 1939 royal tour, although not as an engineer.  And, he did not take his teeth out in front of the royal couple.  That was a co-worker, who took out his teeth at a union meeting in Toronto.  In recreating the story within the family, it evolved and melded with others.  But I still prefer to imagine the look on the Queen?s face as he took out his teeth in front of her.  This story illustrates some of the challenges of attempting to build a narrative without input from the one who lived the experience.  I had evidence from which I constructed a narrative of my great-grandfather, but pieced that information together ?incorrectly.?  Ackroyd and O?Toole (2010) remind researchers that ?we may never get it all right (whatever ?it? happens to be), but we can still get it wrong, and getting it wrong can mislead, distress, disempower, 67  create destructive misunderstandings and wreak conflict in the real world of the communities we are investigating? (p. 28).  I was later able, at least partially, to triangulate my understanding of my great-grandfather?s story by retelling it to other family members.  However, that is not always the case as there are varying amounts of corroborating evidence depending upon the narrative. The process of developing a narrative without its narrator shares similarities to the Stanislavskian method of developing psychologically realistic character.  An actor must, given the information available in a script, develop a fully realised character.  The script functions as part of the actor?s data set in which the character, the living ?person,? like an absent narrator, is unable to participate.  Theatre practitioner and theorist Konstantin Stanislavsky?s19 approach to acting was designed to help actors develop psychologically realistic characters based on the script rather than stock characterizations.  Central to his approach is the idea of ?given circumstances,? a concept developed from Pushkin?s aphorism: ?the truth concerning the passions, verisimilitude in the feelings experienced in the given circumstances, that is what our intelligence demands of a dramatist? (quoted in Benedetti, 1988, p. 15).  These given circumstances form a range of external and internal factors known about the character from the script (see Figure 15).  The tighter the ring of given circumstances, the more information about the character and his or her circumstances, the less room an actor has to develop a character ?out of line? with intent of the playwright.  If the given circumstances are vague a wider ring is created, becoming easier for an actor to stray from the playwright?s intent.                                                 19 Following Carnicke (2009), I use the Anglicized spelling ending in ?y? except when citing works using alternate spellings. 68              Figure 15. Ring of Given Circumstances  I first recreated my great-grandfather?s story with few given circumstances (at least few I remembered).  From these I developed what I now imagine to be the most engaging narrative I could.  Now, with a tighter ring of given circumstances, I can create a story with more verisimilitude to the life lived.  However, no matter how tight the ring of given circumstances, there will always be fabrication on the part of the narrative researcher.  Keefer describes that while writing Honey and Ashes, even ?though I?ve tried to be as accurate as possible, I know I must have introduced errors into the stories I?ve retold? (1998, p. 6).  A tightening of given circumstances does not then imply that a researcher can recreate the experiences of the life lived.  Rather, given circumstances provide a structure to help create an understanding of experience.  As I worked on Homa Bay Memories, I continually asked myself if what I created was consistent with the given circumstances available.  As such they helped ground me in what is left behind to help tell my understandings of my mother?s story with, rather than appropriate them into, mine. Wide  Ring Tight  Ring Myriad Web Pro  Figure  15 Circle!69  The journals my mother kept while living in Kenya are potentially one of the most valuable resources for this research.  However, even these must be thought of as part of a ring of given circumstances rather than as a replacement for my mother?s narration.  A journal, like other forms of communication, may be thought of as a Bakhtinian utterance.  Each utterance exists within a chain of utterances, responding to previous utterances and anticipating audience responses, even if that audience is the self (1986).  In retelling a narrative for a researcher, the narrator will both consciously and unconsciously shape a story, adding to and subtracting from, highlighting points of perceived interest, skipping over the mundane, knowing that the researcher will shape this into a research text.  However, my mother?s journal, written forty years before the research period, could not have considered this research as part of the audience, and thus were not shaped by the anticipated response of the researcher and readers of the research.  If, as Denzin suggests, lives are re-created in the telling, then the life described in my mother?s journals will likely be very similar to but will be fundamentally different from one described in a narrative interview. Spinning Strands and Sewing Quilts Narrative inquiry has become a significant methodology as qualitative research continues to move from its ?objective? early moments, influenced by the scientific method, into the postmodern and postexperimental (Denzin, 2008a).  As with qualitative inquiry writ large, there is a vast array of methods of engaging with narrative inquiry.  While some researchers collect narratives as factual data on which to build traditional reports of participant experience, others use participant and autobiographic narratives as a beginning point for more artful representations of experience.   70  The majority of the research in narrative inquiry is centered on narratives told by the person who experienced them.  However, my mother is no longer able to re-tell her story.  Playwright Kent Stetson began the research for his play The Harps of God by investigating the reports of two commissions of enquiry on the Newfoundland sealing disaster of 1914.  However, he realized that no matter how detailed his research ?the facts were shrouded; honourable men speak no ill of the dead. ? [I could not] attempt a faithful historical re-enactment of this horrendous, heroic event.  Nor could I faithfully reconstruct the survivors, all gone now, unable to corroborate or elaborate? (2001, p. 129).  To overcome this he re-envisioned his work from a retelling of the events on the ice into the mytho-poetic, using the facts available to create his own myth.   I position this research in a similar fashion, recognizing that I can not re-tell my mother?s story but can work with the data left behind to tell my own story.  However, to not feel as if I am appropriating her experience, I draw upon Stanislavsky?s given circumstances to provide a structure to ground my work, guiding me to continually ask: is this compatible with the given circumstances of the data?  In arriving at this position, I situate myself along with Leggo and de Freitas on the right side of the continuum of narrative inquiry, viewing narrative as told stories and suggesting those told stories be artfully told.    Family Quilt Threads of fibrous strands spun strong stitch scraps of cloth into a Technicolor patchwork of lives.  In the prologue to Honey and Ashes, Keefer (1998) likens leaving untold the stories of the dead to leaving holes in a scrap of cloth.  Inspired by Keefer, I began this chapter asking if I was comfortable using what is left behind to repair the holes in the scrap of cloth, to retell my mother?s Kenyan experiences?  I now realize the impossibility of retelling; there is no way to 71  replace a missing narrator.  Instead, through this chapter I situate myself within various strands of narrative inquiry, using them to spin a thread that I am comfortable using to hold my and my mother?s experiences together into a family quilt of experiences. 72  Chapter Four: Methodological Positionings and Processes  In this chapter I complement the discussions of research-based theatre and narrative inquiry in the preceding chapters to share particularities of how each is positioned within this research.  While the two methodologies function together, the principle methodology shaping this study is research-based theatre.  The use of narrative inquiry in this project also borrows from autoethnography and this influence is discussed within the positioning of narrative inquiry.  After positioning the methodologies, particulars such as research phases, approach to coding and data set are discussed.   Research-based Theatre Inspired by my personal interest and experience in theatre and supported by my previous graduate work (Lea, 2010), I have always envisioned this research as incorporating research-based theatre.  Like any choice of methodology, this decision to have a theatrical audience as part of my intended audience necessarily shaped the discourse used to tell the story (Bakhtin, 1986; Denzin, 1997; Sallis, 2010a).  In particular, envisioning research for the stage calls for heightened attention to non-textual forms of discourse particular to research-based theatre such as blocking, movement, light, and sound (Salda?a, 2011).    As discussed in Chapter Two, there are a variety of approaches to research-based theatre, which I broadly categorize as: playwright-centered, collective, and composite.  In this project, I chose to follow a playwright-centered model through the research process in part because of the inclusion of my own experience.  However, Schonmann (2001) suggests playback theatre as a method of using a more composite approach of developing research-based theatre based on an individual?s story.  In playback theatre a conductor solicits stories from an audience member.  A 73  troupe of actors then ?playback? the stories to the teller using a variety of realistic and symbolic improvisational forms.  In the research context, Schonmann proposes that actors present their understanding of the ?source?s? story back to the ?source.?  The ?source? then provides feedback to the actors who use it to revise their improvisational exploration.  ?When the ?source? thinks that the presented work is coherent and compatible with the experience he has had, then the sense-making is complete? (p. 145).  Following this model, I could function as the ?source? retelling my memories to a troupe of actors and have them playback their understandings to me.  Despite Schonmann?s suggestion of playback theatre, I remain on the playwright-centered end of the research-based theatre continuum for four reasons: 1. Quantity of Data This research contains a large assortment of data.  To create a unified narrative with this data would require extensive work with a consistent troupe of actors, a venture impractical for this research project due to the size of the data set and limited financial resources. 2. Abstraction One of the key components of the data is my memory of my Kenyan experience.  Remaining in a playwright-centred approach allows me as participant, researcher, and playwright, to develop material from my memories directly without additional levels of abstraction introduced when involving a group of actors as occurs in other development approaches.   74  3. Ownership Working with a troupe of actors in a collective or composite approach opens a question of ownership of the final script.  Norris (2009) describes encountering this while developing his playbuilding methodology.  To alleviate potential tensions, he suggests playbuilding scripts be credited to the director (lead researcher) and the company (in Norris?s case Mirror Theatre).  He also suggests that actors participating in script development sign a contract relinquishing ownership of the work to the company.  Incorporating others in the development of this research would then involve either sharing, or creating a company to hold, ownership credit of the scripted version of these stories.  Because of the personal nature of this research, I feel that either approach would be ceding a part of my and my mother?s identity. 4. Personal Comfort Spry notes that ?critically reflecting on one?s own experience with others is not always easy or comfortable? (2011, p. 101).  The content of this research is personally significant and at times emotionally sensitive.  While I recognize that the final sharing of the work will place me in a potentially emotionally sensitive position, I am more comfortable sharing a developed script than raw data.  Sharing analyzed data in script form creates a buffer between public performance and personal experience.  This buffer helps focus critique on the research rather than the experiences themselves.  As both researcher and participant, I was uncomfortable putting a ?raw? version of my experiences before a group of actors to critique without such a buffer. 75  Narrative Inquiry  The focus on experiential questions in this research draws me to narrative inquiry and  Clandinin and Connelly?s suggestion, supported by Dewey (1938), that narrative inquiry is a process of ?experiencing the experience? (2000, p. 80).  I also find myself drawn to their three-dimensional (3D) narrative inquiry space.  This metaphoric space created by intersection of place, time, and personal/social axes (see Figure 16) provides a framework through which I explore the confluence of my and my mother?s stories as the experiences in these stories shift and flow in time and place.   Figure 16. 3D Narrative Inquiry Space and autoethnography. To support the inclusion of my experiences in this project I borrow from autoethnography20.  I am aware of scholars such as Delamont who critique autoethnography for focusing ?on social scientists who are usually not interesting or worth researching? (2009, pp.                                                 20 Jomo Kenyatta?s (1979) Facing Mount Kenya, initially released in 1938, is often considered to be the first published autoethnography (Hughes, Pennington, & Makris, 2012).  Emerging from his doctoral studies at the London School of Economics, the work is a study of the Kikuyu people, of which Kenyatta was a member.  Kenyatta later served as the Kenya?s first prime minister.  In Homa Bay Memories he is the president who unexpectedly cancels his visit. Continuity  or  Time Interaction  or Personal and Social Situation or Place Myriad Web Pro  Figure 16 76  59-60) and being ?literally lazy and also intellectually lazy? (2007, p. 2).  However, the focus on my experience is central to this research and so I heed Holman Jones?s (2005) suggestion that autoethnography make ?personal accounts count? (p. 783) as an important reminder for this research. One method of making ?personal accounts count? is seen in the work of autoethnographers such as Chang (2008) and Spry (2011) who explicitly position the self in relation to larger cultural contexts.  Spry suggests that ?plaiting ethnography with autobiography emphasizes the cultural situatedness of the autobiographic subject? (p. 92).  She provides a personal example, describing having ?tomes of writing expressing the emotional turmoil of loss during childbirth; as significant as that writing is to my own personal grief process, it is not performative autoethnography if it does not connect these emotions to larger social issues? (p. 108). Although an examination of my experiences are important to this research, I chose not to position autoethnography as central to this research as it is not just my experiences but also my mother?s that form the basis of this research ? it is a story shared between us.  Goodall suggests that families might be viewed as mini-cultures (2005, p. 508).  Building on this, I might consider my family as the operating definition of culture and situate the research as an autoethnographic study of myself in relation to my family culture.  However, doing so would place undo focus on my experience and narrative rather than seeing the study as the interplay of my and my mother?s narratives dialogically informing one another. While not using an autoethnographic approach, I borrow from the methodology to support this research in its:    77  1. opportunity for researchers to look inward, positioning them not only in relation to those being studied but also as a focus of the study.  This provides freedom to use myself as one foci of the research. 2. openness to include researcher memory as part of the data corpus (Muncey, 2010; Spry, 2011).  Although many of my and my mother?s experiences are documented in a variety of forms, I also incorporate my memories of shared stories and of my experience in Kenya as a part of the data. 3. suggestion to connect the study of self to larger social and cultural issues provides a reminder to continually reflect upon how my personal account counts beyond my personal experience. Also common among many autoethnographers is the suggestion that the methodology include an aesthetic dimension (Ellis & Bochner, 2006; Ellis, Adams, & Bochner, 2011).  This further supports the use of research-based theatre in this research.  Spry, for example, merges theatrical aesthetics and cultural critique in her autoethnographic performance work as described in Body, Paper, Stage: Writing and Performing Autoethnography (2011).  While her use of theatrical elements includes movement, costume, and precise staging, her work seems driven more by cultural critique than by a narrative exploration of experience or the art of the stage.  By situating the autoethnographic component of my research within a narrative inquiry framework I focus this work more on narrative exploration than cultural critique. as aesthetic. Clandinin and Connolly (2000) suggest an approach to narrative inquiry that positions ?narrative as both phenomena under study and method of study? (p. 4).  Narrative inquirers following this approach such as Ming Fang He (2002a; 2002b; 2002c) tend to have a formal tone 78  to their work that I feel would not honour the personal and engaging stories explored in this research.  As noted in Chapter Three, Leggo distinguishes among story, interpretation, and discourse.  In doing so he calls for more attention to discourse, to how a story is told.  This creates an opening for me to engage in a more artful and engaging medium I feel better honours the stories shared in this particular project.    Aside from the freedom to engage evocatively by paying attention to how a story is told, Leggo also provides freedom to move beyond retelling what is in the data to telling the stories behind them.  He points out that he does not ?narrate events and emotions with slavish attention to factual accuracy.  Instead I write with attentiveness to evocative engagement.  My autobiographical writing does not claim an empirical veracity, nor express an essentialized experience of selfhood? (Leggo, 2004b, p. 19).  This leaves space for me to engage with my mother?s and my story free from the confines of a ?fact-by-fact? retelling.  Instead, there is room to evocatively engage with experiences moving away from retelling experiences toward bringing the research to ?life.? As noted in Chapter Three, Leggo (2004a) promotes a view of narrative that moves beyond the linearity of story to focus on plot, rearranging events to encourage engagement in a work.  Gergen and Gergen (2010) echo this, viewing narratives as bringing ?events across time into a coherent and interdependent relationship.  Thus in contrast to a chronicle or archive, that simply lists events occurring across time, a narrative links a series of events in such a way that a sense of explanation is achieved? (p. 728).  This sense building through the creation of plot highlights that the development of a narrative is in analytic act.       Several scholars, including Salda?a (2011) and MacKenzie and Belliveau (2011) remind that playwriting is also an analytical process. 79  Theatre artists, by default, are well trained to ?think display? on stage; thus our ethnodramatic productions are not just representational and presentational exhibitions, they are also analytic acts.  Ethnodramas are not playscripts in the traditional sense, but essentialized fieldwork reformatted in performative ?data displays? (Salda?a, 2011, p. 206) As a creative analytic practice (Richardson, 2000b), playwriting and conceptualizing for the stage, like the development of narrative, is a process of analysis resulting in the reformatting research data into the discourse of the stage.   Research Phases  To help structure this project, I divided the research process into three phases as outlined below.  Phases 1 and 2 functioned sequentially and included data gathering, analysis, and script development.  Phase 3, the development of the final dissertation including the critical commentary, occurred both simultaneously to, and extended beyond, the first two phases.  While the research phases appear clearly delineated and distinct on paper, in practice there was considerable movement among them.  80   The initial proposal for this research included a fourth phase, a staged reading of the completed script.  During this phase, data, including audience and actor responses, would be generated, analyzed, and included as part of this dissertation.  While developing the script and writing about the process, I realised that including a substantial discussion of the reading and an analysis of responses in this study would detract from the research, drawing focus away from the exploration of my and my mother?s experiences and the academic and artistic tensions I encountered while conceptualizing these experiences for the stage.    Phase 1:      ? Data gathering and preparation ? Digitization and transcription ? Data coding ? Script conceptualization and writing  Phase 2:    ? Interviews with June?s family and my co-student teachers ? Incorporation of interviews into script and commentary  Phase 3:    ? Writing of dissertation and critical commentary    81  Data Set  Most of the data for this project were generated prior to the study and include:  From E. June Dingwell: ? 220 letters from her to family and friends (3 unsent) ? 150 letters to her from family ? 2 journals ? 715 photographic slides including labels and commentaries ? 1.5 hours of audio recordings ? Newspaper clippings ? Artifacts including souvenirs, student work, lesson plans, and teaching materials From Graham Lea: ? 30 e-mail correspondence ? 9 hours of video  ? 60 journal entries ? 1300 photographs ? Memory ? Artifacts including souvenirs, lesson plans, sample exams, and teaching materials  In addition to these existing data new data were collected including: ? Interviews with members of June?s immediate family ? Interviews with student teachers who were in Kenya with Graham ? Analytic memos ? Researcher journal 82  Interviews. The focus of this research is on the experiences of my mother and I.  As such, in phase one, I focused solely on the archived data and memories of my experiences.  After developing the script, I engaged in member checking interviews with two groups of people. 1. Surviving members of my mother?s immediate family 2. The three fellow student teachers who travelled with me to Kenya These interviews were intended to mitigate the possibilities of my misrepresenting others in the research and to solicit stories that may not have been included in the script but are deemed important by others familiar with the experiences.  Participation was voluntary; however, all members of both groups were given copies of the script for member checking regardless of their desire to participate in formal interviews.  Questions used as a guide for the interviews are included in Appendix B. Analytic memos and researcher journal.  Throughout the research process, I maintained a researcher journal.  The function of this journal was two-fold.  The first was to maintain a record of analytic memos, records of the ?coding process and code choices; how the process of inquiry is taking shape; and the emergent patterns, categories and subcategories, themes, and concepts? (Salda?a, 2009, p. 33).  These notes on the research process provided an archive on and insight into some of the key research decisions elaborated upon in Chapter Six.  The second function of the researcher journal was more personal.  A significant portion of this research involves my memories and personal connection to the data.  While engaging in all phases of the research project, I used this journal to keep notes on my personal relationship to, and insights from, the data and research process.  The 83  analytic memos were used primarily in developing the critical commentary in Chapter Six, while the thoughts and memories were more influential in the development of Homa Bay Memories. Coding  To facilitate data management, I used the Computer Assisted Qualitative Data Analysis Software (CAQDAS) Atlas.TI.  The decision to use CAQDAS was initially made to help make ?the management of data easier, allowing [me] to explore [the] data in ways difficult or impossible without the software, and to save time and increase efficiency? (Stewart, 2012, p. 504).  However, as discussed in Chapter Six, the process of coding for data management became an analytic process (Salda?a, 2009).   Once incorporated into Atlas.TI, data were coded drawing upon a combination of Dramaturgical and Narrative coding methods: 1. Dramaturgical  This coding method applies ?terms and conventions of character, play script, and production analysis onto qualitative data? (Salda?a, 2009, p. 102).  Using such coding terminology as objective, obstacles, tactics, attitudes, emotions, and subtexts, dramaturgical coding provides a method of viewing the data theatrically in preparation for scripting. 2. Narrative Narrative coding techniques work with dramaturgical codes to provide a focus on a literary perspective to the data to help ?understand its storied, structured forms? (Salda?a, 2009, p. 109).  Performative researchers Rossiter et al. (2008) and Boydell (2011) merge dramatic and narrative coding using the combination to highlight portions of their data ?that seemed to hold particular dramatic merit or substance ? 84  [or] inform a significant monologue, character, scene or plot idea? (Rossiter et al., 2008, p. 6).    Before I began coding, I developed attribute codes (Salda?a, 2009) to identify the author of each selection of data.  For example, Writer_EJD was used to identify selections from E. June Dingwell while Writer_GL was used to identify self-generated data.  Aware that part of the intent of this project was to develop a script utilizing elements of theatrical staging, I developed a series of codes, based on dramaturgical coding, used to keep track of moments in the data that may inform theatrical staging (Blocking, Character Description, Lighting, Metaphor, Props, Quote, Scene, Set, SFX/Music, and Visual).   For example, on February 5, 1968, June wrote:  There are garlands of fire on Rhuri, a few dogs barking and a cow lowing off in the distance, and all else seems occupied with rest or dark and silent night activities.21 (1966-1970a, Letter to Family) I coded this portion of data using Writer_EJD, Lighting, and SFX/Music, reflecting the visual and auditory information contained within.  While these codes were helpful in conceptualizing the work for the stage, only a few coded segments were included directly or indirectly in the script.  I anticipate that if Homa Bay Memories receives a full staging, that these theatrical codes could be passed to theatrical designers to help develop the world of the play.   Other codes such as Time, Parent Support, and Gender were identified during my first pass of the data.  During this process, I observed commonalities among a variety of codes.  I grouped such codes together into categories (Salda?a, 2009) based on these commonalities (see Table 2).  This categorization of codes facilitated data analysis and script development, bringing                                                 21 In the academic prose portions of this dissertation, quotations from June and Phyllis?s writing are denoted using the font Garamond and codes are denoted using Lucida Grande. 85  forth connections across the data.  In particular, as discussed in depth in Chapter Six, establishing categorical connections helped make me aware of the importance of interpersonal connection in this work.  A full list of codes is included in Appendix C. Community Culture Differences Development Education System Exams Fees Importance Politics Self-Image Who is African? ?? Africa  Africa_Culture Differences  Africa_Development  Africa_Politics  Africa_Self-Image  Africa_Who is African? School  School Community  School_Education System  School_Exams  School_Fees  School_Importance Table 2. Code Categorization Example Point of Entry I entered into this research with an explicitly personal aim: to better know a little known but influential part of my mother?s life and to understand how it has shaped my lived experience.  Despite, or perhaps because of, this personal quest, this project has provided an opportunity to further a variety of academic conversations.  The two family stories are demonstrative of significant shifts in international teaching and intercultural interactions.  They also form an opportunity to explore how narrative and narrative inheritance shape identities.   While these explorations form the heart of this dissertation, using them to develop a research-based theatre script creates an opportunity to deeply examine research-based theatre as a methodology.  This meta-research seeks to extend research-based theatre as a methodology by exploring both an infrequently engaged part of the spectrum and its connections to narrative inquiry.  By adding to these various personal and methodological conversations this study has the opportunity to be personally meaningful while making these personal accounts count.    86  Part II 87   Chapter Five: Homa Bay Memories  Notes to the reader: 1. For readability, citations and clarifying information are included in the script as footnotes.  Salda?a critiques the use of references in ethnodramatic work (2006; 2011); however, as part of an academic dissertation, citations function as a part of a conversation.  From a Bakhtinian perspective, they acknowledge links in chains of utterances (Shi, 2012).  Acknowledging this chain situates the work within a community of scholastic work (Jalilifar, 2012; Shi, 2011) and honours those whose ideas influence the work.  Thus I include citations in this dissertation copy of the script.  Any future non-academic versions of the script would not likely include citations but would provide clarifying information.   2. As this is partially autoethnographic, many of the names used in this work are not pseudonyms (Chang, 2008).  Graham, June, Phyllis and the family members are not assigned pseudonyms nor is Ruth Compton, Roy, or Grace Webster (who are mentioned).  All other names are pseudonyms.   3. The following stage direction abbreviations are used throughout the script:    US ? Up Stage   SR ? Stage Right CS ? Centre Stage SL ? Stage Left  DSR ? Down Stage Right DSC ? Down Stage Centre DSL ? Down Stage Left   DS ? Down Stage Note that all directions are from the actor?s point of view and down refers to the edge of the stage closest to the audience while up refers to the edge furthest from the audience.   Dramatis Personae:  Graham ? Kenya 2004 June ? Graham?s mother / Kenya 1966-1970 Phyllis ? June?s mother  Walter  June?s father            The family Helene (heh-LEEN)  June?s sister Rodney Blois (bloys)  Kevin Brian } June?s brothers  Note: Walter, Helene, Rodney, Blois, Kevin, and Brian become other characters as needed. } 88                                            Rights to produce, film, or record Homa Bay Memories in whole or in part, in any medium, by any group, amateur or professional, are retained by the author.  Interested persons are requested to apply to the author: gwlea@alumni.ubc.ca89  (SET: There are three principle performance areas:   1. SR is in Eastern Canada in the late 1960s.  Most frequently it is a 30-year-old farmhouse in rural PEI.  There is a wooden, drop-leaf kitchen table and chair.  The table should have a stack of light blue airmail envelope paper some used, some unused.  There is a small practical electric table lamp.   2. SL begins as a small room in Labrador and dorm room in Montreal.  While in Canada, there is a small practical electric light on the desk.  Later it becomes a small house in the rural Kenyan community Homa Bay in the late 1960s.  There is a chair and a simple writing desk.  When in Homa Bay, the electric light is replaced by a practical mock petromax lamp until indicated in the script.  There is a similar pile of light blue airmail envelope paper as well as a small journal and a copy of The Prophet (Gibran, 1966).   3. CS is a neutral area.  The floor in this area is white.  There are two white blocks which serve various functions as indicated in the script.  The floor around areas 1&2 should be black or textured to reflect their physical and temporal space(s) and fade into the white of the neutral area.  The SL and SR areas should be dressed carefully, extending off stage with stylized movement in the dressing from a sense of verisimilitude extending from offstage that fades into the neutral space CS.  This may be aided by a painted flat US of each area to help delineate the spaces and emphasize their distinctness.  A white cyc at the rear of the stage is used for colour and as a screen for projections.    The CS area is the where most of the active elements of the performance take place and as such should be relatively large.  The desk areas can be quite small.  While they may be on stage at the same time, JUNE and GRAHAM should not interact until indicated at the end.    Through the script GRAHAM is blocked as entering and exiting the stage, not usually present in JUNE?s moments.  An alternate staging may have GRAHAM on stage throughout the show, reacting to JUNE?s moments but not directly interacting until indicated.  Transitions between moments should be as smooth as possible unless indicated.  Music may be used to underscore transitions and some suggestions are made throughout the script.  Other suggestions are listed in Appendix D.  LIGHTING: The desks should be tightly lit so that they can be isolated, appearing to float in space.  The CS play area is more generally lit with options to isolate some areas and to manipulate colour.    AT RISE: As the audience enters, the stage should appear bare and stark.  This is a space of possibility.  The stage should be dimly lit so that the desk areas are unobtrusive.  Against the cyc, at the edge of perception, there is a projection of water with circular wave patterns bouncing off of each other, as if it is very lightly raining.  This wave pattern should also be continued, possibly through a rotation gobo, on the floor and across the audience) 90  PROLOGUE22  (GRAHAM walks out DSR and stands waiting for the audience to quiet before starting.  House lights crossfade as GRAHAM becomes slowly lit by a single white front light at a relatively low angle.  It is a very flat light.  This, and a matching one DSL, should be the only un-gelled lights used in the performance)  GRAHAM In my memory23. In my memory, I can revisit the first time I sat, like you are now, in a darkened theatre. I don?t remember the show, but I remember the experience.  My parents and I sat alone amongst the red-plush seats in the balcony of the Confederation Centre of the Arts in Charlottetown.  Okay, sitting may be the wrong word.  It was a musical.  We were alone in the balcony.  I was 5, (GRAHAM sings and dances around the space to unheard music) jumping, and singing, and dancing.  (GRAHAM slows to a stop, tweaked by the phrase ?singing, and dancing?)  Maybe it was Singing and Dancing Tonight.  It was an up-beat, dance review show.  It was presented in the early eighties, about the right time.  (A picture an illuminated sign for Singing and Dancing Tonight fades in on the cyc.)   Yes. I can see it.  The opening backdrop.  Huge letters, each formed by dozens of individual lights, spelling out the words ?Singing and Dancing Tonight?.  I can see the dancers.  I can see it.   In my memory. (Projection snaps out)  Or has that memory been hijacked?  I watched a video from the show last week, maybe in stirring up the memory of dancing around the balcony, I made it flexible, reconsolidating24 as a new, modified memory including Singing and Dancing Tonight.  Memories are like that, remade each time they are remembered.  Literally re-membered.  In my memory I have returned to that balcony many times.  But why?  We encounter countless pieces of information daily.  We?re constantly bombarded.  Look around.  Right now, you?re encountering dozens.  What I?m saying, what I look like, how comfortable you are, the hair colour of the person sitting in front of you.  A seemingly infinite number of internal and external stimuli, but only a few remain. I think I know why I remember running around the balcony.  Not the unbridled joy of sing ?   ?You can?t do that here.  Sit down, listen, be quiet.?  Were those the words?  Maybe.  I don?t even remember the usher.  What I DO remember is feeling bad.  I got in trouble.  Why?  For breaking a modern theatre-going ritual.  Sit back, sit quietly, watch.    Oh, before I forget.  If you have a cellphone, or anything that beeps, please turn it off.  And please refrain from taking any pictures during the performance.  And if you want to sing and dance, watch out for the usher!                                                 22 Inspired by Mnemonic (Theatre de Complicite, 1999)  23 (Sullivan, 2001, p. 167) 24 (Nader & Einarsson, 2010)  91  As you do that, I should thank our sponsors the Vanier Canada Graduate Scholarships and the University of British Columbia for their financial support.    It has been said that the rituals of theatre have ?been lost or remain in seedy decay?25.  Yet we still come together, as a singular plural26, to turn off our cell phones and create Theatre.  A ?ritual coming together?27, an event, a gathering, a ?happening?28.  Ritual is not in decay, it is evolving.     Through ritual, we learn about the world, our past, what is expected of us.  But they ?are not compatible with industrial speed; to perform a ritual one must slow down?29.  They must be experienced.    In my memory are stories. Soothing stories invented at bedtime.  VOICE OVER (Children?s voices singing fade under the previous line.  Through the song, soft lights fade up CS to reveal JUNE who sits on a small white box beside a large white box that is acting as a bed.  There is a blanket on the bed.  Projections of ?story pictures? depicting classic nursery rhymes are projected on the cyc.  One of these should be of Sing a Song of Sixpence.  GRAHAM remains DSR, watching.) SING A SONG OF SIXPENCE, A POCKET FULL OF RYE. FOUR AND TWENTY BLACKBIRDS, BAKED IN A PIE.   GRAHAM Like many, I grew up with stories.  Stories at bedtime.  Stories of family.  Stories enacted as my father and I chased Harvey the invisible rabbit around my basement.  Some of my childhood favourites hung on my bedroom wall, framed pictures of famous nursery rhymes.  Instead of book-bound bedtime stories, sometimes my mother and I would read from these story pictures.  We created our own stories, together.  JUNE And the baker took the pies down the long dirt path hoping to sell them along the way.  GRAHAM (Remaining DSR but voicing the child in the bed.)  And on the way, he was attacked by a bunch of big black birds.                                                   25 (Brook, 1968, p. 45) 26 (Nancy, quoted in Bickel, 2008) 27 (Jackson, 2007, p. 139) 28 (Brook, 1968, p. 55) 29 (Minh-Ha quoted in Bickel, 2008, p. 99) 92  JUNE Who swirled around the baker.  GRAHAM And they whooshed down and ate all the pies.  JUNE And he had to go home with no pies and no money and prepare to bake more tomorrow.  The end.  (Tucking in the bed as lights fade on CS area.)  Okay, time for sleep.  Nighty-night.  GRAHAM Night-night.  GRAHAM In my memory are stories. Stories of family?   Like my great-grandfather.  He was a train engineer.  In 1939 he drove the Maritime leg of the royal tour of King George VI and Queen Elizabeth.  At the end of the tour, he was invited to a formal dinner with the King and Queen.  When the dinner ended, small bowls of lemon water were distributed.  My great-grandfather, a working-class train engineer from Moncton, had never seen this before.  So, what did he do?  (GRAHAM mimes removing false teeth)  He took out his false teeth and rinsed them in the lemony water.  I was disappointed to learn that this story was not entirely ?true.?  My great-grandfather was involved in the 1939 royal tour, although not as an engineer.  And, he didn?t take his teeth out in front of the royal couple.  That was a co-worker, who took out his teeth at a union meeting in Toronto.  In recreating the story within the family, it evolved and melded with others.    With what I knew, a few details, a few ? given circumstances30, I imagined the most engaging narrative I could.  Now, with more given circumstances, I can create a story closer to the life lived.  But I still prefer to imagine the look on the Queen?s face as he took out his teeth in front of her.  (Lights fade up CS.  JUNE moves the large white box to face front to become a kitchen table.  Preset behind is an apron and a variety of ingredients.  While most may be fake, ideally the smells of coriander, cinnamon, and cloves will be detected in the audience.  JUNE puts on the apron)                                                  30 (Benedetti, 1988) 93  GRAHAM When narrators disappear, they leave behind given circumstances that help keep their stories alive.  Things like letters, journals, photos.  (As he mentions them, GRAHAM holds up some of the letters, diaries, and photos.  Simultaneously, JUNE, takes the ingredients and places them on the table)  JUNE Okay Graham, everything is ready, come on.  (GRAHAM remains DSR but becomes younger). Milk, water, butter, eggs, flour, yeast, honey, coriander, salt, cinnamon, and cloves31.  Now mix the yeast and water together, set them aside.  (GRAHAM, mimes doing this along with JUNE, CS).  You want all of these ingredients to be well mixed so sift all the dry ingredients together and then stir them into the milk and water.   GRAHAM This is hard.  JUNE It gets easier with practice.  I used to do this every day.  GRAHAM Everyday?  JUNE Yes.  Before I went to school I would make bread for the farm.    GRAHAM Why didn?t Grammie do it?  JUNE She was busy with farm work.  I was the oldest so I had to help out.    GRAHAM You had to make bread for your brothers and sister and parents?  JUNE And the hired help.  A lot of bread.  Okay, now that that is all mixed up, it?s time to start kneading.  (JUNE starts kneading, GRAHAM follows, it is obvious he is learning) Push the dough forward, bring it back over itself, turn it a quarter turn and go again? yes like that.  Now keep going.  GRAHAM Is this the kind of bread you made?                                                  31 The recipe for honey bread is in Appendix E 94  JUNE No, we didn?t have all of these spices when I was growing up.  This is honey bread from Africa.    GRAHAM Africa?  I thought they didn?t have much food there.  JUNE There is a famine there now32, yes.  There are a lot of people without enough food.  But these spices are from that part of the world.  GRAHAM Did you have this honey bread when you lived there?  JUNE No, this is from Ethiopia.  I lived in Kenya.  They are close but have different foods.  Okay, I think you?ve kneaded enough.  Now you need to let it sit for a while.  Why don?t you put it down there where it is warm.  (GRAHAM sets the bread down) and I?ll clean up here (JUNE cleans cooking supplies.  As she does the lights CS fade out)  GRAHAM In my memory. Stories of Kenya. Foreign. Adventure. Exciting. Two years.  Turned to four. Her stories fascinated me. They took me there, in my mind as a child, on a teaching practicum as an adult. With me, I took her stories. Her stories and a small piece of paper.  (GRAHAM faces front.  Lights up CS and dim DSR.  The large white box has again become a bed.  JUNE lies in the bed, possibly with a triangle pillow to prop her up.  She has a nasal cannula33 and a bandana on her head and she is lying under the blanket used earlier.  She is slowly ripping a piece from the blanket.  Sounds of an oxygen concentrator with a bubbling humidifier and a heart monitor.  When she has finished ripping from the blanket, she holds the removed piece up.  It should be about 5?x7.?  There is writing on it)    JUNE Graham, this is for you.  Read it.  Take it with you.  You?ll know what to do.                                                  32 This memory took place during the middle of the 1980s during which time there was a major famine in Ethiopia. 33 A nasal cannula is a medical device used to deliver supplementary oxygen through the nose. 95  (JUNE places the scrap of cloth from the blanket on the chair.  She lies back.  Heart monitor sounds change indicating a heart stoppage.  The sounds stop abruptly first the heart monitor, then the concentrator.  Lights begin to dim on the CS area.  JUNE stands, faces SL and walks off slowly.  It is important that she does not walk into a white light.  She takes the blanket with her, holding it casually but so that the hole can be seen by the audience.  As the lights fade and JUNE exits, a tightly focused top-light illuminates the chair and the letter on it.  GRAHAM enters into the space.  The DSR light fades out)  GRAHAM Mom.    (GRAHAM the picks up the scrap of cloth.  The top light fades out.  He reads the cloth.  The content is obviously meaningful.  He curls it in his hand and puts it in his pocket.)  Mom? (Snap to black, GRAHAM exits)  MOMENT 1A  (In black, sounds of a telegraph machine are heard.  They should sound similar to the heart monitor heard previously.   They become increasingly loud and fast through the voice over) VOICE OVER Please suspend interview until further notice. CUSO confirms national selection accepted your application without interview. Assignment confirmed by cable. Will forward details expected from Kenya. (Telegraph sounds continue to build for a beat until lights snap up on PHYLLIS SR)  MOMENT 1B  PHYLLIS (PHYLLIS is standing over her chair opening then reading a letter.  Note, PHYLLIS opens letters aggressively, ripping the envelope; JUNE is much more delicate, opening them with a wooden letter opener.  PHYLLIS sits down hard.  She begins writing.) June Dingwell, B.A., B.Ed. April 2, 1966 We got your letter Friday morning.  It sort of floored me.  My first reaction was to say ?no? but the more I kept thinking it over the more selfish it appeared to be.  I always felt you had something like this in the back of your mind and you certainly have been fitting yourself for such a goal.  But isn?t it only natural for parents to want to keep their children as near as possible?   However, if this is really what you want our love and most sincere prayers are with you.  Well dear, I don?t know whether I have said what I want to or not but down deep we want for you what you really want for yourself.  All our love, darling.   Love from all,  Mother. P.S. What does C.U.S.O mean? 96  MOMENT 1C  JUNE (Lights crossfade to JUNE SL.  She is in Labrador, there is a small electric lamp on the table.  JUNE is younger, just about to turn 26.  She is writing) Labrador City April 6, 1966 Mother and father, That is one letter I will never want to lose.  It is also natural for children to desire the support, and even the geographical nearness of their parents.  The child?s interests often make the latter impossible but the former will continue for me. C.U.S.O. is Canadian University Service Oversees.  Although not as financially rewarding as External aid or as well known as Mission Board, it is free from ties with government and the evangelizing of missionaries. I have just had a long letter from a very close friend who is working for CUSO in Ghana.  She was very encouraging as she wrote about her experiences and how she would anticipate my reaction to overseas work. Sign off time again, folks.   Thank-you. June  (JUNE switches off the light and there is a blackout)  MOMENT 1D  JUNE (The small SR area is re-lit but has been altered slightly to indicate a small dorm residence in Montreal) Montreal July 21, 1966 Dear Folks Did you expect this to be in French?   We have been having lectures on teaching and tropical medicine this week.  There is a very interesting new approach to English teaching becoming more widely spread in Africa.  The emphasis is on communication rather than parts of speech and creative paragraphs, in thinking about what the author is saying to the reader rather than the background from which he writes.  Sounds like the usual approach, perhaps, but the teaching is done differently, and the change to this thought and method is just beginning in Africa. This morning I had a few damp moments ?   97  HELENE (Lights fade up SR.  HELENE is discovered writing a letter and putting a small bracelet in a box) Moncton Dear Sister,  I didn?t realize that your departure was approaching so rapidly.  (JUNE pulls a matching bracelet out of a box.  She carefully inspects it during the remainder of HELENE?s speech before putting it on) I trust our little remembrance is suitable.  If not do not hesitate to return it.   After I talked to you Sunday, I started worrying for fear you felt I tried to cut the conversation short.  I just didn?t know what to say.  To top it all off I never said good-bye.  (HELENE looks to JUNE) Honestly, I regret seeing you go.  We may never have been as close as some sisters and now I miss that companionship.  (HELENE returns to her letter) Take care of yourself and have an interesting experience.  Write often and don?t hesitate to come home if you?re lonesome.  See you, Sis, in two years.  I expect you to be all tanned and speaking a foreign tongue.  Watch out for friendly natives and journalists. This is an abrupt close but I am poor at speeches. Best wishes, Helene  (Lights fade on SR as HELENE exits)  JUNE Thank-you all very much for the wish and the gift.  I?d like to phone sometime you might all be in.  I have a strange feeling that you are all coming with me, and the bracelet will be a real sign of it.  I would like to say hello to everyone, so I won?t say good-bye in this letter.   Keep yourselves well, busy and happy for me ? selfish person that I am. Regards to all, June (Lights crossfade to SR)  MOMENT 2  PHYLLIS (Picks up some paper and a pen and starts to write.  Fade up CS area.  KEVIN and BRIAN sit on the floor watching TV and WALTER sits on a box reading.  The end of an episode of Bonanza is projected on the cyc and can be heard faintly) Dearest June: Sunday evening again.  I hope and trust that you will have a safe trip.  Try and keep us informed as often as possible.  I hope Helene will be at home Friday so she can say hello when you phone.   It was quite windy here today and as a result a lot of apples are on the ground.  I will have to get some sugar and Certo right away and get some jelly and apple butter.  The men got the grain home that they cut with the binder.  They hope to start cutting with the combine this week.  (Bonanza projection ends.  Sounds of an old-fashioned TV being turned off)  WALTER (Overlapping) Okay boys, up to bed.  (Family exits.  WALTER begins to place boxes for the next scene as the CS area fades out then steps into the SR area)  98  PHYLLIS The milker makes the work a lot easier.  Blois starts back to school Thursday.  Kevin and Brian start next Tuesday.  Well darling as usual Dad is shouting   WALTER Bed-time.    PHYLLIS (WALTER exits) Do hope we will have some words of your whereabouts within a few days.  We are all hoping and praying that you will have an enjoyable time and be back with us as soon as possible safe and sound.   Do write as often as you can and take the very best care of yourself. Love and best wishes.  Your family. (SR lights fade out. PHYLLIS exits)  MOMENT 3A  (Lights come up SL, it is still a small dorm room in Montreal but now everything has been packed up) JUNE Dear Family, A start tonight on the weekly letter which will have to be mailed from France on Monday.  Have just come up from calling you.  (JUNE gets up and starts to finish packing)  Wish I hadn?t made you sound so sad, but I hope there was more than sadness there.   Tonight is odds and ends of many kinds as we prepare to leave.  This is another group of people that it will be hard to leave but there is something happy about it all.  Hope I was able to show you some of that tonight. (Lights crossfade to SR.  Sounds of an airport din)  MOMENT 3B  PHYLLIS Where in the world are you tonight?  Are you having a nice trip? (Lights come up CS and fade almost completely on the SR area but PHYLLIS should still be slightly visible)  MOMENT 3C  JUNE (JUNE and others, including GRAHAM enter the CS area moving the boxes to form an airplane facing US.  GRAHAM should be unnoticed.  Photos of the crowd are projected on the cyc.  See Figure 17.  Great chaos.  They are singing ?Nova Scotia Farewell?)  Figure 17. Crowd Departing from Montreal Airport Photo by E. June Dingwell 99  At Montreal airport.  All 100 or more of us.  We must have looked like refugees, standing around, or sitting on our suitcases as folk songs filled the air.  (By this time the plane has been formed and they begin taking their seats.  An image of the exterior of the plane is projected.  Sounds of a Yukon plane warming up and taking off and crossfade to the sounds of its interior.  See Figure 18.  An image of the interior of the plane is projected.  When JUNE sits, she faces DS) The seats in the Yukon are three on either side of the plane, certainly not designed for comfort.  We were able to rest with our feet in each others? laps.  It was a long night of no sleep.    (The cyc is slowly lit to reflect a sunrise, possibly accompanied by a picture of that sunrise.  See Figure 19)  Sunrise over the Atlantic was beautiful.  A strip of red on the horizon then more and more light as the clouds, above and beneath turned silver and gold.  (JUNE turns US with the rest of the passengers.)  MOMENT 3D  (CS lights change to indicate change in time.)   GRAHAM (Sounds of a plane in flight continue, possibly fading into a Boeing 747.  GRAHAM is sound asleep, head back, hands on legs.) Doesn?t matter how uncomfortable the seats are.  When you?ve been up 33 hours, 30,000 feet and a bottle of red wine?ll put you right out.  The other student teachers, Wendy, Rebecca, and Emma had to crawl over me to get in or out of their seats.  They said a flight attendant came to check that I was still breathing.  (Plane sounds fade as GRAHAM wakes up, stands, steps DS) No wonder.  Drive from Charlottetown to Halifax, fly Halifax to Montreal then to London for a 17 hour layover.  17 hours!    Now, Heathrow may be more exciting than the Charlottetown airport ? but for 17 hours? I don?t think so.  So we got tube tickets into London and did the  Figure 18. Interior of Yukon Plane Photo by E. June Dingwell  Figure 19. Sunrise over the Atlantic Photo by E. June Dingwell 100  whirlwind tour? we saw it all, all the big stuff.  (Images of each are shown on the cyc accompanied by the sound of a camera shutter) You know, Buckingham Palace, The River Thames, Westminster Abby, Big Ben, The Parliament buildings, Piccadilly Circus, The Tower of London, London Bridge.  We didn?t spend much time anywhere, didn?t go in? but we got good photo ops.  VOICE OVER Mind the Gap. (GRAHAM enters the tube and stands.  Sounds of the tube.)  GRAHAM Standing room only on the tube back to Heathrow.  Wendy?s so tired she falls asleep standing up.  Standing up!  One minute she is up, next she?s crumpled on the tube floor.  Maybe it?s the lack of sleep but I can?t wait to be home in my own bed.  Month and a half of teaching, two weeks of travel.  It?ll be gone before I know it and here I?m wishing it away before I even get there.  (GRAHAM sits back into the plane, tube sounds fade out)  JUNE (JUNE stands and stretches, steps DSR) A day and a half at the RCAF base in Marville.  We really should not leave but the C.O. is going to let us visit Luxembourg City.  (An image of Luxembourg City is displayed in the back)  With the aid of a map and our imaginations we tried to figure out some of the city.  The narrow cobblestone streets, yellowish-beige stone brick or stucco buildings, the palace, a cathedral with worn tapestries.   Before getting on the plane again I purchased, of all things, a tape recorder.  You will find out why in a few months.  (JUNE returns to sit.  Interior plane sounds start again)  GRAHAM (Turns to the audience)  The others are anxious about the two weeks of travel? costs, practicality, ?  I?ve dreamt about this my whole life.  I want it all.  I want to see the country Maasai Mara, Amboseli, Mombasa.  There may have to be some concessions.  (GRAHAM takes the letter out of his pocket and looks at it)  One of those concessions will not be Homa Bay.  I have to get there.    JUNE (Turns as if looking out the window) North Africa is really a desert.  Miles and miles of golden brown sand interrupted by bands of green.  The sun setting rapidly in a melody of pinks and golds.  VOICE OVER  (GRAHAM and others sit and adjust for landing)  Ladies and gentlemen, in preparation for our final descent into Nairobi, please ensure your seatbelts are fastened, your seats are in their upright position, and tray tables are in their upright and locked position. 101  GRAHAM (GRAHAM takes out a black leather notebook and begins writing.  He looks out the window) I don?t know what to think.  I will be in Africa in minutes.  I can?t believe it.  I have dreamt about this all my life and now it?s just minutes from happening.  I am on what will most likely be the biggest adventure of my life and I am relatively calm.    (Images from slides of Kenya are projected.  The images change increasingly quickly until they become like a blur.  He watches out the window)  (Sounds of plane landing)  VOICE OVER Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Nairobi.  Thank-you for flying British Airways.  GRAHAM (Almost in tears looks out the plane window) The trees look very different here.  Even by the airport, it looks like pictures I have of the savannah. (GRAHAM exits SL)  MOMENT 3E  (Lights fade back to full on PHYLLIS.  The rest of the passengers exit through PHYLLIS?s speech.  JUNE is the last to leave.) PHYLLIS It was wonderful to hear your voice the other evening, you always sound so like yourself.  I had been thinking of what I would like to say to you all day but when the time came the words wouldn't.  We certainly are proud of you and wish all the best for you.  But still, it is so hard to share you with others.  Take the very best care of yourself and come back to us as soon as possible. (Lights fade on SR area)  MOMENT 3F  JUNE (Looking back toward the plane) Dear family, take care of yourselves; I am coming home before long. As ever, June (JUNE exits SL, fade to black)  102  MOMENT 4A  (PHYLLIS enters CS area with a broom and starts to tidy up possibly moving some of the boxes if necessary.  She has a thought, rushes to the table, props the broom against the chair and begins to write.  Lights crossfade to SR desk as PHYLLIS crosses.)  PHYLLIS Dear June: Just a few hurried lines in the midst of the dirt.  I thought I should write today as there is a postal strike apt to start very soon and that will tie up mail.  I thought you would be wondering if you did not hear from home.  The strike is apt to be called at a moment?s notice.  In your last letter you were telling us about so many students being put out of school because they couldn?t pay their dues.  Daddy told me to ask you ?   WALTER (Enters SR) What would the fees be in Canadian money?    PHYLLIS I don?t know what we could do but he was anxious to know.    MOMENT 4B  GRAHAM (Lights dim on SR area.  Lights up CS area as GRAHAM enters SL with a newspaper.) 84 year-old man top grade 1 student in the country. A headline in the Daily Nation.  That can?t be right.  It was.  Primary education just became universal.  No more school fees for the first eight years.  Kimani Maruge.  Eighty-four years old and this was the first time he could go to school.  There was a movie about it? The First Grader34? Hard to imagine.    The first eight years are free.  After that you have to pay.  Almost sounds like a drug dealer.  ?Come on, come on, give it a shot.  First eight are free.  It?ll make you feel great.?   Once you?re hooked, you gotta pay.  A lot of eligible students simply couldn?t.    When we first arrived at our school, (WALTER enters the CS area as THUKU) the headmaster, Mr. Thuku took us on a tour of the grounds.  (Projections of the school grounds supplement the descriptions.  See Figure 20)                                                    34 (Feuer, Harding, Thompson, & Chadwick, 2010)  Figure 20. Barn at Kihuti Photo by Graham W. Lea 103  THUKU This barn holds the school?s livestock.  Pigs, sheep, cattle, goats.  A family will donate an animal to the school.  They will feed it, tend to it.  Funds from milk and meat offset their child?s school fees.  GRAHAM What are these trees?  THUKU Those are coffee.  Not much is ripe now.  A few parents look after and harvest them.  The profits go to help their children pay for school.   We want as many students as possible to come to our school, so we try to find ways to help them pay.  GRAHAM (Video of GRAHAM working on the soccer field is displayed on the cyc.  GRAHAM mimics using the jembe35 on the field.).  That included hand grading a soccer field so hilly soccer balls appear to have a mind of their own.  They laugh as I try to wield the jembe.  ?Your hands are so soft.?  But we got it done.  THUKU (As if speaking to a large crowd)  Now that we have a graded field, a regulation field we can rent it.  They will come from all over.  There will be games.  There will be tournaments.  And it will make money.  So if we want to travel to Nyeri, we can.  If we want to play in a tournament in Nairobi we can.  To Mombasa.  Even to Kampala.  We will go.  (WALTER returns to the SR area)  GRAHAM (Crosses to PHYLLIS, places the newspaper beside her.  Lights fade in CS area) Sometimes doing something doesn?t mean spending money.  (GRAHAM exits)  MOMENT 4C  PHYLLIS Well honey this is scribbled off in a terrible rush but I am scared the mail will be along.  Hope you are well.  Will write again Sunday if the mail is going.  (WALTER exits)  Surely it will.  Love from all.  Mother (PHYLLIS picks up her broom and sweeps off stage.  Lights cross fade to SR)                                                        35 A type of hoe. 104  MOMENT 5  JUNE (Ironing at her desk, BLOIS walks by)  Only a few evenings ago one of the fourth form boys came in as I was ironing.    BLOIS But madam, you should have someone to do it for you.  JUNE Little does he know that was one of the few times I have ever done my own ironing here. (Lights up CS dimly where we see BRIAN ?planting? flowers) Usually that is left to my gardener, cook, and housekeeper, Dennison.  He is a friendly fellow, so pleased when you notice some of the work he has planned himself.  He even remarks on anything I do in the house.  When I first looked out the door this morning I noticed a row of nicely blooming flowers down the side of the drive.  Dennison had ?begged? them from a friend who had just gone back to Britain.  They make the front yard much more interesting; I hope they grow in that poor soil as they are a sign of kindness from two people.  (Lights fade SL and change CS.  JUNE exits)  MOMENT 6  (BRIAN is trying on a Halloween costume typical of the mid sixties ? cowboy, ghost?  PHYLLIS is helping with the costume.  Sounds of Bonanza in the background)  PHYLLIS June, I wish you were near today to solve the problem of Halloween costumes.  I am at my wits end.  They are having a party in Brian?s grade tomorrow afternoon?   BRIAN And I want something different for trick-or-treating.    PHYLLIS Okay, you get out of that one.  We?ll try to figure out another one.  (BRIAN exits SR.  PHYLLIS crosses to SR desk as lights crossfade from CS to SR area.  She starts to write.  A DSC special slowly fades up on HELENE CS) Helene and I were just talking today about Xmas, we will see that the children are all remembered by their big sister.    HELENE I haven?t really disappeared from the face of the earth, I am just a poor correspondent.   I was startled to learn that you may soon be at address unknown and I do want you to receive my best wishes for a happy holiday season.  Mother is planning a phone call Christmas day so be sure to settle things with her.     105  PHYLLIS We thought it would be quite difficult for you to get things and send them so far.  Christmas certainly won?t be the same, we will be thinking of you every minute.    HELENE You told mother you had a Christmas plan which you explained to me.  As yet I haven?t received the letter.  However, I do plan to add your name to any gifts I give.    PHYLLIS Kevin and Brian had their first tests last week.  I think Kevin is on top and I am very pleased with Brian?s.  He did much better than I expected.  She cuts them terribly for spelling which he finds very hard especially in geography and science.    HELENE I guess my classrooms are more comfortable but my professors are crummy.  My French prof thinks he?s a comedian but his actions and comments are too idiotic.  Have you ever heard of people kicking chalk around?  PHYLLIS We put a package in the mail for you a couple of weeks ago.  Wish it could be much much more.    HELENE We will miss you terribly at Christmas I know how mother feels.  It may sound strange to you but I do miss you very much and still think you are so impossibly far away.  PHYLLIS (Background sounds shift to the closing credits of Bonanza) Well dear the furnace fire is going down and Bonanza is about over so I guess that means bed.    HELENE Well Sis, Merry Christmas.  I must be back to the books.  Take care.  Love Helene.  PHYLLIS Good night for now sweetheart.  Loads of Love.  Mother. (Lights fade on PHYLLIS and HELENE.  They exit)  MOMENT 7  JUNE (Lights come up SL.  JUNE starts to write.  SR lights come up.  WALTER is discovered playing with a package SR.) Dear Dad, Happy Birthday.  Somewhere between here and Canada is an unidentified sailing object which should soon arrive in Morell.  Please do not try to figure out what it is ? just use your imagination, put it together and try to think of a use for it.  (WALTER tries to make a suggestion)  106  I can hear some of your suggestions right now, but try again! (Lights come up CS, the family enters singing I?ve got a Home in Glory Land.  They move the boxes CS to start forming a boat.) The boys are now singing their Sunday morning hymns to the accompaniment of bird songs.  (As the boat is constructed, the family begins to sit in all manner of positions, prepared for a long voyage.  Their singing transforms into the song Harambee, Harambee)  (If possible JUNE is carried to CS by RODNEY or BLOIS) On Friday night, much to the amusement of the people on shore, five of us boarded a dhow, a traditional sailboat with a triangular sail.  We wazungu36 were carried aboard on the back of some very husky sailors.    I often wonder just what the people think of these peeled-banana creatures who come to their country.  (A family member moves to offer JUNE a seat, another stares at her movements, the others don?t even acknowledge).  When I walk, some people stand aside in respect, some stare in curiosity, and others just pass by.  When they pass, you wonder if they feel you have no business being here or if these are the people you are looking for ? those who accept strangers? ways and contributions without question and, more important, without being self-conscious about themselves.  When people react in respect or curiosity, you momentarily feel important, then uncomfortable. (JUNE finds a place and settles in as the singing starts again, softly) We slid out of the bay with fifty or so African people singing or falling asleep where they sat on top of bags and parcels, I felt they were more in tune with what is valuable than many of the people, who with their white skins, come to live here for a short time.  It was a beautiful moon-lit night and the fact that we were perched on top of a carriage of maize, furniture, and empty fish racks disturbed us not at all.  It?s good finding out about this world isn?t it, Dad, and so many ways to do it.  (After enjoying the moment JUNE quickly stands and moves back SR) Now, I must sign off and wash some dishes.  Dennison is sick this morning so I have to do my own housework.    Kwa heri37 (Lights fade to black.  WALTER moves CS, we may see him in silhouette climbing into bed.  The rest of the family exit.)                                                  36 Swahili: plural of mzungu, foreigners. 37 Swahili: good bye 107  MOMENT 8A  (Projected on the wall is a tranquil winter scene.  There are stars and on the SR side is a large moon.  WALTER is lying down in bed CS in blackness.  Lights up SR)  PHYLLIS Well where is our big girl tonight?  When your letters get more than a week apart, each day seems like a week or more.  It is quite like winter tonight.  The ground is white and it is quite cold but I guess we can expect it now.  Are you in your sun-dress today?  Wednesday I went out to the mailbox and as usual looked for a blue envelope or one from our other children, this day I saw two blue ones.  I rushed in and ran (PHYLLIS crosses to CS, the lights fade up to discover WALTER lying in bed, PHYLLIS sits on the bed) upstairs to Dad calling to him on the way up.   When I sat on the bed to read I went to look at the stamp so I would have them in order and I noticed one was for Helene.  I was sorry I opened it, so I wrote her a little note explaining what happened and sent it right on to her.  I always send yours right on to her and she sends them back, I wouldn?t lose one for anything.  Daddy says   WALTER June?s letters are more like a book.  (WALTER stands and moves US toward a ?window?)  PHYLLIS Keep them coming never wait for news because we enjoy every word.  Roy and Grace38 sent us a World Map and a map of Africa.  We try to find all the places you mention.  We are trying to organize a Christmas Sunday school pageant.  I have very little done towards Christmas.  I miss the darling that always put the real touch to everything.  I do hope you get your Christmas remembrances from home in time.  They are not much but they are packed with more love than I could tell you.    WALTER Do you see that nice moon shining out the window?    PHYLLIS Will you see it in a few hours?  (PHYLLIS returns to the desk SR and the CS area fades.  WALTER exits) The bottom of this page is creeping up so best bring this to an end.  Always looking for letters.  Loads of Love.  Mother, Dad & brothers.                                                  38 Drs. Roy and Grace Webster, Phyllis?s brother and sister-in-law, were missionaries in China.  Roy was later secretary of the Board of World Mission, the missionary bureaucracy of the United Church of Canada (Compton Brouwer, 2010) and was instrumental in helping to establish June?s placement in Kenya.    108  MOMENT 8B  (Lights crossfade from SR to CS.  PHYLLIS exits.  Lights indicate night with the moon as key-light.  The stars start to twinkle.  GRAHAM enters, looking US looking up at the stars.)  GRAHAM (sings) TWINKLE TWINKLE LITTLE STAR HOW I WONDER WHAT YOU ARE  They twinkle here.  They actually twinkle.    JUNE (offstage)  Okay Graham, time for bed.  GRAHAM and JUNE (GRAHAM becomes young.  JUNE sings from off stage) TWINKLE TWINKLE LITTLE STAR HOW I WONDER WHAT YOU ARE (GRAHAM?s voice starts to fade as he goes to sleep) UP ABOVE THE SKY SO HIGH LIKE A DIAMOND IN THE SKY  JUNE (Enters SR crosses to the bed, tucks him in) TWINKLE TWINKLE LITTLE STAR  GRAHAM (GRAHAM sings as if in his sleep.  JUNE continues to cross to SL.  As she does, the projection of the moon starts to move in an arch from the SR side to SL side.  Lights fade to black) HOW I WONDER WHERE YOU ARE   (GRAHAM exits)     109  MOMENT 9  JUNE (Lights up SL.  JUNE is writing) This is a beautiful evening ? the moon is bright as day and the whole compound is wrapped in exam quiet.  I thought I would have quite a story this evening but all I can tell is you what might have happened.  I was asked to go down to the district commissioner?s house to assist with decoration for the Presidents? visit to Homa Bay.  (JUNE crosses to the CS area.  Lights up CS.  WALTER is discovered there as the MAGISTRATE39.)  The local magistrate was sitting back in a chair with his feet firmly on the grass and a sheaf of papers in his hand.  It transpired that two African ladies and myself were to   MAGISTRATE See to arranging the house.  JUNE But as there was nothing to arrange except a few calendars we went home, assured that  MAGISTRATE Chairs, flowers, and everything else will arrive tomorrow. (The rest of the family enters busily.  There is a bit of a commotion through this.  Family adlibs)    JUNE Thus began a few days of working with the senior people in town, hourly changes in plans and numerous battles with sisal carpets.  (WALTER beckons JUNE to come to the side.  The cleaning, moving, sorting etc. continues.  The box that WALTER was sitting on should be moved and a large box, a dining table, should be placed CS).  To add to the fun,   MAGISTRATE You will serve as assistant organizer of the group which will feed the Presidents? party ? lunch, tea, dinner and breakfast at 5 o?clock.  (WALTER exits)  JUNE (JUNE claps her hands and starts directing people around.  It is a mass of movement in which JUNE is still).  Do you know what concerned me most?  No, not that I would be deported if I spilled the orange juice, but ?why were we asked to help??  Was there so much work to do that our help was needed, or did they think that a European hand was necessary ? (JUNE starts sending people off stage for things), or were they just spreading honour and privilege widely over the community.  I don?t consider it an honour to make breakfast at six o?clock in the morning, even for a President.  (JUNE should be alone on stage by this point.  She starts to conjure an the image of the District Commissioner?s house, there may be slides on the projections to help) The District Commissioner?s house is a two story European house outside the experience of most of the women here.  Maybe that is why we were called on ? to give it the trimmings due its structure and operate the electric stove  (JUNE slams shut an imaginary                                                 39 Walter Dingwell served as a provincial MLA for several years, including during June?s time in Kenya. 110  electric oven door).  Just to prove how little I have really learned in the past months, I confess I listened to myself before I opened my mouth.  (JUNE walks into the bedroom)   So what if the curtains in Mzee?s40 bedroom do not close over the window ? many of his citizens do not have curtains at all.  So what if there is no tray for water and glasses on his bedtable?  There is a fridge in the room and a carpet on the floor.  (JUNE walks into the living room and pushes a table, one of the big boxes, out of the way) And the most obvious reason for moving a huge dining table out of the dining room was that with men of the proportions of our cabinet ministers wandering around the damn thing would just be in the way.  (The rest of the family have returned and are dressing the table and dusting etc.)  The town and school took on a bright, shining appearance.  Electricity installation was speeded up and roads were repaired.  (Everything should be finished now; JUNE makes a final dusting of the table.  WALTER enters again).   Then a few hours before the President was to arrive we heard that he had turned around and gone home.  You should have seen the expressions.    MAGISTRATE (Throwing his keys to the floor) All this unnecessary fuss for a temperamental old man.  It is a terrible blow to the morale of the party.  (The rest of the family starts to eat the food and sprawl over the tables etc.)  JUNE Well, we still don?t know why he changed his mind; but we had a party that night when the electricity was turned on.  (The party winds down and the family clean.  WALTER remains.  JUNE crosses back to her desk, replaces her petromax with an electric lamp.  The lights dim CS but do not go out).    The district commissioner has moved back into his own home and I have been given a new set of experiences to think about and have written a poor account of them.  So often I feel caught up in a mass of people who aren?t trying to be something they are not, but rather trying to walk in a world where they think everyone else is already running.  At the same time you sense a sort of sureness and self-confidence.  (JUNE looks SR)  Please, don?t ?accuse? me again of knowing what people are thinking, for I only ?think they may think? or say things by accident.  As the district commissioner began his party speech ?   MAGISTRATE (CS)  Let me first say a bit of nothing, because we are here to share our disappointment and pass some time (all exit SR taking food as lights fade CS).  JUNE Regards to each one and stay well.  Oriti, Luo for good-bye (pronounced ?r??t?) June.                                                  40 A respected older person.  This most likely refers to the President who was to stay at the District Commissioner?s house. 111  MOMENT 10A  (Lights crossfade to CS.  JUNE exits.  GRAHAM enters from SR and looks at the food)  GRAHAM When they tell you, ?Don?t eat the raw vegetables,? don?t eat the raw vegetables.  (Picks up plate) Fortunately, cooked food was fine.  In fact, it was more than fine; (inhales) it was great.  During my practicum, I home-stayed with a retired school headmistress, Mamma Stef, and her aging mother-in-law.  (GRAHAM moves a chair to start creating the room, the mantle with the TV is SR) As mzungus, foreigners, we were a draw.  Neighbours often came to visit in the living and dining room of their clay brick house where we sat on a random assortment of furniture worn with age and heavy use and loosely covered by a mismatch of old blankets and sheets.  The cracked yellow paint on the walls was broken up by a few pictures and a large mantle on which sat a small black and white TV that, might get some reception, if we were lucky.  In the next room was the kitchen.  (GRAHAM points to certain areas SL but does not cross centre)  A gas stove sat cold by a roaring open fire.  Whirring in the corner was a refrigerator, THE refrigerator.  We had been told about this, a rare find.  Rarer still, this one worked!  Inside it was filled to brimming with fresh fruit and vegetables.  None of which we could eat until well cooked.    That was the job of Paula, a local woman hired as a housekeeper while we were there.  The wonders she could do in that kitchen where I wouldn?t have been able to fry an egg.    Despite her efforts in the kitchen, Paula didn?t eat with us.  But, David did.  He was a shamba-boy, a farm hand, hired by our host to look after her sprawling seven-acre farm.  (GRAHAM sits and picks up the plate smells)  The first meal, like all that succeeded it, consisted of a variety of steaming hot Kenyan dishes: Githeri, Ugali, Mukimo, Sukuma Wiki?  (GRAHAM puts plate down and sinks into the chair) David, I thought tired after a long day in the field, ate quickly and sank into one of the well-worn chairs.    (GRAHAM sits up straight) Impulsively, wanting to be helpful, I started to clear the dishes. (Picks up plate and tries to stand)  112  But Paula quickly came and whisked everything away. (Returns plate CS and sits neutrally)  It was clear I was not to go into the kitchen.    Another student teacher, Wendy also had challenges adjusting to life in Kenya, particularly the restrictions on her diet.  In North America, she ate raw salad almost exclusively.  While she tried to heed the suggested dietary advice, eventually, her bodies? desire to return to her normal diet became too much ? she had an impulse she could not resist.   (Picks up plate and begin to eat)  When they tell you, ?Don?t eat the raw vegetables,? don?t eat the raw vegetables.  (Sets plate down CS, becoming visibly ill)  She couldn?t take it.  (Returns to sitting neutrally) Back in the well-worn living room, I admit, it was tempting to sit back with David and let someone else do the dirty work.  But I couldn?t.    MOMENT 10B  (Lights up SL, JUNE is discovered there) I had always been encouraged to help in the kitchen, from failed experiments with Kraft dinner and ketchup to learning how to make bread.  (GRAHAM transforms to a younger version of himself but does not go into the kitchen)  JUNE (As if in a letter to PHYLLIS)  Today I became a teacher again.  Dennison wanted to learn to make bread.  After experimenting on Saturday I gave a bread-making lesson today.  JUNE (As if to Dennison)  Okay, time to knead the dough.   (He mimes placing the dough on one of the boxes).   Punch it once really hard.  (GRAHAM does).  Now knead it the same way you did before.    GRAHAM (GRAHAM starts to knead the dough)  Why do I have to do it again?  I?m just making it flatter.  JUNE If you don?t, all the air bubbles will just move through the dough.  Kneading once will create bread but it will be flat, dense, indigestible.  Kneading a second time strengthens the dough so it can hold all the air bubbles as it cooks.  It helps the bread become light and fluffy and tasty.   GRAHAM It is so hard.    113  JUNE Yes, it?s a lot of work.  But worth it.   (As if to PHYLLIS) It would be good if the students learned Shakespeare as quickly.  He was kneading away like a veteran in no time!  (GRAHAM continues to knead)  But the most exciting moment of the week was when Dennison greeted me after class  DENNISON (Voice over from SL)  Madam I have made some bread.  JUNE He had and it was delicious.  Not to be left out I showed him how to make a cheese souffl?.  These two recipes alone should get him a job when I leave.  (To GRAHAM) Okay, I think that?s enough.  Set the dough back to rise again and then we will put it in the oven.  Now, let?s clean up this mess.  (GRAHAM places the bread back.  Lights fade on SR area.  JUNE exits)  MOMENT 10C  GRAHAM (Back to sitting) I was taught as a child to clean up after a meal and whether it was a desire for some sense of normality, the desire to encourage a more equitable role in the home, habit, or something else I don?t yet understand, I simply could not resist the impulse to help Paula clean up.  (GRAHAM stands) only to be sat back down (Sits, as if pushed).  (GRAHAM stands and sits with each line with the plate) Up and down Up and down Up and down  All the while, David (Slouches in comfort in the chair) watched, unmoving from the comfort of his easy chair while I jumped around like a Jack-in-the-box.  (Still in the chair, GRAHAM as David watches the unseen GRAHAM jumps up and down.  Each time, the interval between each up and down becomes longer)  Slowly  (GRAHAM steps toward SR, moving back and forth, getting closer to the kitchen each time) With time, I started making steps toward the kitchen.  A few steps and Paula would grab the dishes? 114  The next day a few more?  And a few more.  Until, by the time I left, I had finely made it to the kitchen.  And most surprisingly, from the comfort of his easy chair, so had David. (GRAHAM exits SR as lights crossfade to SL.)   MOMENT 11  (Lights crossfade to SL desk.  JUNE places some objects from a woven basket into a box and wrapping it up.  There is coffee and a snack on the table.  Lights come up on the SR area.  PHYLLIS enters with an apron and a coffee)  Sunday Dec 11 Dearest June: Many thanks for your Christmas box which arrived a day or two ago.  I wanted to open it right away but decided I should wait so we could all enjoy the pleasure of it on the day.  I do hope you get your parcel before Christmas.  I wish it could be much bigger but the love it takes with it is beyond measure.  I made a dark fruitcake, two sultana?s and a pudding.  June is there any chance of you getting one in good condition if I mailed it.  (JUNE takes a bite from the snack tray)  I would love to send you one, please tell me what you think.  (PHYLLIS knocks over coffee).  Need I tell you I am drinking coffee?  Please excuse the stain, but this is my only sheet.  Mrs. Compton phoned me the other day for your address for Ruth41.   Well dear I must address a bunch of Christmas cards so will sign off for now.  Loads of love and good wishes.  Mother & all.  (Lights fade SR.  PHYLLIS exits)                                                  41 Ruth later wrote about June?s time in Kenya including in When Missions Became Development: Ironies of 'NGOization' in Mainstream Canadian Churches in the 1960s (Compton Brouwer, 2010) and Canada?s Global Villagers: CUSO in Development, 1961-1986 (2013). 115  MOMENT 12A  JUNE I spent Saturday baking, sewing and marketing.  (PHYLLIS and HELENE enter with backs to the audience we should not see who they are.  They are laughing) I was carrying a huge basket up from the market in my arms ? you know, propped against my stomach.  This caused out and out laughter from a couple of women who couldn?t tell me, but showed by gestures, the proper place to carry a basket (The two women are indicating that the proper way ?is on your head.  Not your belly.?  Laughter and smiles.  Once done, the two family members exit).  Observation? A Maritime smile goes a long way.  The distance home never seemed so short.  It was a very warm feeling to share their genuine and easy amusement at the habits of strange Europeans.  MOMENT 12B  GRAHAM (Lights crossfade to SR as GRAHAM enters DS of the desk) How could I say no?  An invitation to tea with a co-worker at his home.  The views as we walked along the clay road to his parents house were stunning.  (An image of Kenyan landscape around Kihuti is projected on the cyc.  See Figure 21)  Hills and valleys extended seemingly forever blending into haze and sky.   (GRAHAM enters the SR area) I had to bend down to enter the small hut where Hunter lived with his parents.  Inside I sat on a small wooden chair at a small wooden table.  The only light came in through the crack in the door and a small window.  Electricity still hadn?t made it here.  The shadows were stunning.  Out of the next room came his mother with tea and a tray piled high with beautiful, golden, mangos so fresh and ripe, with each bite they melted into an explosion of tastes and juices.  I spent the afternoon with them but only talked with Hunter.  His mother and I shared space and time, we shared food and tea but not language.  We couldn?t talk but we could communicate.      Figure 21. Kenyan Landscape Photo by Graham W. Lea 116  The sun sets faster near the equator. (GRAHAM exits the SR area and lights fade.  He starts to cross into the CS area which is now dimly lit as if by moon.  The projection screen may start to show stars)  We walked back in sudden darkness.  No street lights, no cars driving by, just pinpricks of light dotting the night sky.  And people.  Everywhere.  The clay roads were packed.  People moving in all directions.  It was disorienting, I had no idea where I was.  Lost.  Nervous.    (WALTER enters from SL and crosses toward GRAHAM.  They meet in the CS area) From the distance an old man walks toward me.  I am not sure.  Do I make eye contact?  Do I acknowledge him?  Just hope he walks by.  OLD MAN Be careful, you?re so white you glow in the dark.  (WALTER continues on SR to exit)  GRAHAM (Smiles and laughs) You know what, I do?  (Lights crossfade to SL, GRAHAM crosses US and stands in front of the cyc)  MOMENT 12C  JUNE So often the students examine our ways to gain the veneer of what they think they want to be, but these market women were perhaps so content with their own lives that they met me more honestly in those few moments than many of my students ever have.  The different ways in which you are accepted or approached by different people quite makes me dizzy.    (JUNE exits SL and lights fade quickly to black.  On the cyc, screenshots of e-mails including headers are displayed.  They move quickly and dizzyingly.  An animated collection of ones and zeros begins to fade-in on top of the e-mails.  Once this crossfade has completed, the animation suddenly stops into a still, and lights come up quickly CS revealing GRAHAM.  NOTE: he has remained there from the previous scene and may be seen either in shadow or with the projections superimposed upon him.)  117  MOMENT 12D  GRAHAM Ones and zeros.  That?s all e-mail is, a whole lot of ones and zeroes.  To a computer, each character, each a, b, and c, is eight bits, eight ones and zeroes.  Type a few words, hit send and those ones and zeroes are transported around the world in the blink of an eye.  Phones were expensive, unreliable.  (GRAHAM positions his body moving up and down trying to find that sweet spot.  On the screen, the ones and zeroes may look like stars) To get reception I had to walk to the end of the driveway and pretend to be a contortionist to find that sweet spot where I could look up at the stars and for a brief minute hear a familiar voice, my father, my brother Brendan, before the connection dropped.  For anything substantive, any meaningful communication, it was e-mail, ones and zeroes.  PHYLLIS (Voice over) When your letters get more than a week apart, each day seems like a week or more.  GRAHAM To send and receive those ones and zeroes we had to go to the nearest town, Karatina.  We would walk four kilometers to the nearest paved road.  There we?d negotiate our way into a small worn-out taxi, a car passed its life elsewhere in the world, sent out to pasture on roads of mud and holes.  The fringed cloth covering the dash gave the taxi an air of delicacy betrayed by the scrap metal welded in place of a window crank.  It was cramped, it was uncomfortable, but it got us there.  We would have lunch, do some shopping, and send ones and zeroes.    (On the cyc, an e-mail appears behind the ones and zeroes.  ?Hello, how has your week been?  It has been a busy one here in Kenya.?) To save time, I wrote my messages in advance and stored them on a disk (GRAHAM takes a 3.5? floppy disk of out his pocket).  One e-mail was 737 words.  In computer terms 41,264 bytes.  Each byte, eight bits ? eight ones and zeroes.  In that one e-mail 330,112 ones and zeros sitting on a disk waiting to race around the world, to connect.  (GRAHAM starts to walk down the alley) After her experience eating raw vegetables Wendy needed to connect with home.  She led us down a dingy, black alley.  At the end, a small hole in the wall with computer, an Internet caf?.  In my pocket, a disk with ones and zeroes.  Each one a little bit of electricity, a little on or off.    VOICE OVER (The projection zooms in on the word ?Hello?.  The letter ?H? is highlighted and its ASCII representation, 0100 1000, is displayed) ?H?: off, on, off, off, on, off, off, off  118  GRAHAM Up a snaky set of rusted stairs, and down a shadow speckled hallway.   VOICE OVER (The letter ?e? is highlighted and its ASCII representation, 0110 0101, is displayed) ?e?: off, on, on, off, off, on, off, on  GRAHAM Into a small, dark, close-smelling room full of computers, bodies, and connections.  VOICE OVER (The letter ?l? is highlighted and its ASCII representation, 0110 1100, is displayed) ?l?: off, on, on, off, o?  (Sudden blackout accompanied with a sound indicating a power outage.  GRAHAM exits in black)  WENDY (Voice over, in tears) The Internet?s down, we can?t connect.  It?s, it?s like they took away Christmas.  (A country version of I?ll be Home for Christmas, possibly mixed with Blue Christmas, fades in)  MOMENT 13A  (Lights up SR as the family enters and sets up a Christmas space CS.  There are some Christmas supplies on the table and some rudimentary decorations on the wall of the SR area.  Christmas dinner, a slide projector, and a tape recorder are placed on the table CS)  PHYLLIS (As things are set up)  Dearest June: It is now four o?clock Christmas afternoon.  It is a very mild day, a very little bit of snow around the fences but it is to turn colder again tonight.  (PHYLLIS crosses to CS, as lights fade SR.  The family in Christmas excitement, getting dinner ready, and trying to get the tape recorder to work.  HELENE is taking pictures.  As she does, pictures are displayed on the cyc).  Everyone here seemed to have had a nice day.  We were disappointed about one thing.  Helene rented a tape recorder so we could hear our Junie.    RODNEY I can?t get it to work.  PHYLLIS The children were very taken with their packages.  Everyone says ?  119   ALL Thank you.    PHYLLIS We will send some pictures on to you.  (PHYLLIS continues amongst the commotion.  The kids are playing.  It is somewhat chaotic) We had things arranged same as last year except that they were minus their finishing touches.  That must be your secret.  Did you have a Christmas dinner or what special things did you do today?  I trust you had company and spent a good day.     MOMENT 13B  JUNE (JUNE is discovered SL as the lights dim CS as the SL area becomes illuminated.  The family freezes) Dear Jake, Call it a New Year?s resolution if you like, but I didn?t make any this year.  A Peace Corps group used our school as a base for an immunization campaign during the first part of the holidays.  They used my house as a source of hot bath, oven, pots, pans, and the occasional bug-free night; and I spent the days touring with them.  It was like work camp in as far as relationships, silent cries of puzzlement, capacity for warmth and understanding and inability to see other people were concerned.  I guess we were just another random sample of humanity.  I also saw another sample of the people with whom I have been living for the past few months ? diseased, well; crippled, whole; happy, workworn; unquestioning, fearful; gentle, rough; and living a kind of life I can only guess at.  We have many layers of behaviour, actions, living patterns which are different.  I don?t know if I would call the African patterns, the mud-hut and cattle-herding African?s patterns, ?layers? or more open expressions.  During those weeks I certainly wished they would shout less, push less and develop some semblance of order.  I suppose I have often wished the same thing in a bargain basement or a street-car. At the end of term I also came face to face with our students? tendency to make their own decisions regarding school life and routine without considering the non-students involved.  Some friends commented that Nyerere?s42 socialism would have a hard struggle because of the selfish attitudes of the newly educated I refused to agree, but am more inclined to now.  Schools have probably been teaching in one context and students ?hearing? in another and we have probably been doing only one part of a very big job.  Be that as it may, we still have some very fine young people with us.                                                  42 First president of Tanzania 120  MOMENT 13C  JUNE (cont.) Jake, I am glad you sent along ?all of me that there is right now.?  (JUNE crosses to the CS area as the lights restore the family is still) I still feel that the only thing I have is people.    (JUNE sits at the table talks to the family who remain still.  A projection of a snake outside her Homa Bay house is shown.  See Figure 22) We did have a few unwelcome visitors.  This is a very dead puff adder being held on a panga, one of the main implements used by the villagers.  MOMENT 13D  (Standing, starts to return to SL area.  She stops between the table and her desk.) But you don?t ?have? people; they exist outside and without you.  They pass by; only a few remain in a real sense ? the others are the healed bruises, the gentle hidden corners or the great empty space in yourself.  And you hope for something to fill those empty spaces or to reveal the unknown parts.  For me it will be people ?   MOMENT 13E  PHYLLIS (The family comes to life) I don?t know how many times I have heard   KEVIN Junie did it this way.    PHYLLIS You told me not to say more than once ?What is June doing today.?  It wasn?t only me.  You were much in the minds and hearts of us all as you are all the time.  (PHYLLIS returns to SR desk)  We trust 1967 will be a very special year for you.  Here is hoping it speeds along and brings 1968 very fast.  (JUNE returns to her desk.  Lights dim CS)  JUNE ? or a person whom I have not yet found or had the courage and understanding to meet.  In those briefest of real meetings you know prayer, love, strength, weakness.  You glimpse what life can be if only you can dare leave yourself vulnerable to it.  When this is what you want to do, the way you want to live, those fear blocks and inadequacies in yourself look so big ? and so wasteful.  Sometimes I wonder if I will ever be able to accept the things in myself which I can  Figure 22. E. June Dingwell with Puff Adder Photographer Unknown 121  accept in other people.  My trials greater!  My sins blacker!  What pride!!  Well, Jake we are here, like it or not.  As ever.  June (Lights go down on the SL area)  PHYLLIS We had goose & chicken with all the trimmings for dinner, if we could have shared it with you it would have been the climax of everything.  Helene has just taken a few minutes off from English this time and she says to tell you  HELENE (From the table) I can?t find out why you like English.    PHYLLIS Well darling I guess it is good night again, please don?t handle too many snakes.  Good night darling.  New Years greetings from all.  Love, Mother.  (Lights go down on the SR area, lights pop up CS quickly.  The family reanimates)  MOMENT 14  PHYLLIS (Running into the CS area) Darling June, I wrote you yesterday but I just wanted to tell you we had Junie sitting on our kitchen table last evening and four brothers, a sister and a dad & mom around enjoying it very much.  (Someone turns on the tape recorder)  JUNE (Lights crossfade SR.  JUNE is at the desk speaking into a matching reel-to-reel tape recorder) Twas six weeks before Christmas and all through the compound, Not a creature was stirring, not even a lizard. The moon on the breast of the grass and the lake  Gave a luster of mid-day to objects below Then a glow in the room and Father Christmas was there. He said not a word, but crept to my desk. Lovingly he touched each tiny gift I would send And assured me that each would arrive in the end. And I heard him exclaim ere he drew out of sight, Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night.  (JUNE exits.  Lights cross-fade to CS area.  Continued in voice-over)  A personal Christmas for each one of you: Dad, Mother, Helene, Rodney, Blois, Kevin and Brian.  As I prepare this, Christmas seems far away but I do not have to try very hard to see papers on the floor, lights on the tree, day beginning to break, and (JUNE enters) I can almost smell orange peels and a recently lit furnace. (voice over stops) 122  Has it been a good morning, a good year?  Look up at the Christmas tree.  I would like to be able to put a great package of best wishes for each one of you.  As I can?t do that in person, let me send along a few more words and pictures to take you to Homa Bay.   (Slide of the town is projected.  See Figure 23) This is the town looking down from Asego hill. (Slide of dormitories) Ours is a boarding school for about 500 boys.  These are their dormitories and washrooms.   (Slide of classroom) A normal well-equipped classroom for 40 students.  The ages range from sixteen to several years older than I.  Their interests are rather more mature than our younger high school boys but in many ways they appear even younger than Canadian high school students.  In short, this is a school with students.  With students who sit in a small classroom where both they and their teacher hope some learning is done.  I like that phrase ?is learning? rather than studying.  It is one you frequently hear in this area.  The students also enjoy storytelling and acting (slide of Caesar.  See Figure 24).  Here they are presenting a scene from Julius Caesar.    But you find the same silly business among these students as you do at home and it is all the more difficult to accept here.  We can?t expect a special breed of people here and we do have many very solid, fine young men such as a Form III student who frequently wins local essay competitions.  Here is one he entitled (JUNE hands a piece of paper to KEVIN who stands in front of the family and recites the story as if in a classroom)   Figure 23. Homa Bay from Asego Photo by E. June Dingwell 123  KEVIN An African Childhood Indeed it is sweet to be born an African, a child with no worries or thoughts for tomorrow but with a smooth, continuous flow of activities punctuated only by the unpleasant smell of he-goats, the sad and brutal sights of bull fights, and the unwelcome days of the rainy season. Not like a student, always directed to write compositions, but a life so carefree, so independent of the future that one does not actually realize when one grasps maturity. My childhood memories remain in distinct pieces of events, scattered in all parts of my head, and being washed away by what the new man calls civilization.   But the world becomes jealous of this playful and happy world of the African child.  It has brought what it calls education, disrupter and dismantler of an African childhood?s world.  Which has set the African child on the path of the student  where he toils and sweats until he forgets the  very foundation of his childhood. (KEVIN sits)  JUNE Far from being depressing or frustrating, the whole business is new enough to me yet that I feel as I?m watching a people grow.  There may be a time when I feel that theirs is a hopeless task, but not yet and I hope never.  PHYLLIS But are you lonely?  JUNE Not really except in a rather pleasant way.  I spent many a happy hour planning these comments, and I do look forward to your letters.    I went to a party the other night to which the hosts had invited all the staff and the Form IV boys.  A very pleasant evening but had there been no busy-work, talking might have been very difficult.  I don?t know what the walls are or who builds them.  Most likely they are just more obvious versions of the walls that exist between people anywhere.   I?ve met a surprising number of non-Homa Bay staff.  Some are Peace Corps, some are friends of friends, but most just come from somewhere, or are met somewhere and leave something of themselves behind.  Figure 24. Acting out Caesar Photo by E. June Dingwell 124   I?ve told you of the week or so of preparation for a visit from the president.  He was supposed to have come down to officially turn on the electricity.  Such ceremonies which tend to appear wasteful at home appear even more so here.  And at times like that you admire even more Tanzania president Nyerere?s attempts to discourage by laws the building of personal benefit.    I can hear you father.  WALTER You can?t legislate morality.  JUNE I wonder if he can legislate selfish self-interest out of his country?  This is Kenya?s Battle Hymn of the Republic: Harambee. (Chorus of the song Harambee) It means ?all pull together? You sometimes hear people working at something heaving calling ?Ehh, ehh, eehhhh.  Harraaammmmmmmmmmmbbbeeeeeeee? With a great pull on the ?eeeeee? (Slide of ferry is projected.  See Figure 25) Here it is in action on a Harambee powered ferry.  And now don?t think that I?ve gone religious or poetic but there are a few lines that I would like to send along, especially to Mother and Dad.  You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth. Let your bending in the archer?s hand be for gladness; For even as He loves the arrow that flies, so He loves also the bow that is stable.43  To everything there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven: A time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away  Merry Christmas Family, and as Tiny Tim would say ?God bless us everyone.?  (JUNE exits SL.  The family starts to clean up)  (Voice over)  The ghosts of Christmas Past and Christmas Future will wander with me.  I look forward to sharing the ghost of Christmas Present with you in letters and tape.  That spirit is a wonderful fellow.  He makes me feel as if we were all in two places at once: Canada and Kenya.                                                  43 From (Gibran, 1966)  Figure 25. Harambee Ferry Photo by E. June Dingwell 125  PHYLLIS You certainly knew how to begin it to hold Brian?s interest.  That was always your job before he went to bed Christmas Eve (Family starts to exit).  We are certainly proud of you and happy for you, but there is still something saying, wishing you to be near.  I am no good to put what I want to in words.  We all love you and trust that the months, that seems shorter than years, the months will soon pass till we may all be together again.  (PHYLLIS crosses to SR area as the lights crossfade) Well dear I have no news but I wanted to let you know as soon as possible that we heard and enjoyed your message.  It was the most cherished Christmas gift you could have sent when you could not be here yourself.  I trust next year we can all make big plans for Christmas.  Happy New Year.  Love.  Mother.  (Lights crossfade from SR to CS.  PHYLLIS exits)  MOMENT 15A  GRAHAM (GRAHAM enters looking at the scrap of cloth)  I once heard that ?whatever decision you make, it?s the right one?44.  Can?t undo a made decision ... what?s done is done ? just get on with it.  But getting there ? making that choice ? not always easy.  The air becomes heavy with what ifs, can Is, should Is, and do I want tos.    March 10th.  Just three days after arriving.  The air thickens ?   WENDY  (Voice over)  We want to leave early.  REBECCA (Voice over)  I know.  Look, we have a weekend get away in Nyeri.  We can clear our heads.  Let?s not make any decisions ?til then.    GRAHAM It must be harder for Wendy and Emma, they are all alone.  Rebecca and I are lucky.  We have a family here. Mamma Stef, Paula, David help us feel at home.  And I know it?s easier for me.  I?m male, I am treated differently, favoured, the first to be served, the one addressed when there is a question.  Rebecca, Emma, and Wendy they?re strong independent women.  That?s been taken away from them here.  But they?re fighting against it instead of working with it, to change it from the inside.  They seem to be trying to turn this place into Canada.  If they decide to leave early, I will have to make some tough choices.   (GRAHAM takes out the cloth)                                                 44 From my great-uncle, Dr. Gordon Lea. 126  Do I stay or do I go?  If I stay I have to travel alone.  If I go? if I go? (GRAHAM moves DSC and sits at the lip of the stage.  Lights crossfade to the SL area)  MOMENT 15B  JUNE (Reading a letter) You closed with the question I thought you must have been wanting me to answer for a long time, one I was not looking forward to dealing with.  (Reluctantly)  During the past few months I began to come slowly, almost reluctantly, to the decision ? not that I must ? but that I would very much like to accept another contract here.  The time I have already spent may seem like a long time to you, but it has gone very quickly for me.  What I have learned about my students, my courses, and myself as a teacher here ? I cannot picture myself leaving forever just yet.  I realize that I sound committed to another year.  I have not signed a contract yet, and will not do so until I hear from you.  GRAHAM The air was suddenly sodden, heavy with unmade decisions.  Do I stay or do I go?  If I stay I?ll be alone.  If I go? If I go ?    PHYLLIS (Lights fade up SR) We got your letter yesterday.  Like all your letters it was so meaningful and so like you.  Needless to say we were all looking forward to your coming home but darling much as I want to say ?do come? I really feel you do want to stay a little longer.  I would like to say come for awhile but that might make things more difficult for you.   MOMENT 15C  JUNE (Bird sounds in the background) A rare bright sunny afternoon with birds performing their Sunday chorus.  A week from today will be Mother?s Day and the following week your birthday.  Just a few words so that I can share those special days with you.  Miles don?t mean all that much do they?  What do you say to your mother when there is no glossy card and little verse to say it for you?  Just thank-you and hope you are as happy we are that the word exists.  (Lights start fading up CS.  Ideally GRAHAM is seen sitting DSC in shadow with this scene illuminated behind him.  JUNE looks to PHYLLIS).  I still do not have any idea of the width of the Atlantic Ocean plus half of Africa.  Friends here seem further away than PEI and the time seems just like a long summer.  Feelings for you and the family have become more important the longer I have been away.  Many times I have wanted to say ?tell me what is really happening? but you can?t be told; you have to be there to see and know.  (JUNE enters the CS area moving the boxes to become a dinner table.  She beckons PHYLLIS to join her.)    127  If you could come here your feet would rattle on the loose stones as you come up my walk.  (As PHYLLIS crosses, lights fade to black SR and SL)  I?d step barefoot to the door with a kitten falling over my feet saying Karabuni, ?Welcome?.  There are piles of sewing and writing scattered here and there, but never mind that, there is lots of room.  I would prepare you a dinner of chicken and fresh garden vegetables.  Then we could visit the school, watch the sun go down and gather some lilies on the way back.  (The bird sounds fade into the sounds of night creatures) You would enjoy the gentle breeze and the stars.  They are not the same here as at home but are still very beautiful.  All would be quiet save the buzzing petromax and a few night creatures.  Are you surprised that I am reluctant to leave? (Sounds fade to an unnatural silence as if a storm is coming)  MOMENT 15D  GRAHAM Like watching a band of rain roar across the water, you could see it coming.  (Sounds of rain begin that build into a storm)  JUNE Those clouds mean business.  We best get home before getting caught in the rain. (PHYLLIS returns to her area)  PHYLLIS We just had a terrific rainstorm and also thunder and lightening.  GRAHAM It?s hard.  Not just for them.  For me too.  For the first time ? I want to go home. Do we stay or do we go? (GRAHAM looks to the scraps of cloth)  I?ve been waiting my whole life for this.  To be here.  I want it to be as long, as positive as possible.  But on my own?    MOMENT 15E  (HELENE enters the CS area and sits.  JUNE is kneeling) GRAHAM Do I stay or do I go?  Will I or won?t I?  Yes or no?  HELENE Yes.  I will.  JUNE Helene, you are the second person for whom I wept when I heard of wedding plans.  I suppose there was a great deal of selfishness in it each time.  You deserve your sister bubbling over with happiness that years of waiting and difficulty are to end in marriage.   128  What I can be happy about is that you seem so confident that you two do understand, accept, and need each other.  If that is so I can be sincerely happy for you even on your wedding day when I shall probably be in Uganda rather than in Morell United Church (HELENE stands and exits SR) where I would like to be more than almost anything else in the world.  I will go home many times in the next few weeks.  Lena, perhaps you have, you need, no more reason for your love than I my fears.  And that is why I will stay even if it means another year without seeing the family which will have changed so much.  It is not callousness for them.  I am only one part of their lives.  It is not that the joys and the learnings, the work challenges and relationships are so great nor that I feel it is my duty to stay.  (Sounds of the storm peak and begin to subside)  I am afraid to go home ? afraid.  Afraid to face myself as an adult in our family, as a teacher in a permanent position, as a young women in a bachelor-girl apartment.   (After a beat of silence, the night sounds start to return).  I want my working holiday to last one more year.  (JUNE returns to her area SL)  MOMENT 15F  GRAHAM After a thunderstorm, the air is lighter.  The weight lifted ? leaving early.  PHYLLIS (Lights fade up on the SR and SL areas)  It is no good to say we are not disappointed but dear if this is really what you want, it is what we want for you.  So darling we will all put our faith in God and trust that he bring us safely together before too long.  Write real soon and let us know your plans.  All the family join with me in sending our love.  GRAHAM Jomo Kenyatta airport.  Didn?t expect to be back so soon.  Whatever decision you make it?s the right one. (Sounds of a plane, Boeing 747, taking off.) Wendy was ready.  Emma didn?t seem to want to go but decisions were made and a made decision is the right one.    I wasn?t on that plane (GRAHAM stands, pocketing the cloth.  He crosses to the SR area and picks up a letter from the desk and crosses to deliver it to JUNE?s desk and exits).  I?m not done here.  I still have to get to Homa Bay (lights fade SR and CS).  MOMENT 15G  JUNE The letter I had been looking forward to receiving arrived today.  Thank-you.  Thank-you for saying you will try to accept my decision.  You know I am quite looking forward to a year of preparing to go home and preparing to leave here ? of sifting out the bits and pieces which will be packed away in scrapbook, trunk, and being ? of preparing to think of Kenya in terms of ?experiences.? (Lights fade to black)  129  MOMENT 16A  PHYLLIS (Lights up SR.  There are two Mason jars on the desk).  I wonder where is our Junie tonight?  I don?t suppose you are sitting as I am in a very comfortable chair with my feet out over the furnace.  What is it like across the waters?  I had two lovely letters from you this week.  June did you ever get the books I sent you a while ago?   (Lights fade up SL)   JUNE No, not yet.  Did you send the others I asked for?  PHYLLIS I will have a more thorough look tomorrow.  Would you have loaned The History of Rome to anyone?    JUNE No, but Helene may have borrowed it.  PHYLLIS Dad has been in yesterday and today with a cold or flu I think it is some better tonight.  He is in bed now, but told me to wake him in time to watch Bonanza.  I still have a few cukes and tomatoes to make use of.  I wish I could share a sample of it with you.  I loaded Helene up the last time she was home.  (HELENE enters in front of the SR area.  She takes the bottles from the desk and crosses to GRAHAM who has entered from SL and is sitting CS.  She gives them to him and continues to cross to exit SL.  CS lights fade up as HELENE crosses)   MOMENT 16B  GRAHAM Every September I close up my house to travel across the country for grad school.  Before leaving, I usually spend a few nights with my aunt Helene.  It gives me a chance to make sure everything is properly taken care of for the winter, that I am not forgetting anything.  Her house sits across the lane from the family homestead where bread was made and shared, where my grandmother wrote letters to my mother, where a family sat around a tape recorder to hear a Christmas greeting from half a world away, where a moon shone down joining parents and child across time and place.  From Helene?s kitchen, there is always a bottle or two of jam or pickles to accompany me just as her mother sent with her cukes and tomatoes. 130  MOMENT 16C  PHYLLIS (WALTER enters behind PHYLLIS)  I have just been joined down here by Dad again and I asked him for some pointers.  He said to ask you   WALTER What crops they grow there?    PHYLLIS Then he told me to tell you to   WALTER Keep on searching it is worth finding  PHYLLIS   I asked him what he was referring to   WALTER Never mind June will know.  (WALTER exits, lights fade CS and SL.  Note the SL desk should be in black before CS.  JUNE and GRAHAM exit)  PHYLLIS (End of Bonanza playing in the background)  Well dear the furnace fire is going down and Bonanza is about over so I guess that means bed.    MOMENT 17A  (WALTER enters, putting hands on her shoulders) WALTER The day is done, and the darkness45  Falls from the wings of Night,   As a feather is wafted downward   From an eagle in his flight.      Come, read to me some poem,   Some simple and heartfelt lay,   That shall soothe this restless feeling,   And banish the thoughts of day.  (WALTER and PHYLLIS exit)                                                      45 From The Day is Done (Longfellow, 1846) 131  MOMENT 17B  JUNE (Lights fade up CS.  JUNE is discovered standing US of the family who have become her class.  She is writing on the board.  She may speak a few lines with WALTER.  As she does, the words of the poem begin to display on the cyc as if on a blackboard)  I was writing a poem in class from memory.  The students chorused  STUDENTS (ad-libbed articulations of surprise and amazement.  One is heard above the others) Madam, you must have crammed it.  JUNE No.  No, I learned it a long time ago. (JUNE continues writing)  STUDENTS Why?  When?  From Whom?  WALTER (Voice over.  JUNE and students next lines overlap the voice over) Not from the grand old masters,   Not from the bards sublime,     Whose distant footsteps echo   Through the corridors of Time.      Read from some humbler poet,    Whose songs gushed from his heart,   As showers from the clouds of summer,   Or tears from the eyelids start;    JUNE My father used to recite it.  STUDENTS (Surprised. Ad-libbed) Why did he like it? Was he a poet?   JUNE They were quite thrilled when I told them you are a farmer.  The call of the land is a strong call for Africans.  132  WALTER (Voice over) Who, through long days of labor,   And nights devoid of ease,    Still heard in his soul the music   Of wonderful melodies.      JUNE Their tiny plots of poor maize are worked by a team of oxen and women?s shoulder muscles.  I wish you could have seen their faces when I told them about the acres, cattle and machinery.  STUDENTS (Ad-libbed) They must be millionaires.   (WALTER and PHYLLIS enter SR as students transform the space into a bedroom.  One block is a bed, the other is placed left of centre between the bed and the SL area.  STUDENTS and JUNE exit SL and the projection fades out)  MOMENT 17C  WALTER (to PHYLLIS as they cross to the bed) Such songs have power to quiet   The restless pulse of care,   And come like the benediction    That follows after prayer.     (The two get into bed) Then read from the treasured volume   The poem of thy choice,   And lend to the rhyme of the poet   The beauty of thy voice.    PHYLLIS (WALTER is poking playfully at PHYLLIS)  Well dear, dad is reading and I am trying to write but at present I am getting a pinch or a poke so I am working under difficulties.  This Wednesday is our fall supper for the church.  I have to cook a turkey (PHYLLIS is poked and her pen skips the page).  One of Dad?s pokes.  As well as biscuits, pies, & sweets.  Another one.  133  MOMENT 17D  (PHYLLIS turns out the light.  Blackout.  Lights fade up DSL.  JUNE enters with some of the family as students).    JUNE This has been a ?dramatic? day here.  (They sit on the isolated box as if in a car)  In the morning we went off to a tea party to raise money for a harambee school.  Just off the main road the car settled nicely into a muddy rut (the students get out and try to push the car).  In spite of much pushing it began to look as if there we would stay.  After half hour or so, a sizable group of the idle and curious had collected.  STUDENT We?ll lift it out.  STUDENTS (STUDENTS try to lift the box up with much grunting and shouting of ?harambee?)  Ehh, ehh, eehhhh.  Harraaammmmmmmmmmmbbbeeeeeeeeehh! (The front of the car is lifted and moved to the side.)  JUNE A turn of the key we were off and arrived at the school about noon and found ourselves the only guests.  The boys made joking comments about African time ? which is really anytime, usually late, that an African wants to do anything.    (The students break and start to silently enact a play-within a play) We made it back to see our boys staging a play about politicians and the young Kenya.  Jason Carr directed it, based on a story he has been reading with Form II.   It has themes which do need to be aired in this country but they were rather bluntly and crudely presented.  Jason has certainly done a lot of work with speech and movement, but unfortunately the story was too slow and complicated for the stage.  He has also fitted up the stage with light, and flats and even inspired the headmaster to buy a proper curtain.  (Students bow and exit)  It looks quite impressive.  (lights fade to black)  MOMENT 17E  PHYLLIS (Sound of an old alarm clock.  Lights up CS and SR as PHYLLIS moves to the SR area.)  Sleep got the better of me, now I am waiting for the bacon to cook before I start waking my men.  (HELENE enters as MRS. CHAFFEY, grabs PHYLLIS?s arm)  Mrs. Chaffey caught me coming out of church yesterday  MRS. CHAFFEY Did you ever get your big girl home?   134  PHYLLIS We are patiently waiting.  MRS. CHAFFEY When you get her, hold on to her.  PHYLLIS That advice suited me but we know what you want.  (HELENE exits)  I thought by leaving this till now I would have peace but now I have the two dogs pestering me and Brian is lining up his things.  Well dear I must sound the alarm and pack the school lunches.  Breakfast. (WALTER wakes up and exits SR, followed by PHYLLIS)  MOMENT 18   (Lights fade SR.  Alarm clock sounds, the same as in previous scene.  Lights fade up CS.  There are some projections of Maasai Mara.  See Figure 26.  GRAHAM is standing on the box that is being driven by JUNE whose back is to the audience, audience should not realize it is her)  GRAHAM I am not used to 5 in the morning.  But to see the sun rise over the Serengeti.  There is something magical about this place.  I grew up with pictures of it? stories of it? dreams of it.  There is a connection here, a presence.  My mother was here ? she vacationed here ? she told stories of here.  Is that why?  Or is it because this is the closest I have been to Homa Bay, two-hundred and fifty kilometers.  Or is there a genetic memory from thousands of years ago that still sees this as home?  Or is she here, with me, as our worlds collide in the same place but different times.  (GRAHAM exits SR, then JUNE turns, we see who it is and she exits SL.  Lights fade.)   Figure 26. Acacia Trees in Maasai Mara Photo by Graham W. Lea 135  MOMENT 19A  PHYLLIS (Lights fade up CS and SR.  The family walks in CS to watch TV.  On the cyc is the first moon landing and we hear the accompanying audio)   The T.V. has been on since noon today, we are watching man on the moon, as yet they have not come out.  (Lights fade up SL)  MOMENT 19B   JUNE (Discovered sitting on her desk.  The projection crossfades to an image of Homa Bay taken from Asego.  See Figure 27) Have just climbed part of the way up Mt. Asego and am perched up here under a thundercloud looking over the town and the lake.  Did I ever tell you that the view here is very much as it is from your house?  The bay is dancing in the sun and the hills over to the left are full of mist.  (JUNE looks to the family)  Sometimes I have to ask what do I do here?  What do we do here?  Just work and learn?  What do you learn that you could not somewhere else?  Or are we here because we are interested in other groups of people.  To understand not only them but ourselves.    As time goes on, I become more sure that we expatriates gain a great deal more ? materially and personally than we give our host countries.  What we give to our work is not much greater than it would be at home; our involvement in community life is generally less, while all our time is spent in an environment that is new and because it is you can take a second look at those things in it which are the same as what you know.    Now I must watch the sun go down behind my hills, then climb down and prepare lessons for tomorrow.  (Lights fade SR)   Figure 27. Homa Bay Photo by E. June Dingwell 136  MOMENT 19C  PHYLLIS (The projection returns to the moon landing)  The astronauts are just about ready to step on the moon.  Good night for now sweetheart.  (The projection shows the first step on the moon.  Lights fade SL)  MOMENT 19D  JUNE (JUNE crosses to CS, standing US of the family) It was quite something to imagine humans being on the moon although from the few pictures I have seen they didn?t look very human in their cumbersome suits.  T.V. must have been much better, and actually watching them would make it easier to believe they had got there.  We had a strange reaction when we discussed the landing with one of the classes ?  STUDENT  (One of the family members) But, madam has no one been there before?  JUNE Perhaps it is not so strange.  (Indicates students are dismissed, family exits) He would have no idea of the time, planning and cost behind the landing and has learned so many ?wonderful things? about science and scientists that he has no doubts about what they can do, for science has done so many things which for him require almost magical power.  (JUNE exits)  MOMENT 20  (Lights crossfade to SR) PHYLLIS I suppose by the time you get this you will be well started in another school term.  I trust you enjoyed your vacation in spite of your fiery train trip.    GRAHAM (GRAHAM enters from SL as lights crossfade to CS)  Travel in Kenya.  No easy feat.  Sometimes you take your life in your hands.  From dilapidated taxi?s to runaway milk trucks chasing you down the road, it?s an adventure.   (GRAHAM sits as if entering the back of a truck)  Or climbing into the back of a small pickup truck with 25 other people.  Sitting down on a cardboard box that squawks of chickens. It?s not so bad ? until it slides down a muddy hill.  No brakes? back and forth.  On one side a rock wall.  The other, 500 feet straight down.  Back and forth down a narrow mudslide of a road.   But the bus from Mombasa.   We spent the Easter weekend on the wonderfully warm white sand beaches.   But all things come to an end.  After getting up early to see the sun rise over the Indian Ocean, we got on the bus for the long trek back to Nairobi.   137  It was a comfortable bus ride.  (Pictures of Kenyan scenery from the road.  The light should be reminiscent of daylight changing to early evening) The vast grasslands seem to go on forever.  It was like the bus had left civilization behind.  There were no people on the side of the road, no communities, not even many other vehicles, just grass.  We were on track for an on-time arrival in Nairobi.  On time.  In Kenya.  Imagine.  (sound of bus stopping abruptly)  (One of the family members enters in a white coat and speaks in Swahili) WHITE COAT Tuko hapa kuangalia kithibiti mwendo. Tafadhali mushuke kwenye basi na msubiri pembeni46.  (GRAHAM looks lost)  GRAHAM What else could we do but get off?  (GRAHAM gets out of his seat and leaves the ?bus?)  In the middle of nowhere, surrounded by grassland, standing on the side of the road.  Watching.   What?s going on??  Is it a robbery?  (GRAHAM checks his waist) My passport and money are in my money belt.  Safe.  Luggage is down below.  That?s not my laptop? (GRAHAM checks his pockets.  Sounds of the bus starting up) The letter?  The letter?  It?s in my suitcase? (Sounds of the bus pulling off and disappearing into the distance.  GRAHAM watches it pull off SR beyond the horizon as WHITE COAT exits SR with the box GRAHAM was sitting on) Where? where?s it ? it?s? it?s gone?  Stranded.  Just grass.  What?s hiding out there?  Poisonous snakes in the grass?  Lions? An angry baboon? ?  What is going on?  How long are we going to be here??  Why didn?t they just rob us and let us go? How are we going to get out of this??  The letter? the letter?    Wait? is it?  It?s coming back.  (GRAHAM exhales).  Who knows what was stolen?  I don?t care ? just the letter.  (Sounds of the bus coming panning from SR)  Okay.  Good.  We?ll soon be back on our way.  But wait, why is it not slowing down?  (Sounds of the bus pan to SL as it drives by)  (GRAHAM watches the bus drive by and off in the other direction)    NO!  This is like a bad dream.  Getting dark... (By now the lights should have faded to early evening) people are getting cranky.  I just want to get on the bus and get back to Nairobi.  I don?t care what they?ve taken.  Just get me out of here.  (Sounds of a bus in the distance panned SL? we can hear it slowing down and braking)  Oh, thank God.  (GRAHAM becomes concerned)  Wait, what?  No? NO? Why are you stopping over there?  Two hundred feet never felt so far.  Why is no one going over?? If only I spoke ?   (Sounds of the bus slowly pull up CS as WHITE COAT returns the box to GRAHAM.  There is a small suitcase on it.  Sounds of door opening)  WHITE COAT Kilamtu araudi kwenye basi, tuendele ama twende47. (GRAHAM gets in the bus and sits)                                                 46 ?We are here to check the speed governors.  Please get off the bus and wait by the road for an hour.  Thank-you.?  Translation by Sam Kima (personal communication, February 10, 2013). 47 ?Everyone back on the bus.  Let's go.?  Translation by Sam Kima (personal communication, February 10, 2013). 138  GRAHAM After an hour that seemed to stretch further than the grasslands around us we got back on the bus.  How will I explain that I got robbed.  I hope beyond hope they left the letter?.    When we finally arrived, (GRAHAM pulls suitcase off bus and opens it) I opened my suitcase expecting a missing laptop ? but there it was.  (GRAHAM exhales.)  The letter? (GRAHAM holds the scrap of cloth)  The letter.  (GRAHAM looks up)  But why?d I assume it?d be stolen? (Blackout on the CS area.  GRAHAM exits.  Lights fade up on SR area.)  MOMENT 21  PHYLLIS Do watch those bus trips.  You know my fear of accidents.  I was beginning to wonder what was happening to your letters.  But I got one Thursday telling us about your vacation.  JUNE (A song from the Beatles.  JUNE enters the CS area and sits at a table.  HELENE and another family member enter and sit for dinner).  It has been a wonderful week, reading, sewing, laziness and tea-time conversations.  I had supper the other night with Rachel and Geoff, roast duck and two sleepy children ? we didn?t eat the children!  They seem to have adapted to life here very easily yet seem miles from ?feeling? anything about it.  GEOFF You cannot get involved with most of the people or they will let you down.  JUNE (To PHYLLIS) Others have become involved and let down but stuck with it, still others have been disillusioned and left early.  We seem to have a notion that the Africans, being less ?civilized,? are closer to the basic virtues of life ? whatever they may be.  Yet we see corruption, self-seeking, dishonesty and disintegrating family and tribal life.  We seem to expect our students to be thirsting for knowledge and perhaps our values as well.  Yet we see them cramming facts to pass an examination which will be their pass-key to a position which will give them material reward.  (To GEOFF, becoming irritated) They are really not unlike many of us.  We have to constantly remind ourselves that we are not in our own society nor are we in traditional African society.  We are working with the children of peasants for whom education is white-man?s magic and with the children of people who struggled out of their peasant homes to find themselves in a world of cars instead of bicycles, offices instead of shambas and government, taxes, and laws instead of councils of elders.  Our students cannot know either their father?s ways or the Europeans? ways.  I agree, we cannot expect to see anything immediately.  We just keep the wheels running until these people find their way.  GEOFF The British way.    139  JUNE (As if to GEOFF then changing her mind, steps toward her desk, to herself)  I am not so sure that there can?t be an African way.  (JUNE crosses to her desk.  Lights crossfade CS.  Family exits)  MOMENT 22  JUNE March 24, 1970 Dear Dr. Parson: For the past four years I have been teaching in Kenya under the auspices of Canadian University Service Oversees.  My contract expires in early August and I am planning to return to Prince Edward Island to continue teaching a little nearer home.  Could you tell me if there will be a vacancy in any of your Charlottetown schools for an English or History teacher at the secondary level.  If there will be I would ask you to consider this letter as my application for either position.  Thank you very much for your help and interest.   Yours sincerely, June Dingwell, B.A., B.Ed. (Lights fade on the SL desk)  PHYLLIS Dad was speaking to the superintendent, Dr. Parson, and he was very interested and seemed very anxious to have you work on the Island.  He didn?t tell Dad just what he had in mind but was going to get with you right away.  I am keeping my eyes and ears open for any vacancies I think might interest you.  Dad also told the Minister of Education and he also said he would keep you in mind if a vacancy came up.  It looks like the end is near again.  Well I must do my dishes sweep the floor and get to bed.  Bye for now.  Love from all.  Mother.  VOICE OVER (Telegram sounds as in the beginning)  Air mailed letter March 20 English assignment grade eleven advise if interested Gordon Parson.  PHYLLIS Just a hurried note before the mail goes.  I just had a phone call from Dr. Parson asking if I had heard from you.  He is interested in you teaching History and English but would like a definite reply from you as soon as possible as he his holding the position awaiting word from you.  I said I would drop you a line this morning telling you he had phoned.  I must hurry to catch the mailman.  Hope you have a nice holiday. Love Mother (Lights cross fade to SL.  PHYLLIS exits)  140  MOMENT 23  JUNE (JUNE is packing) Dear Family, Managed to finish my packing and painting my name on a huge trunk.  One of the local merchants took the trunk to the pier yesterday and they should be on their way to Nairobi and then P.E.I.  Arrival date, unknown.  Hated to see them go as it made me realize just how little time I have left here.  Maybe part of my leaving is that Kenya may not desperately need us anymore.  Or maybe many of us have developed the notion that Kenya asks and asks for all it can get without shaking its own people awake to give a bit to their fellow citizens.  Kenya, with its largish ex-patriate population, capitalist system and muddy ideals does something to a volunteer.  Many of us become almost bitter when we find ourselves critical outsiders.  I remember writing on my application form that I wanted to know people involved in creating a new life and country.  You do not see that drive and awareness here as some volunteers have seen it in other countries.  In spite of all I have written, I cannot feel disappointed or bitter about the decision ? we have done what we could, more and more local people are finishing their training and we can now be got along without.  A great deal of what my time here has meant to me is still on the feeling level.  Perhaps it always will be there.  Annoyances, beauties, looking up at my students, living alone, visiting friends, learning to respect and distrust, talking to people from so many different countries, pricking the tender arm of a tiny black baby or of the leathery arm of an old mzee, waiting for letters, relaxing on the veranda with a late supper as the sun goes down behind the hill, or just driving through the countryside and looking.  And I feel the things I do talk about are only half the story.  Other people are living the other half and I can't talk about it.   MOMENT 24  GRAHAM (Lights fade up DSR, sounds of morning bus station.  GRAHAM enters) Early in the morning.  Before sunrise.  The Nairobi bus station?s quiet.  Eerily still.  I grab my ticket and stand, back to the wall.  The bus arrives on time, only 20 minutes late.  And with a high-rolling prayer from the driver we?re off.  (Images of Kenyan landscape flash on the cyc)  Through tea hills and by lakes of pink flamingos.  By the time this is over, I will have crossed the country.  It?s beautiful.  A quick stop to change buses in Kisii, but the rain has other plans.  Instead two matatus48.  On roads so bad they don?t deserve the name.                                                  48 Private minibuses used as shared taxis.  Figure 28. Mt. Asego Photo by Graham W. Lea 141  Until? in the distance? (A projection of Asego hill fades up on the cyc.  See Figure 28) I know that hill? I?ve seen it before? Asego? ? I?m here. (Lights up on SR and SL desks.  GRAHAM moves slightly toward CS, watches JUNE.  He holds the cloth)  MOMENT 25  PHYLLIS (Sounds of the Ed Sullivan Show, ideally from the May 31, 1970 episode featuring Rich Little.    PHYLLIS enters SR) The Ed Sullivan show is on and it is too crazy to be funny.  Tomorrow is June 1 then July then August and no more long distance letters.  (JUNE enters with boxes and starts packing things up)  We had our Sunday School closing this morning and the school term will soon be closing too.  I hope to get my garden seeds on the way home from town Tuesday.  They have the land ready to hill.   See you soon.  Love from all.  Mother.  (Lights fade SR.  PHYLLIS exits)  JUNE Greetings on yet another holiday weekend.  It has been one of packing and partings.  Most of the things I have were bought on impulse but each is connected with a person or event of the past few years and has its own sentimental value.    VOICE OVER Dear June,  I would have wished to see you off this afternoon but I have had to leave early for home.  Nevertheless, you are going but your image which has been very honourably projected in this school remains and shall never die!!!  Fare thee well.  JUNE Two jolly Scotsmen left Friday with hands full of Luo spears and minds full of the journey home.  Was at a party that night for ?my fellow Canadians.?  They both went off Saturday morning ? James looking forward to studying law at U.N.B. and Michel just plain glad to be leaving.   VOICE OVER Dear Miss June Dingwell I am pleased with the work which you taught me as a cook.  I do not know what to do for you.  Please when leaving, I would kindly ask you to leave me your utensils, petromax (JUNE takes her petromax and leaves it on the table) and others for me.  Your obedient servant Dennison.  JUNE Sad to think I most likely will not see them again.  James maybe, and Beth, but the others will be Homa Bay memories.   Will close now with best wishes to each one of you.    142  GRAHAM (Images are shown of Homa Bay Secondary School and the house.  See Figure 29) The school.  Her house?  Mom.  Mom?  JUNE I did not hear from you before I left Homa Bay on Sunday.  I hope there was no special message.  It was not quite so sad as I thought it might be to leave.  I had a tea party for the staff Wednesday, gutted my house Thursday, went on safari Friday and had people in on Saturday.  Was really quite busy.  Late, Saturday night when I still had some packing to do I heard footsteps crunching over the pebbles to my door.  (Calling out) Who?s there?  GRAHAM (Calling out) It?s alright; don?t worry.  I?m a new volunteer.  JUNE He had spent three hours pushing a taxi through the mud and arrived hours after everyone but myself had gone to bed.   (To GRAHAM who has arrived at the edge of the SL area)  Karabuni.  Welcome.  Come in.  I?m June.  (JUNE welcomes GRAHAM in.  She seats him at the desk)   GRAHAM A pleasure to meet you.    JUNE Come, sit, let me get you some tea.  GRAHAM Thank-you.  (JUNE exits.  GRAHAM looks around)  I?ve ? it?s like ? I?ve seen this before (Projection of June holding a water bottle is projected.  See Figure 30) I? I?  Her house?  (GRAHAM looks to the image, he mimes picking up a water bottle on his head.  A projection of Graham with the water bottle is projected and merges into the one of June) I?ve made it.  Mom?   JUNE (Calling from offstage)  Coming.   Figure 29. Homa Bay High School Logo Photo by Graham W. Lea 143  GRAHAM Mom.  (JUNE enters with the collection of letters, possibly tied together by a piece of fabric elastic and placed in a Clover Farm bread bag.  GRAHAM looks up.)  June?  June.  JUNE Here, these are yours now (She hands a package of letters to GRAHAM.  GRAHAM takes the letters and hands JUNE the letter.  She reads.) Graham, I have searched for personal words to suit the day.  The ones deepest in my heart are ? I love you ? God bless you, Your Mom. (They look at each other for a beat then embrace.)  GRAHAM Mom.  JUNE (JUNE breaks the embrace and steps behind GRAHAM toward SR.  She turns to GRAHAM.) Graham, I?m June. (The lights fade up on the SR area where PHYLLIS is discovered sewing a quilt.  JUNE continues to cross taking the cloth to PHYLLIS SR where they begin to stitch it into the quilt.)  GRAHAM June.  Mom.   Figure 30. June Dingwell (1960s) and Graham Lea (2004)   Photographers unknown 144  MOMENT 26  (GRAHAM picks up the letters.  He takes them to DSL where he is isolated in a light similar to the one used in the beginning.  All other lights fade except where JUNE and PHYLLIS are working which remains dimly lit)  GRAHAM In my memory.   These are our stories now.  I cannot recreate my mother?s experiences.  I have only fragments to build upon (Looks in the box), letters, slides, artifacts, journals, stories, memories.    (The image of the letter fades into ripples.  The ripples continue, resembling the waves from the opening)  We are nothing but the waves our stories leave in the stories of others.  We live by and in stories.  Stories planted in us long ago, by others, by ourselves.  We live stories that give our lives meaning and stories that negate it with meaninglessness.  If we change the stories we live by, quite possibly we change our lives49.  I work with and from these stories.  In doing so they become something new.  Something different.  And so do I.  My voice is filled with the words of others50.    (A timer sounds)  JUNE I think it is done. (PHYLLIS and JUNE move to CS as the lights fade SR and SL.  Each has a loaf of bread.  PHYLLIS has a traditionally shaped white loaf; JUNE has a round loaf of honey bread.  JUNE also has the completed quilt.  JUNE places the quilt on the table)  JUNE  Come get it while it?s fresh.    (GRAHAM enters the CS area.  JUNE breaks off a piece, hands it to GRAHAM who eats. Along the sides of the audience, the family has moved in to pass out pieces of bread to the audience.  Fade to black.  The ripples on the cyc and floor should fade out slightly after everything else)                                                     49 Adapted from Ben Okri (quoted in King, 2003, p. 153). 50 (Bakhtin, 1986) 145  Part III 146  Chapter Six: Borders and Connections: A Critical Commentary on the Development and Creation of Homa Bay Memories    Arts-based inquiry encompasses a continually evolving collection of methods and methodologies.  Throughout this evolution there has been a continual re-examination by both practitioners and critics of what constitutes effective and acceptable arts-based research practices.  One key debate surrounds the position of artwork within research documentation (Ackroyd & O'Toole, 2010; Ellis & Bochner, 2006; O'Toole, 2006; Salda?a, 2011): should it stand on its own, be included as an appendix to the body of the research report, or be a component of the documentation accompanied by a discussion and commentary.   I entered into arts-based research holding strongly to the position that an artwork should be able, and expected, to stand simultaneously as both artwork and research.  This early idealism evolved as I continued to work in, write and read about, and carefully consider a variety of arts-based research projects.  These experiences have helped me become aware that honouring equally artistic and research demands in one utterance, such as a research-based theatre script, is a task that may be either impossible or significantly limit the potentials of both research and artwork.  This is not to suggest that an artistic (re)presentation of research should shy away from the academic or an academic from the artistic.  Nor am I suggesting that artistic and academic are in opposition.  Instead they function as two genres for the (re)presentation of research findings (Salda?a, 2011).   147  In Speech Genres and other Late Essays, Bakhtin (1986) suggests that  language is realized in the form of individual concrete utterances (oral and written) by participants in the various areas of human activity.  These utterances reflect the specific conditions and goals of each such area not only through their content (thematic) and linguistic style, that is, the selection of the lexical, phraseological, and grammatical resources of the language, but above all through their compositional structure.  All three of these aspects ? thematic content, style, and compositional structure ? are inseparably linked to the whole of the utterance and are equally determined by the specific nature of the particular sphere of communication.  Each separate utterance is individual, of course, but each sphere in which language is used develops its own relatively stable types of these utterances.  These we may call speech genres. (p. 60) This suggests that the genre in which an utterance is situated necessarily shapes its creation, content, and meaning.  The choice of genre creates borders and ?all understanding,? Holquist (1986) notes, ?is constrained by borders. ? Up to a point we may play with speech genres, but we cannot avoid being generic? (p. xix).  As distinct genres, both academic prose and artistic representations of research form borders that constrain understandings.  However, constraints may also be creative (Lea, 2010).  As such, genres also enable possibilities for expressions of research that may not otherwise exist. In their article Narrative Theory and the Construction of Qualitative Texts, Colyar and Holley (2010) describe the notion of focalization: ?the point of view from which events unfold? (p. 73).  Focalization provides a method to tell the same story from different perspectives, ?the meanings communicated via these various focalizations are different, though the story remains consistent? (p. 74).  They cite Bal to highlight two forms: external and internal.  An external 148  focalization exists when ?a narrator serves as the focalizer and stands anonymously outside the text.  This approach is common in research texts? (p. 73).  Conversely, an internal focalization is one ?provided by characters in the story? (p. 74).  Colyar and Holley?s discussion draws attention to the notion that different perspectives on the same story bring forth different understandings.  Like the two focalizations, the two genres, academic prose and artistic, open and close possibilities for different understandings to emerge.    The choice of one genre need not preclude the use of others.  Holquist uses Shelley?s Frankenstein (1831) to describe what he refers to as a ?compound of genres? (2002, p. 98).  Her novel, like the monster, is composed of a variety of textual genres including letters, spoken tales, and diaries.  Each component brings with it strengths, shortcomings, ?thematic content, style, and compositional structure? (Bakhtin, 1986, p. 60) of its genre, which Shelly uses to help create the world of her novel.    Inspired in part by this, I have revised my early idealism.  I now position the academic prose and artistic as interdependent rather than independent.  In this dissertation, I incorporate a variety of genres including academic prose, theatre script, poetry, and visual image into a compound of genres that seeks to draw from each of its constitutive genres to help express understandings of the research.  Bringing these genres together creates opportunities for each to bring forth its strengths and distinct opportunities for understandings working together to build a stronger expression of research understandings. One possible method of drawing from both artistic and academic prose genres is to include what O?Toole (2006) refers to as an exegesis following the artistic (re)presentation of the research; however, I resist this terminology.  Exegesis refers to an ?explanation, exposition (of a sentence, word, etc.); esp. the interpretation of Scripture or 149  a Scriptural passage? ("exegesis, n.", 2013).  This places an emphasis on interpretation and analysis of text: using academic prose to describe and dissect understandings in the artistic expression of research.  Instead of drawing upon the various strengths of each genre to express multiple understandings, an exegesis uses different genres to express the same understandings.  Such an approach also privileges the voice of the researcher as interpreter of the artistic text, creating a sense of a definitive interpretation.  An exegesis then limits entry points into the work and creates a sense of ultimate finality to the artwork (Fenske, 2004).   In an effort to minimize this privileging and finality, instead of an exegesis, I offer in this chapter a critical commentary examining key methodological, epistemological, and personal struggles and puzzles, questions and quandaries, learnings, understandings, and decisions I encountered while engaging in this research and developing Homa Bay Memories.     To do so, I draw inspiration from Thornton Wilder who uses a three-act structure to create a pastiche of stories in his seminal work Our Town (1957).  While following the same community and characters, the three acts of Our Town do not provide a comprehensive understanding of the characters; rather the play transcends time, place, action, and even mortality to provide an expression of the experience of life.  Homa Bay Memories has been developed from a long, complex collection of interwoven stories.  As Wilder uses only three key snapshots in Our Town, I adapt only select moments from my and my mother?s Kenyan stories into the script to expresses an understanding of experience. 150  This dissertation is similarly formed by introduction, script, critical commentary, evaluation, and epilogue.  While they exist separately, they function together to express understandings in this research.  These are not intended as concrete research findings but rather exist as temporary finalizations (Fenske, 2004), presenting moments of consideration leading to further questioning and engagement.   Coming to an Objective When Canadian actor and director Sarah Polley was eleven, she lost her mother to cancer.  After her death, family jokes and stories called into question Sarah?s paternity: was Michael Polley, the man who raised her and was married to her mother, her biological father.  Polley uses this question to ground her film Stories We Tell (Basmajian, Lee, Polley, 2012), in which she explores and recreates family stories, memories, and secrets in a search for her father.  The film functions as both a mystery and a meditation on the natures of stories and families.  As a mystery, Polley digs deep into her family history trying to answer the question of her paternity and in the process gaining a greater understanding of her mother, her family, and herself.  Through this search, Polley also calls into question the nature of stories.  Each person in the film relates slightly different understandings of experiences leading Polley to question where ?truth? of her paternity resides, is it held in a DNA test or in a shared experience?; what that ?truth? means to her and her family?; and how that ?truth,? those untold stories, have shaped her in known and unknown ways?  Polley describes the stories left untold by a traumatic loss as creating a ?weight? in those left behind, an internal drive to explore them.  As I watched the film, I realized this weight of stories left untold in death was similar to my compulsion to understand my mother and I, a compulsion that became my research quest.   151  Homa Bay Memories, as included in this dissertation, is the third version of this scripted research.  Reflecting upon this evolution I see that each version has been guided by a core mechanism used to develop the narrative: 1) resonances, 2) research quest, and 3) super-objective.  This is not to suggest that the progression through the versions was completely linear or that the guiding mechanism for each version was completely independent.  Instead, while each version focused on a particular mechanism, there was fluidity among them.  Version 1: Resonances. When I first began conceptualizing this research, I realised that I needed a criterion to select what stories I would include and how they should be ordered.  Reading through the data, I noticed a number of points where June?s51 stories reminded me of events that occurred during my time in Kenya.  There was an intersection in the narratives: events in my Kenyan experience resembled those in my narrative inheritance.  I conceptualized these intersections as resonances ? anything that reminded me of my time in Kenya, be that geographical, practical, academic, social, or otherwise.  For example, when I read Phyllis?s comment to June ?I trust you enjoyed your vacation in spite of your train trip?52 (1966-1970, Letter to June, May 3, 1970) (see Appendix F for the full letter), I was reminded of a nerve-racking bus ride I took from Mombasa to Nairobi.  I selected and included stories for the script based upon these resonances and ordered them to highlight similarities and differences between my and my mother?s Kenyan experiences.                                                 51 As mentioned in Chapter One, I use June to refer to situations surrounding her time in Kenya, while I use mother in reference to her direct role in my life. 52 As mentioned in Chapter Four, quotations from June and Phyllis?s writing are indicated using the font Garamond. 152  Using resonances provided an opportunity to see how my experiences may or may not have reflected those in my narrative inheritance.  However, what emerged in this first version was a collection of loosely connected similar experiences.  The script that emerged from this early version had no arc or plot (Leggo, 2004a) and felt flat.  Version 2: Research quest.  While working on the second version of the script, I watched a TED talk by Andrew Stanton, writer and director of a variety of Pixar movies including the Toy Story series (Arnold, Catmull, Guggenheim, Jobs, Lasseter, 1995; Jackson, McArthur, Plotkin, Lasseter, Brannon, & Unkrick, 1999; Anderson, Grindle, Lasseter, Unkrich, 2010), WALL-E (Collins, Lasseter, Libbert, Morris, Porter, Stanton, 2008), and Finding Nemo (Gotoh, Lasseter, Walters, Stanton, & Unkrick, 2003). In his talk he describes learning about a the spine of a character:  an inner motor, a dominant, unconscious goal that they're striving for, an itch that they can't scratch. ? [For example] Michael Corleone, Al Pacino's character in ?The Godfather,? ? probably his spine was to please his father.  And it's something that always drove all his choices.  Even after his father died, he was still trying to scratch that itch.  I took to this like a duck to water.  Wall-E's was to find the beauty.  Marlin's, the father in ?Finding Nemo,? was to prevent harm.  And Woody's was to do what was best for his child.  And these spines don't always drive you to make the best choices. Sometimes you can make some horrible choices with them.  (2012) Inspired by this, I partially incorporated a spine into the second version as my research quest: to explore ?my mother?s Kenyan experiences in an effort to know and understand a significant part of her life, an untold part of my narrative inheritance, and myself.?  This gave my character a 153  goal, one reflective of my time in Kenya.  No longer was the script a collection of resonating stories, there was a driving force in the narrative.   To embody this quest, I used a letter my mother gave me just before her death, a copy of which I took with me when I travelled to Kenya and left outside her Kenyan house.  Inspired by the suitcase in Pulp Fiction (Bender, DeVito, Gladstein, et al, Tarantino, 1994), I used the letter as a Hitchcockian MacGuffin53 (Maxford, 2002; Truffaut & Scott, 1984; M. Walker, 2005), a structural device used to provide motivation to my character and help establish a plot.    Hitchcock describes the MacGuffin as ?of vital importance to the characters ... [but to] the narrator; they?re of no importance whatever ? the MacGuffin is nothing? (quoted in Truffaut & Scott, 1984, pp. 138-9).  As the MacGuffin is structural rather than thematic, ?the nature of the MacGuffin is unimportant? (M. Walker, 2005, p. 297).  In light of this, emulating the suitcase in Pulp Fiction; I did not divulge the contents of the letter in the script.  This allowed the letter to function solely as a structural MacGuffin, propelling the narrative but not shaping it. Version 3: Super-objective.  Despite the introduction of the MacGuffin, the question remained, what was driving this research quest, what was, as Stanton (2012) suggested, the itch that I couldn?t scratch?  One of the implications of Bakhtin?s chains of utterances is that we are necessarily co-implicated in the lives of others.  Inspired by this, while coding data for the third version of the script, I realized that underneath my quest was a desire to connect: to connect to a lost part of my narrative inheritance and, more significantly, to my mother.  This desire to connect was a common theme (Salda?a, 2009) among the data.  Most notably, Phyllis, June, and I all attempt to connect across borders including language, culture, time, space, and mortality.                                                 53 Both MacGuffin and McGuffin are used in the literature.  I adopt here the spelling used by Fran?ois Truffaut (1984) in her book-length interview with Hitchcock. 154   A key component of Stanislavsky?s acting theory is the super-objective (1936), sometimes referred to as a spine, which drives a character, pushing him or her through obstacles.  The super-objective is a component not just of acting but also of writing for the theatre, it ?must be firmly fixed in an actor?s mind throughout the performance.  It gave birth to the writing of the play.  It should also be the fountain-head of the actor?s artistic creation? (p. 273).  The uncovered desire to connect provided a super-objective for the artistic expressions of the research.   The super-objective impacted not only characterization but also staging in the third version.  The letter that served as inspiration and MacGuffin in the second version expresses a connection between my mother and I, a connection severed ten days after it was written.  As its contents relate directly to the super-objective (see Figure 31), the letter moved from being structural to thematic.  As it became important to the narrator, the letter no longer functions as a Hitchcockian MacGuffin.  As such, I decided to incorporate portions of the letter into the script. 155    Identifying the super-objective was the most significant movement forward in the third version of Homa Bay Memories.  The resonances that shaped the first version provided content.  Integrating a quest in the second provided a plot.  Finally, adding the super-objective provided characters with motivation and script theme and heart.   Super-objectives in Research-based Theatre  Stanislavsky?s notion of the super-objective not only helped to structure the third version of the script, it also provided a mechanism to address an ongoing concern throughout the research project.  Throughout the scriptwriting process I struggled with the quantity of data and my connection to it.  While writing the first version of the script I noted in my research journal that ?it is like catching up on gossip 40 years too late.  I find I am being drawn in and am  Figure 31. Letter from my Mother to Me   (Lea (n?e Dingwell), 1999, Letter to G. W. Lea, May 8, 1999) 156  interested to see what will happen to the people in the letters? (November 8, 2011).  These engaging stories concerned not just June and her family but also others including extended family, neighbours, friends, patients, and co-workers.  I was drawn to these narratives and compelled by interesting quotes, turns of phrase, and ideas in the data.  For example, in a number of letters, Phyllis relates to June the progress of a neighbour suffering from a brain tumour.  While transcribing I found I wanted to keep tabs on his progress.  As I read these ?side? narratives I found myself trying to find ways to include them in the script.  This impulse risked creating a bloated collection of stories connected only by their origin in the same data set.    In his theoretical novel An Actor Prepares (1936) Stanislavski devotes a chapter to the super-objective in which he suggests that in a play the whole stream of individual, minor objectives, all the imaginative thoughts, feelings and actions of an actor, should converge to carry out the super-objective of the plot.  The common bond must be so strong that even the most insignificant detail, if it is not related to the super-objective, will stand out as superfluous or wrong.  Also this impetus towards the super-objective must be continuous throughout the whole play.  When its origin is theatrical or perfunctory it will give only an approximately correct direction to the play.  If it is human and directed towards the accomplishment of the basic purpose of the play it will be like a main artery, providing nourishment and life to both it and the actors.  (p. 271) These objectives, both minor and super, serve as a ?light that shows the right way? (p. 117) through the entire work. 157   Stanislavsky graphically represents the relationship between minor objectives and super-objective through arrow diagram in which each small arrow is a minor objective.  Ideally all of these minor objectives work toward the super-objective creating a straight line (see Figure 32).  However as Figure 33 illustrates,  If all the minor objectives ? are aimed in different directions it is, of course, impossible to form a solid, unbroken line.  Consequently the action is fragmentary, uncoordinated, unrelated to any whole.  No matter how excellent each part may be in itself, it has no place in the play on that basis.  (p. 276) For both actor and writer, the super-objective provides a structure to help shape a work of theatre and by extension research-based theatre.  As Stanislavsky warns, ?above all preserve your super-objective and through line of action.  Be wary of all extraneous tendencies and purposes foreign to the main theme? (p. 278).  With this in mind I called into question any interesting quotes, turns of phrase, or ideas that did not work toward, question, or otherwise relate to the super-objective.  In doing so, the super-objective became a mechanism to remove some of the ?gossip? and extraneous details I included in earlier drafts of the script.     Figure 32. Minor Objectives Functioning Together Adapted from Stanislavski (1936, p. 276)     Figure 33. Minor Objectives in a Broken Line Adapted from Stanislavski (1936, p. 276)  Super-objective Myriad Web proFigure 30Super-objective Myriad Web Pro Figure 31 158  For example, in one excised moment, JUNE54 uses the metaphor of adolescence to describe the Kenyan socio-economic and political situation, drawing together her understanding of the young men she was teaching and the growing pains of the new country she was inhabiting: Kenyan ?society is like our teen-agers who have rejected family controls and beliefs but have nothing solid in their new lives and do not yet know how to build on shifting sand? (E. J. Dingwell, 1966-1970a, Letter to Family, May 14, 1968).  She expresses hope this ?national adolescence? will lead to ?maturity in a new world which grows from that slow confusing period? (Letter to Family, May 28, 1967) (see Appendix G for the full letter).  I was compelled by this metaphor and was loath to cut it; however, as it lacked a direct connection to the super-objective, I removed it. Similarly, I refrained from adding other moments I had intended to incorporate into the third version of the script including June?s comments on the education system, her community?s response to the assassination of politician Tom Mboya, and the reaction of her grandmother to her living in Kenya, as well as several of my own experiences including the shock and confusion of witnessing corporal punishment.  There remain elements in Homa Bay Memories which may not directly support the super-objective such as BRIAN?s getting ready for Halloween and PHYLLIS?s reporting of the school results or her brothers and sister.  However, I retained these to help establish the worlds of the script, clarify characters, or provide important supporting and clarifying information.   For actors and writers incorporating Stanislavsky?s approach to develop non-research-based theatre, objectives and super-objectives are a creative act written into and read out of a script.  The use of the super-objective in this research indicates that it may have a different                                                 54 Names in all capital letters refer to characters in the script while names in mixed case refer to their lived counterparts. 159  function in research-based theatre.  Rather than being a creative invention of a playwright or actors, the super-objective may emerge from the data corpus.  Once identified it provides a selection criteria for determining what portions of data are best included in the script.  In doing so, the super-objective provides a mechanism to build cohesion in the script, helping shape all elements of the script into a solid unbroken line to tell a unified story. Staying in the Theatre I regard the theatre as the greatest of all art-forms, the most immediate way in which a human being can share with another  the sense of what it is to be a human being (Wilder, 1957, p. 47)  I entered into this research project intending that it would take the form of a theatrical script.  This intent was based in part on: ? my desire to explore these narratives in a way that I felt honoured their complexity, uncertainly, and aliveness; ? my intent to build upon my background in theatre to explore the methodology of research-based theatre as part of this project; and ? Clandinin and Connelly?s (2000) suggestion to look to ones bookshelf for inspiration on the form of narrative inquiry, mine being full of theatre scripts. However, I frequently questioned my choice: does the methodology fit the research?  What makes theatre a necessary component of the research rather than being an add-on? June taught theatrical literature, was involved in the Homa Bay drama club, wrote of attending theatrical productions during her time in Kenya, and her interest in theatre as I was growing up brought me into the theatre.  These present interesting connections between the data and theatre but do not provide a rationale for using theatre as a methodology.  Instead the rationale came from uncovering the centrality of interpersonal connection to the research. 160  From a dialogic perspective, all utterances, no matter their genre are dependent upon both an author and addressee (Bakhtin, 1986; Holquist, 2002).  This author-addressee relationship implies that a connection is made between the two in any communication55.  These connections may be either immediate or delayed (Bakhtin, 1986); a novel, for instance, does not depend upon an immediate connection between author and addressee.  Unlike a novel, theatre does depend upon an immediate connection between actors and audience for its very existence (Brook, 1968; Jackson, 2007; Mamet, 2010; Stanislavski, 1936, among others).  The audience is not a static receiver; it is a ?living organism? (Mamet, 2010, p. 105) integral to the creation of the theatrical event, so much so that ?Stanislavsky calls the audience the ?third artist? in theatre, the first two being author and actor? (Carnicke, 2009, p. 157).  ?To act without a public is like singing to a place without resonance. ... The audience constitute the spiritual acoustics for us.  They give back what they receive from us as living, human emotions? (Stanislavski, 1936, p. 204).  Similarly, theatre education theorist Anthony Jackson (2007) notes, ?the audience plays an essential part in making the theatre experience the unique event it always is.  It collectively activates the theatre event, and in various ways participates in the making of meanings of both individual and collective levels? (p. 180).                                                 55 Deriving from the Latin ?comm?nic?re to share (with), to take a share in, to make a sharer (in), to share out, to associate, to impart, to discuss together, to consult together? ("communicate, v.", 2013), communicate suggests a shared connection among people. 161  Stanislavsky uses a torso-like diagram used to illustrate his system of acting (see Figure 34).  The super-objective is central to this figure forming the spine, to which it is often referred.  On either side are other lines resembling lungs that carry through a theatrical performance: the breath of his system.  Three of these lines focus on connections among actors and audience: 7. The line of physical communication and spiritual communion 8. The line that sends forth and receives rays of energy. ? 11. The line of prana and its movement (Carnicke, 2009, p. 2) The line of physical communication, including words and gesture is not dependent upon the physically shared connection of actor and audience: words may be shared as written text, and gesture, blocking, tone, and lighting may be described in text or represented in photo or video.  It  Figure 34. Image of Stanislavsky's System of Acting (Stanislavsky, 1955, p. 361)  162  is the rays of energy, the prana, the spiritual communion that distinguishes theatre from other forms of representation, requiring audience and actors share the same physical space.  Stanislavsky centres his understanding of this shared spiritual communion on the yogic concept of prana.  ?In a successful performance, he explains, prana rays (luchi) pass between actors and their partners and between actors and their audiences, thus becoming the vehicle for infecting others with the emotional content of the performance? (Carnicke, 2009, p. 178).  Prana is a ?vital air? (Anandanand, 1972, p. 1), the ?breath and life energy, ? the vitality of life and its simple meaning is energy that expresses itself through the various centres of the body? (Bajpai, 2002, p. 281).  Stanislavsky?s line of prana and energy from actor to audience suggests a breathing of the same air, a sharing of the same physical space.   Using theatre to share this research requires actors and audience to come together, to share the same space, breathe the same air: the audience must actively connect with others to receive this research as it is conceived.  This physicalized connection between actors and audience reinforces the centrality of connection to the research.  Thus rather than being an add-on dissemination method, the use of theatre helps express central aspects of the research. Theatrical Spaces In 2006, I stage-managed a production of A. R. Gurney?s (1989) play Love Letters at the Victoria Playhouse in my hometown, Victoria, P.E.I.  The play follows two characters, Melissa Gardner and Andrew Makepeace Ladd III, over the course of their lives.  Rather than interacting directly with each other, they communicate through a series of letters.  Frequently, productions of the show are designed such that both characters sit at the same table reading their letters and never interacting.  In the Victoria Playhouse production, designer W. Scott MacConnell created two physically separate spaces, one 163  for each character, reflecting the characters and their worlds.  Under theatre lights, these two spaces appeared to float independently of each other; the two characters existed in their own separate physical spaces with no direct link between them, emphasising their isolation.  As most of the data for this research was in the form of letters written across borders of time and space, I drew inspiration from MacConnell?s staging, envisioning two desks on stage, one for PHYLLIS and one for JUNE.  I borrowed from this staging to emphasize the separations and disconnections evidenced in the research.   While these separations are significant, limiting the staging to two areas on stage imposed significant theatrical constraints.  One of the strengths of research-based theatre is that it provides the opportunity for researchers to show, not tell (Salda?a, 2008a) research findings.  In Love Letters (1989), Gurney relies on his characters? descriptions to tell about events of their lives rather than showing them.  He was able to develop an engaging script by crafting his imagined letters with the intent of their being staged; his letters were written with the genre of the stage in mind. The letters comprising the bulk of data in this project were not written for the genre of the stage in mind and with a different intended audience.  Had I remained constrained to two desk areas, the script would have resembled Gurney?s Love Letters with characters sitting at desks describing events rather than showing them.  As the letters were not intended for the stage, making these descriptions theatrically engaging would have presented a significant challenge, likely resulting in a dry, lifeless script.  This would remove the theatrical potential to show rather than tell what was happening in the lives of the participants.  164  To address this challenge, I conceptualized a common area centre stage (CS) in which action could take place.  This area is a neutral space, one that characters inhabit, shape, and mould to help tell their stories: a place where ?speakers construct events through narrative rather than simply refer to events? (Chase, 2005, p. 656).  The neutrality suggests spacelessness and timelessness allowing the common area to (re)present rather than describe events in the letters.  Being non-descript also allows the CS area to become a space in which borders collapse, where characters can physically interact despite the ?real world? borders of time, place, and mortality. The common area was influenced by Bakhtin?s chains of utterances.  An utterance, ?a unit of speech communication ? determined by a change of speaking subjects? (1986, p. 71), is not formed as a series of discrete events.  Instead, Bakhtin posits that each utterance exists within a chain ? not only in response to previous utterances, but also shaped by the anticipated response of their intended addressee.  This addressee is not an inactive recipient but takes an ?active, responsive attitude toward it. ? Any understanding is imbued with response and necessarily elicits it in one form or another: the listener becomes the speaker? (1986, p. 68).  However, any response by the addressee is created from within his or her own chain of utterances.  The meaning of an utterance exists in the space between the chains of utterances of the speaker and the addressee.   The letters and other data used to develop Homa Bay Memories may be considered primary Bakhtinian utterances (1986).  Each is written as part of a chain of utterances of the author but meaning is created only in the space between the author and addressee.  The common area CS becomes a symbolic re-creation of this space of 165  meaning making.  In adapting them for the stage, I complicate this space of meaning making, adding my own chain of utterances.  The neutrality of the common area is intended to reinforce this notion that events displayed on stage are not a re-staging of events as they happened but a co-creation between author, addressee, and myself as playwright. In the stage directions I describe the two desk areas as being ?dressed carefully, extending off stage.  There should be stylized movement in the dressing from a sense of verisimilitude extending from offstage that fades into the neutral space CS.  This set design and dressing further emphasises that meaning is made in the space between the chains of utterances of author and addressee.  Extending the set dressing offstage, beyond the audience sightlines is symbolic of the part of the chain preceding the utterance; they are comparatively stable and extend beyond our awareness.  Not only are utterances shaped by those in the past, they are also shaped in anticipation of those in the future.  These anticipated responses are less fixed than those preceding an utterance.  The move in set dressing from a sense of verisimilitude toward the empty neutral space reflects this shift in fixedness of influencing utterances.   When I originally conceived the common area, I included three specific areas.  One each for JUNE and PHYLLIS which both remain in this version of the script, and a third area upstage centre (USC) intended to be for GRAHAM, (re)presenting me as both researcher and participant.  This third area was intended to reflect the complications to the chains of utterances I introduced as I researched and developed the script: as my chains of utterances interacted with those of June and Phyllis to create new meanings.  The chains of utterances influencing meaning making are not limited to June, Phyllis, and 166  I.  Each member of the audience brings with him or her a chain of utterances shaping the meanings they experience.  To recognize this, I considered making an explicit, physical recognition of this in the stage design.  However, adding a ?researcher? desk USC and explicitly gesturing to the audience?s role in the chains of utterances presented two concerns, one epistemological and one artistic.   The original stage design (three desks and the audience) attempted to physicalize the multitude of chains of utterances leading to a space of meaning making CS including those of Phyllis, June, the audience, and myself.  However, there are many chains impacting meaning making not represented by this staging.  Theatre is a necessarily collaborative art-form; artists including directors, writers, actors, set, light, and costume designers, and stage managers all work together to produce a piece of theatre.  In doing so, each brings his or her own chain of utterances, helping to shape meanings expressed in the work.  Attempting to add a physical representation for each chain would be overwhelming and perhaps impossible as there is an unknowable and ever-changing number of chains impacting meaning making.  Rather than attempting to theatricalize each of these chains I decided to focus on the shared chains of June and Phyllis, removing the physical representations of the others.  In doing so, I draw attention to this theoretical underpinning of the script, leaving space for audience members to consider other chains, including their own, which may impact meaning making. While the epistemological rationale for removing the USC desk was significant, it was an aesthetic consideration, intended to develop a stronger visual image, which solidified my choice.  As discussed earlier, the common area is intended to be a neutral space in which chains intersect and meanings are made.  Having a desk USC would result 167  in a constant visual distraction: it would always linger in the shadows of the light used to illuminate the centre neutral space.  Removing the desk prevented it from imposing a time and place on the neutral area.  This also eliminated a visual impediment to the cyc increasing its aesthetic potential. Immediacy of time and space. While reading June and Phyllis?s letters, I was struck by the sense of immediacy evident in the letters, particularly those written by Phyllis.  In many of her letters she included minor, in-the-moment, details creating the impression she was speaking directly to June.  For example, in her letter written on October 29, 1967 she interrupts herself, writing to June ?I will have to go after my sweater.  I am afraid it will be chilly enough before Bonanza is over? (P. Dingwell, 1966-1970).  This style of letter writing created a sense that, at times, the two women were engaging in a conversation with someone in the same room rather than one separated by significant physical and temporal distance.   June and Phyllis?s letters seem reflective of Bakhtin?s (1986) writing on ?the differences between space and time of I and other.  They exist in living sensation, but abstract thought erases them.  Thought creates a unified, general world of man, irrespective of I and other? (p. 147).  The letters move between two distinct times and geographies: the literal and the perceived.  In the literal, letters were written ten thousand kilometers apart and sent through airmail, and occasionally by sea, taking between a week and several months, separating them in time and place.  They are ?in living sensation,? separated in space and time.  However, in the perceived, Phyllis and June carry on conversations in a shared time and space.  The ?abstract thought? of the letters 168  makes malleable the borders of time and space allowing them to engage in an immediate conversation.   While I conceptualized the common area CS to create a visual presentation of the theoretical underpinnings of the research, it also allows for a flexible and layered use of time and space.  For example, JUNE can enter the family kitchen to re-enact events in her audio recording rather than describing them through a voice over.  This allows JUNE to emulate the ghost of Christmas Present who allows her to ?feel as if we were all in two places at once: Canada and Kenya? (E. J. Dingwell, 1966-1970a, Audio recording to Family, December 1966).  However, the sense of immediacy is not present in all of the letters.  Having two types of stage areas, the individual, particular areas for JUNE and PHYLLIS on either side of the stage and the common, neutral area CS, creates opportunities to stage these varied senses of immediacy.  The individual areas reinforce the literal, physical and temporal separations between June and Phyllis.  The malleability of time and space provided by the common area creates opportunities to cross these borders of time and space and, physicalizing the characters striving for, and at times achieving, a connection across them. The common area is also reflective of June?s experience in her Kenyan classroom.  She writes that she may be ?teaching in one context and the students ?hearing? in another? (E. J. Dingwell, 1966-1970a, Letter to Jake, January 2, 1968).  The letters too are written in one context and ?heard? in another.  Bridging the temporal and physical borders in the common neutral space draws these two contexts together as they were in her classroom.   A space of inquiry. The potential for manipulating time and space is a strength of theatrical staging 169  that reflects a central focus of Clandinin and Connelly?s (2000) approach to narrative inquiry.  As discussed in Chapters Three and Four, central to their understanding of the methodology is a three-dimensional conceptual framework for narrative, which they use to structure understandings of lived narratives.  The authors build this space using the Deweyan (1938) notion of experience as existing in place, time, and personal/social context (see Figure 16).  The time/continuity axis recognizes that narratives exist in time always emerging from previous stories and anticipating subsequent ones.  The place/situation axis describes the place(s) in which the narrative occurs.  Finally, the personal/social and social axis charts the internal and external conditions of a narrative, recognizing that narratives are created in, and bound by, the social circumstances in which they occur.   The common area may be seen as a physicalization of Clandinin and Connelly?s three-dimensional space of narrative inquiry in which each axis may be manipulated.  The neutrality creates a timelessness and placelessness in which the narratives may inhabit.  Yet time and place can be quickly hinted at through the incorporation of physical cues such as props, costumes, and actors? physical bodies.  Manipulating this specificity and generality provides opportunities to use the common area to simultaneously represent multiple positions in the three-dimensional space of narrative inquiry.  In doing so, multiple stories are drawn together highlighting similarities and providing juxtapositions.  For example, early in the script I theatricalized my flight to Kenya.  After reading June?s letter describing her flight to Kenya over thirty-seven years before mine, I decided to weave the two together, staging the two journeys separated in time as happening simultaneously.  In doing so, I attempt to show similarities in our stories and provide a 170  physicalized example of the similarities between my experience and my narrative inheritance.   Verbatim and Crossing Genres In Performing Research: Tensions, Triumphs and Trade-offs of Ethnodrama, Ackroyd and O?Toole (2010) present a collection of essays by research-based theatre practitioners many of whom use a verbatim approach to develop their scripts: ?using the words of people to provide a text that is performed? (p. 23).  While an approach I used in earlier research-based theatre projects, practical and epistemological considerations guided me away for using such an approach in this project.   When I lead the development of the theatrical component of Centring the Human Subject (Appendix E of Lea, 2010; Lafreni?re, Cox, Belliveau, & Lea, 2013), I incorporated verbatim interview data into the script.  However, practical limitations created by the form the data were presented made it difficult to use participants? words extensively.  The various artistic development teams (including theatre) were presented with coded segments of data from participant interviews.  This provided a thematic analysis and structure for the theatrical development.  However, the coding, theming, and resulting intermixing of interviews, disrupted participants? narratives and fragmented their voices.  As a result, it became very difficult to develop a verbatim script.  While some lines could be drawn from the coded data, developing coherent scenes required the fabrication of significant amounts of text in the final script. From an epistemological standpoint, I have and continue to question a reliance on verbatim text in research-based theatre.  From a dialogic perspective, Bakhtin points out that meanings are not held in words but emerge from the spaces between author and 171  addressee.  Relying on verbatim text to provide an ?authenticity? (Wilkinson, 2010, p. 123) to a piece of research-based theatre suggests a transfer of meaning making from the space between author and addressee back to the words of the participants.  However, Wilkinson found as she continued her project that in her verbatim text ?the characters were composites; they spoke the original data with new meanings? (2010, p. 142).  Even in verbatim research-based theatre, researchers manipulate participant words and add theatrical elements, removing some meanings and adding or altering others.  Relying on participant words to carry meaning and provide ?authenticity? runs the risk of overemphasizing participants? words rather than engaging with deeper meanings that may be behind them. Unlike Centring the Human Subject, this project included a large and unfragmented data set.  As I read this data I found myself quite struck by the power and beauty of the language, one I knew I could not replicate.  To capitalize upon this large data set and honour the language of the participants, I decided to build Homa Bay Memories using as much verbatim text as possible.  However, this choice was not without drawbacks.  In particular, the language used in the letters, while striking in the genre of letter writing, imposes constraints on the scriptwriting.  For example, they are often written in the past tense, recanting events that happened.  They tell of events rather than show them, the opposite of what Salda?a (2008a) suggests as the power of the ethnodramatic form.  This created a tension as I developed the script, should I try to stay as close to the data as possible, or should I allow myself freedom to dramatically (re)create an essence I saw? 172  A thread connecting a number of the essays in Ackroyd and O?Toole?s book is that many practitioners found a strict adherence to a verbatim approach was limiting and many expressed a desire to move beyond it.  Sallis, for example, describes eventually developing ?a fictional framework for the ethnodramatic performance? (2010b, p. 194).  Wilkinson too noted that her working method became increasingly flexible with ?what was said when and who said it? (2010, p. 142).   I worried that restricting myself to cuts and edits may result in a ?talking heads? (Salda?a, 2011, p. 35) script that told about rather than showed experience.  Inspired by Sallis and Wilkinson, I found creative freedom to move beyond arranging June and Phyllis?s letters, to adapt them, break them apart, and reassemble them in a fictional framework to allow JUNE and PHYLLIS to speak together and bring others including myself, into the work.  In doing so I moved the script from telling about an experience to one using participant words to show a (re)creation of an essence of experience. In the first version of the script, the text written for GRAHAM was strictly invented, based on my memories and journals but not containing any writing I did in situ.  Inspired by my decision to use as much verbatim text as possible from Phyllis and June, in the second and third versions of the script I returned to my journal to incorporate verbatim text from my experience as well.   The following excerpt from Moment 3D provides an example of how I built the script out of two sources, June?s letter of September 5-9, 1966 (see Figure 35) and my travel journal entry of March 6, 2004 (Figure 36).  In both figures blue lines indicate verbatim quotations incorporated into the script, black lines indicate portions that were adapted, and red lines indicate portions used as stage directions. 173  GRAHAM (Turns to the audience)  The others are anxious about the two weeks of travel? costs, practicality, ?  I?ve dreamt about this my whole life.  I want it all.  I want to see the country Maasai Mara, Amboseli, Mombasa.  There may have to be some concessions.  (GRAHAM takes the letter out of his pocket and looks at it)  One of those concessions will not be Homa Bay.  I have to get there.    JUNE (Turns as if looking out the window) North Africa is really a desert.  Miles and miles of golden brown sand interrupted by bands of green.  The sun setting rapidly in a melody of pinks and golds.  VOICE OVER  (GRAHAM and others sit and adjust for landing)  Ladies and gentlemen, in preparation for our final descent into Nairobi, please ensure your seatbelts are fastened, your seats are in their upright position, and tray tables are in their upright and locked position.  GRAHAM (GRAHAM takes out a black leather notebook and begins writing.  He looks out the window) I don?t know what to think.  I will be in Africa in minutes.  I can?t believe it.  I have dreamt about this all my life and now it?s just minutes from happening.  I am on what will most likely be the biggest adventure of my life and I am relatively calm.    (Images from slides of Kenya are projected.  The images change increasingly quickly until they become like a blur.  He watches out the window)  (Sounds of plane landing)  VOICE OVER Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to Nairobi.  Thank-you for flying British Airways.  GRAHAM (Almost in tears looks out the plane window) The trees look very different here.  Even by the airport, it looks like pictures I have of the savannah. (GRAHAM exits SL)   174          Figure 35. Excerpt from June Dingwell's Letter Written in Transit (E. J. Dingwell, 1966-1970a, Letter to Family et al., September 5-9, 1966). 175   Figure 36. Excerpt from My Journal upon Arriving to Kenya (Lea, 2004, Personal Journal, March 6, 2004). 176  These examples highlight a tension inherent as I crossed genres, in theatricalizing words never intended for the stage.  June and Phyllis have a unique, beautiful, and powerful use of language to describe events and experiences that I, having never experienced them, cannot recreate.  Even my own in situ writing would be impossible to replicate.  However, this power and beauty may be lessened when transferred directly from the genre of letter writing to that of theatre.  The descriptive rather than active nature of the letters that works well in letter writing may lead to a boring script.  I attempted to address this by rearranging and interweaving text from various letters and adapting verb tenses.   At the outset of this project, I tried to keep the words of each letter self-contained, resisting the impulse to move text from one letter to another.  As a result I was not able to use interesting phrases from letters that did not contain narratives useful to the remainder of the script.  Giving myself permission to move beyond a strictly verbatim staging of the letters also allowed me to view the letters not as discrete entities but as part of a continuous narrative.  This shift of perspective created opportunities to incorporate more of the engaging language I saw in the data.  For example, I was struck by a moment in Phyllis?s letter of December 4, 1966 (1966-1970, Letter to June) in which she describes running up the stairs to read a letter to Walter who is ill in bed.  It was an active and engaging theatrical moment illustrating Phyllis?s excitement in reading the letters and the value Walter placed on them: ?they are like a book.?  However there was nothing else in the letter to move the script forward or deepen understandings of experience.   177  Similarly, most of Phyllis?s letter of November 20, 1966 (1966-1970, Letter to June) contained little to help build the script.  However, I was very struck by a brief passage at the end of the letter: Daddy says he can see a nice moon shining out the west window.  Will you see it in a few hours.  The bottom of this page is creeping up so best bring this to an end.  Always looking for letters.  Loads of Love from all.  Mother This became important in developing the moon as a device to connect PHYLLIS, JUNE, and GRAHAM across time, space, and mortality.  However it lacked an engaging setting within its originating letter.    By allowing myself freedom to move text between the letters, I was able to incorporate both Phyllis?s running up the stairs, and Walter?s comments on the moon into Moment 8A.  These two letters, neither of which I was able to use independently, work together to become a cohesive theatrical moment with engaging language and a clear setting while helping to shape understandings in the script. Rituals  In the letters between June and her family, there are frequent discussions of Christmas: laying plans in October, regretting June?s absence, discussing what would happen the next Christmas, and providing detailed inventories of what the family received.  Christmas is a holiday replete with ritual including gift exchanges, trimming trees, baking, and coming together.  The frequency and detail of the Christmas discussions among June and family suggests the importance of the holiday and its associated rituals to them.  As I became aware of their significance I began to see other rituals in their correspondence including: the beginning and end of school years, 178  birthdays (including the buttering of noses), anniversaries, graduations, weddings, patterns of farming, food preparations, and Sunday nights with Bonanza.    Crocker (1973) suggests that ritual ?is essentially communication, a language in which societies discuss a variety of matters.  It deals with the relationships a man has to other men, to institutions, spirits, and nature, and with all the various permutations of which these themes are capable? (p. 49).  Similarly, Mead (1973) positions ritual as ?concerned with relationships, either between a single individual and the supernatural, or among a group of individuals who share things together.  There is something about the sharing and the expectation that makes it ritual? (p. 89).  Rituals, such as those discussed in the letters connect people, drawing them together as a ?singular plural? (Nancy, quoted in Bickel, 2008, p. 81).   The rituals, which initially drew the family together, became disrupted by the physical distance introduced by June?s travels to Kenya.  Phyllis in particular seems to be aware of, and affected by this disruption: ?we had things arranged same as last year except that they were minus their finishing touches.  That must be your secret? (1966-1970, Letter to June, December 25, 1966).  This seems to have created stress and angst but it was also transformative and generative.  For example, Christmas gift exchanges were adapted to take into account the new distance between family members.  Gifts were selected and bought in proxy, or were sent across the sea months in advance in hopes that they would arrive in time.  The separation also became a catalyst for the creation of new rituals including a Christmas audio recording June sent to her family and Sunday night letter writing.  In adapting and creating rituals, June and family seem to reimagine connections disrupted by borders of time and space.   179  These new and transformed rituals were not impervious disruptions.  For example, there is a palpable distress in Phyllis?s hurriedly written letter before a potential postal strike might cut off regular mail service.  This suggests that the ritual of letter writing provided comfort, connection, and structure mitigating the loss of old rituals.  When these new and adapted rituals are interrupted, there is a renewed sense of angst: as Phyllis describes, ?when your letters get more than a week apart, each day seems like a week or more? (1966-1970, Letter to June, May 3, 1970) (see Appendix F for the full letter). The rituals of letter writing and those surrounding Christmas appear to have had a significant impact on June and family and helped draw my attention to the significance of ritual in this research.  As I became aware of this, I realized other rituals helped to shape the research and script including those of bread-making, memorialization, and theatre. of bread. As part of trying to reforge disrupted Christmas rituals, Phyllis asks June if there was ?any way of getting you one [a Christmas fruitcake] in good condition.  I would love to send you one? (1966-1970, Letter to June, December 11, 1966).  Sharing food is a frequent ritual that helps draw people together (Marshall, 2005; Mintz & Du Bois, 2002), so much so that the word ?companion? derives from the Latin ?with bread? ("companion, n.", 2013).   Rituals of food and bread surround not just sharing but also preparation (Moisio, Arnould, & Price, 2004).  Jacob (1970), for example, reimagines the discovery of sharing sourdough for the making of leavened bread: While all other peoples feared lest their food decay, the Egyptians set aside their dough until it decayed and observed with pleasure the process that took place. ? 180  When they were about to bake, they took the soured dough from the bowl. ? With a scoop they distributed the fermenting dough, pushed the pan into the oven, and closed the door. ? Friends offered advice.  One suggested that it was needless to obtain the yeast from the air; a piece of the old sour dough could be saved in order to ?implant? the leavening in the new dough.  This would sour the dough more quickly and thoroughly.  The suggestion proved valuable ? and from that day on ?reproductive sour dough? was as sacredly preserved in Egyptian households as was the hearth fire among other peoples.   They dared not lose the precious primal stuff of baking, the stuff that raised the bread. (pp. 26-27)  While the Egyptian origins of leavened bread and sourdough are now in question (Wirtz, 2003), its ritualistic importance is not.  Prior to the advent of dried yeast, leavened bread would typically be made from such sourdough cultures often passed down through families (Hansen, 2004).  This sacred preservation and passing down create rituals around the act of bread-making.   While there was no literal passing down yeast culture from parent to child, my mother did pass some of her bread-making knowledge and experiences to me.  I initially incorporated this memory into Homa Bay Memories to demonstrate the development of my interest in my mother?s Kenyan experience.  Once aware of the importance of rituals in the letters, I realised that this sharing is another passing of ritual in a family.  As the rituals in the letters had to morph and adapt, the ritual of bread-making adapted from a daily necessity to a shared moment of connection creating opportunities to come together, to commune, to share family traditions and stories.   181  As I developed the script, bread-making also became a metaphor for the research process (mixing ingredients, kneading, allowing time to rise, and baking).  Theatre education scholar John O?Toole (2006) cautions against the overuse of metaphors in academic discourse, particularly those that have moved into the realm of clich?.  Aware of such cautions I questioned the inclusion of bread-making in the script even as O?Toole himself uses the metaphor of a step in the bread-making process, the sifting of flour, to describe the research process.  Only as I became aware of the importance of ritual and its relation to bread-making did I make a final decision to retain it in the script.  In doing so, I extended O?Toole?s metaphor connecting bread-making and research while demonstrating the transfer of narrative inheritance and creating a shared moment to establish the connection between GRAHAM and JUNE.   The final part of the bread-making ritual is the sharing of the final product as Phyllis attempts to share fruitcake with June.  Sharing bread with the audience at the end of the performance completes the ritual of bread-making, continues the act of circular gifting and draws the audience into a physicalization of the chains of utterances, experiences, and narrative inheritance from parent, to child, and finally to audience. as memorial and motivation. Engaging in this research has created an opportunity to reflect upon my experience in, and desire to travel to, Kenya.  As mentioned earlier, a central feature of the third version of the script was identifying and refining the super-objective: to connect to a lost part of my narrative inheritance and, more significantly, to my mother across the border of mortality.  Looking back on my Kenyan experience through the lens of this super-objective I realize that much of my desire to travel to Kenya was not just to seize 182  an opportunity to visit a country I grew up hearing about, but also to visit a site of my narrative inheritance.  In travelling to Kenya I was attempting to reforge a connection with my mother and transform a site into a place (Mackey, 2012, March).  When I travelled there, I took with me a copy of a letter my mother gave me and some strands of hair she kept after her chemotherapy took its toll.  Unlike GRAHAM, I did not know what I was going to do with them but felt they were important as I travelled to Kenya and eventually to Homa Bay.   When I finally arrived in Homa Bay, I was invited into her house.  After visiting with the Kenyan family living there at the time, I felt I had to hold a short ceremony of remembrance.  I left the letter and strands of hair at the corner of the house and created a brief ritual at the base of her house (see Figure 37).  I had crossed geographical and physical borders and through the ritual attempted to cross those of time and mortality, to begin to forge a new connection with my mother.   The rituals created and adapted by Phyllis and June sought to reassert connections disrupted by June?s travel: her travel motivated ritual.  Unlike this experience, a significant part of what motivated my travel appears to have been the inverse: the attempt to perform a ritual motivated travel. 183  of theatre.  Theatre too is replete with ritual.  Brook (1968), writing at the same time as June was in Kenya, suggests that ?theatre had in its origins rituals that made the invisible incarnate ? [but] these rituals remain in seedy decay? (p. 45).  He extends this loss of ritual to society at large noting that ?we have lost all sense of ritual and ceremony ? whether it be connected to Christmas, birthdays or funerals ? but the words remain with us and old impulses stir in the marrow? (pp. 45-46).  Rather than rituals being lost with only the old impulses stirring, June and Phyllis?s letters demonstrate the aliveness and continued evolution of rituals in their semi-conscious desire to adapt old rituals and create new ones.    Figure 37. Photograph of the Letter Left at my Mother/June's Kenyan Home   Photo by Graham W. Lea 184  Similarly, ritual in theatre may not be in ?seedy decay? (Brook, 1968, p. 45) but may instead be evolving.  We still rely on rituals to give us cues that we are moving beyond ?a man walk[ing] across this empty space whilst someone else is watching him? to the world of ?red curtains, spotlights, blank verse, laughter, darkness? (Brook, 1968, p. 9) as we come together as a ?singular plural? (Nancy, quoted in Bickel, 2008, p. 81) of actors and audience.  One common new ritual is the house manager?s announcement at the beginning of performances thanking sponsors and reminding audience members to refrain from taking photos and video and to turn off cell phones and other noise-making devices.  I intentionally disrupted this ritual, having GRAHAM perform these duties several minutes into the performance.  In doing so I draw attention to theatrical rituals and the unease that can arise when disrupting them.  This is intended to heighten awareness of rituals in the script while giving audience members an opportunity to experience the angst that can be created by the disruption of rituals, much like that presented in the research. Mimicry Victor Turner (1982) proposes three stages to his understanding of performance ethnography:  1. Ethnography into playscript 2. Script into performance 3. Performance into meta-ethnography (p. 90) He posits that engaging in the first and second stages creates an opportunity for researchers to enter the third stage ?armed with the understanding that comes from ?getting inside the skin? of members of other cultures, rather than merely ?taking the role 185  of the other? in one?s own culture? (p. 90).  This suggests that in acting out data, researchers may alter their perspectives, moving closer to, but not attaining an insider perspective.  The process of scriptwriting had a similar transformative function on my perspective during this research.  It provided an opportunity for me to return to my experiences armed not with the ?understanding that comes from getting inside the skin? but with the understanding that comes with broadened theoretical understandings and perspectives.   The first writing I developed on this project was a monologue based on my experience trying to clear dishes from the living room of my host family56.  Prior to engaging in this research I considered this experience as a positive example of gently modelling a more equitable gender role in a Kenyan home.  During the course of this project, I was directed to Homi Bhabha?s Of Mimicry and Man: The Ambivalence of Colonial Discourse (1994), which provided a new theoretical lens for the experience. Bhabha?s post-colonial critique suggests that one of the most effective methods of imposing colonial control is encouraging the colonized to mimic the colonizing power.  ?Colonial mimicry,? he suggests, ?is the desire for a reformed, recognizable Other, as a subject of a difference that is almost the same, but not quite? (p. 122).  He later describes mimicry as ?the process of the fixation of the colonial as a form of cross-classificatory, discriminatory knowledge in the defiles of an interdictory discourse? (p. 129).  The result of this mimicry is what Bhabha describes as a ?fetishism? of the colonial culture by the colonized.  The space within ?almost the same, but not quite? creates an opening through which the fetishism of colonial mimicry may be subverted into a mockery of the colonial.                                                  56 The monologue has been adapted into Moments 10A and 10C. 186  The ?fetish mimes the forms of authority at the point at which it deauthorizes them.  Similarly, mimicry rearticulates presence in terms of its ?otherness?, that which it disavows.? (p. 130).   The playwriting, reading, and performing processes provided the opportunity to look at this experience armed with the experience of new theoretical lenses.  Through this new lens, my encouraging of DAVID to help take dirty dishes to the kitchen (while it was not my intent) may be seen as an attempt to affix a colonial norm while thinking I was encouraging a small positive social change.  After seeing the experience through this lens, I struggled with whether or not I should keep the monologue in the script. Using the lens of mimicry to read the data uncovers examples of colonial mimicry extending beyond the removal of colonial rule.  In her letter of October 15, 1967, June tells the story of being asked to help the community prepare for a visit from the country?s president, Jomo Kenyatta, the first president of the Republic of Kenya after the removal of British colonial rule.  Despite this new power structure there seems, at least in Homa Bay, to be a strong desire to mimic to the point of replication, the colonial British system, evident from the description of the district commissioner?s house as European as well as the setting of the tables and preparation of the food.  June comments that ?so often I feel caught up in a mass of people who aren?t trying to be something they are not, but rather trying to walk in a world where they think everyone else is already running? (E. J. Dingwell, 1966-1970a, Letter to Family, October 15, 1967).  Here she describes a people who still seem to perceive themselves as behind the rest of the world, and despite gaining independence from British rule, still striving to mimic the colonial British form.   187  Bhabha?s mimicry, in its ?almost the same but not quite? rearticulates that which it disavows creating a subversion.  However, this seems to not always be the case.  June describes an example in which she, as a representative of a colonial power, is not subverted but is instead encouraged to share and explore the actions of the ?colonized.?  In her letter of October 20, 1968 June writes about having Kenyan women laugh at her manner of carrying a heavy load from the market: Spent Saturday baking, sewing and marketing.  I was carrying a huge basket up from the market in my arms ? you know, propped against my stomach, and for the first time caused out and out laughter from a couple of women who couldn?t tell me, but showed by gestures, that the proper place to carry a basket is on your head not your belly.  The distance home never seemed so short.  It was a very warm feeling to share their genuine and easy amusement at the habits of strange Europeans.  So often the students examine our ways to gain the veneer of what they think they want to be, but these market women were perhaps so content with their own lives that they met me more honestly in those few moments than many of my students ever have.  The different ways in which you are accepted or approached by different people quite make you dizzy.  (E. J. Dingwell, 1966-1970a, Letter to Family, October 20, 1968) After uncovering these other examples of mimicry, I decided to retain my monologue.  Taken together, they juxtapose one another, drawing attention to the idea of mimicry and opening an opportunity for audience members to become aware of and to question the methods of interaction and roles of mimicry in the staged experiences. 188  Troubling Chains  When I first entered into this research I conceptualized the work as a narrative reconstruction.  My mother did not leave behind a narrative account of her time in Kenya and so I anticipated that in this research I would use what was left behind to reconstruct her untold narrative.  However, like Hocker (2010) I have come to realise that no matter how comprehensive the data, ?I could never reweave an intact web? (p. 869).  This shift in perspective was precipitated by a reminder from my supervisory committee that in attempting to tell my mother?s story, I am telling my own, based on hers.  Bakhtin?s chains of utterances (1986), particularly when considered as a metaphor of existence as suggested by Holquist (2002), provides a theoretical lens through which we can see ourselves linked to both past and future.  From this perspective meaning and existence are not isolated but are instead formed in spaces between people.  In this research I am not telling my mother?s story and I am not telling my story, I am telling our story; it is a story that emerges from the spaces between us and our experiences.  While these chains form the backbone of this research, they also create both metaphoric and practical challenges. Metaphorical chains.  While powerful for framing this study, the metaphor of chains of utterances and experiences also suggest confinement: chains restrict, bind, and shackle.  It may be inferred from the metaphor that our utterances and indeed our existence may be bound by that which has come before.  King (2003) gestures to this in describing his motivation for retelling the story of his absent father:  189  I tell the story not to play on your sympathies but to suggest how stories can control our lives, for there is a part of me that has never been able to move past these stories, a part of me that will be chained to these stories as long as I live.  (p. 9)   However, these chains do not seem to suggest predetermination.  While from a dialogic perspective utterances are bound and shaped by those that have come before, they are also shaped by the addressee and genre in which they are created.  Bakhtin (1986) suggests that a ?speaker?s speech will is manifested primarily in the choice of a particular speech genre? (p. 78).  While there is an element of confinement in the notion of chains of utterances, there is also freedom.  Like the chains of utterances, our narrative inheritance provides a foundation for how we engage in our lives rather than suggest our actions are predetermined by those that have come before.  Goodall (2005; 2006) suggests our narrative inheritance may be in part ?a rebellion against, the way we story how they [those who came before] lived and thought about things? (2005, p. 497).  While we exist within chains of inheritance, utterances, and experiences, they are chains that support and shape rather than shackle. For example, in the spring of 2002, almost three years after my mother?s death, I had been accepted into several Bachelor of Education programs (itself which could be seen as an example of narrative inheritance as both of my parents and one of my grandparents were educators).  The deciding factor among them was the international education program offered at the University of Prince Edward Island.  I saw this international practicum as an opportunity to fulfill a life-long dream of travelling to Kenya, a dream shaped by my narrative inheritance.  As part of this program I took two English methods courses instructed by Dr. George Belliveau who later encouraged me to pursue graduate studies.  Since then he has served as supervisor for both of my graduate degrees.  A significant part of my lived narrative, my choice of universities for 190  both teacher training and graduate studies, was shaped but not determined by the narratives I inherited from my mother.    Like chains of utterances, narrative inheritance does not suggest we are controlled by what has come before as automatons in a completely deterministic universe.  My narrative inheritance did not predetermine my choice of universities or graduate supervisor; instead it provided conditions and constraints, openings, and opportunities.  Rather than shackle, these chains provide a lens through which we can see how we are positioned in and shaped by past, present, and future: that we are necessarily implicated in a universe of others.   Practical chains. Black wool coat   worn in(to) obsolescence threadbare, ripped, and torn  Cut, moulded stitched and stuffed reborn with button eyes and red-thread mouth  In sleepless nights  tossed and turned ?till legs dangling by threads seek shelf-bound comfort  Now long hidden packed away suffocating in plastic. worn in(to) words   Bakhtin?s chains of utterances also present a practical problem for this research.  In his book Dialogism, Holquist (2002) uses Mary Shelley?s Frankenstein as an example of a novel that functions ?as a parable about our relations between otherness, bodies, and intertextuality? (p. 90).  Frankenstein?s monster is formed from the bodies of others, stitched and blended to form 191  something new.  The book?s subtitle, A Modern Prometheus acknowledges that the novel, like the monster, is created from the bodies of other literary works including Prometheus and Paradise Lost.  Though the monster strives to ?become linked to the chain of existence and events? (Shelley, 1831, p. 195) its body is corporally linked in such a chain and as a novel it is linked to a literary web of existence: both monster and novel ?are stitched together out of older materials? (Holquist, p. 91).  Like both novel and monster, the data in this study are enmeshed in chains of utterances and experiences.  They were created not in isolation but in relation to countless others including people, politics, stories, and literature.  For example, in a letter written on October 27, 1967, June mentions the novel No Bride Price (Rubadiri, 1967) in which the author examined the life of a young man who rose very rapidly on the basis of Africanization ? the things he learned about the high levels ? the relationship between himself and the girl from the village ? and, something which I have not seen in any novel so far, his relationship with an Asian family. ? This [novel] appeared more like a man dealing with things in his own society which happens to be an African society a few years after independence.  (E. J. Dingwell, 1966-1970a, Letter to Family) In discussing the novel, June tacitly links herself into a chain including her letter and No Bride Price.  After reading June?s description of the novel, I decided to read the book to widen my understanding of the influences on her Kenyan experience and deepen my understanding of this chain of utterances.   Early in the novel, Rubadiri describes the atmosphere at The Astronaut, a local bar:   The music stopped.  As the dancing girls flung themselves in exhaustion on the old couches they let off a strong smell of sweat and stale scent.  Lombe felt the weight of 192  the bodies as they thumped down.  He was trying to make his beer last.  These girls reminded him of Miria. ?Put on ?Julieta?,? demanded the fat one in a loud, crude voice. ?Oh! I am sick and tired of ?Julieta?,? shouted back the other.  ?Put on anything then ? this place is so dull.?  (p. 14) By mentioning the song Julieta, Rubadiri similarly forms a link in a chain of utterances including the song and novel.  This linking draws upon the song to help establish the bar and create atmosphere.  To better understand the novel, I felt compelled to look for this song to see how it influenced the novel and in turn June?s letter.  In doing so, I continued to traverse a chain of utterances leading to the development of June?s letter.  However, this is not the only chain shaping the letter, others such as conversations with others would be impossible to trace.  My attempt to find the song was ultimately unsuccessful, although it may be a reference to The Four Pennies song Juliet (Morton, Fryer, & Wilsh, 1964).  However, the process of searching was fruitful in that it encouraged me to question the relevance of the song and all other links in the various chains of utterances.  No Bride Price was not written in a vacuum; like Frankenstein it is situated within a web of literary and social influences.  Following the chain to Julieta may help to contextualize the novel but the song is similarly enmeshed.  To better understand the song, I could then attempt to engage with its influences.  This continual digging deeper creates a never-ending traversal of one particular chain of utterances (see Figure 38).  This expansion not only occurs vertically but also horizontally as each utterance is built from many influences.  This web of influences quickly begins to form an impenetrable chain-mail of utterances that I could spend a lifetime trying to 193  traverse.  As I attempted to track down the song Julieta I realised I needed to ask myself a question: Where should I stop?  Figure 38. Expansion of Utterances      Clandinin and Connelly (2000) remind that ?in narrative thinking, the person in context is of prime interest? (p. 32), that while the context is important in narrative inquiry, the focus should remain on the person, the particular.  Traversing the chains of utterance from June?s letter to No Bride Price, to Julieta, and on may have been helpful in establishing and building context but doing so shifts the focus away from the particular.  To maintain focus in this study, I realized I needed a mechanism to catalogue and restrict my traversing of these various chains.  To do so I measured the degree of distance from the utterance under study, labeled U0.  Utterances preceding U0 are numbered sequentially in decreasing order.  Any known utterances following U0 are numbered in increasing order.  For example, Figure 39 shows an excerpt of the letter mentioning No Bride Price, which as the utterance under study, is labeled U0.   Graham No Bride Price  Editor Author Julieta Songwriter(s) Performer June?s letter Oct. 27, 1967 Myriad Web Pro Figure 36 194   Figure 39. Excerpt from June?s Letter of October 27, 1967 describing No Bride Price    In relation to this U0 there are a variety of U-1s including No Bride Price and Phyllis?s preceding letter of October 16, 1967.  The song Julieta, which influenced No Bride Price, is designated U-2 (see Figure 40).  Bakhtin suggests that as an utterance, June?s letter is shaped not only by previous utterances but also in anticipation of others.  U0 was written with Phyllis and family as addressee and Phyllis?s letter of November 12, 1967 would have been shaped by June?s, making Phyllis?s letter U1.  These relations may be plotted as shown in Figure 40. 195   Figure 40. Degrees of Distance   As described, while searching for Julieta, I realised I was beginning to lose sight of the particular, my and my mother?s experiences.  To maintain focus I decided I would not include the song as part of the study.  This decision led me to limit my traversal of the various chains to U?1.  However, even with this decision I found that trying to incorporate all U?1s led to losing focus on the particular as I tried to incorporate too many characters, ideas, and foci for the ?two hours? traffic of our stage? (Shakespeare, 1964, Prologue.12).  Therefore, with the exception of the family?s correspondence, I decided to use U?1 only to clarify missing or unclear information, to fill in background details in support of the super-objective, or to help establish the worlds of the research.   The decision to limit exploration of the chains of utterances was an arbitrary one made during the research process, necessitated by the complexity and interwovenness inherent to Bakhtin?s chains of utterances.  Now aware of this, I see it helpful to establish the degrees of distance to be explored at the outset of future narrative research projects.  U0 Julieta U1 U2 U-2 U-1 No Pride Price June?s letter Oct. 27, 67 Phyllis?s letter Nov. 12, 67 June?s letter Nov. 26, 67 June?s letter Sept. 24, 67 Phyllis?s letter Oct. 16, 67 Myriad Web Pro  Figure 38 196  Gifts of Data Moon?s gift to the waves  a lone wave flashes  disappearing into blackness  together they twinkle  carpeting the ocean in a corridor of light  how odd, when you think of it, this miracle of light!57  how odd, when you think of it, this miracle of light exploding from infinite closeness struggling thousands of years to breach the sun bouncing from moon to dance on black-water waves before imbedding itself in my pupil.  Moon?s gift to the waves I gift to you  A frequent topic of conversation in the letters between June and her family surrounds the exchange of gifts: Phyllis carefully lists all of the families Christmas gifts, graduation gifts are arranged for, Helene and June make arrangements for Christmas exchanges long before December 25th, and a small bracelet symbolizes the family?s connection across geographical borders.  The ritual of gifting was so important that it surmounted the sanctity of the letters.  The physical condition of the letters points to the significance both of the content and physical form of the letters.  June?s letters were shared and re-mailed among other members of the family in other provinces: ?I always sent yours [letters] on to her [Helene] and she sends them back.  I wouldn?t loose one for anything.? (P. Dingwell, 1966-1970, Letter to June, December 4, 1966)                                                 57 Inspired by The Squall by Milton Acorn (1975, p. 42). 197  Despite having been shared among the family at home and in other provinces the letters were all returned and kept with great care with only a few significant rips or tears.  Aware of this, I was quite surprised to find a section had been cut out of June?s letter of February 18, 1967.  The reason for the excision became apparent when I found the missing section (see Figure 41):   I have just sent or will send Monday two packages one to Helene and one to Rodney.  They are both addressed to Morell and intended for graduation time.  Helene?s is wrapped inside the box so you may open it when the box arrives.  Rodney?s is sent from a shop in Nairobi and may not be gift wrapped so would you please open the box and put a bow on it.  Just realized this letter is re-mailed to the students in the family so you can cut out this section.        While the letters were obviously considered precious, they were not so much so that their preservation was more important than maintaining the gift-giving ritual.  The significance of this ritual among June and her family, while often represented by, seems to be more than the exchange of physical objects.  June acknowledges this in a letter to her parents celebrating their anniversary: ?I will be remembering you with thoughts and not objects on your anniversary? (E. J. Dingwell, 1966-1970a, Letter to Dad and Mother, July 4, 1968).  Even when symbolized by  Figure 41. Excised Portion from June?s Letter. Note the lines where the letter was cut.  (E. J. Dingwell, 1966-1970a, Letter to Family, February 18, 1967) 198  physical objects, gifts are sometimes referred to as ?remembrances? (P. Dingwell, 1966-1970, Letter from Phyllis to June, July 20, 1969) indicating that gift gifting is a representation of the connection between family members. The importance of gifts between June and her family draws attention to other instances of gifting evident in the research.  Examples include my mother giving a letter to me, my African host?s sharing of her small clay-brick house, in June?s teaching of bread-making to her cook and my mother?s teaching the skill to me, and in June?s leaving of a petromax for her housekeeper, among others.  These gifts are numerous and varied; however, the most significant is the collection of letters, diaries, slides, artifacts, and audio tapes left to me after my mother?s death.  These form more than a set of data.  They are a gift passed on through time, place, and mortality. This gift did not occur in what Hyde (1979) refers to as reciprocal giving, giving gifts on the expectation of a similar gift in return.  Instead, this collection of data forms part of a circular giving in which gifts are given ?to someone from whom I do not receive (and yet I do receive elsewhere)? (p. 16).  In such circular giving the gift-giver, my mother in this case, gives without receiving a reciprocal gift.  Such gifts, notes Kuokkanen (2007) who writes from an indigenous perspective, ?are not given primarily to ensure a countergift later on, but to actively acknowledge kinship and coexistence with the world? (p. 38).  Hyde reinforces that the act of such gifting is one of establishing connections. It is the cardinal difference between gift and commodity exchange that a gift establishes a feeling-bond between two people, while the sale of a commodity leaves no necessary connection. ? a gift makes a connection. ? the bonds that gifts establish are not simply social, they may be spiritual and psychological as well.  (pp. 56-57) 199  Receiving this collection of data as a circular gift both reflects and builds kinship and co-existence between giver and receiver ? between my mother and I.   Kuokkanen (2007) points out ?the philosophy of the gift foregrounds the notion of responsibility as well as a recognition that gifts cannot be taken for granted or regarded as commodities? (p. 23).  The responsibilities of receiving these data as circular gifts extend beyond the exchange between giver and receiver; there is also a responsibility to continue the ?circular reciprocity? (p. 38).  This impulse has been brought into the academy, particularly when working in indigenous contexts, as a set of responsibilities including to ??give back? that is, to conduct research that will be both relevant and helpful to indigenous peoples themselves ? [and] to share their research results in appropriate[, long term,] and meaningful ways? (p. 44).  Positioning the data in this study as a gift then requires viewing this research as a process of gifting.  This carries with it responsibilities including to give back and to share, creating a chain of gifting. To facilitate this chain, the research must enable spaces for those reading and viewing the work to continue the gifting process.  In doing so, these gifts shape the viewer.   Hyde (1979) suggests that:  in the simplest examples, gifts carry an identity with them, and to accept the gift amounts to incorporating the new identity.  It is as if the gift passes through the body and leaves us altered. ? With gifts that are agents of change, it is only when the gift has worked in us ? that we can give it away again.  Passing the gift along is the act of gratitude that finishes the labor.  The transformation is not accomplished until we have the power to give the gift on our own terms. (pp. 45-7)   200   Adapting these gifts of data into a theatrical script intended to be shared has been a process of transforming them in order to be given to an audience.  This ?finishes the labor? of my mother?s gifts to me, continuing the chain of transformative, circular giving.  In order to continue this chain, the research must allow spaces for audience members to similarly be transformed and transform, for ?it is when art acts as an agent of transformation that we may correctly speak of it as a gift? (Hyde, 1979, p. 47).  The research must then strive not to solidify findings or create ultimate finalizations (Fenske, 2004).  Instead it must seek to open up understandings, not close them down, respect and celebrate complexity, rather than strive for essentialized simplicity.  In its possibilities for openness, complexity, and ambiguity (Eisner, 1997; Leggo, 2004a; Springgay, Irwin, & Kind, 2005), arts-based research including research-based theatre provides a methodological and epistemological space not to recreate, retell, or essentialize stories and experiences.  Instead it creates opportunities to (re)present and rePRESENT, them in a way that brings these qualities forth allowing the research to stand as part of a chain of circular gifting. Appropriate Appropriations?  This research project has been developed from the gifts of data I received from my mother and data generated during my time in Kenya.  While providing an extensive record of both experiences, their generation prior to the commencement of the study made me to call into question using them in this research.  In many research projects, participants give informed consent to participate in a study that in part details how the research will use the data generated.  Given this information, participants are aware of the research and its purpose, which Haggerty (2004) notes may ?unnecessarily color? (p. 404) the research, potentially influencing their responses (Palys & Atchison, 2008).  From a Bakhtinian perspective, informed consent provides 201  participants an opportunity to filter and shape their responses to a particular addressee, a researcher, and with the knowledge of how the responses will be used.  Other than my memories, none of the data used to build the script were generated as part of a research project.  Without a researcher as part of the intended audience, these utterances were not shaped with awareness that they would be integrated into a research project.  As the researcher I had the opportunity to reshape the data I generated such as my journals and memories, based upon my knowledge of the audience of the research.  However, neither June, Phyllis, or any others in the research had that opportunity. This lead me to question if it was appropriate to use these utterances generated outside the research project or in doing so would I risk appropriating the stories of my mother, grandmother, colleagues, friends, and family and undermining their autonomy.  As discussed in Chapter Three, Keefer (1998) airs similar questions in the introduction to her novel Honey and Ashes coming to the conclusion that to not engage with her family stories would leave ?holes in a scrap of cloth? (p. 6).  In his discussion of creating stories from family secrets, Poulos (2008) suggests that ?the power of story trumps the power of the secret and that the ethical move for the researcher of human social life is to tell the story in ways that will move us toward healing? (p. 53).  Choosing to not use the data I have been given would leave these stories untold.  Not only would this leave holes in the scrap of cloth but also break the chain of circular gifting (Hyde, 1979; Kuokkanen, 2007).  There is then a responsibility to continue these gifts of data for the narrative to become more than unfilled holes.  To do so I must then engage with the data despite their being generated outside of the research project.   202  Closing the Diaries. When I began this project, I anticipated that one of the most valuable of the gifts of data would be the diaries June maintained while in Kenya.  As discussed in Chapter Three, I initially thought of them as a way of narrowing the ring of given circumstances and as a less mediated reflection of my mother?s Kenyan experiences.  Aligning with Bakhtin?s notion that addressees shape utterances, Middleton (2012) cautions that ?the same writers might project different ?selves? in letters intended for officials or newspaper editors: anticipated readers, then, are in a sense co-authors? (p. 305).  The letters June wrote home were written with a particular intended addressee, her family and as links in a chain of utterances, they were shaped by their addressees.  June alludes to this in a letter to her sister:  Many times I have wanted to say ?tell me what is really happening? but you can?t be told; you have to be there to see and know.  (E. J. Dingwell, 1966-1970a, Letter to Helene, November 18, 1969) Here June seems to recognize that the letters written to her do not contain an experience, rather they are representations, ones created with her in mind.  Similarly, June?s letters to her family were created with her family as their intended addressee.  This necessarily shapes the letters and the experiences described in them. Unlike the letters, June?s diaries do not have an immediately apparent intended addressee.  This lead me to position them as a way to get closer to her Kenyan experience, as unfiltered glimpses into what was really happening.  However, as June realises with the letters, I realized that even through the diaries I could not be told about her Kenyan experiences.  Although June?s diaries were not written with her family as intended addressee, they were written to an intended addressee, frequently third-person version of herself:   203  Why make such an issue of it even to (or especially to?) yourself?  So you spent the evening on application forms feeling a hypocrite because you applied for second best, but you don?t apply for first choice.  And there are so many reasons that you might be turned down or offered something which you could not accept.  Oh well, wait & see.  (E. J. Dingwell, 1966-1970b, Personal Journal, February 27, 1968)   In such entries, June is both author and an addressee (Holquist, 1981, p. xxi), in others there is no obvious addressee.  For example, on September 28, 1966, June writes:  shifting, churning, brooding, angry, illuminated they changed as rain and hail beat down ? the two at times closing in around the mountains and making them appear closer.  Light beyond the cloud made land beyond Bay more visible than bef.  (1966-1970b, Personal Journal). Bakhtin notes that in all communication there is a third addressee, the superaddressee: Any utterance always has an addressee (of various sorts, with varying degrees of proximity, concreteness, awareness, and so forth), whose responsive understanding the author of the speech work seeks and surpasses.  ?  But in addition to this addressee, ?  the author of the utterance, with a greater or lesser awareness, presupposes a higher superaddressee ?, whose absolutely just responsive understanding is presumed, either in some metaphysical distance or in distant historical time.  In various ages and with various understandings of the world, this superaddressee and his ideally true responsive understanding assume various ideological expressions (God, absolute truth, the court of dispassionate human conscience, the people, the court of history, science, and so forth.  (1986, p. 126) 204  Regardless of whether the addressee was herself or a superaddressee, the diary entries were written with an intended addressee which, in a dialogic sense, shaped their meanings.  The diaries then provide not a closer, but a different representation of ?what was really happening.?   Despite their potential wealth I struggled with using the diaries directly.  These are my mother?s personal, private thoughts: do they have any place on the stage?  The presentation of research in a staged theatrical form is to do so in a very public forum which I had to consider when deciding to use the various forms of data.  To help with this decision-making process I draw upon King?s (2003) distinction between public and private stories: I think of oral stories as public stories and written stories as private stories.  ?  The act of reading is a private act.  And no matter how many people may have read a book or an article or a poem or a short story, each person reads that story themselves, by themselves, whereas oral stories generally have an audience in which there is a group dynamic.  (p. 154) This provides one possible mechanism of determining the appropriateness of adapting a story for the stage: private stories should remain private and unstaged.  However, unlike King?s written stories, June?s letters were made public as Phyllis read and shared them with family members, which she describes in this passage from December 4, 1966. Wed. of last week I went out to the mail box and as usual looked for a blue envelope or one from our other children, this day I saw two blue ones and one from Helene.  I rushed in stopped in the pantry to open yours with the scissors and upstairs to Dad calling to him on the way up what I had (Dad was in bed with the flu that day).  When I sat on the bed to read 205  I went to look at the stamp so I would have them in order and I noticed one was for Helene.  (1966-1970, Letter to June) Using King?s distinction, Phyllis?s letters would be considered private and so June?s letters would be staged while Phyllis?s would not.  This would place severe restrictions on what could be incorporated into the script.  It is also a distinction based upon the form in which a story is related.  Looking at the data from a Bakhtinian perspective suggests that rather than the form, the intended addressee should be the determining factor when deciding what is used to develop the script.   The non-diary data were created for, and shared among, family members: they were written for an external addressee.  In contrast, the diaries were written for an internal addressee, either June herself or a superaddressee.  Those utterances made to an external addressee were created with the knowledge that they would be shared with people other than herself.  As King (2003) suggests, a research report intended to stay on the page, such as a traditional academic paper, retains an internal, private, characteristic.  While external to the participant(s), the research is not given a physical voice; it remains internal to the reader.  This research is intended for the stage and in the move from the page to stage, it loses this internal characteristic, it becomes external as actors embody characters and imbue words with breath.   As both researcher and steward of this data, I had a particular responsibility: to act as a proxy for my mother, grandmother, and all others in this research.  In deciding what data I would include in the research I had to ask myself ?what would they want??  Differentiating between an internal and external addressee provided me a mechanism to do so.  Transforming the internal utterances of the diaries into a theatrical presentation that would be shared externally with others crosses a threshold that may not be respectful of June?s intention to keep those utterances 206  internal.  In light of this, I used the diaries solely to clarify other sources of data, a form of post-mortem member checking and triangulation, rather than being integrated into the script. Violent Research Earlier I discuss my decision to feature verbatim text in Homa Bay Memories.  A consequence of this decision was that scriptwriting became in large part an act of judicious cutting and transposing.  However, as mentioned, the data were not written with the genre of the stage in mind and using this approach risked creating a staged collection of extracted excerpts of data rather than a cohesive piece of research-based theatre.  The resulting script may have been, as June complained, ?too slow and complicated for the stage? (1966-1970a, Letter to Family, July 28, 1969).  To address this concern I incorporated a variety of theatrical elements such as lighting, blocking, and stage design to help tell the story and adapt it to the genre of the stage.    In The Law of Genre, Derrida (1980) discusses the non-finite possibilities of interpreting a piece of literature using Blanchot?s La Folie du Jour as an example. One could fashion a non-finite number of readings from La Folie du jour.  I have attempted a few myself, and shall do so again elsewhere, from another point of view.  The topos of view, sight, blindness, point of view is, moreover, inscribed and traversed in La Folie du jour according to a sort of permanent revolution that engenders and virtually brings to the light of day points of view, twists, versions, and reversions of which the sum remains necessarily uncountable and the account, impossible.  The deductions, rationalizations, and warnings that I must inevitably propose will arise, then, from an act of unjustifiable violence.  A brutal and mercilessly depleting selectivity will obtrude upon me, upon us, in the name of a law that La Folie du jour has, in its turn, already reviewed, 207  and with the foresight that a certain kind of police brutality is perhaps an inevitable accomplice to our concern for professional competence.  (p. 66)  By making additions, cuts, and transpositions to the data while developing Homa Bay Memories, I created one of what Derrida refers to as a non-finite reading.  Similarly, Hendry (2007) argues that  As researchers we construct lives by reducing them to a series of events, categories, or themes and then put them back together again to make up a whole called narrative.  Thus by constructing narratives we not only ultimately erase part of our lived experience but also impose a particular way of thinking about experience.  (p. 491)   In creating this presentation of the research I obstructed others.  This script development has been a ?brutal and mercilessly depleting selectivity,? an act of violence, one stripping participants of their words and making impositions onto what remains.  Watson (2012) also notes this ?dark side? to narrative, that it ?can equally be viewed as a form of violence done to experience? (p. 465).  While this violence is necessary in the transformation of data to the stage, it remains from this perspective violence nonetheless.   Viewing this research as a violent act gives me pause.  These data are representative of some of the most significant people in my life, including myself and I am committing a violent act upon them.  I needed to find a way, not to eliminate or to excuse the violence but to rationalize it.  In this struggle I returned to Kuokkanen?s logic of the gift, particularly circular gifting and transformative gifts (2007; Hyde, 1979), and Fenske?s understanding of unfinish (2004).   The narratives and experiences incorporated in this study have been gifted to me.  Hyde (1979) reminds that transformative giving ?is not accomplished until we have the power to give 208  the gift on our own terms? (p. 47).  Part of my role as researcher is to commit violent acts to these gifts, to forge them into a (re)presentation of my understandings of these narratives and experiences.  In doing so, I created a new gift, a scripted performance, one to be gifted to audiences.  This violence committed to the data is a necessary aspect of adapting the data corpus into a script, and of continuing the gifting process.   This new gift can either open up, leaving questions, or close down, leaving answers and definitive understandings.  Fenske (2004) argues that for a work to have the quality of unfinish it must suggest ?that meaning has yet to be determined, that form is an act of construction with specific risks and obligations, and that the conversation within form/representation is ongoing? (p. 15).  This provides spaces in the work for audience members to bring their own lenses and interpretations.  In doing so, they create their own meanings and understandings providing opportunities to continue the chain of transformative circular gifting.  This generative potential of the research provides a lens through which I see the necessary violence of purging and destroying some of the non-finite readings of data as not just ?an inevitable accomplice to our concern for professional competence? (Derrida, 1980, p. 66), but as a necessary and even fruitful act in my continued relationship with these narratives. What?s in a Name? What?s in a name?  That which we call a rose By any other word would smell as sweet. So Romeo would, were he not Romeo called, Retain that dear perfection which he owes Without that title. (Shakespeare, 1964, II.ii.43-47) One of the most personally challenging aspects of this research project surrounded the wording of footnote 3 on page 4.  In early phases of writing about this research, I used ?mother? throughout.  After much internal deliberation I decided for the purpose of clarity to ?use June to 209  refer to situations surrounding her time in Kenya, while mother is used in reference to her direct role in my life.?  Calling the person I knew as ?mom? by her first name felt foreign.  Underneath the awkwardness of this simple footnote was a profound, emerging personal realization. I was in my early 20s, had just completed my first degree, and was still living at home when my mother succumbed to cancer.  At this point our relationship was in a ?transitional period? (Mortimer, 2012, p. 30) between adolescence and young adulthood.  From the perspective of individuation theory (Bozhenko, 2011; Buhl, 2008; Masche, 2008; Mortimer, 2012; Youniss & Smollar, 1985), this transition is frequently marked by a change in ?perception from ?parents as figures? to ?parents as persons?? (Youniss & Smollar, 1985, p. 76) as ?the relationship changes into a more mutual, reciprocal one in which parents and children have similar roles, like peers? (Masche, 2008, p. 401).  However, with my mother?s death this relational evolution was suspended.  I never had opportunities to hear her Kenyan and young adult experiences adult-to-adult, never learned of her fears and insecurities, her hopes and desires, and how she coped with them.  This research project opened a window into parts of her life once closed by death: I still feel that the only thing I have is people.  But you don?t ?have? people; they exist outside and without you.  They pass by; only a few remain in a real sense ? the others are the healed bruises, the gentle hidden corners or the great empty space in yourself.  And you hope for something to fill those empty spaces or to reveal the unknown parts.  For me it will be people ? a person whom I have not yet found or had the courage and understanding to meet.  In those briefest of real meetings you know prayer, love, strength, weakness.  You glimpse what life can be if only you can dare leave yourself vulnerable to it.  When this is what you want to do, the way you want to live, those fear blocks and inadequacies in yourself 210  look so big ? and so wasteful.  Sometimes I wonder if I will ever be able to accept the things in myself which I can accept in other people.  My trials greater!  My sins blacker!  What pride!!  (E. J. Dingwell, 1966-1970a, Letter to Jake, January 2, 1968) The decision to use ?June? was difficult, one that I initially resisted ? she was still ?my mother.?  Unlike Juliet?s conviction that Romeo would ?retain that dear perfection which he owes / Without that title? (Shakespeare, 1964, II.ii.46-47), as I changed her name, began to use ?June,? I started to notice a change in how I saw her.  She was still ?my mother,? the person I remember as I grew up.  However, as June became a peer, a contemporary, our relationship moved toward a more adult-to-adult dynamic, beginning an evolution in our relationship despite the borders of mortality.  Footnote 3, became more than a point of clarity in this dissertation, it precipitated the beginning of a change in our relationship. Narrative Fluidity The moon is constant in its fluidity This shift in relationship with my mother based upon a change in the name I used to identify her indicates fluidity of her identity, even after death.  In Part I of this dissertation I discuss methodological and epistemological foundations for this research; drawing upon Bakhtin (1986), Dewey (1938), Holquist (2002), and King (2003), among others, I came to see the influence of narrative on identity as central to this research.  This positioning draws primarily upon the dialogic nature of the utterance that suggests that when an utterance is made, it is shaped by all those that have come before and in anticipation of those that follow.  The meaning of an utterance is similarly shaped by not just the utterance itself but also the recipient?s preceding chain of utterances.  Holquist (2002) notes that Bakhtin uses utterances as a metaphor 211  for existence.  As such, our existence is shaped in part by the chains that precede us and the chains that precede those who perceive us; we exist in the spaces between ourselves and others. We are nothing but the waves our stories leave in the stories of others. The stories of my mother, her narrative inheritance to me, have shaped my identity.  As she is no longer alive, she exists in the waves her narratives have made in mine. As I began this research I saw these constitutive narratives as static: my mother?s narratives which shaped me were fixed and unchanging.  However, engaging in this research has demonstrated their dynamic nature.  Our narrative identities are fluid, continually being told and retold, understood and re-understood.  This fluidity emerges from both author and addressee. Fluid author.  I grew up enmeshed within a web of narratives about my mother?s Kenyan experiences.  This web created a set of given circumstances (Benedetti, 1988) within which I developed a set of understandings about my mother, who she was, and how her experiences related to mine.  Through the research process my knowledge of her narratives changed as I clarified old and gained new ones, changing the ring of given circumstances.  In doing so, my understandings of her, and her identity in relation to me, changed.  For example, as a child I was told the story of a dead snake being carried up to the biology lab for dissection.  This narrative was complimented by a slide I had seen of my mother with a dead puff adder (see Figure 22).  As a child these two sources were meshed with a story of my mother fainting.  212  Lifeless puff adder Draped over a machete To the Bio lab An impromptu dissection!  Heat and stress Strain an anaemic body Until consciousness is bleached white  Seemingly lifeless English teacher Splayed on shoulders To the Bio lab An impromptu dissection? My understanding of this story shifted as I listened to a portion of June?s 1967 Christmas audio message: A group of lads brought in a 13-foot python one night.  Reg promptly undertook to skin it.  They boys were very funny.  They wanted to see yet they were slightly doubtful that the snake was really harmless.  People around here seem to have a very great dread of snakes.  (1966-1970a, Audio recording to Family, December 1967) The dissected snake in the story changed form: the puff adder became a thirteen-foot python.  The story continued to shift as I read the data and found no evidence that June was ever taken to a dissection table.  These new understandings narrow the ring of given circumstances, clarifying and reshaping the narratives.  My understandings of my mother have been based in part on these narratives and as they are clarified and altered so too has my understanding of her.  Through this process, my mother has changed: the author has become fluid. Fluid addressee.  de Vries (2012) notes that ?autoethnography allows the researcher/writer to explore their own lived experience in ways that other research methods don?t? (p. 362).  In the process of writing and returning to an experience, autoethnographers become both an author and an 213  addressee.  Earlier I questioned including a monologue in the script based primarily on my memories of DAVID and his move into the kitchen.  After completing the monologue I became an addressee, reading and performing it with the perspective that it was a positive example of gently modelling a more equitable gender role in a Kenyan home.  Reading Bhabha?s (1994) notion of mimicry changed my perspective, and in doing so as an addressee I became fluid.  The authored story written on paper was the same but I no longer read it as a successful cross-cultural encounter and teaching.  Through the lens of mimicry it became a possible example of colonial mimicry.  This change in perspective left me as author with a dilemma; should I cut the story that may position me in a light different than I thought.  I kept it as the story still had merit showing a na?ve student teacher learning how to engage with a different culture.   However, I felt the script needed to be adapted to acknowledge the potential reading of mimicry.  To do so, I juxtaposed my story with two from June in an attempt to draw attention to them and opening an opportunity for audience members to become aware of and to question the role of mimicry in the staged experiences. These fluidities problematize the notion of researcher and participant in narrative research.  Both are continually shaped by and shape each other.  Even when recorded on paper neither are static they are constantly, continually influencing each other; they are inherently multiple. 214  Conditions of Connection I am an other to myself.  One of the implications of Bakhtin?s dialogism is that neither the self nor the other are single discrete entities, rather they exist in a continuous interrelationship; the self is dependent upon the other for its construction.  Holquist (2002) describes Bakhtin using dialogue as the metaphor for this ?unity of the two elements constituting the relation of self and other ? the simultaneous unity of differences in the event of an utterance? (p. 36).  In this dialogic interrelationship our identity is shaped not just by ourselves but also by the perceptions of others of us.  Some of what others see is of course unknowable to us.     At each given moment, regardless of the position and the proximity to me of this other human being whom I am contemplating, I shall always see and know something that he, from his place outside and over against me, cannot see himself: parts of his body that are inaccessible to his own gaze (his head, his face and its expression), the world behind his back, and a whole series of objects and relations, which in any of our mutual relations are accessible to me but not to him.  As we gaze at each other, two different worlds are reflected in the pupils of our eyes.  It is possible, upon assuming an appropriate position, to reduce this difference of horizons to a minimum, but in order to annihilate this difference completely it would be necessary to merge into one, to become one and the same person.  This ever-present excess of my seeing, knowing, and possessing in relation to any other human being is founded in the uniqueness and irreplaceability of my place in the world.  (Bakhtin, 1990, pp. 22-23) Using sight as a metaphor, this ?excess of seeing? (Bakhtin, 1990; Fenske, 2004), or ?surplus of seeing? (Holquist, 2002), may be thought of as ?what I see of you that you cannot and 215  what you see of me that I cannot.?  A parent?s surplus of seeing forms a significant part of the child?s identity.  With the death of a parent their surplus of seeing is snuffed out and part of the child?s identity becomes obfuscated.  The weight driving Polley?s need to explore her mother?s stories in her film Stories we Tell (2012) may be, in part, Polley attempting to engage with this lost reflection of herself.   Looking back on this research, I realize that a motivation for my travels to Kenya, the research quest, my super-objective, and the project itself is in part an attempt to engage with a component of my mother?s surplus of seeing.  This research is not an attempt to bring her back to life on stage but an opportunity to expand my understanding of her and to re-see myself in an effort to, as Jean Valjean soliloquizes in the musical Les Mis?rables, find out ?who am I?? (Boublil, Sch?nberg, & Kretzmer, 1985).   Despite being based on the experiences and in situ writings of Phyllis, June, and I, Homa Bay Memories ?oversteps the real world which it incorporates? (Iser, 1998, ? 3).  Iser suggests that such fictions aim  to transgress otherwise inaccessible realities (beginning, end, and evidential experiences) can only come to fruition by staging what is withheld.  This enactment is propelled by the drive to reach beyond oneself, yet not in order to transcend oneself, but to become available to oneself.  (Iser, 1998, ? 31) From this perspective, Homa Bay Memories creates a space to stage ?what is withheld,? a continued and evolving relationship with my mother.  I can reach beyond myself through my mother?s surplus of seeing and in doing so become more available to myself.    The process of researching my mother?s experiences has created what Fenske (2004) refers to as a ?finalization (form-bestowing activity) [which] does not close down possibilities as 216  much as produce a space of encounter with life/living? (p. 10).  This finalization is a breath, a pause, in which I have the opportunity to engage with my mother?s surplus of seeing through her narrative inheritance, and use this to see new reflections of myself.  Through this space I turn her ??mere potential? into a space that is open to the living event? (Morson & Emerson, 1990, p. 76).  This living event does not bring my mother back to life but provides a space in which I can connect to her both in the story of the research and within my life.  This finalization then produces conditions for connection through which I am able to expand my surplus of seeing of my mother, allowing me to see sides of her and myself I couldn?t before.  Fenske (2004) reminds that this ?finalization is temporary, a ?once-occurrent? moment ?, finalized form ?pauses? the event in order to effect communication before the action of the event continues? (p. 11).  As I take advantage of this finalization to re-see my mother, I in turn re-see myself.  With this new sight I again re-see my mother, creating a cyclical, recursive process that may continue ad infinitum.  Thus finalization is not a closing down but it is a point of change, a temporary fixation, it is, and forever will remain, in a state of ?unfinish? (Fenske, 2004), it will continue to be made and unmade.  The theatrical medium, in its continued state of change as actors and audience recreate the experience with each performance, emphasizes this fluidity of finalization in this research.  Fenske draws upon Bakhtin and Lunefelt to suggest that the structure of unfinish is ?change ? unfinished time [is] the suspension of mortality ? the time of unfinish is, therefore, that of eternal possibility? (p. 16).  Through engaging with my mother?s stories, I am activating conditions of connection, creating a place of fluid finalization, of unfinished eternal possibility in which I can re-connect with my mother across time, space, and mortality and in doing so better connect with myself.  217  Chapter Seven: Conditions of Evaluation Theatre?s primary goal is to entertain ?  to entertain ideas  as it entertains its spectators.  With ethnographic performance, then, comes the  responsibility to create an  entertainingly informative  experience for an audience,  one that is  aesthetically sound,  intellectually rich, and  emotionally evocative. (Salda?a, 2005, p. 14) An ongoing challenge in arts-based research, including research-based theatre, is that traditional methods of evaluating research, such as validity, trustworthiness, and rigour, become problematic when applied to research conducted using arts-based practices (Leavy, 2009).  Despite this, as Goldstein (2012a) notes, arts-based or not, ?all research studies need to be evaluated? (p. 88).  As ?there is no ?one-size-fits-all? model of evaluation? (Leavy, 2009, p. 16) in qualitative and arts-based research there has emerged a consensus that projects include possible evaluative entry points (Prendergast & Belliveau, 2013) to guide reviewers into and through an assessment of the work (Ellis, 2000; Goldstein, 2012a; Kontos & Naglie, 2007; Richardson, 2000a; Salda?a, 2011; Sinner, Leggo, Irwin, Gouzouasis, & Grauer, 2006, among others).  In this chapter, I heed this call, drawing from experienced reviewers and the theoretical and epistemological foundations of this research to suggest possible evaluative entry points.  These entry points are elaborated using specific examples from both the scripted and academic prose portions of this research. Evaluative frameworks drawing on a variety of methods including audience observations, pre/show interviews, questionnaires, surveys, and post-show talks have been developed for 218  research-based theatre projects in health research (Colantonio et al., 2008; R. E. Gray et al., 2003; Kontos & Naglie, 2007; Mitchell et al., 2006; Rossiter, Kontos et al., 2008).  However, these evaluative frameworks have focused primarily on collecting and analyzing audience responses using methods such as questionnaires, surveys, group talks, and interviews (Rossiter et al., 2008), with little literature available on the evaluation of the scripted research.  Although Homa Bay Memories was developed with a theatrical audience in mind it has yet to be fully staged.  As such, the audience-centred frameworks frequently used in health research are not useful for this study.  Goldstein (2012a; 2012b) and Alexander (2005) move away from evaluating research-based theatre projects based solely upon audience responses by adapting Richardson's (2000a) five assessment criteria for arts-informed ethnography: Substantive Contribution, Aesthetic Merit, Reflexivity, Impact, and Expresses a Reality.  While Goldstein (2012a; 2012b) draws from audience responses in self-assessing her research-informed script Harriet?s House, she also describes how her script aligns with each of Richardson?s criteria independent of audience response.  In doing so, she demonstrates how they may function as entry points for evaluation for both written and performed work.   I follow Goldstein, centring my evaluation on Richardson?s criteria supported by other reviewers of qualitative and arts-based research including Eisner (1991), Prendergast & Belliveau (2013), Bochner (2000), and Ellis (2000) to broaden evaluative entry points (see Table 3).      219   Touchstone Questions Content Substantive contribution 1. Does the piece contribute to our understanding of social-life?  a. Does the work ?call to our attention aspects of the situation or place we might otherwise miss?? (Eisner, 1991, p. 59) b. ?What have I learned from the story?? (Ellis, 2000, p. 275) 2. Does the writer demonstrate a deeply grounded (if embedded) human-world understanding and perspective? 3. How has this perspective informed the construction of the text? Reflexivity 1. How did the author come to write this text? 2. How was the information gathered? 3. Ethical issues? a. ?I want the writer to show concern for how other people who are part of the teller?s story are portrayed, for the kind of person one becomes in telling one?s story, and to provide a space for the listener?s becoming, and for the moral commitments and convictions that underlie the story? (Bochner, 2000, p. 271)  4. How has the author?s subjectivity been both a process and a product of this text? 5. Is there adequate self-awareness and self-exposure for the reader to make judgments about the point of view? 6. Do authors hold themselves accountable to the standards of knowing and telling of the people they have studied? a. ?I expect the author to dig at his or her actions and underneath them, displaying the self on the page? (Bochner, 2000, p. 270) Express a reality 1. Does this text embody a fleshed out, embodied sense of lived-experience? a. Is there ?abundant, concrete detail?? (Bochner, 2000, p. 270) 2. Does this seem ?true? ? a credible account of a cultural, social, individual, or communal sense of the ?real?? a. Does it resonate? (Fels, 2012; Goldstein, 2012a; 2012b) b. ?Honoring the research context, the fact-fiction balance? (Prendergast & Belliveau, 2013, p. 204) c. Built by consensus (Eisner, 1991) Form Aesthetic merit 1. Does the piece succeed aesthetically? 2. Does the use of creative analytical practices open up the text, invite interpretive responses? 3. Is the text artistically shaped, satisfying, complex, and not boring? a. ?Good autoethnographies draw the audience in.? (Ellis, 2000, p. 275) b. ?Using all elements of the theater (or other performance genres) to share the research.? (Prendergast & Belliveau, 2013, p. 204) c. ?Is there sufficient, yet not overblown dramatic tension?? (Ellis, 2000, p. 275) d. ?less is more? (Salda?a, 2005, p. 28) Impact Impact 1. Does this affect me?  a. Emotionally?  b. Intellectually? c. Generate new questions? d. Move me to write? e. Move me to try new research practices? f. Move me to action?  Cohesion  1. Does the research function as a unified whole? a. ?The greater the literary work, the greater the pull of its super-objective.? (Stanislavski, 1936, p. 271) b. Has the author edited so ?that all words are necessary, well placed, and the best choices?? (Ellis, 2000, p. 275) Gifting 1. Transformative, circular gifting a. (Hyde, 1979; Kuokkanen, 2007) Bold text is from (Richardson, 2000a, p. 254) Table 3. Evaluative Questions 220  Richardson?s criteria provide a useful framework for evaluating arts-based research projects.  However, Bochner (2000) critiques the notion of criteria as an attempt to establish  culture-free standards to which all evidence must appeal, so that we won?t have to rely on our own ?subjectivity? to decide.  Criteria pose as something beyond culture, beyond ourselves and our conventions, beyond human choice and interpretation when, of course, they are not.  Sometimes I feel that criteria are the very means we ourselves created to contain our desire for freedom and experience, a way of limiting our own possibilities and stifling our creative energy.  (p. 267) Similarly, Watson (2012) suggests that what is needed ?is not slavish adherence to a rubric but an open, yet attentive approach [to assessment], sensitive to nuance? (p. 463).  Thus criteria such as Richardson?s may be called into question as confining and limiting rather than creating entry points through which a reviewer may enter and evaluate arts-based research.   To move away from the confinement of criteria, I follow Trainor and Graue (2013) who, in their book Reviewing Qualitative Research in the Social Sciences, use qualitative touchstones as ?parameters for criteria for estimating, if not evaluating, the quality of qualitative research? (p. 7).  Unlike metallurgic touchstones ("touchstone, n.", 2013), qualitative touchstones ?defy facile application of a dichotomous good/bad list of quality indicators? (Trainor & Graue, 2013, p. 8).  Qualitative touchstones then move evaluation from a collection of confining check-mark criteria to become entry points, guiding reviewers into and through a work.  Kendall and Thangaraj (2013) have previously reframed Richardson?s criteria as qualitative touchstones and as such I 221  use them to establish conditions of evaluation for this dissertation58 which are grouped based on Alexander?s three categories: Content: Substantive Contribution, Reflexivity, and Expresses a Reality Form: Aesthetic Merit Impact: Impact Salda?a (2005) notes that ?the judgment of an ethnodrama?s success as both art form and ethnography is ultimately for the reader, or in performance, each individual audience member to determine? (p. 33).  As such, this discussion neither strives to, nor can be, a definitive evaluation of Homa Bay Memories.  Instead, it provides possible points for reviewers, including those unfamiliar with arts-based research, to enter the work in order to ?estimate its quality? (Trainor & Graue, 2013).  This leaves space for each reviewer to bring his or her own touchstones to complement and possibly contradict those presented here.  Content Substantive contribution.   Richardson (2000a) uses the substantive contribution touchstone to ask three questions: 1. Does this piece contribute to our understanding of social-life?  2. Does the writer demonstrate a deeply grounded (if embedded) human-world understanding and perspective?  3. How has this perspective informed the construction of the text? (p. 254)                                                 58 A/r/tography, an arts-based research methodology, offers six renderings: Contiguity, Living Inquiry, Metaphor and Metonymy, Openings, Reverberations, and Excess (Irwin & Springgay, 2008, Springgay, Irwin, & Kind, 2005).  Similar to touchstones, these renderings are not framed as criteria but as ?concepts that help a/r/tographers portray the conditions of their work for others? (Irwin & Springgay, 2008, p. xxviii).  As this study does not draw on a/r/tography as a methodology, I have not positioned the renderings as part of its evaluation.  See Lea, Belliveau, Wager, and Beck (2011) for an example of how the renderings may be applied to a research-based theatre project. 222  Similarly, Ellis (2000) writes that she expects to learn something about the experiences of others including the author and his or her own life, while Eisner (1991) asks for works that ?call to our attention aspects of the situation or place we might otherwise miss? (p. 59).  These contributions can be framed as experiential and theoretical.  Richardson?s first question and those of Eisner and Ellis ask what the research shares of the experience of social life.  The second two questions posed by Richardson ask how the research is shaped by and builds upon the theoretical underpinnings upon which it is based. Experiential.  In Homa Bay Memories I share a variety of experiences including those of an early CUSO volunteer in Kenya, a student teacher in Kenya, and a son tracing his narrative inheritance to reconnect with a deceased parent.  Throughout the work I trace a family?s experience of separation across borders of time, place, and mortality examining how connections may be created and re-established both physically and conceptually.  For example, in Moment 14, JUNE, while not physically present for the playing of her Christmas recording, is able to theatrically cross borders of time and place to engage with her family through the audio recording:  PHYLLIS We had Junie sitting on our kitchen table last evening and four brothers, a sister, and a dad & mom around enjoying it very much.  Theoretical.  As discussed throughout the dissertation, this research is informed by Bakhtin?s notion of chains of utterances.  This theoretical stance leads to the notion that our existence is co-constructed in the spaces between one another and I have worked to embed this ?human-world? understanding within the physical presentation of the research.  For example, I have embedded this theory into the stage design: 223  The SR and SL areas should be dressed carefully, extending off stage with stylized movement in the dressing from a sense of verisimilitude extending from offstage that fades into the neutral space CS. This may be aided by a painted flat US of each area to help delineate the spaces and to help emphasize their distinctness.  Methodological. As mentioned earlier, developing Homa Bay Memories as a research-based theatre script provided an opportunity to deeply engage not only with my and my mother?s experiences but also with the methodology.  In light of this I propose another question to Richardson?s substantive contribution questions: does the piece contribute to our understanding of, or approach to methodology.   One of my goals in this research was to develop a research-based theatre script to fit within the ?aesthetic performances based on systematic research? (Beck et al., 2011, p. 695) portion of the spectrum of research-based theatre.  Throughout the dissertation I discuss possibilities and tensions inherent when working toward this part of the spectrum such as the tension surrounding my use of verbatim text and including June?s journals as part of the data.  I have also strived to build the methodology by drawing upon theatre practitioners and theorists such as Stanislavsky and his notion of the super-objective, to help inform the script building process.  Finally, throughout the script I attempt to provide an example of how careful consideration of staging may help express research understandings, such as the example above. Reflexivity.  Richardson?s reflexivity touchstone is consistent with the reflective turn of social science research (Goldstein, 2012a) in asking researchers and authors to position both text and themselves, making explicit the structural, methodological, and epistemological construction of the research.  As part of this touchstone, Richardson also calls researchers to share ethical issues related to their research.  To address reflexivity she proposes six questions: 224  1. How did the author come to write this text?  2. How was the information gathered?  3. Ethical issues?  4. How has the author?s subjectivity been both a producer and a product of this text?  5. Is there adequate self-awareness and self-exposure for the reader to make judgments about the point of view?  6. Do authors hold themselves accountable to the standards of knowing and telling of the people they have studied?  (Richardson, 2000a, p. 254) Bochner (2000) similarly calls upon authors to ?dig at [their] actions and underneath them, displaying the self on the page? (p. 270) and to show concern for ?how other people who are part of the teller?s story are portrayed? (p. 271).    Prendergast and Belliveau (2013) establish four qualitative touchstones for performative research such as research-based theatre.  Among these is the call to share ?the artistic in the academic article to provide the reader entry points inside the work? (p. 204).  This touchstone draws attention to the dual position of research-based theatre, that it may be shared by itself and/or positioned within or alongside an academic discussion.  This provides an opportunity for authors to engage in two forms of reflexivity: internal and external.    225  Internal reflexivity. I use internal reflexivity to refer to reflexivity contained within the artistic component of the research such as the script of Homa Bay Memories.  In the opening and closing monologues I share with audiences the various data used to develop the script while problematizing the memories used and my role in (re)creating these stories.  This explicit internal reflexivity is also demonstrated in the questions asked throughout the script.  For example, in Moment 20 when I question my conclusion that my suitcase was stolen when we were asked to leave the bus:   After an hour that seemed to stretch further than the grasslands around us we got back on the bus.  How will I explain that I got robbed.  I hope beyond hope that they left the letter?.    When we finally arrived, (GRAHAM pulls suitcase off bus and opens it) I opened my suitcase expecting a missing laptop ? but there it was.  (GRAHAM exhales.)  The letter? (GRAHAM holds the scrap of cloth)  The letter.  (GRAHAM looks up)  But why?d I assume it?d be stolen? (Blackout on the CS area)  I do not recall questioning my reactions in situ.  However, revisiting the experience during the scriptwriting process allowed me to reflect upon and question my reaction to the experience.  June?s letters are frequently self-reflective and I retain this self-questioning in the script to help build explicit internal reflexivity such as when she asks her family: ?Please don?t ?accuse? me again of knowing what people are thinking, for I only think they may think or say things by accident? (E. J. Dingwell, 1966-1970a, Letter to Family, October 15, 1967).   There is also implicit internal reflexivity in the script in which reflexivity informs moments of the script but the reflexive questions are not aired explicitly.  As discussed in Chapter Six, I juxtaposed my experience in the kitchen with June?s letter about learning to carry a basket.  In doing so I gesture to possible roles of mimicry in our experiences and draw them together creating a moment of reflexivity implicit to the script. 226  External reflexivity. The space between script and research article, artistic and academic prose, provides opportunities for researchers to be reflective of their work outside of the artwork: part of the research but not contained within its artistic representation.  Throughout the academic prose portions of this dissertation I respond to Richardson?s (2000) reflexivity questions making explicit the origins of this research text, how the information was gathered, and digging deeply into ethical issues encountered while developing the script.  For example, Bochner (2000) calls writers to ?show concern for how other people who are part of the teller?s story are portrayed? (p. 271).  Such depictions, including those of my mother, grandmother, and co-student teachers, became of central concern while writing the script and are discussed in depth in Chapter Six. Expresses a Reality. To determine how a work expresses a reality, Richardson (2000a) asks two questions: 1. Does this text embody a fleshed out, embodied sense of lived-experience?  2. Does it seem ?true? ? a credible account of a cultural, social, individual, or communal sense of the ?real?? (p. 254) Bochner (2000) reiterates Richardson?s first question asking for ?abundant, concrete detail; concern not only for the commonplace, even trivial routines of everyday life, but also for the flesh and blood emotions of people coping with life?s contingencies; not only facts but also feelings? (p. 270).  Throughout Homa Bay Memories I build moments of ?reality? by introducing concrete details such as the ?cracked yellow paint on the walls broken up by a few pictures? (see Moment 10A) or the sound of rain crossing the ocean before a storm (see Moments 15C-E).   Richardson?s second question highlights that this touchstone is not calling for a replication of the research context but instead seeks that which is ?real.?  Prendergast and 227  Belliveau?s (2013) fourth touchstone similarly reminds researchers to honour ?the research context, the fact-fiction balance? (p. 204).  This leaves space for the artistic inclusion of fictive elements into the research while stressing that they be rooted in the context of the data.  This sense of ?true? fiction is built, as Eisner (1991) suggests, by consensus: ?the condition in which investigators or readers of a work concur that the findings and/or interpretations reported by the investigator are consistent with their own experience or with the evidence presented? (p. 56).  It cannot be imposed but rather ?truth? and ?reality? must resonate (Fels, 2012; Goldstein, 2012a; 2012b) with viewers and readers as well as with the context of the research and with research participants.  To help ensure this research resonates with the context of the data and participants, I shared the script with June?s brothers and sister as well as the three women who travelled to Kenya with me and invited them to respond to it in a form of member checking.  For example, in a conversation with Helene, my mother?s sister and a retired nurse, she commented that my mother was never on a heart monitor as I had assumed and staged in the prologue (personal communication, March 17, 2013).  Thus the sound of the heart monitor does not resonate with the ?factual reality? of my mother?s death.  However, I retained the sound to provide a quick, culturally resonant method of showing, rather than telling of a death.     I cannot comment on how this research may or may not resonate with readers or viewers of possible stage productions as such resonances can only be determined in each individual encounter with the work (Salda?a, 2005).  However, to encourage possible resonances, I have left openings throughout the research for viewers and reviewers to enter the work personally, theoretically, and/or methodologically. 228  Form Aesthetic merit.  While Richardson?s content touchstones share common concerns with a broad spectrum of qualitative research, her forth touchstone asks questions focusing more specifically on arts-based research: 1. Does this piece succeed aesthetically?  2. Does the use of creative analytical practices open up the text, invite interpretive responses?  3. Is the text artistically shaped, satisfying, complex, and not boring? (p. 254) Prendergast and Belliveau (2013) similarly call for attention to aesthetic elements when assessing and reviewing performative works.  They suggest using elements of the theatre to their full advantage to create spaces for audiences to enter the work, heightening possible understandings of the research (Cox, Kazubowski-Houston, & Nisker, 2009).  However, Salda?a (2005) notes that while there are a wealth of theatrical elements from which to draw, ?from my own experience I offer the classic design adage for guidance: ?Less is more?? (p. 28).  This reflects Jackson?s (2007) concern that the aesthetic elements of educational drama not outweigh the instrumental (research) elements but that the two must balance each other.  Similarly, Ellis (2000) asks if there is ?sufficient, yet not overblown dramatic tension? (p. 275).  While the aesthetic is important in arts-based research, as Ellis and Salda?a caution, aesthetic elements such as dramatic tension should not be ?overblown? or added for effect.  Instead, aesthetic elements should be organic to, and in support of, the research. As discussed in Chapter One, I position this research within the aesthetic/systemic portion of the spectrum of research-based theatre (Beck et al., 2011).  In doing so I have from 229  inception, been working to develop Homa Bay Memories as both an aesthetic piece of theatre and a systemic research study.  To strengthen the aesthetic potential of the work, I have been particularly conscious of elements such as actor movement, projections, lighting and set design, sound, and plot.  While helping to create aesthetic potential, these elements are also included to help inform meanings and tell the story of the research.    For example, the heart monitor sound effect in the prologue draws from the auditory possibilities of theatre to suggest a death rather than stating it explicitly, to show, not tell.  However, the sound serves a double purpose.  In the beginning of the next moment (1A), the sound transforms into that of a telegraph, signalling the beginning of June?s new life in Kenya.  Using the same sound in these two different contexts draws them together, crossing borders of time, space, and mortality.  In doing so this organic sound effect serves to both convey elements of plot and inform understandings.  Richardson?s third aesthetic question asks if the artistic research is boring.  Similarly, de Vries (2012) suggests that one of the hallmarks of a good autoethnography is that it draws in the audience, holding their attention.  This coincides with Collinson?s (1992) suggestion ?that aesthetic experience at its highest and best is arresting, intense and utterly engrossing; that when fully achieved it seizes one?s whole mind or imagination and conveys whatever it does convey so vividly that the result is delight and knowledge? (p. 115).  Assessing whether or not a work is engrossing is made on an individual basis (Collinson, 1992; Jackson, 2007; Salda?a, 2005) and so I am unable to comment on it directly.  However, while developing the script, I had several opportunities to share selections with various audiences, which have responded favourably to the aesthetic potential of the work.  For example, after performing the kitchen monologue (see Moments 10A, and 10C) for a graduate class I was approached by a student who remarked, ?I 230  couldn?t take my eyes off of you? (personal communication, November 6, 2012) suggesting the aesthetic potential of the work.  A full staging of Homa Bay Memories will provide an opportunity to build upon this aesthetic potential to draw and hold attention.  However, I remain cognizant of Salda?a?s concern to ?keep it simple? as I consider a full production. Impact Impact. Richardson?s final touchstone asks reviewers to consider the impact a work may have on an audience: 1. Does this affect me?  2. emotionally?  3. intellectually?  4. generate new questions?  5. move me to write?  6. move me to try new research practices?  7. move me to action? (p. 254) These questions focus on impacts upon audiences of the research, something I am unable to speak to here.  However, it is not only audiences but also authors that may be impacted.  One of the great surprises I encountered during this research, as discussed in Chapter Six, was realizing that the script development process was in large part an opportunity to re-establish conditions of connection between my mother and I.  The writing of Homa Bay Memories has created an opportunity for beginning a progression of the relationship between my mother and I despite the borders of mortality.  As such, regardless of any impact the work may have on an audience, it has had significant impact upon me. 231  Other Touchstones Richardson?s five touchstones provide readers, viewers, and assessors of artistic research a collection of entry points for estimating the quality of arts-based research such as this dissertation.  This is not to suggest that there are not other potential evaluative entry points.  Many other scholars and reviewers have provided their own criteria for assessment including Bochner (2000), Eisner (1991), Ellis (2000), Prendergast and Belliveau (2013), Salda?a (2011), among others.  Based on the theoretical and epistemological underpinnings of this research, I offer two other potential touchstones: cohesion and gifting. Cohesion.   In Chapter Six I discuss three versions of the script: resonances, research quest, and super-objective.  In the third version, having identified the super-objective ?to connect,? I revisited the script, culling as much as possible that did not support the objective.  This cull was inspired by Stanislavsky?s (1936) suggestion that ?the greater the literary work, the greater the pull of its super-objective? (p. 271).  From this perspective, the more aligned the minor objectives and details are to the super-objective, the more cohesive the script.  This suggests a potential touchstone, that the research be cohesive: that all elements function together to help express the research.  Ellis (2000) similarly asks if the author has edited ?so that all words are necessary, well placed, and the best choices? (p. 275).  When discussing the super-objective I describe being unable to cut everything that did not inform the super-objective.  I found I had to balance the aesthetic drive for cohesion with the instrumental/academic desire for comprehensive understanding.  For example, as discussed in Chapter Six, in her letters June used the metaphor of adolescence to describe Kenya as a young emerging country striving to establish its identity.  The metaphor is used in several letters that 232  could have been developed into potential scenes.  While interesting, and potentially informative, the scenes did not help support the super-objective or other understandings gained in the research and were cut to help build cohesion in the script.   Gifting. The second touchstone I put forward draws from the epistemological positioning of this research as a sharing of gifts.  As discussed in Chapter Six, through the research, I treated the gifts of data from June?s and my experiences as transformative circular gifts.  As such, the research process became one of transforming these gifts in preparation to continue a chain of gifting (Hyde, 1979; Kuokkanen, 2007).  These transformations and gifting are successful if they resonate with the reader, evoking or provoking, providing insights, sparking questions, or shedding new light, and are then passed on.  As this work has not yet been widely shared, there have not been opportunities for this continual chain of gifting to be established.  This passing on may occur on an individual basis or through a more public forum such as the published responses to Salda?a?s (2008b) Second Chair: An Autoethnodrama by Bowman (2008), Brewer (2008), Robinson (2008), and Smigiel (2008); and Goodall?s (2006) A Need to Know: The Clandestine History of a CIA Family by Bochner (2008), Denzin (2008b), Ellis (2008), Hartnett (2008), and Pelias (2008) which use a variety of textual forms to respond to Salda?a and Goodall?s original work, continuing the chain of gifting. The touchstones discussed in this chapter are intended to provide readers, particularly those unfamiliar with arts-based research, with ways of entering into the work.  As Leavy (2009) suggests, ?there is no ?one-size-fits-all? model of evaluation? (p. 16) of arts-based research so in this chapter, I have provided potential touchstones as evaluative entry points for this research.  In sharing these touchstones I recognize that, like any utterance, they are shaped not just by their 233  author but also by the addressees.  In assessing this work, reviewers are also influenced by their own chains of utterances and experiences which will shape their application of the described touchstones and inspire others that may be brought to the work. 234  Chapter Eight: Epilogue Within the pages of this dissertation are chronicles of physical, personal, and methodological journeys.  While on these journeys I have had an opportunity to engage with a part of my narrative inheritance and by developing this exploration as a piece of research-based theatre I have been able to deeply engage with the methodology.  Rather than a completion of these journeys, this dissertation marks an extended moment of reflection as beyond these pages, these journeys will continue.  My relationship with my mother and my narrative inheritance will continue to grow and evolve as will Homa Bay Memories as a piece of research-based theatre and my understandings of the theoretical and methodological underpinnings of this research.   Reconsidering the Addressee  Throughout this dissertation I draw upon Bakhtin?s notation that an utterance has both an author and an addressee and that both are instrumental in shaping an utterance.  While developing Homa Bay Memories I conceived its intended addressee as a theatrical audience watching a fully realized production of the script.  Looking back on this through the lens of the critical commentary, I see that this may be an oversimplification of the nature of the audience in this work.  In Chapter Two, I discuss how the initially intended linear development process for the playwright-centred Naming the Shadows became complicated as the playwright returned to collect data and as researchers became performers.  This increasing complexity is depicted in Figure 8 and Figure 9.  In both figures, sharing with an audience is represented by a single one-directional arrow moving from performers to audience.  Writing about the development of Homa Bay Memories has caused me to further consider the role of the audience in research-based 235  theatre.  Throughout the dissertation, I discuss that from a Bakhtinian perspective, speaker and addressee co-construct an utterance.  In this light, the audience is not a passive receiver of a research-based theatre production; they are an active participant in the creation of the theatrical event.   The playwright-centred approach used to develop Homa Bay Memories is characterized by a playwright/researcher developing a script, which is often given to a theatrical development team.  This development team then transforms the scripted research into a staged production to be shared with a theatrical audience.  As Nicholas Hytner, director of the National Theatre in London, suggests, scripts ?are instructions for performance, like musical scores, and they need players to become music ? [a script] is provisional in the sense that it?s waiting to be completed by its actors? (2013).  Thus unlike a novel or a poem, the immediate addressee of the scripted research is not the research audience but the theatrical development team.  The playwright/researcher must then have two intended addressees: (1) the audience of the theatrical event, which is reached through and mediated by (2) a theatrical development team.   This complicates the relationship of authors and addressees in research-based theatre and suggests an area of further exploration: how does the playwright/researcher prepare research for a development team in such a way that the team can build the script into a fully realized production communicating the research understandings of the playwright/researcher.  Future staged readings and full productions of Homa Bay Memories will provide opportunities to explore this balance and how the research evolves when given shape by a development team and breath by actors. 236  Last Words and New Links This project has taken me on a journey through significant parts of my experiences, family history, and narrative inheritance.  It has been a journey of looking backward to look forward and one of growth as an academic, artist, and person.  These last few lines mark the end of this project, this extended moment of reflection, but not the journeys.  They continue as I imagine new directions and share the work with you.  Within this sharing I hope you have seen something of yourself: a reflection or a tangential glance, something that resonated with you or caused you to think of something in a new way.  I hope something in these pages supported, challenged, or generated a belief or an understanding.  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Stoke on Trent, UK: Trentham Books.  266  		 !"#$$	%$&"%$'(%$"%$'%$')%$%$	*+'%$')Appendix A: Partial Family Tree                         Names in red are principal characters  Names in blue are secondary characters Names in green are mentioned but not included in the script 267  Appendix B: Interview Schedule  Version(1:(24(May(2012( Page(1(of(1( ((( ( Department)of)Language)&)Literacy)Education)2125)Main)Mall)Vancouver,)B.C.)Canada))V6T)1Z4)Tel:)(604))822I5788)Fax:)(604))822I3154)Email:)lled.educ@ubc.ca))Interview)Questions((Unasked(Questions(and(Untold(Stories:(Theatrically(Exploring(Narrative(Inheritance(( 1. Are(there(any(stories(you(remember(that(may(be(significant(that(were(not(included?(( 2. Are(any(of(the(stories(shared(not(reflective(of(what(you(remember?(( 3. Are(there(any(stories(shared(in(the(script(that(you(wish(to(have(altered?((How?(( 4. Are(there(any(stories(shared(in(the(script(that(you(wish(were(removed?(( 5. What(is(important(for(me(to(remember(or(to(include(about(you(as(I(write(this(play?(( 6. What(concerns(you(about(your(words(and(actions(being(dramatized(on(the(stage(and(performed(by(someone(else?((( 7. What(do(you(hope(audiences(might(take(away(with(them(after(seeing(the(production?((( 8. What(ideas(about(the(script(or(its(performance(on(stage(do(you(have(at(this(time(for(me(to(consider?( )268  Appendix C: Code List      Africa_Culture Differences   Recording Africa_Development    School_Community Africa_Politics     School_Education System Africa_Self-image    School_Exams Africa_Who is African?    School_Fees Bakhtin_Chains     School_Importance Bakhtin_Intended Audience   Space Bread      Student Voice Connection_EJD/GL    Theatre Connection_Farm Rhythms   Theatre_Blocking Connection_To Family    Theatre_Character Description Connection_To Kenyans   Theatre_Lighting Danger      Theatre_Metaphor Employees      Theatre_Props Evaluation      Theatre_Quote Family_Wedding     Theatre_Scene Fear       Theatre_Set Gender      Theatre_SFX/Music Language      Theatre_Visual Mboya      Time Mimicry      Time_African Missionaries     Travel Home Moon and Stars     Writer_EJD Motivation_For Extending   Writer_GL Motivation_For Going    Writer_Grandma Motivation_For Leaving   Writer_Helene Packing      Writer_PD Parent Support     Writer_Rodney Pictures      Writer_Roy Place       Xmas       269  Appendix D: Possible Music Selections The following selections are track lists from audiotapes that were likely with June in Kenya. Hawaiian Wedding Song Album The Most Beautiful Music of Hawaii Album Summer Place Andy Williams Piano Concerto #2 Beethoven Symphony #2 Beethoven A Hard Rain?s a-Gonna Fall Bob Dylan How Many Roads Bob Dylan It Ain?t me Babe Bob Dylan Mama, You?ve Been on My Mind Bob Dylan Prince Igor Overture Borodin Piano Concerto #1 Chopin Almost Good David Seville Caravan Duke Ellington I Got it Bad Duke Ellington In a Sentimental Mood Duke Ellington Mood Indigo Duke Ellington Prelude to a Kiss Duke Ellington Solitude Duke Ellington Sophisticated Lady Duke Ellington Various Gordon Lightfoot Water Music  Handel Spanish Flea Herb Alpert All My Trials Joan Baez Black is the Color of my True Love?s Hair Joan Baez Danger Waters Joan Baez Kumboya Joan Baez The Ballad of Pretty Boy Floyd Joan Baez Blowin? in the Wind Joan Baez, Bob Dylan, or Peter Paul and Mary Don?t think Twice, It?s Alright Joan Baez, Bob Dylan, or Peter Paul and Mary Clarinet Concerto Mozart Horn Concerto Mozart Hiroshima Pete Seeger I Can See a New Day Pete Seeger Johnny Give Me Pete Seeger Various Peter Paul and Mary Maron Lescaut Puccini Bali Ha?i Richard Rogers and Ronnie Hazelhurst Lover Richard Rogers and Ronnie Hazelhurst With a Song in My Heart Richard Rogers and Ronnie Hazelhurst Zigeunerwiesen Sarasarte Symphony #9 Schubert 270   Violin Concerto Tchaikovsky Beautiful Dreamer Unknown In the Still of the Night Unknown Jeanie Unknown Miriam M. Unknown More than You Know Unknown Nobody Knows the Trouble Unknown Old Folks at Home Unknown Teddy Bear Picnic Unknown Trumpet Concerto Unknown Was he Crucified to Rot Unknown Zorba the Greek Unknown Cast Your Fate to the Wind Vince Guaraldi  June also made several recordings of Kenyan music from the radio, Homa Bay students, and music festivals that could be used as incidental music; however, they are of poor audio quality. 271  Appendix E: Honey Bread Recipe This recipe is adapted from the Time-Life book Recipes: African Cooking (Van der Post, 1970, pp. 106-107).    Honey Bread  1 package (2 ? teaspoons) active dry yeast  ? teaspoon ground cloves ? cup lukewarm water     1? teaspoon salt 1 egg       1 cup lukewarm milk  ? cup + ? teaspoon honey    6 tablespoons melted unsalted butter 1 tablespoon ground coriander   4 to 4? cups all-purpose flour ? teaspoon ground cinnamon  Mix ? teaspoon of honey with lukewarm water in a small, shallow bowl and sprinkle with yeast.  Let mixture stand for 2 to 3 minutes, then stir to dissolve the yeast completely.  Set aside in a warm place for 5 minutes, or until the mixture almost doubles in volume.  Mix the egg, honey, coriander, cinnamon, cloves and salt in a large bowl.  Blend in the yeast mixture, milk, and 4 tablespoons of melted butter.   Stir in the flour, ? cup at a time, adding just enough that the dough can be gathered into a soft ball.    On a lightly floured surface, knead the dough by folding it end to end, then pressing it down and pushing it forward several times with the heel of your hand.  Knead until the dough is smooth and elastic, about 5 minutes.  Place dough in a greased bowl and set in a warm place to rise for about 1 hour, or until it roughly doubles in bulk.    Spread remaining butter evenly over a 3-quart baking dish.  Punch the dough with a single blow of your fist and then knead it again for 1 or 2 minutes.  Shape the dough roughly into a round and place it in the buttered baking dish, covering the bottom completely.  Return the dough to the warm place for about 1 hour, or until it has doubled in bulk.  Preheat the oven to 300?.  Brush the top of the dough with butter.  Bake in middle of the oven for 50 to 60 minutes, until the top is crusty and light golden brown.  Turn the bread out of the pan onto a cake rack to cool.   May be served while it is still somewhat warm, when cooled completely.  Traditionally, it is eaten spread with butter and honey. May also be made in a bread machine.  272  Appendix F: Phyllis?s letter of May 3, 1970                   273                                     (P. Dingwell, 1966-1970, Letter to June, May 3, 1970)  274  J:W??;7 t?7 ?A4 Q/)?to4 c*.-4k-t ?& ..?,._&..c fl)4IiPC. . a.. ))..i& ?4a j-- ?)1- e LlIdr..jdl tL &4 a.. J Z?&7d4fd)a., 4,4 tiA4.3 L4L jd?tdrc (fcL4. gt.L9L4144_i j44,____-/v LL47? .4.)4i.L.4- C4.m-__---- .__-7_.? CL& ----_____4La - -b.a-4..w wd4..- _ ?11g_______?__- _4d -?efd..0 ?I -iJd1Lim 4A4?, -4-c??--? ?-%? ws--4-d ?L--WI?--r-,L?c?.j_1. -41 ..-&4 -)L-- j4?W4i7 FF4.4-c LPC L7aci-?.r___r?- -7LA..de .Appendix G: June?s letter of May 28, 1968 275  It I(1) 0m zOrrir.mLl)jt-rlrnC)()Zni?pa..a.3_s_S_k. tj                                      (E. J. Dingwell, 1966-1970a, Letter to Family, May 28, 1968)  276  Appendix H: Letter of Initial Contact !Version!1:!09!June!2012! Page!1!of!1! !!! ! Department)of)Language)&)Literacy)Education)2125)Main)Mall)Vancouver,)B.C.)Canada))V6T)1Z4)Tel:)(604))822I5788)Fax:)(604))822I3154)Email:)lled.educ@ubc.ca))[NAME]![ADDRESS]!! ![DATE]!!RE:!Invitation!to!participate!in!a!research!study!!Dear![NAME]:!!!I!am!writing!this!letter!to!extend!an!invitation!to!participate!in!a!research!project!leading!to!my!PhD!dissertation.!!This!research!project!explores!my!experiences!of!student!teaching!in!Kenya!in!2004!and!my!late!mother's!experiences!teaching!there!in!the!late!1960s.!!You!have!been!selected!based!on!your!involvement!as![AN!IMMEDIATE!FAMILY!MEMBER!OF!E.!JUNE!LEA!or!A!COOPERATING!TEACHER!WITH!GRAHAM!W.!LEA!IN!KENYA!IN!2004].!!!!As!part!of!this!project,!the!research!will!be!developed!into!a!theatrical!production!for!both!academic!and!non\academic!audiences.!!Should!you!choose!to!participate,!you!will!be!asked!to!read!the!script!and!attend!an!interview.!!The!total!time!commitment!will!be!approximately!3!to!3.5!hours.!!!Should!you!choose!to!participate!in!this!study,!you!will!be!provided!with!a!consent!form.!!When!the!initial!version!of!the!script!is!completed,!it!shall!be!sent!to!you!and!an!interview!will!be!scheduled.!!!Sincerely,!!!Graham!W.!Lea!277  Appendix I: Informed Consent Form  Version(2:(27(June(2012( Page(1(of(4( ((( ( Department)of)Language)&)Literacy)Education)2125)Main)Mall)Vancouver,)B.C.)Canada))V6T)1Z4)Tel:)(604))822I5788)Fax:)(604))822I3154)Email:)lled.educ@ubc.ca))Informed)Consent)Form)))Unasked)Questions)and)Untold)Stories)Theatrically)Exploring)Narrative)Inheritance)(I.)STUDY)TEAM)Principal)Investigator:)(Dr.(George(Belliveau(Department(of(Language(and(Literacy(Education(University(of(British(Columbia(Phone:(604H822H8654