The Dance Balcony

Quest
Jack and Hannah Ormerod and Lucia, Delphine & Fin
Sun 19 Jun 2016 14:45
Position: 12:02.7N 61:45.5W

Hi Everyone,

Teheria is a Grenadian powerhouse. Trained as both a school teacher in Grenada and a dancer in Toronto, for twenty years she has combined teaching at an all-girls’ Catholic school and dancing. On Saturday mornings, I watch her take Delphine’s dance class and afterwards she sits with us dance mums on the balcony outside the studio. Below, fishing boats and ferries inhale and exhale their traffic on St. George’s waterfront Carenage. Next door in the dance studio, Paige, a tall and willowy almost grown-up pupil, takes Lulu’s class. Almost. ‘Princess,’ Teheria calls out from the balcony, ‘point your toes!’ Most of her students are also her girls at school. ‘See that one,’ she says to me, pointing at a girl with big eyes and twitchy feet, ‘she can never keep still. She doesn’t know how. That’s why I put her in this class even though she should be with the younger ones.’ I nod, too scared to say anything in case she stops talking. Teheria is mesmerising in that way that good teachers are and she must know it for she rolls her eyes a little. ‘Children need stretching and she needs stretching more than most.’ As we sit there and the girls stretch their legs at the bamboo barre, she tells me that for the past year she’s also been studying long-distance for a Masters in Psychology. ‘This island has no talking therapies for children and I think they need it since competition on this island is getting more and more fierce and everyone has to perform at younger and younger ages to prove themselves. My children could do with someone to talk to.' I shake my head, struck by the familiarity of our conversation. Small Caribbean islands and Wales are not so different; they are both places where jobs are scarce and competition is biting. No where in Aber though have I heard of a woman who runs the dance school, teaches during the day and wants to listen to kids on the side. This woman is serious. ‘If I’d have lived in America or Canada,’ she says, bringing out a large bag of freshly-picked small, red plums, 'I could have had a much better paying job but I told myself, Teheria do you want that kind of lifestyle? I might not get paid as much but here I don’t have the same stress.’ She laughs and hands me two plums. ‘From my garden,’ she says, biting into the pale pink flesh. 

She and the other dance mums talk. I listen and try to understand the run in conversation. Maybe I understand thirty percent of this fast and punchy English. Throughout, belly laughs come thick and fast. The other mums leave then and I find myself plumbing the depths of this busy woman's brain. What’s the best style of teaching? Should dancing have exams like they do in the UK, what do you do with naughty children in your class who don’t listen? Teheria laughs frequently. ‘I hate dance exams,’ she said, ‘they take all the fun out of it. Anyhow, professional dance is all about the audition.’ She tosses her lighter-hued dreadlocks and I know she’s humouring me now, sensing the lack of experience I have in this field, hearing the pipsqueak of desperation in my voice. She says, ‘Remember, children are not your friends. This is my foremost rule. Savannah, bend your knees!’ She leans back and smiles like she’s holding on to a really good secret. ‘It’s not to say you can’t like each other. But you’re not doing them any favours if you think you’re friends. You can’t guide them if you’re busy being friends.’ My brain is tingling. My turn. ‘I know these kids, small kids,’ I say, ‘who as soon as you discipline them start to say that they don’t like you.’ Teheria puffs through her nose and it sounds like a steam engine. ‘I would say, I don’t care if you like me, I care if you listen to me. Kayla, jump with both legs!’ 

When the girls begin to leap across the studio, Teheria begins to gather herself, ready to go. Sometimes she swims on a Saturday afternoon, sometimes she has to finish an assignment, whatever, she maintains that Saturday afternoon is time to herself. She stands up and says, ‘We've had a thread running on the Uni page about smacking children. One student left a post to say that smacking in any instance is akin to committing a crime.’ She laughs. 'I said to myself, Teheria, don’t get involved. These people are British and you’re Caribbean and you need to just leave it at that.’ ‘It’s ok,’ I say, ‘I think I must be the only boat-school teacher who smacks her students. I don’t know whether it’s right or not but when my two pupils start swearing at each other, my hand just gets so itchy.’ She stares at me intently for a moment then blows like a train through her nose again. Does she like me? I try to make the same sound with my nose. It comes out more piggy, less train. 

After Teheria leaves and ballet finishes, modern dance class begins. Modern is taught by Leanna who has braided hair to her waist and a figure that sculptors would poke each other with their trowels in order to have for themselves. She has a smile too that turns us into a bunch of princes fighting to win her hand. All us Ormerods are in love with her. ‘She was in my first ever dance class,’ Teheria tells me before she leaves, raising her hand a foot off the ground. ‘This high.’ In tune with the rest of her, Leanna’s dance class is romantic, lots of arm gestures and turning around. It’s a harder class than ballet for Delphine though, bigger girls, more complicated moves. The first week that Delphine danced, I was worried she would struggle and she did. The jumps were hard and her timing was in fast-forward compared to the other girls. After it finished and Delphine came out, Leanna came out too. ‘She was brilliant,’ she said, ‘please can she come again?’ We all nodded and Delphine smiled so bashfully, it made smiling look like it was going out of style. A few weeks later, Leanna revealed that she’s going to New York in September. ‘I won a dance scholarship and I’m really nervous.’ A dance scholarship! Of course! We can’t be the only people who are in love with her. In Grenada, she works in insurance during the week and teaches dance on the weekend. Last Saturday, Teheria was back on the balcony and calling, ‘Alicia, you have to dance like you’re enjoying yourself!’ when I mention our collective Leanna crush. Teheria smiles and rolls her eyes again. ‘She should go,’ she says. I find myself frowning. The idea of Leanna leaving to go anywhere is strangely shocking. ‘Why?’ I ask. ‘She needs to be a professional dancer,’ Teheria explains like I’m her slowest student, ‘so she’s not going to find that kind of work here. I keep telling her but she doesn’t want to leave.’ Right, I think. Like Wales. Do you choose home and family and plums in your garden or do you choose stress. And success. Avocado trees and mangoes versus apples and blackberries. Turns out Grenada and Wales are not so different after all. 

Love from Quest and her crew