What Poetry Taught Me About Bravery

I panic. A lot. Before stepping on any stage my palms begin to sweat, my chest beats at 100km/hr and my knees shake. Every time. But every time I still get on that stage with purpose rushing through my veins, to defeat my fears over and over again. I am Mpumalanga Zwane, and this is what Spoken Word Poetry taught me about bravery. I still remember the first time I met Spoken Word Poetry. It was in June 2013 and I was in my penultimate year of high school. At that point, I was in a transition. I had just left my previous school and I had to wait a whole month to start at the new one because they were in the middle of exams. At this point I was 17 years old and had lived and schooled in eSwatini my whole life. The new school was in South Africa and a dream come true for me. But that's another story. Sitting at home waiting for school to resume, my mother wanted me to keep studying so I wouldn't get left behind. But of course I didn't. Teenage me was too busy enjoying my extended holiday watching TV and sleeping instead. But one day that all changed. My (only) brother came home from boarding school one weekend. Probably seeing how unproductive I was, he told me to watch this new spoken word poetry series he had recently discovered. He is one of my favourite people in the world and has always been a great source of support and encouragement. See, back then I used to write a few poems here and there, but I never took it seriously. Drawing cartoons characters, writing short and building miniature houses out of cardboard boxes and other things stolen from around the house- those were more my thing. June 2013, my brother introduced me to Russell Simmons Presents Def Poetry (or simply Def Poetry Jam) and my whole world changed.

I had never seen poetry performed like that. Had never seen how one's whole body and voice could come together to become both stage and actor to give birth to something so beautiful. The poetry on that stage had a life of its own. It was amazing! That day I binge watched 6 seasons of Def Jam Poetry. Transfixed. I remember seeing Dan Vaugn, Dasha Kelly, Saddi Khali, George Watsky and more get on that stage. Each one brought their own flavour as they did more than just speak their poems. Spoken Word poetry was like breathing life into a message so it could come alive on that stage. Possess a life of its own. Spoken Word was more than just words or poetry. It was the coming to life of poems and I wanted to be like those poets. When my sister got home, I excitedly showed her the series. I wanted the whole world to see this thing called Spoken Word Poetry. Remember, this is a tale about bravery... The next day, I took out a pen and paper to revise my Physics like the mother told me to but those poets kept paying my mind a visit. On that day, that study paper was turned into the first Spoken Word Poem I ever wrote.

I created a character: a woman who had broken up with her boyfriend and was now desperately wanting him back- on the verge of psychosis, talking to herself as if she were talking to him. I had never been in any situation of the sought so it took a lot of imagination. And I had imagination by the dozen at that point. I had to channel other emotions I had felt before-sadness, love for my family, wanting something I couldn't have- to empathise with and create a character I had never met before. But even as I wrote, I knew I knew that woman and could feel her come to life through my words. I could hear how each line would sound when performed on a stage. That poem was never created to be hidden in a book or on a dusty shelf. It screamed and begged to be put on a stage like it was born to be. But where would I find a stage?

July 2013, nervous as ever (I panic a lot, remember), I finally joined my new school the week of their prom. This school was a lot fancier than my other school and I only knew one person who wasn't even in my class. Luckily because of prom, the people in my grade had to decorate the hall so I would join them and that allowed me to meet and talk to people. Well, more like hang around and listen to them talk while answering a few questions here and there. It was while decorating the school hall that one of the girls mentioned that there would be a talent show the next week Friday. My interest peaked. Even though auditions were over, something compelled me to sign up. I hunted down the organising team and told them that I was still new and had missed the auditions. You should have seen the guy's face as this random new girl ambushed him. See, even though it made me nervous to walk up to this stranger and ask them to sign me up for the talent show, I felt compelled to do so by a bigger purpose. Lines from that poem still wrung through my head and they needed an outlet. It was as if I was watching shy, nervous little me, be a braver version of myself. In that moment, my panic had no choice but to step aside. A single line rang in my head each time I thought I would probably look stupid and that was, "do it like you meant to look like that."

So if I stuttered, it wasn't stuttering. I just have a rhythmic way of speaking. When I laughed nervously, I reminded myself that laughing nervously is a normal thing and nothing to be ashamed of. Mortifying things happen, and life moves on. It always does.

Luckily the team agreed to put my name down and I did not do anything stupid or embarrassing to boot. That moment was only a lot scarier in my head than in real life. Now my poem had a stage, and I had to memorise it. I panicked. What had I gotten myself into? I could not turn back now despite having only been in this school for a little over a week. Stepping on a stage to do Spoken Word Poetry for the first time was a giant leap out of my comfort zone. The one girl I knew, encouraged me to practice. Said I would do just fine. Another girl told me that people in that school were unforgiving, so it was beyond brave that I chose to perform as a newbie.

That Friday, I sat alone in the crowd, going over my lines in my head, having mini panic attacks and then distracting myself with whatever was on stage. The performers were good. I mean real good. One of them went on to make a song with South African artist, Ricky Rick and two others went on to dance around South Africa and in the US. Those were the people I was sharing a stage with. And I was panicking. Each time a performance ended, my chest would erupt and my hands would shake, thinking they were about to call my name. And each time they didn't. And I would be relieved. And the cycle would repeat itself, until they finally called my name. I walked up. Electrons shooting through me. All I had was my poem, my voice and my body on that stage. I nervously introduced myself to a crowd hidden by the glare of the overhead lights. I was now on that stage, at a point of no return. A poem waiting to be heard. It was written for this: never to be hidden. So I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, and channeled all that nervous energy into performing that poem with every inch of my soul. I could not afford to wait for myself to stop panicking: that was not going to happen. I could not ask for more time to feel more brave, to have my hands stop shaking, to calm my heart. That would not happen, either. But I could take that negative energy- use it to fuel the passion I had for that poem, and go on. So I went on. That performance was everything I imagined it to be. Well, minus the knees shaking. I had become one with my purpose on that stage. I contorted my words into soft whispers in some parts and eerie screams in others. My face conspired with my hands, the bend of my back and the positioning of my feet as my whole body joined to give life to this poem. It was exhilarating.

When it was over, I left the poem on that stage as if reuniting a lost child with its parents. People came up to me to congratulate me. Apparently that night I was all over Twitter (at least among my peers). I am not much of a Twitter person but I did recently start posting things using my handle, @langas_house. I nervously thanked everyone and escaped into the bathroom to calm myself and celebrate this tiny victory. Despite not feeling brave, I had overcome a fear of being watched and discovered purpose.

Looking back, I noticed how preparation had played a key role in how well I did. Even though I could never prepare enough or practice the panic away, I needed to at least practice enough to grasp my poem. Sure I made mistakes on that stage. But because I had prepared myself, those mistakes were reduced to a minimum. I knew my poem well enough to play around with my words to smoothly recover from my mistakes and find my place again. I also had a good idea about how I wanted that poem to look like on a stage. The end goal may not always be clear as day, but understanding your purpose for doing something that scares you is empowering. It allows you to look beyond the waves of fear and momentary mistakes, and to channel that energy into achieving your goal. I was scared, but I knew I would not do that poem justice if I never performed it.

So bravery: it always seemed like something that possessed the power to stop the shakes and sweat. It seemed like something that would come upon me one day, and I would be brave forever. But that night on that stage proved to me that one could not wait to be brave. Heck, I didn't even realise I was being brave until the next week when people were talking about how brave it was of me to go on stage within 2 weeks of joining this school. To me, I just had this thing inside me that I just had to share. I also learnt that bravery is continuous. It is realising that the shakes and sweats and panic will always come, and then deciding to push on despite all of that. And boy do I still panic. Every time as if I have never stepped on a stage and killed it. But every time I choose not to let that stop me. I take all the energy that my fear gives me, and instead turn it into something positive. I channel the nervous energy into my hands as they are raised in defiant fists. I channel the nervous energy into a sneer on my face, a cheeky smile, a dramatic pause... Everything. It becomes part of the poem. Fuel for my passion.

I guess what I am saying is we don't have to wait to feel brave to do the things that give us life and make us happy to be alive. We don't have to wait to be brave to do the small, mundane things that bring us fear. The magic is not always in becoming brave before we do something that makes us happy. Sometimes the magic is pushing through the fear and doing something brave, even when (not so) deep inside, we are not. Preparing ourselves for the moment and then stepping on that stage to conquer fear.

This is what poetry taught me about bravery.