Chicago Tribune - May 21, 2006
Sid Smith, Tribune arts critic, sismith@tribune.com

The implication is that this company of 22 performers somehow represents all the offspring of one giant African country.

And yet, the more you learn about this extraordinary organization, its makeup and its mission, the more you're convinced the name is dead on. The 22 performers are ages 6 to 20, and each and every one has been orphaned by AIDS, the ravages of war in their homeland or both.

If any dance troupe in the world can position itself as ambassadors embodying the defiant determination of an entire people, it is this one. We won't know about their quality until they make their Chicago debut Wednesday through Saturday at the Athenaeum Theatre.

But, on paper, at least, this is art emblazoned with a profound message of hope.

"People, when they first hear about it, tend to think, 'Oh, AIDS, Africa, orphans. It will be so sad,'" says Alexis Hefley, the group's American-born founder and executive director. "It's actually the antithesis. They leave inspired, saying, 'Look at how much they've overcome.' For these kids, it's empowering. It's a way to make a difference in their own lives."

'Emotional show'

"Naturally, we're interested in the reasons underlying the group's formation, but the artistic quality is pretty phenomenal, too," says Tim Sauers, producing director at Urban Gateways, which is presenting the Athenaeum engagement. "It's an impressive, emotional show."

Founder Hefley, who speaks with a gentle Southern drawl, grew up in Texas and worked for 10 years in the banking industry in San Antonio. But something intangible and undefined, she decided, was missing from her life.

"I felt there had to be more to this journey," she says. She quit her job and moved to Washington, D.C., where she met Tony Hall, then an Ohio congressman. Through him, she became familiar with African issues and leaders, and, in 1993, she was invited to visit Uganda by the nation's first lady, Janet Museveni.

Hefley stayed there for a year and a half and met a nun called Sister Rose, who'd been taking care of orphans since the days of Idi Amin in the early '70s.

It was Sister Rose who taught the orphans under her charge to sing and dance as a way to raise money for their needs. The children performed at birthday parties, graduations and other festivities, to help supply money for food, medicine and education.

In 1996, Hefley launched a U.S tour -- "I called a few friends in six different cities and asked them to help us find performance venues." Over the years, the enterprise, eventually named the Children of Uganda, grew by leaps and bounds, allying itself with a professional management team in 2000. This year the group is visiting 31 cities in 20 states, its biggest tour ever. The organization now feeds, clothes, shelters, doctors and educates some 750 children, according to Hefley.

But, as impressive and inspiring as this part of the story may be, it represents only one portion of this remarkable achievement. The other is the almost magical effect on the children performers themselves, youngsters otherwise overly familiar with despair, depression and suffering.

Civil war

Uganda, after all, is a nation inured to hardship. After gaining independence in 1962, the country was ruled by Amin (1971-79) and Milton Obote (1980-85), periods involving a million deaths from civil strife. Civil war continues today, but AIDS is now the leading cause of death, claiming 200 victims a day and resulting in nearly 2 million orphans.

The Children of Uganda, through drama, song, dance and an exploration of cultural history, are on a mission to reclaim pride, dignity and purpose. There's an aesthetic mission, too, intent on preserving the artistry and musical instrumentation indigenous to east Africa.

The life story of Peter Kasule, a charter member of the troupe and now, at 26, its artistic director, shines a light on the group's collective experience. At 9, he lost his mother and four years later his father, who died of AIDS. He isn't sure what caused his mother's death.

"When my dad passed, it really shook me," he said. "I remember sitting in the orphanage, crying, not wanting to eat," he says. "But it was comforting, in a way, to be there. Everyone else is in the same struggle, and once you get there, you don't talk about what happened ... You blend in and help each other."

Though the performers on the tour are chosen from a large pool, those lucky and talented enough earn a kind of occupational therapy. "You see it onstage and when you meet them," Kasule says. "They drum, they dance, they enjoy. They see music and dancing as a step on a ladder that they keep climbing, motivation that makes them stronger and move forward and be different."

Kasule is an inspiring case in point. He has one more semester at Santa Fe College in New Mexico to complete a degree in music technology and plans a career in sound engineering.

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