The opening night of She Mami Wata & the Pussy WitchHunt at the 16th PuSh International Performing Arts Festival was a who’s-who of Vancouver’s queer art scene—a pseudo high school reunion between theatre kids, who grew up to be far cooler, compassionate and courageous than some may have underestimated them. 

The all-female, queer production team behind the solo show, written and performed by d’bi young anitafrika, was scattered throughout the sold out house at Granville Island’s Performance Works. The team was brought together by Fay Nass, the director of the frank theatre company, in order to take audiences on a trip to present-day Jamaica. For an intermission-free 90 minutes, the show addresses the impact of homophobia and colonialism on that country, and how the complex dynamics affect four childhood friends.

Anitafrika’s work tells a queer, black story rarely told in Vancouver, though desperately craved. Joining her on stage is local DJ and event producer Shanique Kelly (AKA Softieshan), who adds hype and momentum to the show as both a church goer and the DJ of a Kingston night club, The Pussy Witch.

This musical element, as well as Nass’ direction, is what makes this rendition of She Mami Wata different from the version that debuted in Toronto back in 2016, which is part of anitafrika’s trilogy addressing African diaspora. The show’s star and creator now lives in London, UK, and while her high-calibre work had some of frank’s team ready to be intimidated, anitafrika’s energetic charisma quickly quashed any notions of hierarchy. 

“D’bi kept joking about being rusty with pole dancing and having to regain skills she previously had, but she’s been killing it—really knocking it out of the park,” says Producer Anais West. “It’s exciting to be able to bring a queer artist at the top of her game, whose impacted so many people, to Vancouver audiences.”

But how can theatre-goers in a country that decriminalized same-sex sexual activity 50 years ago connect with a coming of age story in Jamaica, where those acts are still considered crimes? Assistant Producer Mariam Barry says the show offers several points of connection. 

“From complex friendships, queerness, black identity, eroticism and spirituality to music. Vancouver audiences are more than ready for this,” says Barry, a black artist who eagerly accepted the opportunity to co-produce She Mami Wata with anitafrika, Nass and West— all artists she says inspire her.

“My PuSh Wishlist: Jamaica, a burlesque pole, four friends, dancehall. The frank theatre: Delivered,” jokes Barry. 

She Mami Wata has a lot going on, but avoids using any showy gimmicks. Throughout the performance, anitafrika convincingly plays four different characters as both children and adults, as well as an elderly aunt named Mother Nature. She does so using just a mumu, a white scarf, different voices and incredible energy. In fact, Stage Manager Heather Barr says it’s one of the most energy filled shows she’s seen in her life. 

“D’bi is running around the stage with so much passion, but there’s also so much in the text,” says Barr. “Physically it's challenging, emotionally it's challenging. There's so much connection with the audience and it's just like she's going a mile a minute.”

The story is undoubtedly deeply personal, and there’s an authenticity in the scripts specificity. Still, Barr says there’s a universal message within She Mami Wata.

“I really feel that it’s going to resonate with so many queer people because it jumps from kids to adults. For a lot of people, childhood was a time where you were discovering yourself and who you were, and kind of didn't have that fear of what it could be or wasn't,” says Barr. “Then, comparing that to what the world can do to push you down, and whether you overcome it.”

Contrast is a constant in the entire show, during which the artists engage audiences as both voyeurs at an LGBTQ-friendly nightclub and religious zealots attending Sunday Service. Each time we shout “Amen,” it feels like enthusiastic consent for anitafrika to lead us on a fragmented journey that promises no end. If you’re lucky, and consent of course, she may even choose you for a lap dance. 

The finale includes a powerful vignette, where d’bi.young props her chin on top of the pole centre stage, her clenched feet helping to hold her weight as her arms reach out like wings. It’s as if she’s saying “Ta-da: Here is your black, lingerie clad Jesus.”

She Mami Wata runs until February 1, with tickets starting at $39. Next, the frank’s director will continue spotlighting intersectional identities and marginalized stories through Straight White Men, from February 6-15 at Gateway Theatre.