and transmitted my every movement to Isis without hindering my movement . I was the behind-the-scenes choreographer and the spotlit superstar — all at once . As a child , like many girls , I used to dance in the middle of my room , until one of my sisters would walk in . Then I would stop for a moment and giggle , then begin the dance again as if no one was there . As I danced alone , I was the brightest star , the only star in my imagination . In the crystal cave , whose walls sparkled with light and data and pulsed with the music ’ s rhythm , the illusion was the same . In the cave , I was the puppet and the puppeteer , a tamed dragon .
Instead of breathing fire , I was the flame .
Management wanted to install climate control , to reduce the possibility of my sweat damaging the software and equipment . Under our special contract , “ unprecedented ” my agent had said , there was a severe gag order — proprietary tech and cloak-and-dagger secrecy — and clause after clause after clause . So many fine points and legalese that I finally signed it when my agent emphasized the number of unprecedented zeros that would grace my first check . Management was worried about me damaging the equipment , but no one was worried about the equipment damaging me . Climate control for their suit . Ksst ! I laughed at this , said I preferred to sweat . Surely they had insurance for cosmic funk . They pushed back . I pushed harder then . It would make the dance more authentic , and Isis , despite her meteoric rise , needed all the help she could get . My dance was born in New York ’ s streets , channeled fractals from across the nation , adopted traditions from around the world , reimagined Ailey and Dunham , Jamison and Jackson reborn as starship troopers , flinging their black bodies through space . Isis was born in the city of a thousand suns , her voice quickly becoming the anthem of a legion . To deliver , I needed to feel the saltwater beading on my skin , to feel the fire coursing through me .
I needed it far more than Isis and her backup dancers , gifted girls who twirled and stamped in perfect synchronized steps . I watched as the dancers performed my choreography , as Isis , the blazing star , performed my steps mere nanoseconds after my own movements , the delay an unavoidable consequence of the ocean between us .
Mistress of my crystal cave with its vital signs monitors and cords , its wall-to-floor screens reflected the sold-out concert stage and the audience that screamed four thousand miles away in Freetown . I could see the stadium reflected all around me . Each set for Isis was a variation of an ancient Egyptian or other pseudo-African theme . Over the last of our fortycity tour , the world had seen Nubians and Pharaonic Pyramids , Dogon masks and references to alien close encounters with the inhabitants of the Dog Star , Sirius . The last show in Paris had Isis lounging on Napoleon ’ s tomb , surrounded by obelisks and giant replicas of herself . Tonight ’ s show in Sierra Leone , diamond capital of the world for centuries , was an ahistorical remix of surrounding nations . Our biggest number — my biggest number — would find Isis rising up from a rolling pink lake like the one in Senegal , its waves carrying her up to the base of a skyscraper-sized baobab tree that held her throne . All praise Isis , Queen of Life . For her finale she would appear to break into a hundred pieces , then resurrect herself for the last song .
Even though Isis could not create her own dance , I knew better than anyone how good she was at creating her own myth . Friendships , family , and fans , she hustled them as deftly as a goddess . All were ripe for sacrifice .
“ We sisters ,” she had said when I had mustered the courage enough to tell her I was gone . Even her voice had taken on my cadence . She could code-switch with the best . “ You need me , I need you . Sanaa , Na-Na , they can ’ t do this without us . I can ’ t do this without you .”
I guess Management had told her I was serious this time , so Isis made a special live-in-the-flesh personal visit to me . It had been a long time . It caught me by surprise , and I was angry that she could still flatter me , that I still cared so much about her opinion .
I was suited up , the brown fabric covering me like a second skin . She stared me down , watching me hungrily . Like my
12 african Voices