Justin Nurse, the satirist who hit headlines with his Laugh It Off T-shirts, has been infiltrating the nooks and crannies of Grahamstown to report to 2oceansvibe about what was the cat’s pajamas and bee’s knees during the Grahamstown Art Festival.

Nurse, who was also showcasing his own play, White Guilt, at the festival, has given us some insight into his experience at the famed festival, and is sharing his experiences with us through his Going Down in G Town diary:

Part One: The One Where I Do a Play

I was full. Full to my gat. I’d consumed just about all I could stomach, from Walter White to Tony Soprano, from books to movies. I needed to vom, get stuff off my chest. I had to make, something. So I decided to write a play.

I snookered myself by paying the R2,500 deposit to the National Arts Fringe Festival at the start of the year when I still didn’t have a clue. I gave up my Sundays for three months and started off by remembering stories and adventures from my past. Thought-bubbles I jotted down to fill the dreaded blank page. These became clumsy monologues, which became rough dialogue, which became a workable script.

I Googled ‘how long is a play?’ 10 000 words if it’s 60 minutes long, as it turns out. I did a read-through with two comedians, Oliver Booth and Schalk Bezuidenhout. This thing, these ideas on the page, a script, sprang to life for a moment – ghosts in the mist – and I tried to hold on to what that felt like. I tried to figure out what to do next.

How do I direct? What does it mean to produce a play? Where and when do we rehearse? How do I inspire the troops and how many posters do we print for Grahamstown? How will we gauge our progress? When is it time to panic?

The next three months were consumed with bromance. I got to relive my youth with Schalk and Oli, got to crack the producer’s whip, and learnt to stay present in the director’s chair. We all bought into this thing, this precious play, and we gave it our absolute everything.

Then opening night at the Alexander Bar (a pre-Festival run) was upon us. Four sold-out nights followed; thanks mostly to the munificence of my mates who were curious to see what a play that I had written would be about. Feedback was resoundingly positive: ‘rollercoaster’, ‘hectic’, ‘you’re so brave’, and ‘the students in G Town are gonna love that shit’.

With wind in our sails, we docked in Grahamstown. 100 Cedar House school kids ensured we had a full house for our first performance. Their jaws dropped and eyes widened at the relentless slew of sex, drugs, and hip-hop references. I had to get up afterwards and explain what the hell they’d just witnessed. They got it though and all seemed good.

The next day our short review appeared in the festival newspaper: “misogynistic and homophobic” were the words that stood out. Coupled with the midweek slump in Festival attendance, we were on that part of the rollercoaster where it feels like your heart is in your mouth, your stomach is in your throat, and gravity’s got you by the balls. Major downer.

Expectation is a bitch. So too when you give it your all and your all isn’t all that. I called up the newspaper’s editor, an old media tjommie, to come see our show and to hopefully give us a more considered review. ‘And I’ll be damned if he doesn’t announce our arrival on the South African theatre stage’, I told the guys.

His review started by comparing me to Tolstoy: “Justin Nurse is no Tolstoy.”

It was bruising. He was right though, mostly. Much later that night at a dingy New Street club PHFat called me onstage as someone “who used to run shit in this town” and got me to crowd surf atop the outstretched students’ hands.

Round those parts our court case with SAB is now the stuff of textbook legend. Me, I’m just a middle-aged man of mediocrity shamelessly looking for glory whatever which way I can get it.

I chose to write, direct and produce a play – all of which I knew nothing about. I did this because I knew that it would make me grow. I chose a path with the most amount of passion. I got to see people’s reactions to my words, indulge my creative whims, and make new friendships.

I believed in what we were doing. I fooled myself into thinking that we would have greatness bestowed upon us. We didn’t. I lost a lot of money and I am still licking my wounds. Theatre is one tough motherfucking gig.