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Ochone Ochone
 “Ochone Ochone” A boy of five revisits the steps of his forefathers in a high-rise flat A teenager finds a quiet corner to run through his bedroom routine – no music required, it’s all in his head Grown men approaching forty holding hands, instinctively throw in an extra step I bounce off the walls. Don’t sit down all night. Can’t remember who I danced with, but know I did. I am thirteen I enjoy dancing. I enjoy watching people dance, especially when they’re not “good dancers” but you catch them there, lost in the moment. Trouble is, there is no “in the moment”. Inescapably we leave the trail of our past behind us. A previous NRLA solo performance of Rutherford’s entitled “Ochone” (a sorrow from before that is still with you) is revisited twelve years later. I’ll meet you round the bend my friend, when souls can heal and hearts can mend.  [] view the video (duration 8:08 / 11.6MB) [] Appearing on video is Mert Dumus, Hulya Dumus, Arras Abdullah Ali, Marewan Mahmoud, Hajie Baker Sharif, Tofiq Rashid, Bahktear Muhammed & Osman Omer Great Divide, Violin Arrangement & Playing – Lori Watson TEXT EXCERPTS FROM SHOW Physicists tell us we live in a four-dimensional space-time continuum: in their equations time and space are symmetrical. Yet for us, the asymmetry is acute. We live in the present, yet are constituted by our past, and for us humans it is our memories of that history, which give our life coherence and meaning… September 24th 1983 – GAY! – Gnoble Gay Gossip – that is the full Pedigree name of our Golden Labrador. We shorten it to Gay. Ga-ay! C‘mon! C’mon! C’mon Ga-ay! A year younger, she is like a little sister to me, I lift up her ear and tell her all my secrets. Secrets kept from my oblivious older brothers. Secrets which seem to multiply as the years go on. Till one day I struggle to push open the front door of the flat. Gay is slumped behind it, her wee heart going ten to the dozen, literally fit to burst! We take her to the vet, but it is curtains for Gay. I am thirteen. Gay will be… 91, in dog years. Actually, come to think of it, I’ve not had anybody to tell my secrets to since. May 15th 2005 - The Daily Record carries a story of a Scottish Army Sergeant who has started a Campaign. A Campaign to bring a stray dog he has befriended in Basra, home to Scotland. The “news article” goes on to say how this caring, sharing Sergeant has came across this wounded dog in the street, and nursed it back to health, getting helluva attached to it in the process. Now, back home, his service over (for the time being) he kinda misses that old pooch and is putting serious effort into getting the dog flown over to his family home in… Glenrothes, or somewhere? The paper has printed the details of a special bank account where you can donate funds to make it happen!! [You’ll find those bank details on the back of your programme there] March 3rd 2005 - After fleeing his land for fear of imprisonment for a second time (playing certain tunes, in the wrong places), my friend (Scorpion boy) tells me of the time he ended up owning a stolen dog – taken from a prominent politician of the day. Now this was a smart dog and my friend trained it to perform all sorts of tricks and tasks. His father was not so impressed but my friend argued that in reality, the dog was smarter than most of his father’s employees in the ice factory that they both ran. After hearing this, his father arranges for someone else to steal the dog from his son. Five years later this friend in a land far, far away sees on TV that the original owner is now President of his country. He watches the news carefully, waiting for him to mention the dog and its disappearance? “See” my friend asserts “There’s no way I can go back now – I stole the President’s dog!!” [Some of the tricks and tasks the ‘President’s dog’ could perform, are listed on the back of your programme there] April 6th 2001 - My first time in North America and disregarding a brief touchdown in Chicago O’Hare (remember it being very grey and concretey – “So this is America!”) I actually go straight North to Alberta, Canadia and the Rockie Mountains. I am crossing the campus one afternoon when I hear a small dog (a West Highland Terrier, as I recall) bark ferociously at a couple of teenage boys, innocently riding their pushbikes. It dawns on me this is the most aggressive act I have witnessed in the two whole weeks of arriving. God Bless Canadia!
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