It is a cold and wet October evening in Delft, a typical autumn evening some might say. The clock strikes eight ‘o clock in the evening and a large crowd has gathered in the reception hall. They are excited, yet unsure of what to expect. Like a present still wrapped that you cannot wait to open.
The doors open and people move into the theatre. As people take to their seats they notice a red rug centre stage, surrounded by carpets adorned with neatly arranged pillows on top. A man steps forward, his black hair neatly combed to one one side, a red and brown checked shirt and black trousers. “My name is Sahand Sahebdivani,” he announces himself. “And I am a storyteller.”
He starts to talk, in hushed whispers and loud tones. About his father, his younger brother, about growing up and the importance of stories. “Storytelling is not like cinema,” he says. The audience falls silent as they hang onto every word and gesture. With a story there is action and reaction, he explains, as the audience gets pulled into his story even more. It is as much about the audience as it is about the storyteller. He talks of fellow storytellers, how he admires them for their inspiration, their way of storytelling. How his childhood inspires him to tell stories and how he tells stories about his childhood.
The present had surprised some, and others got exactly what they wanted. The evening’s events have been inspiring, for some personally, for others in a professional sense. “It is nice to hear in the social media age this way of conveying a message still holds value,” a member of the audience says.
To be continued.