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acrobatics, contortion and dance to Europe.

**A** Cirque Mandingue is both a circus school and a touring company; money earned touring helping to fund the training of thirty young performers back in Guinea. Junior Camara, leader of the acrobatics troupe, doubles as the school’s director. I’ve come to meet them and to get hands-on experience of what they do. I’ll be learning how to become part of a human pyramid. But first I watch their show to see what I’m letting myself in for. Bantering performers – gymnasts, contortionists and acrobats – crowd the stage, dancing and leaping to the insistent sound of live *djembe* drumming. Scenes move between a blur of frenetic handstands and incredibly fast leaps, with performers flipping themselves on to each other’s shoulders, to slower, intricately choreographed contortion routines. As the show draws to a close, it’s my turn. As I head backstage, Junior approaches me enthusiastically, ‘You’ve done this before, right?’ ‘Err no, I haven’t.’ This prompts some conferring among the team as to what’s safe to do with a novice.

**B** I’m told to clamber on to the shoulders of a gymnast called François. I’ve no idea what’s about to happen, so there’s little choice but to go with it and hope I don’t break my neck. I manage to scramble up but then I’m instructed to hold my legs at a right angle and point my toes upwards. This isn’t as straightforward as it sounds. My thighs are aching and I’m ready to buckle but more performers are attaching themselves to the chap below me. ‘Hurry up!’ I yell, ‘I can’t hold it much longer.’ They insist that what we’re doing is quite safe but I’m not entirely convinced. I also feel incredibly puny next to the real acrobats, who aren’t shy about demonstrating either their physiques or their immense strength. Their training takes years and most of them started young. As I concentrate on staying more or less upright, I realise too that the kind of acrobatics I’ve watched on stage depend totally on a mix of confidence and trust. To be able to flip so precisely that you land on someone’s shoulders as easily as a bird alights on a bough requires fearlessness, true but you also have to know that your partner won’t let you down.

**C** Regis Truchy, a French clown, performs in and choreographs part of the show and his narrative humorously highlights artistic differences between western and African cultures, particularly in music. Some scenes see Truchy’s cheesy western pop pitched against Guinean hip-hop. Truchy, 38, has worked as both a ballet dancer and a figure skater and says Cirque Mandingue has given him a new lease of life. For him, the stand-out element of the show is the way it mixes contortion with dance. Contortion is an ancient practice found across the world and the technique tends to remain very traditional. ‘These guys,’ says Truchy, ‘mix it up a bit.’ In the current show, one of the guys mixing it up is Naby, 25, whose feats of contortion make one fear for his spine. He started learning acrobatics when he was ten and, as well as contortion, he dances and plays the *djembe*.

**D** Aboubacar, 26, also started aged ten, at first learning from friends on the beaches of Conakry. At 15, his hard work paid off when he started working with Junior. He says touring can be hard on artists’ families, but, ‘It’s a chance for me to have a job and make some money for them.’ With my attempt to be one of the gang now concluded, the group winds down for dinner. I’d been warned that even when the troupe relaxes, the vibe never falters and sure enough I find myself in the middle of a full-on rap show, Guinean-style; the table shaking as everyone joins in a fast and furious battle of rhythm and rhyming. It’s rather like a verbal version of their passionate physical skills. They tell me about a festival where the troupe was joined by some French performers who asked to warm up with them. The group’s daily warm-up takes at least two hours and is