DANCING TEEN
Leigh-Anne Hunter meets SA’s answer to Billy Elliot
KALON Badenhorst is upside down, balanced on one hand, and hasn’t stopped smiling. In one afternoon, the 15-year-old from Randburg has gone from dancing in sweatpants to a frenetic beat, to squeezing into stockings and pirouetting in ballet shoes to Tchaikovsky.
Kalon started hip-hop dancing at nine and now performs 10 dance styles, from Latin to disco. He first competed internationally — in Germany — when he was 12. Last month, he won four events at the 2013 Worlds Freestyle Dance Championships in England and became the world champion in the freestyle solo section in his division. He returned to training the next day.
“I want to prove that you don’t have to be limited as a dancer,” says Kalon, sipping his Cream Soda. “Any dancer’s focus should be to grow. Dance evolved from Africa. If we bring our African flavour to other styles, we can grow as a dancing nation.”
I meet Kalon, who has a nine-page CV, with his manager — his mom Joanne Badenhorst. “I couldn’t do this without her,” he says. Joanne runs a home business to give her more flexibility for her second job — being Kalon’s “momager”. She sent me his schedule on an Excel spreadsheet.
“Sometimes I wonder how I landed up with a son who’s a dancer,” says Joanne. She sees Kalon as her “brand”. “I know I push him sometimes, but it’s only because I know what he’s capable of.” She attends shows armed with backup music and spare, self-stitched dance costumes. “He splits his pants,” she says. The 2009 debut season of SA’s Got
Talent , in which he was a finalist, launched Kalon into the world of performing. But it’s not all glamour. Anything can go wrong on the dance floor, he says. “If you fall out of a spin, you get up and carry on. With acrobatics, it’s all about technique — knowing where to put your hands while your legs are flying above your head. If you injure yourself, you risk losing a world title.” He nearly did when he strained his gluteus muscle, but still performed the next day. “I’ve danced with a chest infection because I knew people were waiting to see me.”
Brushing back his blonde hair, he says: “I’m not trying to be like Justin Bieber. At school I’m just a regular kid.” But his life is not what most would call regular. He trains for up to 16 hours a week, sometimes arriving home after 9pm. His day starts at 6am with a 90-minute exercise class before school. After school, he has rehearsals — usually three at different venues, six days a week. He studies during warm-ups and does his homework in the car between rehearsals.
“I can’t always go out with friends,” says Kalon. “Luckily, my girlfriend is a dancer so she gets it.” He wishes he could spend more time with his seven-year-old brother, but says: “Dancing is my life. It’s electric being on stage.”
To “keep sharp”, he competes in at least two local competitions a month and is busy with qualifiers for international competitions next year. He believes he has brought “something different” to the stage. “Judges like seeing guys dance like guys. I’ve brought technique, which I can thank ballet for.”
After hip-hop, ballet was an adjustment. “He got kicked out of one of his first classes for doing the moonwalk,” says Joanne. He’s often the only boy in the class. “None of my friends respects me any less,” he says. “To the bullies, I say: ‘I see more girls in a day than you do in a week.’ I’d like to see them try a ballet class. Standing on your toes is really hard, and so is doing the splits, especially as a male teenager.”
There aren’t enough SA male role models in this profession, he says. He hopes to be one and wants to work as a choreographer, even though a teacher once told him it wasn’t a real job. His voice rises a notch when he talks about performing on cruise ships. “That excites me. I’m an entertainer. It’s what I do.”
“It’s sad that the number of male dancers has dropped,” he says. “There’s a stereotype that you’re a wimp if you’re a guy who loves to dance.” •
I see more girls in a day than you do in a week