(KAMPALA, Uganda) — A Ugandan student who played a memorable role in a 2016 Disney film about a local chess prodigy has died at the age of 15. Nikita Pearl Waligwa died on Saturday at a hospital near the Ugandan capital, Kampala. The cause was a brain tumor, according to the girls’ secondary school she had attended since 2018.
A post shared by Lupita Nyong'o (@lupitanyongo) on Feb 16, 2020 at 3:44pm PST
She was “a darling to many,” Gayaza High School said on Twitter.
Fare thee well Nikita Pearl Waligwa. You were a darling to many and we have lost you to brain tumor at such a tender age. Nikita was in S.3. Rest in Perfect Peace dear pic.twitter.com/ny8I9YAjsQ
Local media reported that Waligwa had been in and out of hospital with a recurring brain tumor and had previously received treatment, including surgery, in India.
Tributes were coming in for her on social media as Ugandans expressed sadness and recalled her role in the 2016 movie directed by Mira Nair and filmed in Kampala.
Queen of Katwe follows the rise of Ugandan chess prodigy Phiona Mutesi as a chess player amid grinding poverty in the Kampala slum of Katwe, with her single mother barely able to support her and her two siblings. Mutesi falls under the spell of an unassuming chess teacher who encourages the teenager to learn the game despite the skepticism of her mother, who warns her not to dream big because “you will be disappointed.”
The film was received favorably in Uganda, where young people with no acting experience shared the limelight with stars like Academy Award winner Lupita Nyong’o. One of those Ugandans was Waligwa, who played Gloria, a chess player younger than Phiona who memorably said in the movie that in the game of chess “the small one can become the big one.”
(SEOUL, South Korea) — Kim Da-hye, a 29-year-old South Korean, said that moving into a semi-basement apartment was her least-preferred option when she was looking for a new place to live.
But after a rigorous search and a close examination of her finances, she was forced to settle for a “banjiha,” the Korean word for a cramped basement flat.
South Korean director Bong Joon-ho‘s Oscar-winning film Parasite has brought banjiha dwellers like Kim to worldwide attention, thanks to its depiction of two families — one living in a semi-basement apartment and the other in an airy mansion — and the differences in their social status.
In 2015, around 1.9% of South Koreans lived in semi-basement apartments, according to data from Statistics Korea. It’s an affordable choice for urban dwellers in Seoul, one of the most expensive cities in Asia. The apartments, which are often cramped and sometimes squalid, generally cost between $210 and $500 a month with a hefty deposit.
Ahn Young-joon—APKim Da-hye in her semi-basement apartment in Seoul, South Korea, on Feb. 15, 2020. For many South Koreans, the image of a cramped basement apartment portrayed in the Oscar-winning film “Parasite” rings true, bringing differences in their social status to worldwide attention.
Kim, who moved into her $211-a-month banjiha apartment after leaving her job to take care of her mother, is no fan of her current accommodations, which flood during the rainy season. “During one summer, I left the house with the window open,” she said. “When I came back, there was water all over and the walls were wet.”
She says that when she dries her laundry, “the walls get damp and my laundry smells.”
Prior to moving in, she was very concerned about the apartment’s toilet, which sits much higher than the floor in order to prevent flooding. “My bathroom has stairs just like that place,” Kim said, referring to the basement toilet in the film that spews out filthy sludge during a flood that destroys the house.
“I could slip while climbing the stairs,” Kim said, laughing and pointing at the two steep steps leading to the square bathroom. She joked that she doesn’t attempt to go to the bathroom when she’s drunk.
Since the apartment is half underground, it is difficult for sunlight to seep through the window, causing the walls to mold.
“It’s easy to see inside from outside and vice versa,” Kim said, adding that her window also invites dust from cars and motorcycles on the street.
Ahn Young-joon—APKim Da-hye in her semi-basement apartment in Seoul, South Korea, on Feb. 15, 2020.
She said she has mixed feelings about the film despite sharing her name — Da-hye — with the daughter of the affluent family.
“At the start of the movie when an image flashed of a drunkard who was peeing on the street, I didn’t find it funny,” she said. “I felt a bit bitter because (the movie) had moments I could totally relate to. I had mixed feelings because it didn’t feel like someone else’s story.”
“I thought it really resembled reality,” Kim said. “[The father in the movie] wanted to climb higher but ended up going lower than where he was before. That’s similar to how I feel about my future.”
(SEOUL, South Korea) — Kim Da-hye, a 29-year-old South Korean, said that moving into a semi-basement apartment was her least-preferred option when she was looking for a new place to live.
But after a rigorous search and a close examination of her finances, she was forced to settle for a “banjiha,” the Korean word for a cramped basement flat.
South Korean director Bong Joon-ho‘s Oscar-winning film Parasite has brought banjiha dwellers like Kim to worldwide attention, thanks to its depiction of two families — one living in a semi-basement apartment and the other in an airy mansion — and the differences in their social status.
In 2015, around 1.9% of South Koreans lived in semi-basement apartments, according to data from Statistics Korea. It’s an affordable choice for urban dwellers in Seoul, one of the most expensive cities in Asia. The apartments, which are often cramped and sometimes squalid, generally cost between $210 and $500 a month with a hefty deposit.
Ahn Young-joon—APKim Da-hye in her semi-basement apartment in Seoul, South Korea, on Feb. 15, 2020. For many South Koreans, the image of a cramped basement apartment portrayed in the Oscar-winning film “Parasite” rings true, bringing differences in their social status to worldwide attention.
Kim, who moved into her $211-a-month banjiha apartment after leaving her job to take care of her mother, is no fan of her current accommodations, which flood during the rainy season. “During one summer, I left the house with the window open,” she said. “When I came back, there was water all over and the walls were wet.”
She says that when she dries her laundry, “the walls get damp and my laundry smells.”
Prior to moving in, she was very concerned about the apartment’s toilet, which sits much higher than the floor in order to prevent flooding. “My bathroom has stairs just like that place,” Kim said, referring to the basement toilet in the film that spews out filthy sludge during a flood that destroys the house.
“I could slip while climbing the stairs,” Kim said, laughing and pointing at the two steep steps leading to the square bathroom. She joked that she doesn’t attempt to go to the bathroom when she’s drunk.
Since the apartment is half underground, it is difficult for sunlight to seep through the window, causing the walls to mold.
“It’s easy to see inside from outside and vice versa,” Kim said, adding that her window also invites dust from cars and motorcycles on the street.
Ahn Young-joon—APKim Da-hye in her semi-basement apartment in Seoul, South Korea, on Feb. 15, 2020.
She said she has mixed feelings about the film despite sharing her name — Da-hye — with the daughter of the affluent family.
“At the start of the movie when an image flashed of a drunkard who was peeing on the street, I didn’t find it funny,” she said. “I felt a bit bitter because (the movie) had moments I could totally relate to. I had mixed feelings because it didn’t feel like someone else’s story.”
“I thought it really resembled reality,” Kim said. “[The father in the movie] wanted to climb higher but ended up going lower than where he was before. That’s similar to how I feel about my future.”
