What motivates a circus troupe to risk their lives for your entertainment

Is the rush of applause really worth risking your neck to pull off a superhuman stunt? Shanthini Naidoo chats to performers of the Great Moscow Circus to find out

The handsome young man in Converse sneakers, skinny jeans and skinnier shirt, ubiquitous electronic device in his ear, could be anyone, anywhere in the world.

You would never guess that, come show time, he can squeeze himself into a tiny box, make his rib cages clap together, flex his abs in sickening waves, then scuttle away like a mutant table-crab, joints turned the wrong way round.

Emin Abdullaev, 23, is a contortionist with the Great Moscow Circus, or as he would have been known in the days of sawdust and crystal balls, "The Incredible India-Rubber Man!"

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But gone are the sawdust, whips and performing bears (thankfully). The circus today is all about superhuman ability - those who can balance on impossibly stacked cylinders, bounce on a trampoline to the rooftop, or like Abdullaev, twist themselves into pretzels. There is still magic, clowning and juggling.

The circus came to town the same week that US circus company, Ringling Bros and Barnum & Bailey, announced it was closing due to a "drop in ticket sales and increase in expenses". This is the age when audiences are unconcerned with bearded ladies and the strongest man alive.

But the big top was packed on opening night in Joburg. There were gaping mouths, roars of applause, moments to look away and stomach churns.

A team of Brazilian acrobats defied death, or least extremely serious injury, as they cascaded on giant, moving hamster wheels.

A cute Cuban couple (the circus is a global mix of performers) did a bogglifying magic act. There was delight at the ringmaster and clowns, who revived a traditional water-in-your-hat joke with ardour. No big shoes or red noses, the jokes were almost ... sophisticated.

"It is old-fashioned circus but keeping up with modern times," says Lizzie Coles, the Australian executive producer who travels around the world with the show. "Ten years ago there was a small animal contingent but it is not necessary nor what audiences believe in anymore."

Says Russian gymnast Olga Kovalova, "It is about the applause, especially from children, the screaming and cheering... it is good."

Kovalova, the princess in her troupe of four, loves the circus life, which is about planes, hotels and impossible visa applications (the artistes have to apply in their home country, and the circus has to employ an administrator to work it out).

"I used to be in the national [gymnastic] team of Ukraine," she says through a translator, the charming clown Vasily "Vas" Trifonov. "Our routine is easy, not easy, smooth... we know each other for 15 years."

There are no circus love triangles, or squares. Her boyfriend is back home.

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For some of the performers, it is in the blood, or bones.

At age five, Abdullaev watched his older cousin contort on a videotape sent from some corner of the world. He is Moukhtar Gusengadzhiev, the most flexible man on earth, according to the Guinness World Records.

"First I learnt the splits, and then it was practice, every day. I started performing when I was nine. It is not genetic, it is about training. Anyone can train themselves and the joints will loosen up."

What about arthritis, or a dislodged liver? "Nyet. I'm 200% healthy," he says, flexing biceps. As is his cousin, now 54.

Abdullaev says his unconventional art form has a big impact on audiences. "I get letters from the kids saying they want to do the same thing and they send pictures of what they can do. It means I am a positive role model, they are learning something good."

Brazilian stunt motorcyclist Oscar Espinalo, one of five in the "globe of death" act in which the riders race around inside a ball about 5m in diameter, has been in hospital a few times.

"It is about keeping the family tradition alive. My father was a clown. My mum was a trapeze artist. They met and married in the circus. My great-grandfather did this act and I want my children to see me do it, to make them proud," he says.

"Last week a bike performer died in South America, he fell on his head. We have all had the broken legs, arms and end up in hospital. It is dangerous enough to ride in the street, so the globe..."

Tent manager Daniel Diorio directs the globe of death, one of the most dangerous parts of the show. "The difference with circus and movie is that a movie is not real. Here, when someone is 10m high, they can fall and they can die.

"Yes, we risk lives to entertain people. It is a 5m globe with five motorbikes in it, there is fuel and lights, the fire hazard is high.

"In training, there won't be accidents, but when they push themselves to perform during a show, that is when accidents happen," he says.

WATCH: Get a feel of what it's like to be a stunt motorcyclist inside the globe of death

Trifonov says that is the challenge: "To see what you can do, how far you can go. For us, the reward is to always have a crowd and they will pay you back with applause or laughter."

He has two daughters, 12 and eight. "They know that this is what the circus is about. For work, you go to different place and meet different people. It is a circle, like the show ring. You will meet again."

Trifonov has recruited Hastings Takunda Nyirenda - a South African music school teacher who literally ran away with the circus - to do the clown's all-important drumrolls.

After planning to work during the Joburg leg, Nyirenda decided to tour the country with the troupe. "I am classically trained with the Joburg Youth Orchestra, so this is so different for me. If you get the timing wrong, it can mess up the joke, and you don't want to see an angry clown."

Nyirenda says the atmosphere is contagious. "What is fascinating is that they always bring the same energy in every show. There is always cheering backstage, and some tension when someone is performing. They are like a strange family."

Particularly when their tent is flooded by a Joburg summer storm, or when the bus breaks down between Durban and Cape Town, and the fan belt has to be held together with a stocking.

If you tire of your 9-5 routine and the gypsy magic sweeps you away, Diorio says: "There is always a job at the circus, if you are talented or not. It is like running a city. We need electricians, sound engineers, logistics managers. We travel with 300 tons of equipment. Someone has to take care of that."

• The circus is in SA until March 12. Tickets at Computicket.