history of his country
A Play in Three Acts
by
Haileselassie Girmay
in collaboration with
Charles Whitney
C. 1997
Prologue
This is the story of Wegen, a son of Ethiopia. The nation he had lived
in and
the people he proudly adhered to had come under a three-pronged attack:
natural disaster in the form of a drought; anarchic socio-political
order
fostered in isolation from the rest of the world during three thousand
years (where the rulers assumed the role of Almighty God); and a modern
market system in the outside world which crumbled his country's feudal
structure.
This attack shook everyone from their long somnolence. The challenge
required a long and hard struggle, but the dying feudal order did not
give
way wihtout putting up a fierce fight -- a fight that Wegen wanted to
join.
List of Characters
Clown
Chorus (About 6 men and women, playing various parts)
Boys One, Two, Three, and Four
Government Security Guards One, Two, and Three
Wife of Jack
Sister of Jack
Jack
Military Scout of Revolutionary Brigade
Wegen, son of Jack
Uncle of Wegen
Commander of Brigade
Ghost
Young Man
Cherub
Synopsis
Act 1
A clown introduces several scenes of Ethiopian village children at play.
Their idyllic life is interrupted one night by three Government Security
Guards who storm into Jack's house and take him from his family. His
wife
shares the news with her sister and searches unsuccessfully for him. A
few days later, Jack's body is found. His son, Wegen, feels he must do
something to avenge his father's death, and he leaves home to join the
Revolutionary Brigade.
Act 2
In a mountain trail, Wegen meets a scout and declares his intention to
join
the revolutionaries. He is interrogated, and when the scout is satisfied
of
Wegen's sincerity, he takes him to the Revolutionary Brigade camp, where
Wegen talks with his uncle and learns of their plans to attack the
govern
ment forces. Wegen learns that the Uncle has become cynical about the
Revolutionary movement, and the Uncle describes the experiences that
made him this way. Wegen wishes to join the fighting, but his Uncle
describes its horrors and its effects on young people. He insists that
Wegen remain in the camp.
The Government soldiers are ambushed, and a fierce and bloody battle
takes place. The Revolutionaries destroy the Government forces at great
cost, including the death of Wegen's uncle.
When word is brought back to camp, Wegen is disillusioned and anguished.
That night, he dreams of a Ghost who challenges him to undertake his own
journey away from the land of his birth. Wegen abandons the plan to join
the revolution and wanders off to the elusive, but seemingly attractive,
outside world from which his country had been cut off for thousands of
years.
Act 3
The idea of leaving the front and join them became compelling
especially,
when he pondered the myth that the outside world is free from all sorts
of
problems that plagued his own country. In such a world of plenty he
thought he would live in peace and relative security, although he did
not
know how and when, if at all, he would ever reach his desired
destination.
In a neighboring country he had crossed on foot, he was employed as a
houseboy and cleaner. He met another cleaner and they exchanged views,
experience, fears and dreams about what the future might hold. After a
long delay, he finally secured a permit to immigrate to a Scandinavian
country, where for the first few months of his stay he thought he was
witnessing the most beautiful earthly paradise his mind could ever
conjure up.
However, shortly past those months of arrival, he found out, to his
dismay,
that everything was not as he had heard or imagined. The people were
generous, the land beautiful and yielding, and yet every twist and turn,
every bit of the forest, every mountain, valley, river and the shore
were
already owned and possessed, making a fresh start for a beginner beyond
reach. Being a black, penurious immigrant, he soon found himself
vulnerable and alienated.
Unable to release his pent-up frustrations, he decided to remain silent
and
motionless for hours on end. However, to his bewilderment, he found out
that he had become the centre of attraction and human concerns. The
longer he remained silent the more crowds gathered, until his body could
no longer take in the punishment and passed away in silence,
misunderstood by his audience.
No Where to Stay and No Where to Go
Act I
Scene 1
Countryside near an Ethiopian village. Time: the recent past.
(Curtain up. Scrim remains down. In front, a boy of about 16 years,
stands
in a simple clown costume. He is cold and holds himself. Snow falls
lightly. A few strollers walk by and look at him curiously.)
CLOWN
I was only thirteen
and like anyone of that age,
after the early morning routine
I was allowed to play with others from the village.
(Lights up behind a scrim, where a group of nearly naked boys are at
play.
On the side is a bleacher on which is seated a chorus of about ten
people
of assorted ages.)
We'd visit the swamp and wallow in the red brick clay
and go swimming for the rest of the day
in a river that was a mile away.
Run naked in a funny sort of way
with our heels made to kick
our buttocks.
(Scrim rises. The boys are seen playing alongside a riverbank. Along the
edge of the river bank trees such as willow, fig and oak extend their
branches toward the surface of the water. The boys jump into the shallow
side of the river, splashing water at each other. They come out and run
and
chase each other with a mouth full of water, to squirt it at whoever
appears in front of them.)
CHORUS
The children were not alone
there were other men and women
squatted on the bare rocks
washing bundle of clothes
(Several adults from the chorus, get down from the bleacher and walk
over, to sit on rocks along the riverbank. From a distance can be heard
a
flute played by a shepherd tending a mixture of herds.)
At other times the kids sit around in circles
and tell each other fables,
for example the donkey
taken for a ride by unscrupulous monkey
or the lion who fought to death
against the mirage of his own image.
The noisy waver birds are busy
shuttling back and forth like crazy,
carrying long green grass
between the black effective beaks,
matching the colour of the chest
but in contrast to the yellow rest,
to build its nest,
suspended from the branches --
but securely attached,
for the fate of the eggs that would later be hatched
entirely depends upon this marvellous thatch.
(As the chorus sing, the boys act out the words.)
And the children in the river
jump from the water
to catch the swift flyer,
but to no avail
except to interfere
with the busy schedule of the waver
a sturdy nest to prepare
which would have to be approved by a female
to join and dwell.
Then the children attention gets diverted
and is engaged in adult people's work
some seated, few standing while others lying on their stomachs
on a soft grass carpeted river bank,
with a string attached to a stick
and safety pins as improvised hooks;
they waited in patience to catch
the most common fish, that is the perch.
BOY ONE
At times we managed to pull
out of the running river pool
a catfish - hard headed little devil -
which swings and swivels,
a dark skin with no scale
which makes it difficult to get hold and control
but one is quickly engaged in bashing his head.
BOY TWO
Yes! In a clear running river
when the shark of the fresh water -
a fish with majestic moustaches
and a helmet hard to bash
comes out to stroll
without exception river reptiles, all
dash for a cover,
in any available hole.
BOY ONE
(While the other boys imitate an army drill.)
As in the army, a sergeant,
checking platoon,
a baton held,
between the ribbs and arm,
at a thirty degree angle,
where all stand to attention
frozen with no motion
and on the crispy outer part of a khaki shirt
heart vibration can be felt
as he passes and inspects
hoping one would not be picked for humiliation.
The catfish has managed
to instil such a fear and respect
among fresh water inhabitants
with the exception of few,
if you like species like otter,
who indeed are not permanent lodgers
of the fresh water rivers.
BOY THREE
I love fishing,
but I'm not that keen when it comes
on a plate as a meal.
The taste is woeful,
and my nose swells,
when the air is over perfumed with a fishy smell.
And this one you call Catfish
With whiskers and long moustaches
I swear to God, my lips will not touch.
One day when I cut its inside open
a live bull frog came out jump'n .
BOY TWO
To you all,
It must by now be palpable
That I hate frog, that vile little devil,
especially when it pants
and the smooth slimy underneath skin palpitates.
BOYS ONE AND TWO TOGETHER
Boy! Oh boy! We hate snakes, chameleons, newts, lizards, crocodiles
and all the rest that crawl.
BOY ONE
It is good a white man eats with forks
I would not have sat and ate
on the same plate,
if he were to use his hands, naked.
He twiddles with revolting cocktail of worms,
and covers his arm with coiling snakes.
BOY TWO
Talk of a crocodile,
a story I shall tell,
I myself, two years ago was a part
in nature's conspiratorial plot.
It was summer,
the temperature glowing hot,
you could fry an egg
with out a fire or a pot.
A group of boys gathered together
and marched towards the river,
mostly for a swim.
In the group someone had a bag of salt
another a match box to help light a fire,
and a third carried a coat hanger,
turned straight, as in spit to suspend a fish over the naked fire.
However, the fish in this river,
were extremely clever.
They only came out at dusk or dawn
when everybody had gone.
You don't blame them,
for the water there is clean,
the bottom white sand visible,
and it can be seen, by a pilot,
flying at a modest height..
So the usual trick,
of using a safety pin as a hook
and prepare a meal of fish by the river bank
was impossible to think of,
by hungry lots wanting to cook.
Instead, another ploy
has to be deployed.
And this was it.
Everybody got naked, and each one carried a stick.
Then we lined up as moving blocks of bricks
and every little hole between the rocks,
with the help of the long stick
was poked.
Once the fish were out in the open
even the precious Sturgeons,
as we poke,
and at the same time fencing as a block,
we drove the fish to a larger cave.
Once they were securely inside the cave
one of the boys ties the two ends of a bedsheet to his neck
and the other two with his right and left hands
firmly held, dives into the cave
and stirs the fish to escape.
But escape? No hope!
The mouth of the cave was firmly blocked.
Moments later,
the bed-sheet centre
appears inside out blown
as in hot air balloon.
Then the boy in charge brings
the two hands closer together to his neck
and with the help of the others staggers to the river bank.
I tell you, that was a clever trick
as a result many happy meals have been cooked,
and eaten on the bank.
However, one day
very unusual event happened,
I must say,
I shall never forget till I die
the face of the panic stricken boy,
As before we did poke
the holes between the rocks
In large number we then managed to drive
the fish to the cave.
The entrance was again properly blocked
so no fish could escape.
Then something appeared inside the bedsheet.
Quite a number of fish seemed to have been caught.
The boy then pulled his hands
holding the ends of the sheet, to his chest.
Then he staggered his way to the bank.
However,he started to suffer from a violent shake,
Triggered by the force of the fish trapped
that now desperately tried to escape,
as the fish breathed and gaped.
Realising his predicament,
we all rushed to his support.
We huddled together,
wrapped our hands around this body,
which was now at the centre
and that way we came out safely from the river.
Upon reaching hard ground
we released our grips
and shouted at the boy to drop
the consignment he had scooped
from the riverbed.
.
However, before he did drop
unexpectedly, he was given a smashing blow,
where it had come from nobody quite knew.
He was then thrown off the bank
and into the river he fell on his back.
Shortly after, a crocodile,
that stomped and fell
waddled back to the river
flagging high its razor tail.
Panic written all over his face,
the boy scrambled to his feet
and in an instant,
he took flight
out of breath, out of sight
in a fraction of the normal time,
he covered four miles distance
between the river and his residence..
Since then many years have past,
well, four years to be exact,
and the boy to the river has never set his foot.
He hasn't had a drop of water on his back
One day I asked him,
"What is that to be he would want,
When he grow old?"
He said "A pilot;
To fly over
the menacing river."
BOY FOUR
Talk of a crocodile,
one day my father caught,
a very cute lovely white skinned rabbit……
(Ehh ehh ehhe heeehheeeh ehhhhh all the kids went laughing.)
BOY ONE
He brought home rabbit!
BOY TWO
What, to eat?
(Heeee heee heeee heeee. Laughter continued uninterrupted.)
BOY FOUR
Don't be daft!
My father is a devout Christian,
not like them Protestants
Who do not live,
by the strict code of Christ
and defile their mouths by eating stuff like rabbit.
My Dad on Lent days,
that is on Wednesday and Fridays
never eats breakfast.
And when he does eat,
it is gone afternoon two o'clock past
and as that it is only chickpeas and peanuts.
not to mention that he would not contemplate,
soft bread or dairy products,
in his mouth to put,
let alone to indulge in a flesh such as that of rabbit.
BOY TWO
Why did he then,
bring the animal,
with limbs and legs fastened?
BOY FOUR
Well to give it me to have fun.
BOY ONE
In what way?
BOY FOUR
In the way young children with animals play.
BOY THREE
Have you gone stray,
and fallen prey,
to the new faith under
the influence of financial pay?
BOY FOUR
Don't be daft!
I am like my father, a good follower,
of the almighty Christ.
Besides I am so young,
to sort out right from wrong.
I go along,
what my father and his have been doing for long.
Even though they speak English,
they understand more politics,
they sit on soft chairs made of plastics,
converse with foreigners mostly Swedish,
and most of them are teachers, doctors and mechanics,
who live in big houses with dazzling electric,
I would not want for a moment to think,
and join their eccentric,
shouting, singing and dancing,
men and women alike,
in the name of Christ,
led by their high priest,
a few minutes past,
he had devour a packet of cigarette.
BOY ONE
Now you are in a world apart;
What happened to the rabbit,
your father brought?
BOY FOUR
How can I finish,
when there are people like you who interrupt.
Anyway, there are two things eventually to relate.
I quite enjoyed my new friend.
I feathered my old shirt for its bed,
fed the little devil some of my bread.
However, mother went mad
when she discovered the backyard vegetables,
were grazed to the ground.
"Before I bash the skull
of this wretched animal
take it away from my dwelling,"
she bawled,
and bewailed over the lost vegetables.
Dad took the most unusual twist
and made a deal with the Protestant,
high priest, to take the rabbit
in exchange of financial reward.
Everybody now felt happier,
and I, too, did get my fair share,
for looking after the rabbit's welfare.
But! Surprise, surprise, up until then,
it was only rumour,
that I did not completely believe, that
Protestants were rabbit eaters.
Then one day I and my other friend
came to the same very river,
but a bit down along the bend
for the usual end,
to swim and catch fish if we could find.
But it was morning after a night of heavy flood,
a crocodile must have been caught unaware,
and got a bash on his head,
more than he could manage.
On shore we found him dead.
Then something came to mind.
And I said to my friend,
let us take this flexible sinew
to the high priest of the Protestant I then knew
and get some money for the crocodile that will turn to stew.
All the way we dragged the crocodile
and when we reached the metal gate
of the house of the high priest,
we pushed the button and we heard the bell.
First the boys, just our age,
came rushing to the gate,
then they saw what was lying in front.
Immediately, they then went rushing backward
and we anticipated the priest would come with a reward.
We stayed patiently, our minds full of dreams
of new books and the rest on biscuit and creams.
However, to our horror and nightmare
they let loose the German shepherd
which came bouncing and leaping
and chased us to the very edge of the town skirt
I was out of breath, scared to death,
my back was bleeding from the scratch I incurred.
Shredded into pieces, you could say, was my only
lovely shirt my dad bought, with the money he got
from the Protestant high priest,
some time in the past,
in exchange for a rabbit.
CHORUS
Then children saw the sky changing colour
and the thunder began to roar
shortly a sudden torrential rain began to pour
The kids then scurried
some still naked, their garments bundled and in their hands carried.
( Boys come in front. Scrim drops. Boys exit.)
CHORUS
Through the valley
up the top of the hill
to their respective dwellings,
but on the way singing and shouting,
and throwing stones at curious squirrels,
who stand upright on their heels,
watching and bemused by these reckless and crazy little devils.
(A young shepherds, of the same age, covered in a traditional straw
anorak, on the hillside can be seen and heard playing a flute)
These care free playful,
childhood episode
from school to playground,
went on all year round
for three more years to count.
However, in this world of childhood age
none of them were able to guess the complex edge
of the real life that went in the village.
Scene 2
(Curtain rises to reveal living room of a simple house. Several doors
lead
to bedrooms. It is night.)
One dreadful midnight
one boy's happy-go-lucky age
came to abrupt stoppage.
When night had dropped
the sky had turned beach dark
and the village had gone to sleep,
(Three men from the Chorus put on hoods and go to the door. They knock
loudly. At the sound of the door knock, the clown runs across and jumps
into a bed, from which he can peek at the door.)
MEN, SPEAKING TOGETHER
We are Federal Bureau Security Guards.
We demand to enter.
(In reply, when the father said "I"
They told him to properly dress up,
because the night temperature had steeply dropped,
and hurried him to walk out without saying goodbye.)
(The boy followed all the events
from inside his bed
with little windows of light
between his fingers rested on the forehead.)
WIFE
Who are you? What do you want?
and why are you taking him at this hour of the night?
MEN, SPEAKING TOGETHER
We are liberation fighters
there is an important matter
with your husband Jack
we need to talk
we assure you feel safe,
for in a while your husband will be sent back.
Now, this you must heed:
don't follow our track
for your own safety and that of Jack.
(The four men walk to the bleacher and sit.)
CHORUS
Arms outstretched as if to pray
she obeyed to what they had to say;
she retraced her steps all the way
and gently closed the door and ran towards the little boy;
to reassure and comfort,
that his father will be back unhurt.
Although she pretended, she had no fear, for the child's sake,
deep inside she was utterly shattered and shocked.
and the rest of the night anxiety got the better of her.
She was consumed in feverish shiver
(Boy emerges from room and returns to bleacher.)
Early morning after the child was nurtured
and his trip to the school taken care,
she rushed to the house of her sister,
to discuss the matter.
(Scrim down. The two women are at the front of the stage.)
SISTER
What is the matter? You look woeful?
WIFE
They have taken him, they have taken him.
SISTER
They have taken whom?
WIFE
They have taken Jack,
under the cover of the dark.
SISTER
Who are they and where?
WIFE
If only I had known.
They said they are the liberators,
but that I am not sure.
Hooded men in the middle of the night,
demanding to enter,
to the rest of his family with no respect,
whatsoever,
did not feel like they were
what they claimed to be, liberators.
SISTER
Hum! You have a point there.
WIFE
I know my husband has got a brother,
as a fighter or what they call themselves, liberators.
But him I know. He has no interest,
nor he is a nationalist zealot;
he has a nil political zest
or any kind of ambitious pursuit,
apart from wearing three-piece suit
and stroll on the city's pavements,
for its own enjoyment.
Such a person, why would they want
to talk to him in the middle of the night?
In any case morning has come and gone
and Jack has not be seen.
SISTER
Hum it feels seriously that you have a point again.
You know my own husband was an active member.
One day while shopping in the market
I noticed him doing some kind of theatrical act
and I though he was either going mad
driven by his narcotic habit,
or else -- what can you expect?
(Scrim up, revealing a street scene. Two men step from the bleacher and
act out the following, as described by the Sister.)
He held two cigarettes in his fingers, but only one lit,
and pieces of rolled orange skin were stuck --
one to the nostril, and the other
between the mastoid and lop of the ear.
Shortly after, in our shopping tour,
another person in a similar bizarre fashion,
furtively appeared in the scene.
When they made eye contact,
and asked for a light,
which my husband obediently provided,
and in offering such a service,
no one could miss his delight,
However, with the lighter
a half-split note of ten pounds
came out from his pocket.
Surprise! Surprise! the person next
produced the missing half of ten pound note.
Watching all that, for words I was totally lost.
They looked and winked at each other
then my husband said
HUSBAND
Goodbye sweet sugar
I will see you later.
(They start off together.)
SISTER
When I groused and moaned
for being left alone;
You know what he said to me this forlorn?
HUSBAND (coming over to SISTER)
Excuse me, sweetheart,
for leaving you alone in the market
Do not feel hurt.
I have an important item to collect
and I will see you at home tonight.
SISTER
For all I care you can go to hell.
To begin with, since when
did you bother to do the errands?
I suspected it all along,
though I suppressed my feeling,
that you were up to something,
when you offered to accompany me to shopping.
HUSBAND
Believe me there is nothing sinister.
It is for a good cause that will make you feel better.
(He walks to the bleacher and sits.)
SISTER
Perhaps in my innocence I myself might have been used as a decoy
to distract the watchful eyes of a government spy.
I was enchanted and genuinely surprised
when he offered his service
to go to the market to deal with picking the weekly merchandises
something he had never done to my notice..
So to come to the point
Yes, they are discrete
and they would not make a scene of it
in the middle of the night.
It is odd, perhaps there is good reason to suspect
they were, after all, Government agents.
WIFE
That is what all along I suspected.
God forbid, if that was it
Jack's life is under threat.
SISTER
Or could it be,
would it be possible,
your man was an agent
working for the Government
in aiding to commit violent acts
against the national front?
WIFE
I doubt it,
I know him inside out;
He is not useless,
but does not possess such a talent.
However, as you said these days,
one can't even trust one's own voice.
SISTER
Any way sit down, take for a drink something hot
and don't needlessly wreck your heart.
What is done is done
and we shall find out soon.
You see when Zeriay died,
God bless his soul,
he did not leave me alone.
On both sides of the fence,
he left me with some good friends.
They do not demand of me anything of the sort
like Zeriay did for the Front;
except for their support,
be it financial or humane contact.
Whenever, I am in need of it.
The situation is delicate,
Who is a liberator and who is an agent
not straight forward, as black and white
for clarity and full appreciation one might want.
And both sides are fully aware
but seem not to care,
unlike their naïve supporters.
Who go out at a slight suspicion,
to kill each other.
On both sides of the conflict
you have agents working for the opposite,
the Front has its members as top-office bureaucrats
and the Government has its agents planted in the national Front.
Any way, give me a day
I will find out, if Jack has been,
by the Front taken away.
If the search turns out to be negative,
then we will turn to the Government side,
and establish their motive.
For taking him captive.
I know one or two Special branch officers
with their help, the search will be done in every detention centre
including hidden interrogation places,
if these places have anything to offer.
However, and this you should know, no one dares
to get involved in such a serious case.
For the consequence if uncovered is immediate death.
But the two officers are sympathetic to the fighters' cause.
Therefore, to help us out they would probably go to a great length.
CHORUS
Unfortunately, after efforts searching all round
So to speak, turning every stone upside down
Jack was nowhere to be found,
neither in the stronghold of the Front,
nor in the Government prison cells downtown.
(Sister goes to bleacher.)
WIFE
You know, the other day,
I had a nightmare
and woke up in absolute terror and fear.
The sweat that poured soused every bit I had to wear.
I remember, being followed
by a slow but steady moving dragon,
spiting blue and bright orange fire --
scorching everything it touched,
missing my person by a few inches.
And yet I had to keep on going
if I were not to be trampled or shrivelled in the glowing.
As I went along,
under the long Savannah grass,
I came near a lion,
and a twenty-foot long python,
both stalking an African Giant Baboon,
which in turn had lain in wait to ambush a young Thomson's gazelle,
eating green,
All unaware, of each other,
and the approaching danger
from the fire spatter,
the super Giant dragon.
My unexpected jumping into the scene
startled everyone concerned.
Then the gazelle majestically took to the air,
prancing, as if in a playful manner
despite the danger.
Likewise the baboon proudly jogged to its natural shelter.
As for me, I found myself close to the lion's jaws
and fainted before receiving the deadly blow.
However, many hours latter
when I woke up, nonetheless still gripped with fear,
I REALISED MY LOWER HALF WAS DEVOURED.
As if that was not sufficient horror,
I turned my head 'round, just to discover
the lion's jaws were interlocked
crushing the python's neck;
while the flexible muscles of the giant snake
had a tight grip of the lion's neck.
And upon sharply focusing my eyes
from where I was made to lie,
waiting to die,
I realised the predators had each other for a prey.
It appeared, they both deployed their masterful trick,
and mercilessly broke
each other's neck.
Oh! Dear, I am so scared
what could have had happened,
to my lovely husband?
CHORUS
Three days later
Jack's bloated body was found in a sewer,
open filthy, dirty water
that runs along the town's diameter,
oozing stench bubbles polluting the air,
miles on end stretched
hitting the sensory nerves to twitch.
This was murder, clear cut
a shot on the head point blank.
Hand manacled,
to avoid desperate last minute ferocious struggle.
Those bad days, no body for sure could say
who had done the slaying.
A change of technique,
from Garrotte, a Spanish medieval style
strangulation by string - that of metallic.
Which had been popular with the infamous and hideous squad,
who suck and drink fresh human blood,
direct from a severed jugular
before the body is pushed over,
from a fast moving car,
baring the squad's hallmark,
under the cover of the dark.
Anyway the family managed to recover
the body of Jack, and
privately buried him, accompanied by a few friends
able to stake,
and stick out their necks, at the risk,
of being labelled enemies of government obedient public.
The next morning,
still with puffed eyes,
hoarse voice from loud crying,
the sad little boy,
left to the mountains,
from his bereaved mother,
without saying goodbye.
Curtain
Act 2
(In front of curtain.)
CLOWN
After three difficult days and nights,
walking on foot, exhausted
but high in spirit,
I reached the mountain height.
However, right at the top,
I was stopped,
by a grey-haired veteran acting a scout,
mission on the look out.
(Curtain up, revealing a mountain pass.)
Scene 1
SCOUT
Who goes there?
Identify your pass number
and state the purpose of your venture.
WEGEN
My name is Wegen
and I have come to join.
(Then the sixty-five year old veteran, looking fierce came out from the
fortress, finger latched on the trigger.)
SCOUT (To himself)
Jesus Christ! Ever so, they are getting younger
and this one I swear,
could have been great-grandson
from my granddaughter
had I not been engrossed in this bloody war.
(To WEGEN)
Son, don't mind my saying so.
Go back home, and play seesaw;
or with a small ball
a sport, something like volleyball,
if you cannot find friends to play with,
do it against the wall,
like I used to do when I was small.
WEGEN
I am not as young as I look.
A few decades of my life down I have managed to knock.
In fact I am old enough
to be the father of five.
SCOUT
Well, then have you got five?
WEGEN
No, I don't.
SCOUT
Why not?
WEGEN
It is obvious I do not have a wife.
SCOUT
It is because you are not old enough
to have a wife
to procreate another life.
That requires the manufacturing a productive germ,
scientist call it a sperm
which has the capacity to swim
along the canals of a woman's womb.
You are still a boy
and my advice is, you should go home and enjoy
the age of innocence
without having to cope with violence.
Just keep playing volleyball,
against the smooth side of a house wall
with a small ball.
WEGEN
Well, what has it got to do with age
if I am mentally prepared to fight at this stage?
SCOUT
Well, my boy, it has got a lot to do with age.
This place is littered with carnage.
The younger you join and manage to survive
the more profound, and nerve shattering its impact becomes later in
life.
I am the living witness,
until now surviving this outrageous madness;
and I would not wish for anyone to experience
the horror as a young boy I was made to witness.
WEGEN
May be you are right
I should not suspect
that you are putting me to the test.
Please do not put in front of me any barrier.
I desperately want to be a warrior
and fight 'til my muscles operate no more.
Most of the people I dearly love and know
reside no more in town,
this is the reason I want to join.
SCOUT
Whom do you know?
WEGEN
Whom do I know?
(During the following listing, individual members of the chorus rise
briefly in place when a name is recited.)
Tilhaun Gizaw,
Bezuhaat Getachew,
Yerga Tesema,
Girmatcher Lemma,
Abdissa Aga,
Alula Aba Nega,
Awete Edris,
(zeberer kemnefas.)
(means in Tigryna fast as blowing wind)
Berhane meskel Reda,
(Eishate Gomerra,)
(means impressive as the glaring flame of volcano)
Tesfay Debesay
Solomon, Mussie, Afework, Zeriay
(Deki Ham-Serie mes Akleguzay) .......(true sons of Ham-Serie
&Akleguzay)
Belay (Anbesa Tigray;) .......................(unbridled lion warrior)
Mohammed mhafuz,
Tekelu Hawaz.
Khai Belay Zeleke,
(kab Gojjam zefeleke;) ...................(.Hero from Gojjam)
Wallegne (betebeb zerekeke). ......(Intellectual of the utmost order)
Raswork Khetsela,
(Tsere guheela,) .................................(curse on embezzlers)
Mesfin Habtu,
Martha mebrahetu,
Yosef, Benyam Adane,
Yohannes Brehane,
Brehane Eyasu,
Dekesom Metsehaf zetreyesu. .......(masterminds)
Edris Awete,
mes neshtey hawu Zelote
SCOUT
Stop! Stop!
You seem to be determined to list names,
till you drop.
These you mention,
are all now gone,
long before we saw the dawn;
at a crucial period of the revolution.
Except one name you called,
and I would be obliged to take you there,
to verify the story you have now told.
Come! Come! Don't grieve,
sit down, break the weight,
and let your legs be relieved.
Tell me! What actually happened,
that makes you the town life to abandon,
to join us in the mountain?
WEGEN
They slain my father,
for no apparent reason.
SCOUT
I understand your anger
But are you sure
they had not got reason for their action?
There may have been one,
Bizarre, though it may sound, to take the life of someone.
WEGEN
Not anymore than being a member of a tribe,
you happen to subscribe.
SCOUT
Boy! Oh, Boy! You are not a child,
as I thought you would be;
your words sting like the venom of a bee.
Do you have any brother,
left at home with your mother?
WEGEN
No! But I have a younger sister
and an uncle,
like you, a fighter.
I have an uncle,
I remember he was an elegant and tall,
you could say even delicate and fragile,
and surprising now, God forgive,
if he is alive,
a hard-core member of your struggle.
SCOUT
Yes! If we are talking of the same character,
I do know that comrade a bit closer
for years in the same group we operated together.
I will radio and get in touch,
and if you are lucky, you may have
a word or two with your uncle,
for a training before you are dispatched.
That way I will also confirm,
that you are not an agent,
from within the Organ designed to operate.
WEGEN
I am not an agent,
After the tragic loss of a father,
with muti-talents, at the hand
of a murderous squad,
to quench the desire of a tyrant,
no diamond,
no gold,
no glory,
no currency-laden lorry
would buy my will,
to betray and sell
the cause of yours and that of my uncle.
SCOUT
Excuse me for being blunt,
but I have heard this statement
from double-dealing deponents.
If you do not mind my saying so
I have heard that oath before.
It is in a funny world that we live --
which is genuine and which is not difficult to believe.
WEGEN
Well! If you want to be cynical,
that all people are evil,
then what is the point of your struggle?
SCOUT
As I said you are little,
but equally dangerous and devil.
Nice try my defence web to disentangle,
hence to abandon my vigil,
against infiltration of traitors, criminal thugs,
and agent provocateurs.
WEGEN
I do not mean to disarm your defence
but how else can I clearly present myself,
that I am here to self sacrifice.
SCOUT
You are right on balance,
it is not wise,
a new comer, with no code number
to out rightly reject
on grounds of suspicion as an agent
It may be possible,
a questionable individual
may turn out to be the soul,
if you like a burning candle,
the revolution would see light at the other end of the tunnel.
You are right, after all,
I am, as you put it, a bit cynical
and there is a danger of losing the meaning of it all.
WEGEN
Why turn cynical,
after all these years of struggle
for a good cause of the people?
SCOUT
Well! One incident triggered it all.
I was one of a the squad,
sent to storm a fortified prison wall
and free comrades who were shackled and held,
in what can be described as earthly hell.
That we did manage
with utmost efficiency and courage.
But with the rest of the prisoners we set free
there was one had I known,
I should have personally slain.
But I did not, for I did not know who he was;
I blame myself always,
that I was not that wise.
WEGEN
Who was he?
SCOUT
He was a jealous husband of my young sister
who for her simple flirtatious chatter
murdered her, in front of her mother.
And I set him free to see him cross the border.
CHORUS
Upon travelling for four hours
up and down mountain chains,
thick covered gorges,
they stopped in a place, where
rocks, the size of multi-story buildings,
climb one on top of the other,
as if by design of an architect -
though done, we know, by Nature -
Who lived in a distant past,
when there was no steel or cement,
but monuments had to be built.
Scene 2
(The pair has arrived at the mountain camp of the Revolutionary Brigade.
Behind the rocks, there were tanks and armoured trucks. There were
countless fierce looking men and women, some with well kempt, others
with dreaded hair, wrapped up from thorax to abdomen with pointed and
glittering bullets stuffed in chains.)
(The veteran scout pointed his finger at another fighter, and when he
got
his attention, he beckoned, as though inviting a friend. The fighter,
Wegen's Uncle, came over and the two then went to a secluded place,
where their conversation could not be traced.)
UNCLE
Why did you come here?
WEGEN
Well, to be an architect, town planner,
an electronic engineer, computer designer;
to keep up with progress,
in line with other nations,
which are in the race.
If you don't mind my being sardonic
for saying an architect.
Of course you know why.
I have come to contribute my bit,
in your joint effort,
to bring down the tyrant,
with guns and bullets,
UNCLE
Why don't you go to school,
and it is possible,
you could become an engineer,
town planner, or a computer designer,
and keep up progress
in line with other nations,
in the race.
Rather than being wiped out
with out trace,
on a mountain trace,
with no obsequies dignity and burial grace.
You will end up as cannon fodder,
dismantled for good before growing older.
WEGEN
No! Not everyone gets dismantled,
after so many years of struggle,
you are still alive and, in a funny way, ensconced and settled.
UNCLE
God! What was my brother teaching you,
when he was alive?
To be such so argumentative?
Yes you are right,
but dismantling is not yet over,
and tomorrow I could be dead and soil-covered.
WEGEN
Well! I did not come here,
to find a cosy shelter,
with a revolving chair,
and think of the future.
I came here to fight,
the tyrant,
who trampled and suffocated,
not only opponents but the innocent.
And if death is unavoidable,
by all means possible,
so be it,
as it is, life is not livable.
UNCLE
You are little and at that quite a sport,
your determination to die, however, worries me quite a lot.
When there are many elements
you may not, before you die, know about this front.
WEGEN
You mean to say you object,
when people like me join this front,
and likewise die in a fight,
to preserve freedom and human rights?
UNCLE
I knew it, you are mad,
and you do not understand,
I am not a coward,
I am proven and tested as a combatant,
a fighter hand to hand,
with bayonet and the butt.
However in my experience,
I have witnessed,
that people one or two
loved ones who have lost,
in the hand of a tyrant,
or in combat,
appears determined to the finish to fight.
They do not feel like wanting to live and last
when one see them catapulting themselves to a centre of a hellish blast.
Lining up ahead in the front,
receiving the brunt.
Just at the end of the day,
we learn they are gone and lost
to ashes and to dust.
It is only the mediocre,
the bootlickers
of the danger insulated leaders
who come out as winners.
Then they will become ministers,
development officers,
finance magnets
and before the blood of the heroic combatants
turned dry and crusted,
they wriggle their butt
just to turn around, the efforts
of those who perished,
in to a business run private,
to maximize their annual profits.
And worse, with the advent of personal interest,
there comes with the same bag corrupt elements
which incidentally, had already started to manifest,
in the working of the liberation front,
well before it turns itself into government.
WEGEN
Talk of a double agent!
Everybody has to be vigilant,
from infiltration to protect.
Here you are a fighter
striving new-comers to deter
from becoming active members.
Is this another ploy,
you people have to display,
to find out the making of this boy?
UNCLE
We ambush and kill,
a lone government figure,
and rob a bank,
a few thousand pounds;
and in return, the entire
habitation finds itself surrounded,
by a blood thirsty hounds,
who indiscriminately shoot, at
any one that moves,
set fire and burn the rest alive.
The next morning,
you see our ranks swollen
by youngsters who are scared and frightened.
Even those who are unfit to train
and politely to their homes asked to return,
and prefer to take the risk and die
like that fighter and I.
This is how we won over most of the people,
who are now in the struggle.
This tyrant regime,
if you like, self-imposed government,
is our best recruiting agent,
with little or no financial cost
incurred on our part.
Came to think all the time we spent
walking in a single file,
day and night,
with no word from our mouth to expel.
Sleeping rough and visiting nature
in a group like a bunch of bushes,
huddled together,
days on end.
Spying on each other
to win favour from the masters
however, making escape difficult,
for a defector.
WEGEN
You sound to be more bitter
than anyone I did ever encounter;
and I wonder, what keeps you any longer
as a fighter inside out on fire.
UNCLE
Make no mistake
I have no intention to defect.
I shall remain a firm believer,
that the evils of the self-imposed tyrant
must at all cost be uncovered,
its true nature exposed
until finally its grim reality disposed.
There isn't any other way,
to get rid of it
other than to fight.
On that you and I
can eat on the same plate
with out staring eye to eye.
What I am worried about
is the replacement we contemplate, in its place to put.
The way things function at the moment
it does not impress me a bit,
its custom and cultural habits
are only somewhat better
than that of the tyrant.
However, for what people are asked to pay
their lives, never mind their selfish material interests to betray,
the organisation's delivery falls dismally far short of the way.
But! Say! Mind you, it does not mean,
I am going to back-pedal and sway
and end up on the tyrant's tray.
I have to say good bye to you now
I will see you a day after tomorrow,
We will engage the Government's battalion
sometime this afternoon.
There is no doubt, you will be staying here for sometime.
I will say a word or two to the area commandant supreme;
you and I have unfinished business to consume.
Besides there is no hurry
they have people like you in thousands
mission destruction to carry,
and if they drop like flies the leadership appears not to worry
(The Uncle rejoins the group and they move out to make contact with the
government troops, leaving WEGEN behind.)
CHORUS
His uncle was the third from the man at the top
in charge of the action group,
meant to engage at this juncture the government troop.
For most of the day,
well past mid-night,
they took the army in the direction opposite,
in order to confuse a would-be planted agent,
an enemy from within spying for the government,
from passing vital information to prevent.
Next morning round about three o'clock,
after allowing three hours' break,
the fighters were ordered to retrace their way back,
pass through the camp,
they had been resting in for over a week.
Scene 3
(Mountain pass)
Then finally they took charge
of a mountain-side overlooking a meandering road,
cut out and curved,
along the steep mountain-side
in the mid-air almost suspended
with steep cliffs,
five hundred feet
from the bottom troughs.
Already three to four weeks earlier
trenches and conduit-like defence barriers
had been dug
by other squads,
who were not told
when and how it would be used.
The fighters split
into three units.
Along the mountain range,
One at the back, one at the middle,
and the third at the forefront,
the uncle of the boy in charge.
The intelligence gathered,
indicated that highly mechanised brigade
was on the move
to strengthen a division beleaguered
and on the verge
of being fatally and comprehensively damaged.
Several times this mechanised group,
had made the trip through this dreadful gap,
with caution and military care,
to avoid sudden danger,
Of being ambushed and butchered.
However, this time round,
not only that they were tricked;
but morale was also all time low
because of the tyrant's draconian militaristic laws.
It compounded their disgust,
that the only language known to the tyrant
was a continuous, no ending combat,
and destructive war efforts,
of two people who share the same habits
and ethno-cultural trait.
A complex trick, that was put
on a unit, whose constant call of duty
outstretched its limits.
It was cleverly designed,
by tough battle experienced combatant minds.
And urgently there came a radio report:
The town, this unit was on its way to visit
was under all-out attack;
and the message warned that
if the town fell into the hands of the 'bandits',
then recovering it would be difficult.
Under pressure to reach
on time, before the town security was breached,
the ever-cautious army on the march,
abandoned its usual approach,
of moving on foot,
and taking control of the mountain heights,
to allow the convey to filter through and slowly penetrate
the valley's death-street.
It was a clever ploy,
this time round the fighters played.
A few thousand comrades around the town's skirt
had been instructed to skirmish,
as a decoy.
Also this time around,
mines were not buried in the ground -
such could have been easily spotted
by a mine-detecting squad.
The mines were suspended from remotely controlled ropes,
on disused telephone poles,
poles, lingering on the side of the road.
After the copper lines were dismantled and robbed.
When the vehicles entered the target ranges,
the mines were dropped
and made to explode.
The wreckage of twisted metal,
a crater the size of modest swimming pool
in the middle of the road
made it impossible for the following trucks
to move forwards.
Sandwiched by a mountain height
and a cliff,
almost simultaneously the last trucks -
that full of ammunition and other logistics -
received the same attack,
and the area started to seethe and sneeze,
as in a popcorn
in a heated pan.
But these one extremely deafening pangs.
Those fighters who lay in wait
close to the road,
deeply buried,
in a dug-out fort;
hit every moving truck
and immobilized the tanks
with shoulder carried missile Bazooka.
Ack-Ack firmly rooted in the rock
The soldiers who were in the trucks' hulk
never stood a chance, but incinerated like
a tinderbox.
Their essences dissipated into smoke.
As the first volley was fired
all the birds took to the air.
But they too seemed to be affected and inflicted
by the human-caused conflict.
In midair, head on head they clashed
and tumbling down, they came to the ground and there crashed.
Unabated the fighting went on
and for some reasons
both sides seemed to be determined
to keep on the raging battle
by abandoning the time-honoured rule
of calling off the deadly play,
and save themselves for another day.
Yes! Later on it became clear,
that the fighters were fuelled with anger,
because right from the outset,
both sides had lost something dear,
deep in their hearts they did treasure -
their beloved warrior leaders.
Then it became difficult
to remember the sequence of events.
Twisted metals, whole limbs
with shoes and parts of torn trousers,
blood rushing from severed cells,
everywhere,
flying in the air.
Trucks diving nose down,
into craters freshly made,
filled with spilt gasoline
set to explode into red condensed balloons.
Swarming the pool,
like freshly hatched tadpoles,
but this time, punctured and bleeding soldiers
not under water,
but in bloodbath, napalm spray,
and thick smoke of phosphate vapor.
A cocktail of nerve-agent chemicals,
for a body that is made fragile,
a deadly test and trial,
insane nations prepare,
for their children to committee suicidal.
The sky was lit,
and ironically at a place like that,
one may feel relieved,
because the darkness was removed.
But the brightness that prevailed,
was riddled with more ominous perils,
than darkness could entail.
In to the deep gorge one may fall.
With orange, blue
streaks of flame,
darting everywhere,
and balls of thick smouldering clouds
descending to the ground;
igniting fire, that scorched
everything it touched.
Then whole area reeked
of roasted flesh,
left on a naked flame till it turned to ashes.
No God-made eardrum
of flesh and bones,
could withstand the terrifying tumultuous tremor.
Every now and then
when a spitting fire came out
from the barrel of a mortar,
mounted on the back of a tank,
the earth lost its grip and began to shake
as a person suffering from a nervous wreck.
Such non-stop earth tremble
gave mighty blow to the brambles,
and the rocks of the steep hill,
piggyback on each other in their turn began to rattle.
Enemy soldiers were caught by surprise,
in the valley of death,
engulfed by merciless flesh-eating volleys.
A divine wrath,
this time they could not possibly rise.
And some of them thought,
jumping the cliff
was not an alternative
offering them to remain alive.
for it meant instant death
from broken ribs, engorged mouths
and exuding bits of the lungs through the mouth.
And from the the alcove vantage point,
where they stood,
they plainly understood
that this was the end
of everyone serving the fusilier
subjected to an indomitable guerrilla fusillade.
Knowing that there was no way out,
a forlorn hope, though they thought,
tooth and nail they then gallantly fought.
And they seemed to be adamant
to take as many 'bandits',
as their ammunition would allow,
before they in turn received a fatal blow.
Some managed to crawl up to the top of the steep hill,
and engaged in hand-to-hand battle.
Disembowelling opponents with bayonets
and smashing the skulls with the butt
and slain they left,
some fighters throat.
However, it was a hopeless effort,
it took some time for the humming to come to a halt;
by then everyone of soldiers was flashed out.
Their lives terminated with no one left,
to tell the story and report.
A few jet fighters came to help
napalm and other earth-scorching bombs,
they did drop, but it was indiscriminate,
and it did more damage to the troop
than it did to the fighters,
who were in trenches,
well dugout as tombs.
There are some to this day who suggest,
that the act of the pilots was deliberate,
against those who had brought defeat
and capitulation to the bandits.
It was a complete and utter success.
But for a price,
one third of the fighters were also sacrificed.
When the battle was over,
the fighters who survived the ordeal
knowing there were no able survivors
Who could pose real danger
from the Government corner
from their trenches came out one after the other,
with no jubilation and no cry of conquerors
but with faces which were withdrawn and sober.
There were indeed soldiers who were still alive
but in lethal pain,
whilst the fighters seemed to be drunken
with blood and fumes of phosphate and carbon
They seemed to lack the energy and the ambition,
to do anything, except to carry their own guns.
So what they did instead was to finish off - slain
those who were alive but in pain,
with a ballistic kick
at the head, point blank.
As in all time, the fighters
gathered wristwatches, gold chains
and wallets, light weapons.
Likewise, from the bodies unspoiled military attires,
and left the dead as a feast for the vultures.
Scene 4
(In Camp. Three days came and went; the boy was allowed, to wonder
around within the restricted zone; most of the time gathering defence-
building stones. Then he started talking to himself.)
WEGEN (To himself)
my uncle is not, has never been selfish.
He is straight forward,
true to his words.
May be it is a fact
that there are enough recruits;
may be they do not believe my childish act
that I could be a brilliant and courageous combatant,
Except, they would need my fighting spirit,
as my uncle put it, and that he doubt it,
only if the entire front line is wiped out,
by the Government force onslaught,
that I will have my moment
to prove my talent
as a fighting machine operating in earnest.
CHORUS
Few days past
volleys of fire shots were heard,
announcing the return of the contingent,
after what might be overall called a successful event.
where the enemy force was once again wiped out
the face of the planet.
But! But!
The young boy was soon to find out,
his uncle was behind left,
to lie at rest,
at a spot where he was fatally hit,
by a stray bullet,
no body for sure can tell,
where it came from, the side or front.
(Then the man in charge of the entire brigade, stood on a makeshift
stand,
cleared his throat, and started to talk his rosary politic.)
COMMANDER
Comrades, sons and daughters
of the land of the blood-stained red bricks,
flowing rivers and red sea water;
and land of blooming motley flowers,
however scarred and tortured,
don't doubt, don't hesitate for a moment
the future is inevitably ours.
A few days ago, we met and trounced
a formidable enemy force,
though difficult and hard work it was;
At last we did manage to break it in pieces.
It won't be very long
To us, the future shall belong.
Then we shall set free ourselves,
no more shall we be captives,
and chains of colonial handcuffs
shall permanently be dissolved.
And we shall no more be slaves.
However, just when the battle was coming to the end,
several comrades,
but above all Shemel,
the freedom loving 'Ambel',
I might add, this little boy's uncle
was regrettably lost in the battle.
But grieve no more, comrades,
grieve no more mother land,
grieve no more people related in blood,
as in life, in death Shemel was extremely glad.
WEGEN
OOOOOOOOOOh! No!
There is something rotten,
about this world we live in.
Misfortunes it continues to dump,
on the same door step.
it had already previously done.
To the bereaved, with no concern,
as if they were made of iron,
who cannot cave in with sorrow burden.
A man who spent,
his entire youth,
fiercely defending, what he regards as truth,
now has to pay,
the ultimate price:
his precious life as a sacrifice,
even though he had no faith
in the Organisation and the leadership profess.
In such a short life-slot,
I have learned a lot.
I have seen people with courage
and those bent to plot.
The irony, the twist, almost impossible to believe.
Nothing is what it appears to be,
Nevertheless, I am relieved.
You could say the sting is out of the bee,
for I am pleased that my uncle died,
by enemy-fired lead,
as it was told by his long-time friend,
who, as always, stood by his side,
to the bitter end.
However, the opinions he expressed
before his essence got transposed,
I am obliged to respect; that he had no confidence,
or trust,
in the leadership apparatus.
(As he lay-down covered by a clay stained thin sheet for a night,
amongst
many, on a smooth rock to avoid early morning dew that could have soaked
and drenched his entirety. Whilst pondering on issues of great gravity,
he
felt somnolent and sleepy and a ghost appeared in his dream and began to
reveal further mysteries)
GHOST
Nevermind about the obvious prisoners of war -
by that I mean government soldiers -
they do also unfairly incarcerate their own comrades -
labelling them as treacherous renegades
whose dissent they would not allow.
And anyone who defied their authoritarian rule
would end up in an underground tunnel,
dug as a prison cell.
In their crude prison cells
genuine people are put to test
As in the government,
they have a separate compartment
installed with torturing equipment.
Do not look around; I myself am a dead/living witness.
The one I hated most,
a wooden chair, deceptively looking soft.
The chair could reverse upside down,
and had a middle part that could open.
It could rotate,
but at the same time firmly to the ground rooted.
On that chair once you are seated and kept
tied, bound, gagged, there is no chance of a slight body movement
Then all hideous punishment you have to simply accept
and as torture commences and advances to barbaric height
with bloodied eyes, throbbing nerves and exploding heart
one could see the crotch of the trousers getting wet
and at the same time rotate.
Technique bastinado adopted,
they then beat the feet -
until to walk it is no longer fit
As a lump of salt,
in a braising pot
one begins to melt-
not only in stature but also in spirit.
Pure and simple - to break my will.
Furthermore, one should be prepared for worse,
Especially, if the region where the prison is located,
comes under enemy threat, one would be summarily executed
In their haste to move on to another safe site,
before the case is thoroughly exhausted.
This part of their act is diabolical,
and it is no less criminal
compared to evidence historical
even to that of the Germans' theatrical
killing of Jews by means of medical surgical.
WEGEN
It feels, no more have I the desire
nor do I have the intention,
to struggle under such an organisation.
Perhaps I should go,
to a distant land remote
and observe, how other people can justice promote.
GHOST
We shall see, whether you can stand the ordeal
taxing your person to a long arduous uncertain travel.
WEGEN
May be some other time,
from another place,
I shall be able to address,
the grave issues of injustice and violence,
mother land suffers in distress.
Or as it happens,
I may end up as harum-scarum, bacchanalian reckless,
victim of drug abuse,
wondering in the streets confused and bemused.
Or strike it lucky-rich enough,
living in comfort,
and the memory of my journey on foot,
half way across the planet, completely buried and forgot.
Well, all this remained to be seen, time will tell,
which road destiny chooses to travel.
Meanwhile I have now a job,
I must complete, before it is too late,
and the authorities begin to suspect
or on my already troubled head let drop a bomb.
I have this feeling these people are merciless
to anyone they concoct she/he is on the other side of the fence.
(Curtain)
Act 3
Scene 1
CLOWN (In front of curtain.)
I then started my journey,
in search of a new destiny.
On the way I met a stray combatant,
now turned lunatic, out of his mind.
He lived in a hole dug well below the ground.
When he comes out to the open
he covers his head with corrugated iron.
Occasionally, he stretched out his neck,
with great fear and trepidation,
scanned the air above,
to inspect any thing that moves.
And he dashed for a cover
when he heard a clap of thunder.
Or when he saw wings of birds flutter.
CHORUS
Oh! God! Those who are dead are blessed,
compared to this persons essence,
whose life is an utter mess.
Seeing a person afraid of the sky,
the boy continued his uncertain journey,
before the day's temperature got high.
WEGEN
But in the country next,
police harassment was self evident;
and to make matters worse,
the indigenous had low respect,
for the people they called immigrants.
Having seen what it meant,
I decided not to rest
but to continue my journey north-west.
There again I found out
the attitude was the same,
but the severity of the disrespect,
against an immigrant,
was relatively moderate.
Once I found a new abode
I got myself employed,
in an Arab household,
full of modern gadgets and house toys.
My job was to wash and clean
from Dusk to Dawn,
that was followed by another task,
of washing and cleaning from Dawn to Dusk..
Dawn to Dusk, Dusk to Dawn
cleaning and washin'
until my wrist and knuckles of my fingers got swollen
and the blood vessels fully blown.
(Another grown up person, in a similar predicament, appears across the
wooden fence, doing the same tasks.)
YOUNG MAN
They are consumers without taste,
unable to install and run,
the washing-machine gadget,
due to lack of infrastructural input,
and the culture and the rest that goes with it.
So, you see, they cannot fully appreciate,
the purchase, they always initiate,
from the free market,
of the west.
All these masses of jumble
with their own hands more than they could handle,
had it not been for our cheap labour readily available
they could have ended up with heaps of unwashed domestic rubble.
WEGEN
You know there is a tea shop,
downtown. If you look for it easily found.
The man employs people like us,
every day all year round.
I know he offers a good pay,
but because of the despicable burden
of the labour one is asked to comply,
no one manages to serve more than a day.
And even then in the end the laborers run away
before they claim their pay.
I have done it myself, and
I did run away.
The first day I was employed,
I was taken to a bakery
and in one go, I was asked thousand French loaves to carry.
Fragile as I was,
and as expected, a man of wealth,
well-built and strong was the boss.
As he strode in front,
in leisure and comfort,
I was expected,
to match my pace,
to that of his.
Five hundred on the left,
an equal number on the right,
in tightly woven baskets,
heavy, but aromatic, French petite,
arousing passers by appetite
But my arms spread-eagled,
then I began to feel,
they were being pulled out
from the joints,
and sliding beneath the skin;
down through the ribs to both sides of the abdomen,
and yet I was keen,
to keep the job goin',
So I did not complain
nor did I show any sign of strain.
But for the first time in my life
I hated to have to be born and still remained alive.
Midday passed.
I did not have time for breakfast,
I was washing dishes so fast
to cope with the people who had descended on us
from the surrounding offices
to have their ten o'clock feast.
In the end I walked away
from the tea shop, where I slaved for a day,
without asking for my pay.
YOUNG MAN
I should remind you, however,
my Mistress is a bit kinder,
than the one you labour under.
It appears, she likes my youth tender.
Although I know, no serious thing of the sort
will materialise ever,
Her routine talks, though they invokes sexual sensation
I know, my mistress is under the illusion
that every object in the house has a photo lens eyes
that could gather licentious evidence,
to her disgrace .
My mistress,
and indeed, yours as well,
do little or no venturing outside these walls.
You could say, they are like a mule
tethered to the ground and moves
only in circle,
invoking deep meditation,
to find out, in such a limited habitation,
what useful things are available.
to negate the drudgery of moving in circle.
My mistress,
has only her husband and the windows, to assess
what is going on outside her premises.
And you may say;
I act as a threshold, if you like, a door
she could walk out and discover
the world over,
unhindered, conquering,
instead of being conquered.
In my presence, she expresses,
her desires with no moral barrier whatsoever.
At will she indulges and narrates sexually loaded jokes
and out of it she gets a kick.
She appears to have no fear of threat
of sexual assault.
On the contrary, it is my person
daily threaten,
or if you like, psychologically raped
at these doorsteps.
WEGEN
whoow!! You are lucky.
I wish over here, I had the same kinky.
Mine is a bit cranky.
YOUNG MAN
Lucky, me! Don't make me laugh.
Me and luck,
run in the opposite tracks.
When I buy tickets in region east
the lucky draw goes to west.
And when I happened to be in the south
the newspapers report, a man got it in the north.
If we were to be given another opportunity
somewhere in the land of liberty
from from poverty
board on a plane
and fly away from these land of pain.
Imagine our lives could turn round
We could drive big cars,
own houses, demesne surrounded.
and marry beautiful girls.
At first sight, everyone falls in love with
but remain ours and faithful
Have our own kids
and send them to the best schools.
A land Winter covered in snow
whiter than white,
one could roll
and make ever growing ball.
Spring is even better,
green covered nature,
increasingly getting greener as days move to Summer
interrupted by blossoming flowers,
in succession one after another
to the delight of buzzing insects,
attracted by the aromatic scent.
Talk of Summer, sunny and bright
and the people all day out,
basking, hustling and bustling in the streets.
YOUNG MAN
You know, this climate is arid,
and at times difficult to live in, to say the least.
Snow could be whiter than white
but do not also forget it could be a harsh climate.
WEGEN
So be it!
As cold as a fridge.
I still favour snow white,
than this horrid climate and arid.
(From Offstage, a woman's voice, calling in Arabic)
WOMAN
Ya welde!
Asmaeh, Ya welde.
Ya habeshe! Ya Wegen!!!
WEGEN
Here we go again.
The woman is ranting,
as if she is being possess by demon.
Yes madam.
I am comin, I'm comin.
WOMAN
malk enta Ya weld
Ezznek mayesmeh?
WEGEN
Ezzeney yesmaeh Koyes, Madam
WOMAN
Le ma tergaeh tewal?
Are you fascinated by that trollop,
and like the other Habbeshe,
you too want to climb on her top?
WEGEN
I was not talking to the woman,
next door, I was talking with the boy,
about the type
of a newly invented soap
that will clean a massive heap,
in an instant sweep
WOMAN
Yaakhie!!!!!!!!
Alikela!! Guel Welalah!!
WEGEN
Welalah.
WOMAN
Then take some money,
go and get, the new type.
But don't you try bullshit.
Being young and innocent.
And do not waste my money,
on your own women prostitutes.
Selling their flesh in all corners of the streets.
WEGEN (Talking alone as he walks through the door)
God! Are you there?
When will I see the day,
like a bride free to fly
in the open sky.
Said he, almost struggling
to contain his cry.
CHORUS
Three years past,
until the immigration process was done,
meantime sponsor credibility analysed,
and the final departure materialised.
Then, at last he was sent to the land,
near the North Pole,
Where the Sun seems,
from the sky to have fallen through a hole,
close enough it had dropped,
from the plane's narrow window,
you can stretch a hand and hold.
It was night time, but was not dark.
He looked at his clock,
and it was ten o'clock,
but he could not believed what he saw.
Bemused he concluded that either the clock,
is broken, or his long held belief,
that he lives, with others, in the same global rock,
was a piece of false cake,
now being challenge, and is
about to crack and break.
With the man seated next,
he wanted in conversation to get engaged.
About this bizarre coincidence,
that the Sun too has lost its mind,
it seemed to be out, when it was not right,
in the middle of the night,
and as in day so hot and bright.
He wanted to ask: what is the meaning of it?
But at the same moment,
he did not want,
the man to gauge,
about the universe, his limited knowledge.
More restricting however was his lack,
of the Scandinavian language.
Scene 2
(Street in a Scandinavian city)
In the land of his ultimate resettlement,
he finally arrived, as implied, on Sunday late.
And he couldn't wait,
for the morning next,
to see the folks of colour white
in thousands roaming up and down the streets,
as opposed to one or two daring tourists,
seen mingled amidst,
African peasants.
Finally, the next morning did come;
and with waves of hundreds of thousands,
the streets got jammed.
In disbelief he was lost,
observing the uniformity of the inhabitants.
The same type of shops, the same colour,
one block of street difficult to identify from the other.
The same size,
the same height.
No unusually tall,
no unusually short,
no thin and no fat.
Unbelievably as if manufactured,
to a right size measured and cut.
No one made to waste,
as in a cripple let to crawl in the street.
No blind groping in the dark,
or a leper disfigured, rotten flesh,
profuse smell, that of a Skunk.
Good God!!! Heaven on Earth.
Said he, holding his breath.
With all the beauty and strength.
What a difference!!!
And I too believed to be of the same substance,
the same human race,
leading the same existence.
The soil so virgin,
covered with green,
you could hardly find a single stone
to throw and hit,
when you are mad at person.
More than anything, this trip is an eye opener
If I were to live and die in my little corner
I would have seen such a thing never.
Glad I am, air to breath, indeed I am so pleased,
ultimately to stand here and this miracle witness.
I wish my dad was here,
I wish my uncle too was here,
I wish all my friends were here,
I wish all the dead and alive were here,
to learn from the people we call foreigners.
Three, then six, followed by nine months past,
the young boy still engrossed
admiring the technological progress,
level of education and standard of health.
Variety of food, name one
you can have to eat,
at home or even in a fancy restaurant.
Fruits the lot.
Drinks, cold and hot,
with no feel of financial burden,
you can have them at any time you want.
CHERUB(impersonation of the Boy One at the beginning of the story)
Yes! So many things to see,
and so many things to get aquatinted.
the young boy could not help but get lost.
Admiring the environment.
And yet during his stay,
nine months came, months gone away,
he began to realise,
the items that lend respect,
in his country of birth:
variety of food, top class
bowl of fruits, exotic
leather jacket,
three-piece suit
a car in style majestic,
with all facilities equipped,
in this place they do not count a bit,
in sorting the social pecking list
who is to come first
and who is to come last.
Be it in occupying office of government
or seeking the hand of a partner in marriage,
or social gathering for entertainment.
Also, in this dream-like part of the planet,
he began to realise, that all this month he had spent,
and he had not as yet made contact
with even a single local inhabitant,
to converse and interact.
Come to think, a good laugh
he had not had,
since he descended from the plane and landed.
All this time he was made to dwell
in a hostel,
In a small room in the attic,
he was left stuck
for the nights to sleep,
and daytime to cook.
Yes! A room private,
all belongings stashed and neatly kept,
for he could not afford space to waste.
Sitting all day watching events,
from a television set,
with a touch of a finger tip,
surfing the global net
gave the illusion, that the world was there to manipulate,
so close and yet so far to be a part,
of all the acts,
displayed on his front.
So much for owning his own house,
And a big deluxe car he could cruise,
up and down the heavenly paradise.
To add insult to injury
three months before and after February.
A large span of the region,
impossible to imagine
was covered by a white sheet of snow,
and for all he knew,
unlike the story he told his friend in the Sudan,
he could not bother to roll,
and make a big ball.
In fact he felt bitterly cold.
Most of the time sat hands and legs huddled.
The alleys and the streets too were frozen
unless especially equipped,
with shoes with grip,
it became difficult
and unpleasant to walk.
Even the last place of his retreat,
was turned into a giant fridge,
as oppressive as the horrid
climate of the arid,
He once he run away to get rid..
Totally cut off from his people,
his sense of direction and perceptive angle
bad weather and alienation,
turned them crippled..
(WEGEN IS SEEN ACTING OUT WHILE THE CHERUB NARRATES)
In places like supermarkets
He began to talk to himself,
whilst he gathered packed food from the shelves.
As his mental health
continued to deteriorate,
he began to write slogans
on the back of his jackets.
And many more things,
he began to manifest,
people can only do in private:
going naked, masturbate,
in public cite defecate
piss with one leg tossed,
as in dog, in the middle of the street.
A quality he learned --
to become errant --
just to get on the nerve of his hosts
and irritate.
Finally, when his verbal vent
became insufficient,
he became quarrelsome and violent.
In access to some places - private,
he did get the halt.
His outer shell raddled and
his inner soul pulverized,
rejected and ostracised.
Disposition dispossessed.
Consequently, out of lack of choice
he spotted a concourse,
a commonplace,
as the only way,
he could spend the rest of the days,
just about a mile and half
from, his residence away.
Rumbling rigmarole,
followed by hilarious risible laughter,
unflappable, unraffled and unperturbed,
by bye passers inexorable and
indomitable comments
as unwelcome vermin, interloper
his incorrigible character
expunge one may try
but indelible it remained.
Trudged, he walked, then changed strut,
plodded, unhappy with that he trotted but again scooted
back and forth in the street
on his way to the public site.
jump through the fence
to truncate the distance
to the commonplace.
Juggle with shingles -
for there were no balls
in his at his command -
along the street
on his way to the public site.
Pace up and down for a while
extraneous, they were his convivial feel,
and to the public indiscernible.
Upon entering the park
the change of behaviour became stark.
Near the pond, next to an age old Oak
he stood with hands clutched
watching people and in turn being watched.
As if in trance the magic event to be hatched.
To this park were attracted
the unemployed,
other the mentally affected,
the pigeons, flying in and out
with crumbs of food stuck on their beaks.
And the tourists from the relentless day walk,
they come to rest and the weight on their back
to break.
But most interesting there was one
who appeared to suffer insanity advanced
or one could say he was an orator
a public debater,
of a higher calibre -
it depends on the viewer -
but to come to the opinion,
it was he, the heart of the fuddled young one,
who had won.
It was he, this absent minded flippant
or depends the way you look at it
an orator, conversant
ability to score points
against his reluctant hosts'
astringent invidious subliminal treatment
the eloquence,
his performance
compare to his rigmarole
inscrutable babbles,
he decided to remain silent
until the soul from the flesh departed.
(Crowds are gathered to hear the speech of an eccentric)
Listen he did, dozed,
motionless almost froze,
as in sloth,
to an elaborate speech
but extemporised.
At point he came out aspersive,
"I was young, innocent but resourceful
and she drew me to her bosoms,
However, when I no longer proffer bibelots, nevertheless trinkets,
for her beauty display, in the international free market.
Add to these as I grew weaker and began to fade,
I no longer was be wed
in fact I was kicked out with my possessions in a single luggage.
Trust not others except yourself......trus........
(But before he finished his message,
he was interjected by a person from the public.)
"Eh! Eh! What are we to make,
from all this mumbo-jumbo you spoke
from mishap, perverse to politics
in unholy alliance.
Someone uttered from the public.
Did you get the essence,
the speech's inner substance?
It implies the whole white world,
men, women, adult, child
from Europia to America
first betrayed, abused and then destroyed Africa.
Said the mad bloke,
carrying his bag on his back.
(ONE OF THE CROWDS RESPONSE)
Here we go again, Mr. Freak
so much for your Pan-Afric politik.
Shouted the same person from the public.
CHERUB
Ever since then, day in day out,
all hours bound,
the young boy, now adult
journeyed to the pond,
whether the orator,
or the advanced mad was around.
He went to the same spot
and for hours on end
motionless he stood
until it became his habit,
at the exact spot
the day before he had been located.
Arms wrapped,
like a strap,
standing still with no motion
days over and again,
he began to give the impression,
that he was a clown,
of a different generation.
A LADY IN Hat
One lady who kept coming to watch
his unwavering stillness with no flinch,
turned over her bonnet,
put it in his front,
inside with a fifty pound note.
Shortly after, other spectators followed her step
and different denominations of currencies were dropped.
(Crowds are sen dropping money)
A SMALL BOY
Interestingly enough,
among the admirers,
a young boy of seven
came forward with a piece of paper and golden pen,
and asked autograph
of by now famous and known
self made clown.
Shook his head, the clown,
and took the paper and the pen
and gently stash them into the pocket of his own.
Gob smacked, the little boy,
could not believe what was wrong with the clown -
the living toy,
private items of others to take away
when in fact he was meant to generate happiness and joy.
CHERUB
In any case at the end of the day,
the young boy now adult,
gathered the collection and the hat,
including the pen and the paper stashed in his pocket,
and headed to his place for a night rest,
very happy and indeed delighted.
However, a new belief began to take root,
in terms of popularity the mad orator -
the one who indefatigably goes on to lecture,
hours on end, until listeners felt the stupor -
could not compete.
Yes! In terms of popularity the orator could not match.
The quieter young clown became, the more people gathered to watch,
and the more money he got.
Even social workers, in number abundant,
came down to offer government stipend.
Early maturity pension fund retirement,
including accommodation descent.
However, you could say, it was too late,
the young boy, now adult was in a mental state,
their offer he could no longer appreciate.
For reasons impossible to narrate,
the routine continued unabated.
Indeed he doubled his motionless standing effort.
Day was followed by night.
Summer came and went.
That was all right.
Then came August.
That too was moderately all right.
In terms of the severity of the climate.
Then winter came,
still the boy was unruffled,
and remained intransigent,
with his diabolic impulse,
to stand in trance,
in the same position, location exact,
eyes fixed to the ground,
the previous day format,
now in repeat.
Head and neck,
thirty degree to the ground locked,
weather bitter cold.
Winter has grabbed and hold,
not only things that moves but
the immovable ground.
But he still remained unruffled and untroubled.
However, he still could not understand
why people continued to give him their coins and pounds,
and circled him all day round
when he had gone raving mad,
standing motionless stuck in a pool of mud.
I made them, all right, give their money
I made them too circle around me,
but this covenant between us is struck,
on the assumption that I am clown and I do not talk.
So much I wanted but if I were to converse,
everything so far built would go in reverse.
Perhaps if I were some how to entice,
one or two loving girls,
to come my way and privately help open my mouth,
it is worth the trouble standing on the ice.
Until such opportunity is devised.
Like it or not that was the only subterfuge he could dwell
which could transform his life style,
just the way he did foretell,
long before he started his transatlantic travel.
Dreaming the dream,
but meanwhile invigorated body slowly emaciated and enervated,
reality moving in and out of his conscious realm,
and yet still enjoying the limelight of being encircled,
by many people.
Although he did not quite know,
what kept them propelled,
to the spot he had then held.
One bitter winter afternoon,
among the spectators, someone
realised the boy was frozen,
long gone and dead;
Still standing, at the same position
exact location,
eyes fixed to the ground,
head and neck,
thirty degree to the ground locked.
Declined to see how the surrounding looked.
And he by the community overlooked.
Epilogue
(CHORUS and Wegen)
Clouds are Gathering
This land where the first walking man
appears to have been born,
was thickly covered with flora,
you cannot possibly imagine.
But that was ages ago,
to hit each other,
when people threw a fruit like mango.
Now all that is gone,
instead, from corner to corner
the earth is neatly shaven.
All that can be seen,
is dust blow'n,
rocks fractured and,
into pieces broken.
Six generation have now come and gone,
this place has not seen,
a single drop of rain.
Millions died as a result,
infants before their loving parents,
parents before their grandparents,
and grandparents gone with no line of descendants.
And the earth scorched,
a film of dust covered the sky,
no one was able to see the sun's ray.
But the smouldering heat,
that took life out of every heart that beats,
and the flesh left to roast.
Nevertheless few who survived the wrath,
and the sun's blast
worked very hard,
day and night,
to restore some of the nature, that was lost.
Even then, it was not an easy job,
in the process very many perished
and others evacuated,
and decided to migrate;
unfortunately to places,
you could call hostile and indifferent.
After so many years,
unforgettable tears,
miracle you could say,
drums began to be heard
high in the sky.
Clouds began to gather,
and looked as if it was going to rain.
Thank God! The mountain side will go green.
The valleys grow beard green.
Clouds are gatherin'
and the meadow will be covered green
grasshopper will be seen,
jumping up and down.
Frogs will once again croak,
insects will buzz,
millions of them;
and the swallow will fly low
in a dazzling swift in the meadow.
And there is more:
falcons will airborne,
to focus their lenses
in search of prey hidden in the grasses.
Clouds are gatherin'
it is definitely going to rain,
and all the migratory birds will return,
to do the things they had been doing
long before the sky stopped raining.
It is going to rain,
and the rivers will be full
with a sparkling water
pure than purer,
and dazzling fish of million colours,
will swim up and down the rivers.
It is going to rain
I will kneel down and bend
and wet
my crisp dry throat.
Clouds are gathering here,
clouds are gather there,
clouds are gathering everywhere,
clouds are gathering throughout the World,
at last, the Diaspora will return,
to their home ground.
It is going to rain,
the desolation will end.
Isolation too will end,
barriers will be broken,
and new friends,
their hands they will lend.
It is going to rain,
happy new year messages,
will come from everywhere,
and even the treacherous old friends,
will regret of their past errors.
Clouds are gathering,
it is going to rain
all over again.
The End
Copyright Haileselassie Girmay &
Charles Whitney
August 1997
Yes, I got your safe arrival message and was glad to hear you got the
tea in without trouble. We had a very restful weekend and are now trying
to get ready for upheaval when the carpenters come to take out a few
walls-- and hope the house does not fall down.
Here is the last version.
I think it may be too big for the news group.
Hard to believe someone like Diana can actually die. Did you notice how
stupid was the design of the tunnel with cement pillars between the
lanes, bound to destoy a car rather than merely a wall to deflect it
back where it came from. THAT plus the alcohol, were the real crimes.
Ciao
-------------
No Where to Stay and No Where to Go
The story of a young boy whose life and death reflect the tragic
history of his country
A Play in Three Acts
by
Haileselassie Girmay
in collaboration with
Charles Whitney
C. 1997
Prologue
This is the story of Wegen, a son of Ethiopia. The nation he had lived
in and
the people he proudly adhered to had come under a three-pronged attack:
natural disaster in the form of a drought; anarchic socio-political
order
fostered in isolation from the rest of the world during three thousand
years (where the rulers assumed the role of Almighty God); and a modern
market system in the outside world which crumbled his country's feudal
structure.
This attack shook everyone from their long somnolence. The challenge
required a long and hard struggle, but the dying feudal order did not
give
way wihtout putting up a fierce fight -- a fight that Wegen wanted to
join.
List of Characters
Clown
Chorus (About 6 men and women, playing various parts)
Boys One, Two, Three, and Four
Government Security Guards One, Two, and Three
Wife of Jack
Sister of Jack
Jack
Military Scout of Revolutionary Brigade
Wegen, son of Jack
Uncle of Wegen
Commander of Brigade
Ghost
Young Man
Cherub
Synopsis
Act 1
A clown introduces several scenes of Ethiopian village children at play.
Their idyllic life is interrupted one night by three Government Security
Guards who storm into Jack's house and take him from his family. His
wife
shares the news with her sister and searches unsuccessfully for him. A
few days later, Jack's body is found. His son, Wegen, feels he must do
something to avenge his father's death, and he leaves home to join the
Revolutionary Brigade.
Act 2
In a mountain trail, Wegen meets a scout and declares his intention to
join
the revolutionaries. He is interrogated, and when the scout is satisfied
of
Wegen's sincerity, he takes him to the Revolutionary Brigade camp, where
Wegen talks with his uncle and learns of their plans to attack the
govern
ment forces. Wegen learns that the Uncle has become cynical about the
Revolutionary movement, and the Uncle describes the experiences that
made him this way. Wegen wishes to join the fighting, but his Uncle
describes its horrors and its effects on young people. He insists that
Wegen remain in the camp.
The Government soldiers are ambushed, and a fierce and bloody battle
takes place. The Revolutionaries destroy the Government forces at great
cost, including the death of Wegen's uncle.
When word is brought back to camp, Wegen is disillusioned and anguished.
That night, he dreams of a Ghost who challenges him to undertake his own
journey away from the land of his birth. Wegen abandons the plan to join
the revolution and wanders off to the elusive, but seemingly attractive,
outside world from which his country had been cut off for thousands of
years.
Act 3
The idea of leaving the front and join them became compelling
especially,
when he pondered the myth that the outside world is free from all sorts
of
problems that plagued his own country. In such a world of plenty he
thought he would live in peace and relative security, although he did
not
know how and when, if at all, he would ever reach his desired
destination.
In a neighboring country he had crossed on foot, he was employed as a
houseboy and cleaner. He met another cleaner and they exchanged views,
experience, fears and dreams about what the future might hold. After a
long delay, he finally secured a permit to immigrate to a Scandinavian
country, where for the first few months of his stay he thought he was
witnessing the most beautiful earthly paradise his mind could ever
conjure up.
However, shortly past those months of arrival, he found out, to his
dismay,
that everything was not as he had heard or imagined. The people were
generous, the land beautiful and yielding, and yet every twist and turn,
every bit of the forest, every mountain, valley, river and the shore
were
already owned and possessed, making a fresh start for a beginner beyond
reach. Being a black, penurious immigrant, he soon found himself
vulnerable and alienated.
Unable to release his pent-up frustrations, he decided to remain silent
and
motionless for hours on end. However, to his bewilderment, he found out
that he had become the centre of attraction and human concerns. The
longer he remained silent the more crowds gathered, until his body could
no longer take in the punishment and passed away in silence,
misunderstood by his audience.
No Where to Stay and No Where to Go
Act I
Scene 1
Countryside near an Ethiopian village. Time: the recent past.
(Curtain up. Scrim remains down. In front, a boy of about 16 years,
stands
in a simple clown costume. He is cold and holds himself. Snow falls
lightly. A few strollers walk by and look at him curiously.)
CLOWN
I was only thirteen
and like anyone of that age,
after the early morning routine
I was allowed to play with others from the village.
(Lights up behind a scrim, where a group of nearly naked boys are at
play.
On the side is a bleacher on which is seated a chorus of about ten
people
of assorted ages.)
We'd visit the swamp and wallow in the red brick clay
and go swimming for the rest of the day
in a river that was a mile away.
Run naked in a funny sort of way
with our heels made to kick
our buttocks.
(Scrim rises. The boys are seen playing alongside a riverbank. Along the
edge of the river bank trees such as willow, fig and oak extend their
branches toward the surface of the water. The boys jump into the shallow
side of the river, splashing water at each other. They come out and run
and
chase each other with a mouth full of water, to squirt it at whoever
appears in front of them.)
CHORUS
The children were not alone
there were other men and women
squatted on the bare rocks
washing bundle of clothes
(Several adults from the chorus, get down from the bleacher and walk
over, to sit on rocks along the riverbank. From a distance can be heard
a
flute played by a shepherd tending a mixture of herds.)
At other times the kids sit around in circles
and tell each other fables,
for example the donkey
taken for a ride by unscrupulous monkey
or the lion who fought to death
against the mirage of his own image.
The noisy waver birds are busy
shuttling back and forth like crazy,
carrying long green grass
between the black effective beaks,
matching the colour of the chest
but in contrast to the yellow rest,
to build its nest,
suspended from the branches --
but securely attached,
for the fate of the eggs that would later be hatched
entirely depends upon this marvellous thatch.
(As the chorus sing, the boys act out the words.)
And the children in the river
jump from the water
to catch the swift flyer,
but to no avail
except to interfere
with the busy schedule of the waver
a sturdy nest to prepare
which would have to be approved by a female
to join and dwell.
Then the children attention gets diverted
and is engaged in adult people's work
some seated, few standing while others lying on their stomachs
on a soft grass carpeted river bank,
with a string attached to a stick
and safety pins as improvised hooks;
they waited in patience to catch
the most common fish, that is the perch.
BOY ONE
At times we managed to pull
out of the running river pool
a catfish - hard headed little devil -
which swings and swivels,
a dark skin with no scale
which makes it difficult to get hold and control
but one is quickly engaged in bashing his head.
BOY TWO
Yes! In a clear running river
when the shark of the fresh water -
a fish with majestic moustaches
and a helmet hard to bash
comes out to stroll
without exception river reptiles, all
dash for a cover,
in any available hole.
BOY ONE
(While the other boys imitate an army drill.)
As in the army, a sergeant,
checking platoon,
a baton held,
between the ribbs and arm,
at a thirty degree angle,
where all stand to attention
frozen with no motion
and on the crispy outer part of a khaki shirt
heart vibration can be felt
as he passes and inspects
hoping one would not be picked for humiliation.
The catfish has managed
to instil such a fear and respect
among fresh water inhabitants
with the exception of few,
if you like species like otter,
who indeed are not permanent lodgers
of the fresh water rivers.
BOY THREE
I love fishing,
but I'm not that keen when it comes
on a plate as a meal.
The taste is woeful,
and my nose swells,
when the air is over perfumed with a fishy smell.
And this one you call Catfish
With whiskers and long moustaches
I swear to God, my lips will not touch.
One day when I cut its inside open
a live bull frog came out jump'n .
BOY TWO
To you all,
It must by now be palpable
That I hate frog, that vile little devil,
especially when it pants
and the smooth slimy underneath skin palpitates.
BOYS ONE AND TWO TOGETHER
Boy! Oh boy! We hate snakes, chameleons, newts, lizards, crocodiles
and all the rest that crawl.
BOY ONE
It is good a white man eats with forks
I would not have sat and ate
on the same plate,
if he were to use his hands, naked.
He twiddles with revolting cocktail of worms,
and covers his arm with coiling snakes.
BOY TWO
Talk of a crocodile,
a story I shall tell,
I myself, two years ago was a part
in nature's conspiratorial plot.
It was summer,
the temperature glowing hot,
you could fry an egg
with out a fire or a pot.
A group of boys gathered together
and marched towards the river,
mostly for a swim.
In the group someone had a bag of salt
another a match box to help light a fire,
and a third carried a coat hanger,
turned straight, as in spit to suspend a fish over the naked fire.
However, the fish in this river,
were extremely clever.
They only came out at dusk or dawn
when everybody had gone.
You don't blame them,
for the water there is clean,
the bottom white sand visible,
and it can be seen, by a pilot,
flying at a modest height..
So the usual trick,
of using a safety pin as a hook
and prepare a meal of fish by the river bank
was impossible to think of,
by hungry lots wanting to cook.
Instead, another ploy
has to be deployed.
And this was it.
Everybody got naked, and each one carried a stick.
Then we lined up as moving blocks of bricks
and every little hole between the rocks,
with the help of the long stick
was poked.
Once the fish were out in the open
even the precious Sturgeons,
as we poke,
and at the same time fencing as a block,
we drove the fish to a larger cave.
Once they were securely inside the cave
one of the boys ties the two ends of a bedsheet to his neck
and the other two with his right and left hands
firmly held, dives into the cave
and stirs the fish to escape.
But escape? No hope!
The mouth of the cave was firmly blocked.
Moments later,
the bed-sheet centre
appears inside out blown
as in hot air balloon.
Then the boy in charge brings
the two hands closer together to his neck
and with the help of the others staggers to the river bank.
I tell you, that was a clever trick
as a result many happy meals have been cooked,
and eaten on the bank.
However, one day
very unusual event happened,
I must say,
I shall never forget till I die
the face of the panic stricken boy,
As before we did poke
the holes between the rocks
In large number we then managed to drive
the fish to the cave.
The entrance was again properly blocked
so no fish could escape.
Then something appeared inside the bedsheet.
Quite a number of fish seemed to have been caught.
The boy then pulled his hands
holding the ends of the sheet, to his chest.
Then he staggered his way to the bank.
However,he started to suffer from a violent shake,
Triggered by the force of the fish trapped
that now desperately tried to escape,
as the fish breathed and gaped.
Realising his predicament,
we all rushed to his support.
We huddled together,
wrapped our hands around this body,
which was now at the centre
and that way we came out safely from the river.
Upon reaching hard ground
we released our grips
and shouted at the boy to drop
the consignment he had scooped
from the riverbed.
.
However, before he did drop
unexpectedly, he was given a smashing blow,
where it had come from nobody quite knew.
He was then thrown off the bank
and into the river he fell on his back.
Shortly after, a crocodile,
that stomped and fell
waddled back to the river
flagging high its razor tail.
Panic written all over his face,
the boy scrambled to his feet
and in an instant,
he took flight
out of breath, out of sight
in a fraction of the normal time,
he covered four miles distance
between the river and his residence..
Since then many years have past,
well, four years to be exact,
and the boy to the river has never set his foot.
He hasn't had a drop of water on his back
One day I asked him,
"What is that to be he would want,
When he grow old?"
He said "A pilot;
To fly over
the menacing river."
BOY FOUR
Talk of a crocodile,
one day my father caught,
a very cute lovely white skinned rabbit……
(Ehh ehh ehhe heeehheeeh ehhhhh all the kids went laughing.)
BOY ONE
He brought home rabbit!
BOY TWO
What, to eat?
(Heeee heee heeee heeee. Laughter continued uninterrupted.)
BOY FOUR
Don't be daft!
My father is a devout Christian,
not like them Protestants
Who do not live,
by the strict code of Christ
and defile their mouths by eating stuff like rabbit.
My Dad on Lent days,
that is on Wednesday and Fridays
never eats breakfast.
And when he does eat,
it is gone afternoon two o'clock past
and as that it is only chickpeas and peanuts.
not to mention that he would not contemplate,
soft bread or dairy products,
in his mouth to put,
let alone to indulge in a flesh such as that of rabbit.
BOY TWO
Why did he then,
bring the animal,
with limbs and legs fastened?
BOY FOUR
Well to give it me to have fun.
BOY ONE
In what way?
BOY FOUR
In the way young children with animals play.
BOY THREE
Have you gone stray,
and fallen prey,
to the new faith under
the influence of financial pay?
BOY FOUR
Don't be daft!
I am like my father, a good follower,
of the almighty Christ.
Besides I am so young,
to sort out right from wrong.
I go along,
what my father and his have been doing for long.
Even though they speak English,
they understand more politics,
they sit on soft chairs made of plastics,
converse with foreigners mostly Swedish,
and most of them are teachers, doctors and mechanics,
who live in big houses with dazzling electric,
I would not want for a moment to think,
and join their eccentric,
shouting, singing and dancing,
men and women alike,
in the name of Christ,
led by their high priest,
a few minutes past,
he had devour a packet of cigarette.
BOY ONE
Now you are in a world apart;
What happened to the rabbit,
your father brought?
BOY FOUR
How can I finish,
when there are people like you who interrupt.
Anyway, there are two things eventually to relate.
I quite enjoyed my new friend.
I feathered my old shirt for its bed,
fed the little devil some of my bread.
However, mother went mad
when she discovered the backyard vegetables,
were grazed to the ground.
"Before I bash the skull
of this wretched animal
take it away from my dwelling,"
she bawled,
and bewailed over the lost vegetables.
Dad took the most unusual twist
and made a deal with the Protestant,
high priest, to take the rabbit
in exchange of financial reward.
Everybody now felt happier,
and I, too, did get my fair share,
for looking after the rabbit's welfare.
But! Surprise, surprise, up until then,
it was only rumour,
that I did not completely believe, that
Protestants were rabbit eaters.
Then one day I and my other friend
came to the same very river,
but a bit down along the bend
for the usual end,
to swim and catch fish if we could find.
But it was morning after a night of heavy flood,
a crocodile must have been caught unaware,
and got a bash on his head,
more than he could manage.
On shore we found him dead.
Then something came to mind.
And I said to my friend,
let us take this flexible sinew
to the high priest of the Protestant I then knew
and get some money for the crocodile that will turn to stew.
All the way we dragged the crocodile
and when we reached the metal gate
of the house of the high priest,
we pushed the button and we heard the bell.
First the boys, just our age,
came rushing to the gate,
then they saw what was lying in front.
Immediately, they then went rushing backward
and we anticipated the priest would come with a reward.
We stayed patiently, our minds full of dreams
of new books and the rest on biscuit and creams.
However, to our horror and nightmare
they let loose the German shepherd
which came bouncing and leaping
and chased us to the very edge of the town skirt
I was out of breath, scared to death,
my back was bleeding from the scratch I incurred.
Shredded into pieces, you could say, was my only
lovely shirt my dad bought, with the money he got
from the Protestant high priest,
some time in the past,
in exchange for a rabbit.
CHORUS
Then children saw the sky changing colour
and the thunder began to roar
shortly a sudden torrential rain began to pour
The kids then scurried
some still naked, their garments bundled and in their hands carried.
( Boys come in front. Scrim drops. Boys exit.)
CHORUS
Through the valley
up the top of the hill
to their respective dwellings,
but on the way singing and shouting,
and throwing stones at curious squirrels,
who stand upright on their heels,
watching and bemused by these reckless and crazy little devils.
(A young shepherds, of the same age, covered in a traditional straw
anorak, on the hillside can be seen and heard playing a flute)
These care free playful,
childhood episode
from school to playground,
went on all year round
for three more years to count.
However, in this world of childhood age
none of them were able to guess the complex edge
of the real life that went in the village.
Scene 2
(Curtain rises to reveal living room of a simple house. Several doors
lead
to bedrooms. It is night.)
One dreadful midnight
one boy's happy-go-lucky age
came to abrupt stoppage.
When night had dropped
the sky had turned beach dark
and the village had gone to sleep,
(Three men from the Chorus put on hoods and go to the door. They knock
loudly. At the sound of the door knock, the clown runs across and jumps
into a bed, from which he can peek at the door.)
MEN, SPEAKING TOGETHER
We are Federal Bureau Security Guards.
We demand to enter.
(In reply, when the father said "I"
They told him to properly dress up,
because the night temperature had steeply dropped,
and hurried him to walk out without saying goodbye.)
(The boy followed all the events
from inside his bed
with little windows of light
between his fingers rested on the forehead.)
WIFE
Who are you? What do you want?
and why are you taking him at this hour of the night?
MEN, SPEAKING TOGETHER
We are liberation fighters
there is an important matter
with your husband Jack
we need to talk
we assure you feel safe,
for in a while your husband will be sent back.
Now, this you must heed:
don't follow our track
for your own safety and that of Jack.
(The four men walk to the bleacher and sit.)
CHORUS
Arms outstretched as if to pray
she obeyed to what they had to say;
she retraced her steps all the way
and gently closed the door and ran towards the little boy;
to reassure and comfort,
that his father will be back unhurt.
Although she pretended, she had no fear, for the child's sake,
deep inside she was utterly shattered and shocked.
and the rest of the night anxiety got the better of her.
She was consumed in feverish shiver
(Boy emerges from room and returns to bleacher.)
Early morning after the child was nurtured
and his trip to the school taken care,
she rushed to the house of her sister,
to discuss the matter.
(Scrim down. The two women are at the front of the stage.)
SISTER
What is the matter? You look woeful?
WIFE
They have taken him, they have taken him.
SISTER
They have taken whom?
WIFE
They have taken Jack,
under the cover of the dark.
SISTER
Who are they and where?
WIFE
If only I had known.
They said they are the liberators,
but that I am not sure.
Hooded men in the middle of the night,
demanding to enter,
to the rest of his family with no respect,
whatsoever,
did not feel like they were
what they claimed to be, liberators.
SISTER
Hum! You have a point there.
WIFE
I know my husband has got a brother,
as a fighter or what they call themselves, liberators.
But him I know. He has no interest,
nor he is a nationalist zealot;
he has a nil political zest
or any kind of ambitious pursuit,
apart from wearing three-piece suit
and stroll on the city's pavements,
for its own enjoyment.
Such a person, why would they want
to talk to him in the middle of the night?
In any case morning has come and gone
and Jack has not be seen.
SISTER
Hum it feels seriously that you have a point again.
You know my own husband was an active member.
One day while shopping in the market
I noticed him doing some kind of theatrical act
and I though he was either going mad
driven by his narcotic habit,
or else -- what can you expect?
(Scrim up, revealing a street scene. Two men step from the bleacher and
act out the following, as described by the Sister.)
He held two cigarettes in his fingers, but only one lit,
and pieces of rolled orange skin were stuck --
one to the nostril, and the other
between the mastoid and lop of the ear.
Shortly after, in our shopping tour,
another person in a similar bizarre fashion,
furtively appeared in the scene.
When they made eye contact,
and asked for a light,
which my husband obediently provided,
and in offering such a service,
no one could miss his delight,
However, with the lighter
a half-split note of ten pounds
came out from his pocket.
Surprise! Surprise! the person next
produced the missing half of ten pound note.
Watching all that, for words I was totally lost.
They looked and winked at each other
then my husband said
HUSBAND
Goodbye sweet sugar
I will see you later.
(They start off together.)
SISTER
When I groused and moaned
for being left alone;
You know what he said to me this forlorn?
HUSBAND (coming over to SISTER)
Excuse me, sweetheart,
for leaving you alone in the market
Do not feel hurt.
I have an important item to collect
and I will see you at home tonight.
SISTER
For all I care you can go to hell.
To begin with, since when
did you bother to do the errands?
I suspected it all along,
though I suppressed my feeling,
that you were up to something,
when you offered to accompany me to shopping.
HUSBAND
Believe me there is nothing sinister.
It is for a good cause that will make you feel better.
(He walks to the bleacher and sits.)
SISTER
Perhaps in my innocence I myself might have been used as a decoy
to distract the watchful eyes of a government spy.
I was enchanted and genuinely surprised
when he offered his service
to go to the market to deal with picking the weekly merchandises
something he had never done to my notice..
So to come to the point
Yes, they are discrete
and they would not make a scene of it
in the middle of the night.
It is odd, perhaps there is good reason to suspect
they were, after all, Government agents.
WIFE
That is what all along I suspected.
God forbid, if that was it
Jack's life is under threat.
SISTER
Or could it be,
would it be possible,
your man was an agent
working for the Government
in aiding to commit violent acts
against the national front?
WIFE
I doubt it,
I know him inside out;
He is not useless,
but does not possess such a talent.
However, as you said these days,
one can't even trust one's own voice.
SISTER
Any way sit down, take for a drink something hot
and don't needlessly wreck your heart.
What is done is done
and we shall find out soon.
You see when Zeriay died,
God bless his soul,
he did not leave me alone.
On both sides of the fence,
he left me with some good friends.
They do not demand of me anything of the sort
like Zeriay did for the Front;
except for their support,
be it financial or humane contact.
Whenever, I am in need of it.
The situation is delicate,
Who is a liberator and who is an agent
not straight forward, as black and white
for clarity and full appreciation one might want.
And both sides are fully aware
but seem not to care,
unlike their naïve supporters.
Who go out at a slight suspicion,
to kill each other.
On both sides of the conflict
you have agents working for the opposite,
the Front has its members as top-office bureaucrats
and the Government has its agents planted in the national Front.
Any way, give me a day
I will find out, if Jack has been,
by the Front taken away.
If the search turns out to be negative,
then we will turn to the Government side,
and establish their motive.
For taking him captive.
I know one or two Special branch officers
with their help, the search will be done in every detention centre
including hidden interrogation places,
if these places have anything to offer.
However, and this you should know, no one dares
to get involved in such a serious case.
For the consequence if uncovered is immediate death.
But the two officers are sympathetic to the fighters' cause.
Therefore, to help us out they would probably go to a great length.
CHORUS
Unfortunately, after efforts searching all round
So to speak, turning every stone upside down
Jack was nowhere to be found,
neither in the stronghold of the Front,
nor in the Government prison cells downtown.
(Sister goes to bleacher.)
WIFE
You know, the other day,
I had a nightmare
and woke up in absolute terror and fear.
The sweat that poured soused every bit I had to wear.
I remember, being followed
by a slow but steady moving dragon,
spiting blue and bright orange fire --
scorching everything it touched,
missing my person by a few inches.
And yet I had to keep on going
if I were not to be trampled or shrivelled in the glowing.
As I went along,
under the long Savannah grass,
I came near a lion,
and a twenty-foot long python,
both stalking an African Giant Baboon,
which in turn had lain in wait to ambush a young Thomson's gazelle,
eating green,
All unaware, of each other,
and the approaching danger
from the fire spatter,
the super Giant dragon.
My unexpected jumping into the scene
startled everyone concerned.
Then the gazelle majestically took to the air,
prancing, as if in a playful manner
despite the danger.
Likewise the baboon proudly jogged to its natural shelter.
As for me, I found myself close to the lion's jaws
and fainted before receiving the deadly blow.
However, many hours latter
when I woke up, nonetheless still gripped with fear,
I REALISED MY LOWER HALF WAS DEVOURED.
As if that was not sufficient horror,
I turned my head 'round, just to discover
the lion's jaws were interlocked
crushing the python's neck;
while the flexible muscles of the giant snake
had a tight grip of the lion's neck.
And upon sharply focusing my eyes
from where I was made to lie,
waiting to die,
I realised the predators had each other for a prey.
It appeared, they both deployed their masterful trick,
and mercilessly broke
each other's neck.
Oh! Dear, I am so scared
what could have had happened,
to my lovely husband?
CHORUS
Three days later
Jack's bloated body was found in a sewer,
open filthy, dirty water
that runs along the town's diameter,
oozing stench bubbles polluting the air,
miles on end stretched
hitting the sensory nerves to twitch.
This was murder, clear cut
a shot on the head point blank.
Hand manacled,
to avoid desperate last minute ferocious struggle.
Those bad days, no body for sure could say
who had done the slaying.
A change of technique,
from Garrotte, a Spanish medieval style
strangulation by string - that of metallic.
Which had been popular with the infamous and hideous squad,
who suck and drink fresh human blood,
direct from a severed jugular
before the body is pushed over,
from a fast moving car,
baring the squad's hallmark,
under the cover of the dark.
Anyway the family managed to recover
the body of Jack, and
privately buried him, accompanied by a few friends
able to stake,
and stick out their necks, at the risk,
of being labelled enemies of government obedient public.
The next morning,
still with puffed eyes,
hoarse voice from loud crying,
the sad little boy,
left to the mountains,
from his bereaved mother,
without saying goodbye.
Curtain
Act 2
(In front of curtain.)
CLOWN
After three difficult days and nights,
walking on foot, exhausted
but high in spirit,
I reached the mountain height.
However, right at the top,
I was stopped,
by a grey-haired veteran acting a scout,
mission on the look out.
(Curtain up, revealing a mountain pass.)
Scene 1
SCOUT
Who goes there?
Identify your pass number
and state the purpose of your venture.
WEGEN
My name is Wegen
and I have come to join.
(Then the sixty-five year old veteran, looking fierce came out from the
fortress, finger latched on the trigger.)
SCOUT (To himself)
Jesus Christ! Ever so, they are getting younger
and this one I swear,
could have been great-grandson
from my granddaughter
had I not been engrossed in this bloody war.
(To WEGEN)
Son, don't mind my saying so.
Go back home, and play seesaw;
or with a small ball
a sport, something like volleyball,
if you cannot find friends to play with,
do it against the wall,
like I used to do when I was small.
WEGEN
I am not as young as I look.
A few decades of my life down I have managed to knock.
In fact I am old enough
to be the father of five.
SCOUT
Well, then have you got five?
WEGEN
No, I don't.
SCOUT
Why not?
WEGEN
It is obvious I do not have a wife.
SCOUT
It is because you are not old enough
to have a wife
to procreate another life.
That requires the manufacturing a productive germ,
scientist call it a sperm
which has the capacity to swim
along the canals of a woman's womb.
You are still a boy
and my advice is, you should go home and enjoy
the age of innocence
without having to cope with violence.
Just keep playing volleyball,
against the smooth side of a house wall
with a small ball.
WEGEN
Well, what has it got to do with age
if I am mentally prepared to fight at this stage?
SCOUT
Well, my boy, it has got a lot to do with age.
This place is littered with carnage.
The younger you join and manage to survive
the more profound, and nerve shattering its impact becomes later in
life.
I am the living witness,
until now surviving this outrageous madness;
and I would not wish for anyone to experience
the horror as a young boy I was made to witness.
WEGEN
May be you are right
I should not suspect
that you are putting me to the test.
Please do not put in front of me any barrier.
I desperately want to be a warrior
and fight 'til my muscles operate no more.
Most of the people I dearly love and know
reside no more in town,
this is the reason I want to join.
SCOUT
Whom do you know?
WEGEN
Whom do I know?
(During the following listing, individual members of the chorus rise
briefly in place when a name is recited.)
Tilhaun Gizaw,
Bezuhaat Getachew,
Yerga Tesema,
Girmatcher Lemma,
Abdissa Aga,
Alula Aba Nega,
Awete Edris,
(zeberer kemnefas.)
(means in Tigryna fast as blowing wind)
Berhane meskel Reda,
(Eishate Gomerra,)
(means impressive as the glaring flame of volcano)
Tesfay Debesay
Solomon, Mussie, Afework, Zeriay
(Deki Ham-Serie mes Akleguzay) .......(true sons of Ham-Serie
&Akleguzay)
Belay (Anbesa Tigray;) .......................(unbridled lion warrior)
Mohammed mhafuz,
Tekelu Hawaz.
Khai Belay Zeleke,
(kab Gojjam zefeleke;) ...................(.Hero from Gojjam)
Wallegne (betebeb zerekeke). ......(Intellectual of the utmost order)
Raswork Khetsela,
(Tsere guheela,) .................................(curse on embezzlers)
Mesfin Habtu,
Martha mebrahetu,
Yosef, Benyam Adane,
Yohannes Brehane,
Brehane Eyasu,
Dekesom Metsehaf zetreyesu. .......(masterminds)
Edris Awete,
mes neshtey hawu Zelote
SCOUT
Stop! Stop!
You seem to be determined to list names,
till you drop.
These you mention,
are all now gone,
long before we saw the dawn;
at a crucial period of the revolution.
Except one name you called,
and I would be obliged to take you there,
to verify the story you have now told.
Come! Come! Don't grieve,
sit down, break the weight,
and let your legs be relieved.
Tell me! What actually happened,
that makes you the town life to abandon,
to join us in the mountain?
WEGEN
They slain my father,
for no apparent reason.
SCOUT
I understand your anger
But are you sure
they had not got reason for their action?
There may have been one,
Bizarre, though it may sound, to take the life of someone.
WEGEN
Not anymore than being a member of a tribe,
you happen to subscribe.
SCOUT
Boy! Oh, Boy! You are not a child,
as I thought you would be;
your words sting like the venom of a bee.
Do you have any brother,
left at home with your mother?
WEGEN
No! But I have a younger sister
and an uncle,
like you, a fighter.
I have an uncle,
I remember he was an elegant and tall,
you could say even delicate and fragile,
and surprising now, God forgive,
if he is alive,
a hard-core member of your struggle.
SCOUT
Yes! If we are talking of the same character,
I do know that comrade a bit closer
for years in the same group we operated together.
I will radio and get in touch,
and if you are lucky, you may have
a word or two with your uncle,
for a training before you are dispatched.
That way I will also confirm,
that you are not an agent,
from within the Organ designed to operate.
WEGEN
I am not an agent,
After the tragic loss of a father,
with muti-talents, at the hand
of a murderous squad,
to quench the desire of a tyrant,
no diamond,
no gold,
no glory,
no currency-laden lorry
would buy my will,
to betray and sell
the cause of yours and that of my uncle.
SCOUT
Excuse me for being blunt,
but I have heard this statement
from double-dealing deponents.
If you do not mind my saying so
I have heard that oath before.
It is in a funny world that we live --
which is genuine and which is not difficult to believe.
WEGEN
Well! If you want to be cynical,
that all people are evil,
then what is the point of your struggle?
SCOUT
As I said you are little,
but equally dangerous and devil.
Nice try my defence web to disentangle,
hence to abandon my vigil,
against infiltration of traitors, criminal thugs,
and agent provocateurs.
WEGEN
I do not mean to disarm your defence
but how else can I clearly present myself,
that I am here to self sacrifice.
SCOUT
You are right on balance,
it is not wise,
a new comer, with no code number
to out rightly reject
on grounds of suspicion as an agent
It may be possible,
a questionable individual
may turn out to be the soul,
if you like a burning candle,
the revolution would see light at the other end of the tunnel.
You are right, after all,
I am, as you put it, a bit cynical
and there is a danger of losing the meaning of it all.
WEGEN
Why turn cynical,
after all these years of struggle
for a good cause of the people?
SCOUT
Well! One incident triggered it all.
I was one of a the squad,
sent to storm a fortified prison wall
and free comrades who were shackled and held,
in what can be described as earthly hell.
That we did manage
with utmost efficiency and courage.
But with the rest of the prisoners we set free
there was one had I known,
I should have personally slain.
But I did not, for I did not know who he was;
I blame myself always,
that I was not that wise.
WEGEN
Who was he?
SCOUT
He was a jealous husband of my young sister
who for her simple flirtatious chatter
murdered her, in front of her mother.
And I set him free to see him cross the border.
CHORUS
Upon travelling for four hours
up and down mountain chains,
thick covered gorges,
they stopped in a place, where
rocks, the size of multi-story buildings,
climb one on top of the other,
as if by design of an architect -
though done, we know, by Nature -
Who lived in a distant past,
when there was no steel or cement,
but monuments had to be built.
Scene 2
(The pair has arrived at the mountain camp of the Revolutionary Brigade.
Behind the rocks, there were tanks and armoured trucks. There were
countless fierce looking men and women, some with well kempt, others
with dreaded hair, wrapped up from thorax to abdomen with pointed and
glittering bullets stuffed in chains.)
(The veteran scout pointed his finger at another fighter, and when he
got
his attention, he beckoned, as though inviting a friend. The fighter,
Wegen's Uncle, came over and the two then went to a secluded place,
where their conversation could not be traced.)
UNCLE
Why did you come here?
WEGEN
Well, to be an architect, town planner,
an electronic engineer, computer designer;
to keep up with progress,
in line with other nations,
which are in the race.
If you don't mind my being sardonic
for saying an architect.
Of course you know why.
I have come to contribute my bit,
in your joint effort,
to bring down the tyrant,
with guns and bullets,
UNCLE
Why don't you go to school,
and it is possible,
you could become an engineer,
town planner, or a computer designer,
and keep up progress
in line with other nations,
in the race.
Rather than being wiped out
with out trace,
on a mountain trace,
with no obsequies dignity and burial grace.
You will end up as cannon fodder,
dismantled for good before growing older.
WEGEN
No! Not everyone gets dismantled,
after so many years of struggle,
you are still alive and, in a funny way, ensconced and settled.
UNCLE
God! What was my brother teaching you,
when he was alive?
To be such so argumentative?
Yes you are right,
but dismantling is not yet over,
and tomorrow I could be dead and soil-covered.
WEGEN
Well! I did not come here,
to find a cosy shelter,
with a revolving chair,
and think of the future.
I came here to fight,
the tyrant,
who trampled and suffocated,
not only opponents but the innocent.
And if death is unavoidable,
by all means possible,
so be it,
as it is, life is not livable.
UNCLE
You are little and at that quite a sport,
your determination to die, however, worries me quite a lot.
When there are many elements
you may not, before you die, know about this front.
WEGEN
You mean to say you object,
when people like me join this front,
and likewise die in a fight,
to preserve freedom and human rights?
UNCLE
I knew it, you are mad,
and you do not understand,
I am not a coward,
I am proven and tested as a combatant,
a fighter hand to hand,
with bayonet and the butt.
However in my experience,
I have witnessed,
that people one or two
loved ones who have lost,
in the hand of a tyrant,
or in combat,
appears determined to the finish to fight.
They do not feel like wanting to live and last
when one see them catapulting themselves to a centre of a hellish blast.
Lining up ahead in the front,
receiving the brunt.
Just at the end of the day,
we learn they are gone and lost
to ashes and to dust.
It is only the mediocre,
the bootlickers
of the danger insulated leaders
who come out as winners.
Then they will become ministers,
development officers,
finance magnets
and before the blood of the heroic combatants
turned dry and crusted,
they wriggle their butt
just to turn around, the efforts
of those who perished,
in to a business run private,
to maximize their annual profits.
And worse, with the advent of personal interest,
there comes with the same bag corrupt elements
which incidentally, had already started to manifest,
in the working of the liberation front,
well before it turns itself into government.
WEGEN
Talk of a double agent!
Everybody has to be vigilant,
from infiltration to protect.
Here you are a fighter
striving new-comers to deter
from becoming active members.
Is this another ploy,
you people have to display,
to find out the making of this boy?
UNCLE
We ambush and kill,
a lone government figure,
and rob a bank,
a few thousand pounds;
and in return, the entire
habitation finds itself surrounded,
by a blood thirsty hounds,
who indiscriminately shoot, at
any one that moves,
set fire and burn the rest alive.
The next morning,
you see our ranks swollen
by youngsters who are scared and frightened.
Even those who are unfit to train
and politely to their homes asked to return,
and prefer to take the risk and die
like that fighter and I.
This is how we won over most of the people,
who are now in the struggle.
This tyrant regime,
if you like, self-imposed government,
is our best recruiting agent,
with little or no financial cost
incurred on our part.
Came to think all the time we spent
walking in a single file,
day and night,
with no word from our mouth to expel.
Sleeping rough and visiting nature
in a group like a bunch of bushes,
huddled together,
days on end.
Spying on each other
to win favour from the masters
however, making escape difficult,
for a defector.
WEGEN
You sound to be more bitter
than anyone I did ever encounter;
and I wonder, what keeps you any longer
as a fighter inside out on fire.
UNCLE
Make no mistake
I have no intention to defect.
I shall remain a firm believer,
that the evils of the self-imposed tyrant
must at all cost be uncovered,
its true nature exposed
until finally its grim reality disposed.
There isn't any other way,
to get rid of it
other than to fight.
On that you and I
can eat on the same plate
with out staring eye to eye.
What I am worried about
is the replacement we contemplate, in its place to put.
The way things function at the moment
it does not impress me a bit,
its custom and cultural habits
are only somewhat better
than that of the tyrant.
However, for what people are asked to pay
their lives, never mind their selfish material interests to betray,
the organisation's delivery falls dismally far short of the way.
But! Say! Mind you, it does not mean,
I am going to back-pedal and sway
and end up on the tyrant's tray.
I have to say good bye to you now
I will see you a day after tomorrow,
We will engage the Government's battalion
sometime this afternoon.
There is no doubt, you will be staying here for sometime.
I will say a word or two to the area commandant supreme;
you and I have unfinished business to consume.
Besides there is no hurry
they have people like you in thousands
mission destruction to carry,
and if they drop like flies the leadership appears not to worry
(The Uncle rejoins the group and they move out to make contact with the
government troops, leaving WEGEN behind.)
CHORUS
His uncle was the third from the man at the top
in charge of the action group,
meant to engage at this juncture the government troop.
For most of the day,
well past mid-night,
they took the army in the direction opposite,
in order to confuse a would-be planted agent,
an enemy from within spying for the government,
from passing vital information to prevent.
Next morning round about three o'clock,
after allowing three hours' break,
the fighters were ordered to retrace their way back,
pass through the camp,
they had been resting in for over a week.
Scene 3
(Mountain pass)
Then finally they took charge
of a mountain-side overlooking a meandering road,
cut out and curved,
along the steep mountain-side
in the mid-air almost suspended
with steep cliffs,
five hundred feet
from the bottom troughs.
Already three to four weeks earlier
trenches and conduit-like defence barriers
had been dug
by other squads,
who were not told
when and how it would be used.
The fighters split
into three units.
Along the mountain range,
One at the back, one at the middle,
and the third at the forefront,
the uncle of the boy in charge.
The intelligence gathered,
indicated that highly mechanised brigade
was on the move
to strengthen a division beleaguered
and on the verge
of being fatally and comprehensively damaged.
Several times this mechanised group,
had made the trip through this dreadful gap,
with caution and military care,
to avoid sudden danger,
Of being ambushed and butchered.
However, this time round,
not only that they were tricked;
but morale was also all time low
because of the tyrant's draconian militaristic laws.
It compounded their disgust,
that the only language known to the tyrant
was a continuous, no ending combat,
and destructive war efforts,
of two people who share the same habits
and ethno-cultural trait.
A complex trick, that was put
on a unit, whose constant call of duty
outstretched its limits.
It was cleverly designed,
by tough battle experienced combatant minds.
And urgently there came a radio report:
The town, this unit was on its way to visit
was under all-out attack;
and the message warned that
if the town fell into the hands of the 'bandits',
then recovering it would be difficult.
Under pressure to reach
on time, before the town security was breached,
the ever-cautious army on the march,
abandoned its usual approach,
of moving on foot,
and taking control of the mountain heights,
to allow the convey to filter through and slowly penetrate
the valley's death-street.
It was a clever ploy,
this time round the fighters played.
A few thousand comrades around the town's skirt
had been instructed to skirmish,
as a decoy.
Also this time around,
mines were not buried in the ground -
such could have been easily spotted
by a mine-detecting squad.
The mines were suspended from remotely controlled ropes,
on disused telephone poles,
poles, lingering on the side of the road.
After the copper lines were dismantled and robbed.
When the vehicles entered the target ranges,
the mines were dropped
and made to explode.
The wreckage of twisted metal,
a crater the size of modest swimming pool
in the middle of the road
made it impossible for the following trucks
to move forwards.
Sandwiched by a mountain height
and a cliff,
almost simultaneously the last trucks -
that full of ammunition and other logistics -
received the same attack,
and the area started to seethe and sneeze,
as in a popcorn
in a heated pan.
But these one extremely deafening pangs.
Those fighters who lay in wait
close to the road,
deeply buried,
in a dug-out fort;
hit every moving truck
and immobilized the tanks
with shoulder carried missile Bazooka.
Ack-Ack firmly rooted in the rock
The soldiers who were in the trucks' hulk
never stood a chance, but incinerated like
a tinderbox.
Their essences dissipated into smoke.
As the first volley was fired
all the birds took to the air.
But they too seemed to be affected and inflicted
by the human-caused conflict.
In midair, head on head they clashed
and tumbling down, they came to the ground and there crashed.
Unabated the fighting went on
and for some reasons
both sides seemed to be determined
to keep on the raging battle
by abandoning the time-honoured rule
of calling off the deadly play,
and save themselves for another day.
Yes! Later on it became clear,
that the fighters were fuelled with anger,
because right from the outset,
both sides had lost something dear,
deep in their hearts they did treasure -
their beloved warrior leaders.
Then it became difficult
to remember the sequence of events.
Twisted metals, whole limbs
with shoes and parts of torn trousers,
blood rushing from severed cells,
everywhere,
flying in the air.
Trucks diving nose down,
into craters freshly made,
filled with spilt gasoline
set to explode into red condensed balloons.
Swarming the pool,
like freshly hatched tadpoles,
but this time, punctured and bleeding soldiers
not under water,
but in bloodbath, napalm spray,
and thick smoke of phosphate vapor.
A cocktail of nerve-agent chemicals,
for a body that is made fragile,
a deadly test and trial,
insane nations prepare,
for their children to committee suicidal.
The sky was lit,
and ironically at a place like that,
one may feel relieved,
because the darkness was removed.
But the brightness that prevailed,
was riddled with more ominous perils,
than darkness could entail.
In to the deep gorge one may fall.
With orange, blue
streaks of flame,
darting everywhere,
and balls of thick smouldering clouds
descending to the ground;
igniting fire, that scorched
everything it touched.
Then whole area reeked
of roasted flesh,
left on a naked flame till it turned to ashes.
No God-made eardrum
of flesh and bones,
could withstand the terrifying tumultuous tremor.
Every now and then
when a spitting fire came out
from the barrel of a mortar,
mounted on the back of a tank,
the earth lost its grip and began to shake
as a person suffering from a nervous wreck.
Such non-stop earth tremble
gave mighty blow to the brambles,
and the rocks of the steep hill,
piggyback on each other in their turn began to rattle.
Enemy soldiers were caught by surprise,
in the valley of death,
engulfed by merciless flesh-eating volleys.
A divine wrath,
this time they could not possibly rise.
And some of them thought,
jumping the cliff
was not an alternative
offering them to remain alive.
for it meant instant death
from broken ribs, engorged mouths
and exuding bits of the lungs through the mouth.
And from the the alcove vantage point,
where they stood,
they plainly understood
that this was the end
of everyone serving the fusilier
subjected to an indomitable guerrilla fusillade.
Knowing that there was no way out,
a forlorn hope, though they thought,
tooth and nail they then gallantly fought.
And they seemed to be adamant
to take as many 'bandits',
as their ammunition would allow,
before they in turn received a fatal blow.
Some managed to crawl up to the top of the steep hill,
and engaged in hand-to-hand battle.
Disembowelling opponents with bayonets
and smashing the skulls with the butt
and slain they left,
some fighters throat.
However, it was a hopeless effort,
it took some time for the humming to come to a halt;
by then everyone of soldiers was flashed out.
Their lives terminated with no one left,
to tell the story and report.
A few jet fighters came to help
napalm and other earth-scorching bombs,
they did drop, but it was indiscriminate,
and it did more damage to the troop
than it did to the fighters,
who were in trenches,
well dugout as tombs.
There are some to this day who suggest,
that the act of the pilots was deliberate,
against those who had brought defeat
and capitulation to the bandits.
It was a complete and utter success.
But for a price,
one third of the fighters were also sacrificed.
When the battle was over,
the fighters who survived the ordeal
knowing there were no able survivors
Who could pose real danger
from the Government corner
from their trenches came out one after the other,
with no jubilation and no cry of conquerors
but with faces which were withdrawn and sober.
There were indeed soldiers who were still alive
but in lethal pain,
whilst the fighters seemed to be drunken
with blood and fumes of phosphate and carbon
They seemed to lack the energy and the ambition,
to do anything, except to carry their own guns.
So what they did instead was to finish off - slain
those who were alive but in pain,
with a ballistic kick
at the head, point blank.
As in all time, the fighters
gathered wristwatches, gold chains
and wallets, light weapons.
Likewise, from the bodies unspoiled military attires,
and left the dead as a feast for the vultures.
Scene 4
(In Camp. Three days came and went; the boy was allowed, to wonder
around within the restricted zone; most of the time gathering defence-
building stones. Then he started talking to himself.)
WEGEN (To himself)
my uncle is not, has never been selfish.
He is straight forward,
true to his words.
May be it is a fact
that there are enough recruits;
may be they do not believe my childish act
that I could be a brilliant and courageous combatant,
Except, they would need my fighting spirit,
as my uncle put it, and that he doubt it,
only if the entire front line is wiped out,
by the Government force onslaught,
that I will have my moment
to prove my talent
as a fighting machine operating in earnest.
CHORUS
Few days past
volleys of fire shots were heard,
announcing the return of the contingent,
after what might be overall called a successful event.
where the enemy force was once again wiped out
the face of the planet.
But! But!
The young boy was soon to find out,
his uncle was behind left,
to lie at rest,
at a spot where he was fatally hit,
by a stray bullet,
no body for sure can tell,
where it came from, the side or front.
(Then the man in charge of the entire brigade, stood on a makeshift
stand,
cleared his throat, and started to talk his rosary politic.)
COMMANDER
Comrades, sons and daughters
of the land of the blood-stained red bricks,
flowing rivers and red sea water;
and land of blooming motley flowers,
however scarred and tortured,
don't doubt, don't hesitate for a moment
the future is inevitably ours.
A few days ago, we met and trounced
a formidable enemy force,
though difficult and hard work it was;
At last we did manage to break it in pieces.
It won't be very long
To us, the future shall belong.
Then we shall set free ourselves,
no more shall we be captives,
and chains of colonial handcuffs
shall permanently be dissolved.
And we shall no more be slaves.
However, just when the battle was coming to the end,
several comrades,
but above all Shemel,
the freedom loving 'Ambel',
I might add, this little boy's uncle
was regrettably lost in the battle.
But grieve no more, comrades,
grieve no more mother land,
grieve no more people related in blood,
as in life, in death Shemel was extremely glad.
WEGEN
OOOOOOOOOOh! No!
There is something rotten,
about this world we live in.
Misfortunes it continues to dump,
on the same door step.
it had already previously done.
To the bereaved, with no concern,
as if they were made of iron,
who cannot cave in with sorrow burden.
A man who spent,
his entire youth,
fiercely defending, what he regards as truth,
now has to pay,
the ultimate price:
his precious life as a sacrifice,
even though he had no faith
in the Organisation and the leadership profess.
In such a short life-slot,
I have learned a lot.
I have seen people with courage
and those bent to plot.
The irony, the twist, almost impossible to believe.
Nothing is what it appears to be,
Nevertheless, I am relieved.
You could say the sting is out of the bee,
for I am pleased that my uncle died,
by enemy-fired lead,
as it was told by his long-time friend,
who, as always, stood by his side,
to the bitter end.
However, the opinions he expressed
before his essence got transposed,
I am obliged to respect; that he had no confidence,
or trust,
in the leadership apparatus.
(As he lay-down covered by a clay stained thin sheet for a night,
amongst
many, on a smooth rock to avoid early morning dew that could have soaked
and drenched his entirety. Whilst pondering on issues of great gravity,
he
felt somnolent and sleepy and a ghost appeared in his dream and began to
reveal further mysteries)
GHOST
Nevermind about the obvious prisoners of war -
by that I mean government soldiers -
they do also unfairly incarcerate their own comrades -
labelling them as treacherous renegades
whose dissent they would not allow.
And anyone who defied their authoritarian rule
would end up in an underground tunnel,
dug as a prison cell.
In their crude prison cells
genuine people are put to test
As in the government,
they have a separate compartment
installed with torturing equipment.
Do not look around; I myself am a dead/living witness.
The one I hated most,
a wooden chair, deceptively looking soft.
The chair could reverse upside down,
and had a middle part that could open.
It could rotate,
but at the same time firmly to the ground rooted.
On that chair once you are seated and kept
tied, bound, gagged, there is no chance of a slight body movement
Then all hideous punishment you have to simply accept
and as torture commences and advances to barbaric height
with bloodied eyes, throbbing nerves and exploding heart
one could see the crotch of the trousers getting wet
and at the same time rotate.
Technique bastinado adopted,
they then beat the feet -
until to walk it is no longer fit
As a lump of salt,
in a braising pot
one begins to melt-
not only in stature but also in spirit.
Pure and simple - to break my will.
Furthermore, one should be prepared for worse,
Especially, if the region where the prison is located,
comes under enemy threat, one would be summarily executed
In their haste to move on to another safe site,
before the case is thoroughly exhausted.
This part of their act is diabolical,
and it is no less criminal
compared to evidence historical
even to that of the Germans' theatrical
killing of Jews by means of medical surgical.
WEGEN
It feels, no more have I the desire
nor do I have the intention,
to struggle under such an organisation.
Perhaps I should go,
to a distant land remote
and observe, how other people can justice promote.
GHOST
We shall see, whether you can stand the ordeal
taxing your person to a long arduous uncertain travel.
WEGEN
May be some other time,
from another place,
I shall be able to address,
the grave issues of injustice and violence,
mother land suffers in distress.
Or as it happens,
I may end up as harum-scarum, bacchanalian reckless,
victim of drug abuse,
wondering in the streets confused and bemused.
Or strike it lucky-rich enough,
living in comfort,
and the memory of my journey on foot,
half way across the planet, completely buried and forgot.
Well, all this remained to be seen, time will tell,
which road destiny chooses to travel.
Meanwhile I have now a job,
I must complete, before it is too late,
and the authorities begin to suspect
or on my already troubled head let drop a bomb.
I have this feeling these people are merciless
to anyone they concoct she/he is on the other side of the fence.
(Curtain)
Act 3
Scene 1
CLOWN (In front of curtain.)
I then started my journey,
in search of a new destiny.
On the way I met a stray combatant,
now turned lunatic, out of his mind.
He lived in a hole dug well below the ground.
When he comes out to the open
he covers his head with corrugated iron.
Occasionally, he stretched out his neck,
with great fear and trepidation,
scanned the air above,
to inspect any thing that moves.
And he dashed for a cover
when he heard a clap of thunder.
Or when he saw wings of birds flutter.
CHORUS
Oh! God! Those who are dead are blessed,
compared to this persons essence,
whose life is an utter mess.
Seeing a person afraid of the sky,
the boy continued his uncertain journey,
before the day's temperature got high.
WEGEN
But in the country next,
police harassment was self evident;
and to make matters worse,
the indigenous had low respect,
for the people they called immigrants.
Having seen what it meant,
I decided not to rest
but to continue my journey north-west.
There again I found out
the attitude was the same,
but the severity of the disrespect,
against an immigrant,
was relatively moderate.
Once I found a new abode
I got myself employed,
in an Arab household,
full of modern gadgets and house toys.
My job was to wash and clean
from Dusk to Dawn,
that was followed by another task,
of washing and cleaning from Dawn to Dusk..
Dawn to Dusk, Dusk to Dawn
cleaning and washin'
until my wrist and knuckles of my fingers got swollen
and the blood vessels fully blown.
(Another grown up person, in a similar predicament, appears across the
wooden fence, doing the same tasks.)
YOUNG MAN
They are consumers without taste,
unable to install and run,
the washing-machine gadget,
due to lack of infrastructural input,
and the culture and the rest that goes with it.
So, you see, they cannot fully appreciate,
the purchase, they always initiate,
from the free market,
of the west.
All these masses of jumble
with their own hands more than they could handle,
had it not been for our cheap labour readily available
they could have ended up with heaps of unwashed domestic rubble.
WEGEN
You know there is a tea shop,
downtown. If you look for it easily found.
The man employs people like us,
every day all year round.
I know he offers a good pay,
but because of the despicable burden
of the labour one is asked to comply,
no one manages to serve more than a day.
And even then in the end the laborers run away
before they claim their pay.
I have done it myself, and
I did run away.
The first day I was employed,
I was taken to a bakery
and in one go, I was asked thousand French loaves to carry.
Fragile as I was,
and as expected, a man of wealth,
well-built and strong was the boss.
As he strode in front,
in leisure and comfort,
I was expected,
to match my pace,
to that of his.
Five hundred on the left,
an equal number on the right,
in tightly woven baskets,
heavy, but aromatic, French petite,
arousing passers by appetite
But my arms spread-eagled,
then I began to feel,
they were being pulled out
from the joints,
and sliding beneath the skin;
down through the ribs to both sides of the abdomen,
and yet I was keen,
to keep the job goin',
So I did not complain
nor did I show any sign of strain.
But for the first time in my life
I hated to have to be born and still remained alive.
Midday passed.
I did not have time for breakfast,
I was washing dishes so fast
to cope with the people who had descended on us
from the surrounding offices
to have their ten o'clock feast.
In the end I walked away
from the tea shop, where I slaved for a day,
without asking for my pay.
YOUNG MAN
I should remind you, however,
my Mistress is a bit kinder,
than the one you labour under.
It appears, she likes my youth tender.
Although I know, no serious thing of the sort
will materialise ever,
Her routine talks, though they invokes sexual sensation
I know, my mistress is under the illusion
that every object in the house has a photo lens eyes
that could gather licentious evidence,
to her disgrace .
My mistress,
and indeed, yours as well,
do little or no venturing outside these walls.
You could say, they are like a mule
tethered to the ground and moves
only in circle,
invoking deep meditation,
to find out, in such a limited habitation,
what useful things are available.
to negate the drudgery of moving in circle.
My mistress,
has only her husband and the windows, to assess
what is going on outside her premises.
And you may say;
I act as a threshold, if you like, a door
she could walk out and discover
the world over,
unhindered, conquering,
instead of being conquered.
In my presence, she expresses,
her desires with no moral barrier whatsoever.
At will she indulges and narrates sexually loaded jokes
and out of it she gets a kick.
She appears to have no fear of threat
of sexual assault.
On the contrary, it is my person
daily threaten,
or if you like, psychologically raped
at these doorsteps.
WEGEN
whoow!! You are lucky.
I wish over here, I had the same kinky.
Mine is a bit cranky.
YOUNG MAN
Lucky, me! Don't make me laugh.
Me and luck,
run in the opposite tracks.
When I buy tickets in region east
the lucky draw goes to west.
And when I happened to be in the south
the newspapers report, a man got it in the north.
If we were to be given another opportunity
somewhere in the land of liberty
from from poverty
board on a plane
and fly away from these land of pain.
Imagine our lives could turn round
We could drive big cars,
own houses, demesne surrounded.
and marry beautiful girls.
At first sight, everyone falls in love with
but remain ours and faithful
Have our own kids
and send them to the best schools.
A land Winter covered in snow
whiter than white,
one could roll
and make ever growing ball.
Spring is even better,
green covered nature,
increasingly getting greener as days move to Summer
interrupted by blossoming flowers,
in succession one after another
to the delight of buzzing insects,
attracted by the aromatic scent.
Talk of Summer, sunny and bright
and the people all day out,
basking, hustling and bustling in the streets.
YOUNG MAN
You know, this climate is arid,
and at times difficult to live in, to say the least.
Snow could be whiter than white
but do not also forget it could be a harsh climate.
WEGEN
So be it!
As cold as a fridge.
I still favour snow white,
than this horrid climate and arid.
(From Offstage, a woman's voice, calling in Arabic)
WOMAN
Ya welde!
Asmaeh, Ya welde.
Ya habeshe! Ya Wegen!!!
WEGEN
Here we go again.
The woman is ranting,
as if she is being possess by demon.
Yes madam.
I am comin, I'm comin.
WOMAN
malk enta Ya weld
Ezznek mayesmeh?
WEGEN
Ezzeney yesmaeh Koyes, Madam
WOMAN
Le ma tergaeh tewal?
Are you fascinated by that trollop,
and like the other Habbeshe,
you too want to climb on her top?
WEGEN
I was not talking to the woman,
next door, I was talking with the boy,
about the type
of a newly invented soap
that will clean a massive heap,
in an instant sweep
WOMAN
Yaakhie!!!!!!!!
Alikela!! Guel Welalah!!
WEGEN
Welalah.
WOMAN
Then take some money,
go and get, the new type.
But don't you try bullshit.
Being young and innocent.
And do not waste my money,
on your own women prostitutes.
Selling their flesh in all corners of the streets.
WEGEN (Talking alone as he walks through the door)
God! Are you there?
When will I see the day,
like a bride free to fly
in the open sky.
Said he, almost struggling
to contain his cry.
CHORUS
Three years past,
until the immigration process was done,
meantime sponsor credibility analysed,
and the final departure materialised.
Then, at last he was sent to the land,
near the North Pole,
Where the Sun seems,
from the sky to have fallen through a hole,
close enough it had dropped,
from the plane's narrow window,
you can stretch a hand and hold.
It was night time, but was not dark.
He looked at his clock,
and it was ten o'clock,
but he could not believed what he saw.
Bemused he concluded that either the clock,
is broken, or his long held belief,
that he lives, with others, in the same global rock,
was a piece of false cake,
now being challenge, and is
about to crack and break.
With the man seated next,
he wanted in conversation to get engaged.
About this bizarre coincidence,
that the Sun too has lost its mind,
it seemed to be out, when it was not right,
in the middle of the night,
and as in day so hot and bright.
He wanted to ask: what is the meaning of it?
But at the same moment,
he did not want,
the man to gauge,
about the universe, his limited knowledge.
More restricting however was his lack,
of the Scandinavian language.
Scene 2
(Street in a Scandinavian city)
In the land of his ultimate resettlement,
he finally arrived, as implied, on Sunday late.
And he couldn't wait,
for the morning next,
to see the folks of colour white
in thousands roaming up and down the streets,
as opposed to one or two daring tourists,
seen mingled amidst,
African peasants.
Finally, the next morning did come;
and with waves of hundreds of thousands,
the streets got jammed.
In disbelief he was lost,
observing the uniformity of the inhabitants.
The same type of shops, the same colour,
one block of street difficult to identify from the other.
The same size,
the same height.
No unusually tall,
no unusually short,
no thin and no fat.
Unbelievably as if manufactured,
to a right size measured and cut.
No one made to waste,
as in a cripple let to crawl in the street.
No blind groping in the dark,
or a leper disfigured, rotten flesh,
profuse smell, that of a Skunk.
Good God!!! Heaven on Earth.
Said he, holding his breath.
With all the beauty and strength.
What a difference!!!
And I too believed to be of the same substance,
the same human race,
leading the same existence.
The soil so virgin,
covered with green,
you could hardly find a single stone
to throw and hit,
when you are mad at person.
More than anything, this trip is an eye opener
If I were to live and die in my little corner
I would have seen such a thing never.
Glad I am, air to breath, indeed I am so pleased,
ultimately to stand here and this miracle witness.
I wish my dad was here,
I wish my uncle too was here,
I wish all my friends were here,
I wish all the dead and alive were here,
to learn from the people we call foreigners.
Three, then six, followed by nine months past,
the young boy still engrossed
admiring the technological progress,
level of education and standard of health.
Variety of food, name one
you can have to eat,
at home or even in a fancy restaurant.
Fruits the lot.
Drinks, cold and hot,
with no feel of financial burden,
you can have them at any time you want.
CHERUB(impersonation of the Boy One at the beginning of the story)
Yes! So many things to see,
and so many things to get aquatinted.
the young boy could not help but get lost.
Admiring the environment.
And yet during his stay,
nine months came, months gone away,
he began to realise,
the items that lend respect,
in his country of birth:
variety of food, top class
bowl of fruits, exotic
leather jacket,
three-piece suit
a car in style majestic,
with all facilities equipped,
in this place they do not count a bit,
in sorting the social pecking list
who is to come first
and who is to come last.
Be it in occupying office of government
or seeking the hand of a partner in marriage,
or social gathering for entertainment.
Also, in this dream-like part of the planet,
he began to realise, that all this month he had spent,
and he had not as yet made contact
with even a single local inhabitant,
to converse and interact.
Come to think, a good laugh
he had not had,
since he descended from the plane and landed.
All this time he was made to dwell
in a hostel,
In a small room in the attic,
he was left stuck
for the nights to sleep,
and daytime to cook.
Yes! A room private,
all belongings stashed and neatly kept,
for he could not afford space to waste.
Sitting all day watching events,
from a television set,
with a touch of a finger tip,
surfing the global net
gave the illusion, that the world was there to manipulate,
so close and yet so far to be a part,
of all the acts,
displayed on his front.
So much for owning his own house,
And a big deluxe car he could cruise,
up and down the heavenly paradise.
To add insult to injury
three months before and after February.
A large span of the region,
impossible to imagine
was covered by a white sheet of snow,
and for all he knew,
unlike the story he told his friend in the Sudan,
he could not bother to roll,
and make a big ball.
In fact he felt bitterly cold.
Most of the time sat hands and legs huddled.
The alleys and the streets too were frozen
unless especially equipped,
with shoes with grip,
it became difficult
and unpleasant to walk.
Even the last place of his retreat,
was turned into a giant fridge,
as oppressive as the horrid
climate of the arid,
He once he run away to get rid..
Totally cut off from his people,
his sense of direction and perceptive angle
bad weather and alienation,
turned them crippled..
(WEGEN IS SEEN ACTING OUT WHILE THE CHERUB NARRATES)
In places like supermarkets
He began to talk to himself,
whilst he gathered packed food from the shelves.
As his mental health
continued to deteriorate,
he began to write slogans
on the back of his jackets.
And many more things,
he began to manifest,
people can only do in private:
going naked, masturbate,
in public cite defecate
piss with one leg tossed,
as in dog, in the middle of the street.
A quality he learned --
to become errant --
just to get on the nerve of his hosts
and irritate.
Finally, when his verbal vent
became insufficient,
he became quarrelsome and violent.
In access to some places - private,
he did get the halt.
His outer shell raddled and
his inner soul pulverized,
rejected and ostracised.
Disposition dispossessed.
Consequently, out of lack of choice
he spotted a concourse,
a commonplace,
as the only way,
he could spend the rest of the days,
just about a mile and half
from, his residence away.
Rumbling rigmarole,
followed by hilarious risible laughter,
unflappable, unraffled and unperturbed,
by bye passers inexorable and
indomitable comments
as unwelcome vermin, interloper
his incorrigible character
expunge one may try
but indelible it remained.
Trudged, he walked, then changed strut,
plodded, unhappy with that he trotted but again scooted
back and forth in the street
on his way to the public site.
jump through the fence
to truncate the distance
to the commonpl
