Friday 27 May 2011

Our Own Time


The deep dark soil
Gradually turns to mud;
A gentle insistent patter
Right inside the cloud;
Dappled autumn hues
Of bark and leaves
Shades of browns
And intense fading greens;
And the mist-shrouded wood-smoke
Wafting lazily without a breeze;
A solitary bird whistles
As a lone car hisses by –
Magical, mystical,
Pleasingly mysterious:
It is. Quietly on its own
Existing as if in a dream;
Yet this is no dreamland.
I am here, I hear, I smell
I taste and see
This cold brown log upon which I write
These thoughts of you
Wishing that we
Could have shared this moment:
Close, speaking softly touching
Making love to you;
Here in this morning
Where we both can dream
Inside the comfort of this cloud,
Lost, together in our own time.

Friday 20 May 2011

Wasted - Installation Art Performance


INTRODUCTION
(THE AUDIENCE IS IN TOTAL DARKNESS AND THERE IS A SLIGHT SEEPAGE FROM OUTSIDE THAT FILTERS IN AND SLIGHTLY ILLUMINATES THE SET {***OR A DULL GREEN ‘PILOT LIGHT’ ON THE TOP OF THE MAST***}. AMOS ENTERS PUSHING A BICYCLE WITH A PRAM/TROLLEY AS A TRAILER.)
AMOS                         : (MUMBLING TO HIMSELF AS HE SHUFFLES IN WITHOUT ACKNOWLEDGING THE AUDIENCE. HE IS DRESSED IN COPIOUS LAYERS OF CLOTHING. HE TAKES HIS TIME UNTYING THE TRAILER) Consciousness, context, content, contempt … conscience! What a waste? Just words without form, but with a definite function! Consciousness, context, content, contempt, conscience… All conveying nothing of substance to the unconscious! Such fools; such idiots! But I must talk last because I am the biggest fool of all; I am the original idiot! Sweet words and passion and noble ideals – enough to enlist my bleeding heart in this hair-brained scheme! (HE POSITIONS THE TRAILER SPECIFICALLY) Such irony; raising consciousness about waste and at the end of the day, all of the effort will more than likely be wasted! Why would anyone care? Its just waste after all: rubbish, dirt, refuse! I should have refused. (HE CHUCKLES TO HIMSELF) Fucking fartists! Trying to make a statement: turning all this kak into art! If this is art then art is kak! (HE HANGS THE BIKE IN POSITION AND A LIGHT GOES ON AND A FAN BEGINS TO OSCILLATE. AS HE TURNS, TO THE AUDIENCE) Good evening and welcome to this wasted journey…
FIRST MOVEMENT
(HE PLACES A REVOLVING MULTI-COLOURED SHADE WITH PATTERNS IN FRONT OF THE LIGHT AS HE SPEAKS THROUGH A LOUD HAILER WHICH IS ON THE VERY FRONT OF THE WASTE-SHIP) I’ve been told that we all have a purpose in this life: (MOVES AWAY FROM THE LOUD HAILER) I even used to believe them once. Long ago when I still had dreams… (HE MOVES TO THE HANGER-RAIL AND BEGINS TO PEEL OFF LAYERS OF CLOTHING SLOWLY AS HE ADDRESSES THE AUDIENCE ABSENT-MINDEDLY) Back when I still harboured – no, suffered – the illusion of individual worth: the delusion of individual value, determined by a denigrating paymaster. (HE GOES BACK TO THE LOUD HAILER) Count your blessings: count them none by none! (HE RESUMES UNDRESSING) So many worthless lives, so much wasted life without living. Well at any rate, I’ve certainly wasted my too much of my life by not living enough. Wasting away unconsciously, year by monotonous year: surviving to consume and consuming much more than I needed to survive. Consumed and wasted. Detritus and callous excess: the vulgar, unthinking, gluttonous aspirations! The posing and posturing and polishing of a fabricated image reminiscent of a naked fairytale king because no matter how you choose to look at it, the fabric of this reality is far from fine. (HE SCRATCHES HIS ARM PIT AND STARES QUIZZICALLY OUT AT THE AUDIENCE) A fabricated reality: impotent messages from the grave that serve as nothing more than aborted reminders of a time when maybe you cared about more than just your own little merry-go-round of self delusion and obstinate denial – and you know what they say about people who live in denial? They are die naaiers. Comatose convenience, maintained by suppressing the desire to act with conviction because we have to fit in; we have to fit into the scheme of things – constantly consumed! Consumed by our own air-brushed image of ourselves – gracing the glossy cover of our personal copy of life’s magazine – consuming the deception of everything that we should want to be; everything we have been conditioned to desire. The inane aspirations, mindlessly striving to acquire and accumulate and ultimately … (GLARES AT THE AUDIENCE) We discard even the pretence of our humanity. (HE IS FINALLY DONE UNDRESSING AND THERE IS A HEAP OF CLOTHES ON THE FLOOR. HE IS WEARING A ‘SOLID WASTE’ NEON VEST AND A DIAPER. HE GOES TO THE LOUD HAILER) You man! You woman! Human! All of you that comprises this diseased and decaying humanity! Where are you? (HE BEGINS TO PICK UP THE CLOTHING AND PLACES IT ON A HANGAR) So much possibility wasted. Such a waste! Wasting away through greed and entitlement and privilege and the, oh so wilful ignorance. This human beast that produces unfathomable masses of waste every day, polluting the planet – obstinately continuing to milk the slaughtered cow of avarice even as it lingers at death’s door! All because (GOES TO THE LOUD HAILER) The lord is your shepherd and you shall want! More and more and more! Until you are senseless again and there is no more to be had even though you will continue to crave – gluttonously, ravenously, ravaging the earth and desecrating our only heritage. Defiling the life without living until slowly existence expires exhausted. (HE STRIKES A GONG AND THE LIGHT EXPIRES) Inevitably we will all expire… Wasting life by not living!
SECOND MOVEMENT
(HE STANDS BEHIND THE WASTE-SHIP, OBSCURED AND LOOKING THROUGH THE CAMERA AT THE AUDIENCE.)
AMOS                         : Long, long ago I journeyed back through the stars; I travelled back inside my head once long ago. Just once I saw that place – just once I found a space free of waste and excess. Once long ago I journeyed back into a time before we became what we are… And I did love us then. (HE BEGINS TO MOVE SLOWLY FROM BEHIND THE WASTE-SHIP STILL FILMING THE AUDIENCE. HE SITS DOWN BY THE PRAM) Now I’ve been given the dubious honour of being the captain of the waste-ship of enterprise. I’ve been afforded the opportunity of undertaking the most important journey of our lives – back just once again to that place where we once loved us. A time and a place before we became this festering affliction that is now our humanity – this disease called us. A time when we revered the omnipotent matriarch; a time before we began to believe that it was okay to rape our mother. Nature embraced us then as we embraced her: she loved us so much that that she shared some of her most cherished secrets with us. Not realizing that the beauty in our hearts was a mere reflection without substance. (HE STOPS FILMING) And then with the knowledge of her sacred secrets we set about destroying the very thing that we once claimed to worship: instead of creating more beauty, we set about constructing ugly towers of vanity and fear as a testament to the destruction that fuelled our treacherous thoughts! (BEATS THE GONG) We created only destruction and began to build a monument of waste! (BEATS THE GONG) An ugly, reeking, disease ridden sculptural testament… (BEATS GONG) To… (DOES A DRUM ROLL ON THE GONG AND GOES TO THE LOUD-HAILER) Progress! (CHEERS) That’s what they say anyway. (HE PICKS UP THE CAMERA AND BEGINS TO FILM THE AUDIENCE) Wasting space, wasted time: a monstrous edifice of ignorance and greed – because the volume of your waste is directly proportionate to how much you have achieved – directly proportionate to your success. (HE STOPS FILMING AND SMILES) And now finally – for me and others like me at least – the tables are turned because our success is based on the fact that we have not achieved much! (BEATS GONG AND CHEERS THROUGH LOUD-HAILER. THE LIGHTING CHANGES)
THIRD MOVEMENT
                                    (HE IS SEATED NEXT TO THE PRAM AND TAKES OUT A MODEL OF A HOUSE AND CONTINUES TO TAKE OBJECTS FROM THE PRAM THROUGHOUT THE SPEECH)
AMOS                         : Everyday including Sunday, we each generate an average of two kilograms of solid waste. Obviously, there are some who create next to nothing because they have next to nothing, but then there are those who create much more because, quite frankly, they have much more. The richest twenty percent of the world’s population consumes eighty-sic percent of global resources while the poorest twenty percent consumes a meagre one point three percent of resources. So don’t be fooled by the averages which collectively still amounts to sixty thousand tons of solid waste that reaches our landfills everyday! Sixty thousand tons and change everyday until 2012 when our current landfills will reach critical capacity. And then what? Just move all the shit to some other site and begin all over again until 2025 when that site will reach critical capacity? And please don’t sit there thinking that you are not a part of the problem because you are recycling and you are brand conscious – always looking for organic this and organic that! At twice the price! And still, even if we reach one-hundred percent post consumer recycling in this country, we will only have managed a pitiful two percent of the total waste generated. And even then, we would not have addressed the inefficiency or toxicity of products and processes. Keep in mind that for every bin of refuse that you generate, industry generated seventy bins: so that you could get your products packaged so conveniently. Two point eight million tons of waste every year! Imagine, thirty-five soccer fields full of rubbish – knee deep! Thirty five soccer fields full: I can’t help but wonder, where will the children play?
THE MOVEMENT ENDS AS HE TAKES OFF HIS OWN DIAPER) Life supporting resources are increasingly decreasing! While the demand for the decreasing resources, is increasing! Where will it end? We are faced with natural and unnatural ecological degradation; resource over-consumption and ultimate depletion and the flagrant abuse of land and water; overpopulation, industrialization and monopolization! When will this abomination end? (THE LIGHTS FADE OUT)
FOURTH MOVEMENT
                                    (HE IS LYING ON THE BENCH WITH SHADES ON AND A BRIGHT LIGHT SHINING ON HIM) I choose to live… with the burden of truth burning hot in my soul – a vague notion blazing bright just beyond the horizon. Whether it is indeed the dawning of a new day or the waning of the last one is as yet unclear; but we do live in hope though – I do. I have to live in hope… (SCRATCH – TAP) Sometimes it seems as if all we have left is hope… (SCRATCH – TAP) I wonder if it is maybe too late even for such indulgences? Has the time for hope passed? (SCRATCH – TAP) Is this hope just a placebo for a mankind that is running scared? Lost and floundering without any real direction… (SCRATCH – TAP) Just blind faith perhaps: or just another waste? Just another wasted desire desperate to find form – to gain substance… (SCRATCH – TAP) I have to believe. I must hope. (SCRATCH – TAP) I do hope… I hope. (SCRATCH – TAP. BLACK OUT) Not again in vain; never again in vain. We have suffered enough; we have inflicted enough; we have destroyed enough; we have construed enough; and fought and maimed and schemed enough. We’ve coveted and plotted and planned enough. You’ve killed enough of me and I’ve raped enough of you. We’ve been blind and callous and heartless and uncaring – enough! We’ve wasted enough – we’ve wasted so much more than enough… (SCRATCH – TAP X 4. LIGHTS UP) Such a pity that enough words will not change the reality; enough words will not reverse the probability; enough words have still not exposed the hypocrisy; enough words cannot span the chasm between you and me! (HE STANDS AND CASUALLY TAKES A GOWN AND PUTS IT ON BUT DOES NOT TIE IT AS HE FACES THE AUDIENCE DEFIANTLY) Enough exposure will not change who you choose to be. (HE TIES THE GOWN AND SMILES KNOWINGLY. HE TURNS HIS BACK TO THE AUDIENCE. SCRATCH – TAP. HE SMILES AT THE AUDIENCE OVER HIS SHOULDER WITH A BUNCH OF PLASTIC FLOWERS IN HIS HAND AND WHILE HE SPEAKS HE DROPS THE FLOWERS ONE BY ONE) Now I’ve become a part of you. I have sacrificed my living to exist inside your head. Maybe if I’m there I’ll be able to affect the way you think – maybe I can infect your thinking. Maybe I’ll be able to alter your being; maybe you’ll start accepting that you can make a difference; maybe you’ll start seeing and hearing and tasting and smelling and touching and feeling as if you are a part of this beautiful creation. (SCRATCH – TAP. HE TURNS TO FACE THE AUDIENCE AND DROPS THE LAST OF THE FLOWERS. – SARCASTICALLY) And maybe this waste-ship will take off; maybe humanity will survive indefinitely; maybe the planet will once again thrive… Without us? (SCRATCH – TAP X 5. HE MOVES TO THE LOUD-HAILER) And hope is revealed! Reduced to a fucking maybe! (SCRATCH – TAP) Crazy… Maybe… (LIGHTS OUT)
FIFTH MOVEMENT
(HE SITS DOWN ON THE TOILET AND PREPARES TO PAINT A PICTURE) Sensory suicide; stunted expression; stifled perception; miscommunication; misunderstood again. Language is inadequate! (HE DIPS THE BRUSH AND MAKES A FIRST STROKE) Can you hear the silent scream of frustrated suffering that suffuses the seemingly still dusk? (HE IS SILENT AS HE PAINTS) An expectant pause that awaits substantial expression… (HE STOPS PAINTING AND FACES THE AUDIENCE) Or did you come to be entertained? (HE RESUMES PAINTING) If the void that exists between my command of the language and your understanding can only be bridged by communicating through my artistic creation, then why do you deprive your soul by experiencing my expression from within the haze of your preconception? (HE STOPS PAINTING) Your pre-deception! (HE RESUMES PAINTING) They say that art sustains the soul of humanity. … In my experience that may or may not be true. In my experience… (HE STOPS AND HITS THE SINGLE STRING WITH THE BRUSH – TWANG!) My life’s experience is the memory of my living! (TWANG) The assimilation; the assumption that what we do and what we have done defines what we will do! (TWANG. HE PUTS A FINAL STROKE TO THE PAINTING AND THEN MOVES & TURNS THE FRAME TO FACE THE AUDIENCE) My art defines my humanity… (HE BEGINS TO PAINT HIS FACE) My art is my sole true expression. (TWANG, SCRATCH – TAP. HE SMILES LECHEROUSLY) With no offence intended, I do not art for you! (HE PAINTS HIDEOUS, RED LIPS AROUND HIS MOUTH) I live this life as a testament to what I know as truth. (HE STANDS) And if in the process I manage to insinuate a statement that makes you wake-up or grow-up or throw-up, it is but a consequence. (HE LOOKS DOWN AT THE BRUSH AND PLUCKS THE STRING VIOLENTLY BEFORE TYING THE GOWN AND COMPOSING HIMSELF BEFORE SITTING AND PAINTING A MOUTH ON HIS FOREHEAD) My art, my life… My expression, my living… My love, my sustenance… My passion, my weakness. (TWANG! SCRATCH – TAP, TWANG!) My art… I art… Thine art… (TWANG – BLACK OUT. PROJECTION ONTO SET AS HE ADDRESSES AUDIENCE) Tomorrow is already too late, all we have is this last day, this single moment in which to make a decision. Life or death; politics or truth; money or creation and if then there remains any doubt, then surely we are all damned for who of us are truly individual and separate from the whole? (HE SITS DOWN ON THE TOILET) What is humanity if not you? And beyond the confines of today beckoning like the return of passion within our souls we will find the essence of beauty. Once again reunited with our art! The novel embraced by a smile; a gesture profoundest poetry; the dawn and all of its light the canvas. How I long for a time when our lives become infused with true knowledge and wisdom when our every movement and expression becomes a humble, unassuming work of art. (HE TAKES THE PAINTING AND WIPES HIS ARSE BEFORE STANDING AND DUMPING THE PAPER IN A DRUM. HE THEN WASHES HIS FACE FROM THE WATER IN THE TOILET BOWL) Art to feed the soul: not for profit or patronage or exclusivity and not in a marketable formula designed for mass production. (HE SIGHS DRAMATICALLY AND WIPES HIS BROW BEFORE STARTING THE AUTOMATIC PAINTING MACHINE) I art… Just like that!
SIXTH MOVEMENT

AMOS                         : (LOOKING AT THE PAGES LYING ON THE GROUND WITH A REGRETFUL SADNESS) My kinders… (HE SITS DEJECTEDLY IN SILENCE WITH HIS HEAD BOWED AND BEGINS TO SPEAK) Hulle sit op die pavement, wegegooi op ‘n hoop soos ‘n klompie kak wat almal miskyk. Hulle sien net julle voete waarvan hulle koppe is gesak, blink skoentjies (GESTURES WITH HIS HAND IN FRONT OF HIS FACE) Hier verby langs hulle gevreete. Die varke is nogal nie vol nie, hulle gedagtes is vrot – want hoekom van daar onder kyk die kinders tot binne-in julle kop. Julle check nogal hulle is die las, maar kantie, julle varke is almal djas! (HE SELECTS CLOTHING FROM THE HANGAR AND ARRANGES IT CAREFULLY) Such ignorantly arrogant antagonists… So very arrogantly ignorant! Grimacing idiotically while we squeeze the last drop from the beast with one hand and fell forests and pollute the air and the water with the other! (HE BEGINS TO GET DRESSED IN A CLEAN BUSINESS SUIT) Where will we find beauty again you may well ask from within the gloomy abyss of circumstance but hear me when I say that all of the answers and solutions begin with you. You man, you woman; you my brothers and sisters: human! Owner of today – creator of tomorrow and your own destiny! Contributor, conspirator or conniver: or maybe an undecided, potential collaborator? Where do you stand? When do you think we will fall? (HE FINISHES GETTING DRESSED WHILE HUMMING AND WHISTLING TO HIMSELF)

SEVENTH MOVEMENT
AMOS                         : Do not despair though because despite the odds, hope does remain – it does exist. The time has come to stop being reactive and to start being creative. We need to adopt a new way of thinking so that we can create a paradigm shift; we need to develop new policies and technologies; we need to establish a new way to manage our resources and we need to collaborate towards making the change work. but most importantly, we have to minimize the amount of solid waste we generate by reducing the amount of material used and therefore the amount of resultant waste. We have to take responsibility to develop functioning closed loop systems for technical nutrients produced and used. Zero waste means designing and managing products and processes to systematically reduce the volume and toxicity of waste and materials, to conserve and recover all resources and not to burn then. Zero waste is a goal that is both pragmatic and visionary and it guides people to emulate sustainable natural cycles where all discarded materials are resources for others to use. It is a way of thinking that will profoundly change our approach to resources and production thus leading to a revolutionizing of corporate culture. There are countless examples of how we can all make a difference, but we have to want to alter this blissfully ignorant state in which we occur most of the time. We have to want to find out what to do to make this change: to alter our destiny. Remember to read, reduce and recycle so that we can redress our reality.

ONCE



Now I dance alone into the cold, dark night
The angels have departed along with the friends
I strum a guitar without any strings
But the song is silenced by my weeping.

I stumble along into the starless night
Taunted by regrets and beautiful memories
Which I hold tight lest I forget
That once the dark night was illuminated by laughter.

I fall to my knees unable to find the path
And I remain down with hands splayed
Begging forgiveness in the dark and dust
I cry but only I hear the desolation.

I remember your smiling face
I remember holding you close and letting go
I remember the pain and what I felt
So vivid even though it is no more.

I wonder and ask of the night
To grant me one more chance to believe
That what we shared was more than just a memory
That in that love was the promise of another day.

Progres - The Script: Inspired by the life and work of Ken Saro-Wiwa


PROGRES’
Scene 1
PROGRES:                  (SITTING ON ONE OF THE DRUMS WITH AN EAGRE, EXPECTANT SMILE ON HIS FACE) Let me start by assuring you that you are forgiven for thinking that Dukana is just a clearing in the tropical forest peopled by three or four thousand men, women and children living in rickety mud-huts and making a miserable living from small farmlands in the forest or from fishing in the steamy creeks;  but as everyone will proudly tell you in these parts, ‘home is home’ and this cryptic saying means that it is far better than all those places you have visited or read about. The dirt in which it wallows comfortably is to be preferred to the paved streets of the best cities of the world. And its mud houses greater and more beautiful than the palaces of kings and queens of other lands. No-one worth his or her name and who owns any allegiance by birth to Dukana could be expected to disagree with such a viewpoint. For to disagree is to be disloyal to communal wisdom and to be disloyal to that wisdom so carefully distilled through the ages, is arrogance. And arrogance is a deadly sin in Dukana.
                                    (MARIA ENTERS WITH A BOX AND LOOKING FLUSTERED; SHE WALKS UP TO PROGRES AND LOOKS AT HIM SNOOTILY AND HE SMILES IN TURN AND KNEELS WITH AN ARM DRAPED OVER ONE OF THE DRUMS)
PROGRES:                  (CLEARS HIS THROAT)
MARIA:                       Thank you.
PROGRES:                  My pleasure…
MARIA:                       I really mean it…
PROGRES:                  Me too…
MARIA:                       Honestly, I never used to look forward to the arduous journey back to Dukana and I have had to do it once a year when I return home from college for my annual holiday with my mother. I’m sure you know that if it wasn’t for you I would have to ride pillion on a bicycle for some distance and then walk to Dukana. Now at least there’s you…
PROGRES:                  (PROUDLY – CLEARS THROAT) Progress, and that’s what I’m here for…
MARIA:                       Yes, I suppose, but really the only thing that makes this bumpy, dirty ride worthwhile is the thought that at the end of it there would be Mama smiling and happy to see me… (PAUSE) Before I would look forward to Beeson being there; embracing and hugging me and walking me home by the hand. Beeson is the man I love…
PROGRES:                  (DREAMILY) From every coign of this beloved room, loved because we in it have lived, I see you soft as the twilight, That now caresses my soul, Uniting us in an eternity of love…
MARIA:                       (WORRIEDLY) What are you saying?
PROGRES:                  Oh please do not be alarmed, it’s just a verse from a poem I remember…
MARIA:                       Oh!
PROGRES:                  There’s more if you want to hear it…
MARIA:                       Okay…
PROGRES:                  Darling do you dream the dreams I dream, And do you walk the gardens of suave redolence, Through which I walk as I think of you? And do you remember that day, When the dying sun shot gold-tinted arms, And we swam the river from shore to shore? Do you remember the words I said to you? Swiftly, swiftly, my skein of time unrolls, When from the deep well of your being, I slake the thirst of my love.
MARIA:                       That’s beautiful…
PROGRES:                  Yes… (CLEARS THROAT)
MARIA:                       The poet must really love very deeply…
PROGRES:                  Oh yes, he did. He most certainly did. It’s such a pity that we will never read another beautiful line from his pen…
 MARIA:                      The poets always die too soon.
PROGRES:                  Or they are killed…
MARIA:                       Yes and sometimes it is better to die with dignity for what you believe than to live without ever being alive…
PROGRES:                  There are worse and better things to live and die for.
                                    (PAUSE)
MARIA:                       (ENDEARING TONE) Look at these sleepy villages fondly embracing the earth and foliage; the farms planted with a mixture of yams, cassava, maize, pepper and melon – mostly stunted and crying for fertilizers. The men riding rickety bicycles and the women with the large bundles of firewood or huge white basins on their heads and babies tied to their backs with dirty rags. The occasional buildings of modern construction properly painted and maintained peeping out of the bush: a reminder of other possibilities. (TONE CHANGES) And then we pass Ogale! Cars Cannibalized, Amputated, Lie by the roadside, Abandoned, Forgotten. A lone lean dog, Scrounging for food, Reaps human skulls, In a shallow gutter. Broken houses roofless, Gape forlorn, At wet angry skies. Ogale lies in broken images, Astride the narrow tarmac, Moaning insensate, Her lost sons and daughters, Whose wails I hear, This eerie dawn, For Ogale out in the dreary rain, Her legs apart like a cheap prostitute, Exposed, utterly exposed. Ogale is a ravished woman. … (TONE CHANGES) And the gas flares! Reminding me that this is oil-bearing country and that from the bowels of this land come the much-sought-after liquid which fuels the wheels of modern civilization – the wheels of progress!
PROGRES:                  (CLEARS THROAT)
MARIA:                       (PAUSE) Now I feel the excruciating pain which knowledge confers on those who can discern the gulf which divides what is and what could be. And my mind drifts to the men and women of Dukana acting out their lives against a backdrop of great forces they would never understand. I think about them at length – the men and women whom I know are awaiting my return because they are my relatives – aunts, uncles, cousins, my kin… And I feel for them all.
PROGRES:                  And soon you will be with those you love, but before I depart let me tell you the tail of a tale. Once upon a time, A time it was in deed, The tortoise spoke to the tiger. The tortoise said to the tiger, Forgive me friend if I laugh, At what should make me cry. To laugh, you see, is to show my teeth, And to cry is just the same, And well I choose to laugh. The tortoise laughed and beamed. He takes a peek, From a happy shell. The tiger frowned and moaned, His heart a loud threnody, And turned predatory. And thereby hangs a tail. (HE EXITS ON ALL-FOURS)
Scene 2
(MAMA, PETER AND JOHN ENTER AND MARIA RUSHES TO EMBRACE HER MOTHER AND THEY CRY TEARS OF JOY)
MAMA:                       (FROM O/S) Oh my daughter…
MARIA:                       Mama…
(THEY EMBRACE TIGHTLY, TWIRLING IN A DANCE OF AFFECTION)
JOHN:                         That’s what I always say…
PETER:                        There’s nothing like having an educated daughter.
JOHN:                         That’s the way I always hug mine when she returns from a long journey. I say young woman! I could do with a bit of a warm embrace myself…
PETER:                        Good-for-nothing man, come here and help our young miss,
JOHN:                         You don’t expect me to carry her box home do you?
PETER:                        (HE GLARES AT JOHN) It seems our young miss has arrived heavily laden with all the good things of this earth.
JOHN:                         I should think Dukana will soon be floating in a sea of wealth.
PETER:                        I should think so, but I won’t say anymore till we get home and see our young miss open this box and share her wealth with us.
JOHN:                         Ah there you have things wrong. Don’t you see her mother hovering hawk-like around her? You think she’ll allow anyone to touch a pin of her daughter’s? You don’t know that woman.
MAMA:                       You know a lot more about me than I know about myself. I wonder what you would do if you could walk upright like the rest of us?
JOHN:                         I shouldn’t be here with you then. I’d just take your luscious daughter away to the end of the world…
                                    (THE TWO LAUGH BUT MARIA IS DISTRACTED)
MARIA:                       (SAD) If only Beeson could have been here…
MAMA:                       Fret not child…
JOHN:                         Be strong…
PETER:                        Justice will prevail…
MARIA:                       We must keep his memory alive.
MAMA:                       We will my angel, we will.
CHORUS:                   The people of Dukana will not forget.
MARIA:                       No…
                                    (SLIGHT PAUSE)
JOHN:                         I have sat at the machine all day, Waiting hopefully to find music, To soothe my troubled soul, But there is nothing, Save the monotonous rhythm of rain, The bumping thud of bombs.
PETER:                        Over there at the front young men, Clubber one another to the din, Of mortar shells and rockets, They groan painfully and die, For a cause they barely understand.
MAMA:                       Perhaps they must die, So we live forever. For this we have told the lie, The famous lie about the sweet and honour, That lie in dying for one’s country. But death is a taskmaster, And only the living can know, That honour and sweet we preach, To them that are to die.
JOHN:                         Ye bakers and hawkers of lies, Who bare your jaws and call for wars, Inviting the lame, the blind and the deaf, To the merry ways of guns, Where shall we find the lotion, The balm to heal their wounds?
MARIA:                       How un-tell the lies, How pray for forgiveness, When the departed made wise, Demand restitution?
PETER:                        Yes, how indeed?
JOHN:                         We think we have found out who betrayed Beeson.
MARIA:                       Who is it? Tell me now so that I can confront this traitor.
MAMA:                       Oh Maria…
PETER:                        We think it is Naaku.
MARIA:                       What?
MAMA:                       Oh my child.
JOHN:                         The cowardly, evil traitor…
MARIA:                       Where will I find him?
PETER:                        He is sneaky.
MAMA:                       He disappears into the thick forest for days on end to do what nobody knows.
PETER:                        We are all too afraid to go into the forest because Naaku is loaded to the teeth with things dangerous.
JOHN:                         Things mysterious.
PETER:                        Things potent.
MAMA:                       Things powerful.
PETER:                        And things supernatural.
MARIA:                       But we have to do something. I cannot let your fear stop me.
MAMA:                       There’s nothing you can do.
JOHN:                         He is to be feared and dreaded.
PETER:                        He is evil…
MARIA:                       I don’t care. I want to know if it is really him and if it is then he will have to feel the wrath of my vengeance. I will not let Beeson’s death be in vain.
MAMA:                       The traitor will have to answer to God.
PETER:                        There will be nowhere for him to hide.
JOHN:                         Oh Maria do not forsake us now.
PETER:                        We are poor and ignorant but we know a good thing when we see it.
JOHN:                         Even though it is beyond our reach…
MAMA:                       You’re going to change the life of the women in Dukana.
JOHN:                         You have to teach the children so that Dukana can prosper.
PETER:                        The people of Dukana have been looking forward to this day for years.
JOHN:                         You are our only hope.
MAMA:                       I cannot lose you.
JOHN:                         We cannot lose you.
PETER:                        The people of Dukana need you.
MARIA:                       (PAUSE) I love you mama, I love you all; but I am faced with a choice. I must decide whether to live my life according to your wishes and the people’s expectation; or whether I should follow my own destiny. Not as your daughter or a child of Dukana, but as me – Maria.
MAMA:                       Do not betray us all now that we have prayed so hard for your success so that you can save us from our lot…
MARIA:                       I cannot change your lot mama. I can only change me and by so doing inspire you all to change.
JOHN:                         But what about the children?
MARIA:                       The children will make their own choices in their tomorrow.
PETER:                        What about all of us?
MARIA:                       You must decide what you want to do. You must decide whether to close your eyes and hope that the destruction doesn’t consume you, or whether you should confront the cause of the destruction even though it may destroy you.
MAMA:                       What are you talking about?
MARIA:                       I have to find out who betrayed Beeson. I promised him before he was taken away. I have to do what I need to do in order for me to put the spirit of Beeson to rest. I have to confront Naaku and avenge Beeson’s death. (SHE EXITS)
MAMA:                       Argh my beauty! My lovely girl; the song in my heart, the joy of my life… (DESPARINGLY) Please come back!
PETER:                        How she’s grown and so strong willed.
JOHN:                         Yes, the baby of yesterday is today’s elegant woman.
MAMA:                       Are you two cowards just going to stand here discussing my daughter while she runs off alone into the forest!
JOHN:                         I cannot run…
PETER:                        And this box is too heavy…
MAMA:                       Hush you cowards! For all these years I have sacrificed and struggled alone to make sure that my baby gets an education so that her life will benefit the people of Dukana and now you two let her face uncertain danger alone!
JOHN:                         She is not alone; the spirit of Beeson will protect her…
MAMA:                       Cowards… (SHE EXITS AND THEY FOLLOW)
PETER:                        Wait for us woman…
JOHN:                         We are coming…
Scene 3
                                    (KOMO ENTERS LAUGHING WITH A BIG LEDGER IN HIS ARMS AS HE ADDS UP HIS PROFITS)
KOMO:                       Such a waste, our people fighting each other. At night our neighbours sneak into our village and do such horrible things, such a waste - wasting each other. It pains me. I am a son of Dukana. You can call me its disciple; but all goodness will not exist without its opposite. I am therefore also the one that makes you recognize goodness; I have to live in the shadows and I become the grimace of the dark. I have to be the hell that makes this heaven beautiful. I am a son of many fathers. A son of Dukana, a son of Shell, a son of the oil and a son of the gun: I blaze through the night and suffocate screams in an act of mercy. I am mercy. In fact I am like a God, wielding the power of the son and his father. I am Komo. And like a God of the people, I am split in three parts, a trinity of beasts. They move in me and out of me as I will move in you and out of you. Every leader must know when to step up to the plate; to take action when action is required. Our people die at each other’s hands. I will seek to find out who is behind the barbaric acts and unleash the military on them – better still the police who will do their duty, to their duty’s fill. (SWITCH) 300,000 people marched against us, the traitors. This uneducated throng of bastards shouting slogans, insulting us: their fathers. They no longer worship the shrines that the oil company has erected; they are ungrateful for all that we do for them. They make me out to be the devil, but no! I am the disciple who brings them back to the river; the one who saves them from their sins. They send me in because I know what to do. You will know. I know. Either you are with us, or them! They are terrorists, because they are poor and ugly; but they have a price – everybody has a price in the eyes of the million dollar man. $30 billion for your sins, you filthy devils! (HE SWITCHES) Income is high, way up high. Up where I like it, just the way I like it. Let me see… That’s 2.5 million barrels per day, at $15 per barrel, let me see, let me see… That’s 37 million and five hundred thousand dollars per day. Yes! (HE LAUGHS) 37 million and five hundred thousand dollars – imagine that! (HE LAUGHS) Too, too much dollar for my pocket; 37 million and five hundred thousand dollars multiplied by 364 days, let me see let me see… 13650 Million (HE LAUGHS) Me want to hala me no have wahala! Too, too much dollar for me pocket and what it cost me? Me clever man! Nothing! (HE LAUGHS) Nothing it cost me. Just some many few lives, and many few trees, and many few fishes in the rivers and streams now no good for feeding the people but for making the money is good for me! All this money dollar the people mustn’t make wahala for me be deal with them wahala. Me no take no shit from poor man people with no dollar.
SAA:                            (ENTERS) Every time na de same wahala, Morning to night plenty palava, Na so dem all dem hala, Nigeria don spoil, Nigeria don spoil, Water wey dey boil, No hot like dis Nigeria, Pot sef wey don black propa, Dem fit wash am till ‘e clear, No be so for dis Nigeria, De more you wash, de more ‘e soil, I beg which trouble be dis Nigeria? Nigeria I beg I aks you small question, Na which one be your own condition? Abi you too big to make small sense? Or too young to get any sense? Why all your tings na soso confusion? Even sef dem broke you small small, Every piece go make more confusion, I don tire for dis Nigeria.
KOMO:                       (CONFUSED) But…
FEVZIYE:                    (ENTERS) Silence Komo, let Saa speak.
SAA:                            Look dat one wey be clerk abi officer, Dey wear big big tie for him neck, Trouser suit and worwor shoe, No go sidon for him office to work, Just dey telephone woman dey play pool, Begin dey write confusion for book, Small time now you go hear say, E don tief government money, Akowe na prison you go go, And even sef you no go prison, Better no go follow you for dat house, Wey you take tief money buy.
KOMO:                       My friend, why are you here?
FEVZIYE:                    You will forgive me if I am somewhat straight forward with you today for I speak with the accumulated pain of too many years. We are now at the moment of truth and even friends may at such moments be frank with each other in the interest of their future relationship.
KOMO:                       But…
FEVZIYE:                    Silence!
SAA:                            Bifour-bifour wen de oil company bin dee in big-big trouble with de community, deh go turn to you. Say make you bail dem out, wee be see, your own people gho bigin de talk, see, naa you bi de wahala for money wee you de chop de name.
FEVZIYE:                    That argument will not wash with the people of Dukana who are left to reap a harvest of atmospheric poisoning, water pollution, land devastation and death.
SAA:                            Wetin gho be de fate of Dukana people, if naasoo ibii, see, all de resources we den get, another people kon de uzam to make other community betah? Any person wey say, de people of Dukana gho sidan, kon de wait sotee ikom de happen like dat, him no be betta frien atall.
KOMO:                       But…
FEVZIYE:                    The situation in Dukana is a very desperate one and therefore if you do not want to discuss this matter thoroughly, then you dig mass graves and build larger prisons which can accommodate all women, men and children of Dukana.
SAA:                            De tin be see. Iget 3 matter wee dee for table. De first wan naa environmental degradation, de second wam naa political marginalization, and de third wan naa economic strangulization. De 3 of dem, don make de people of Dukana die plainty, an you know see plainty death, wee another people cos na – genocide – naa real bad tin for where God dee.
FEVZIYE:                    And international law. Dukana’s environment is Shell-shocked and completely devastated.
SAA:                            No biam!
KOMO:                       But…
SAA:                            Silence!
FEVZIYE:                    You have attempted to bully or bribe the people.
SAA:                            De Dukana people naa real yeye people.
FEVZIYE:                    Living in pristine conditions in the absence of electricity, pipe-borne water, telephones, health and educational facilities. It is enough to make every man in Dukana commit suicide.
SAA:                            E don reach de time to do am well... (EXITS)
FEVZIYE:                    Where will they go now? Nowhere, nowhere. Where can they go now? Nowhere, nowhere. Nowhere. Where the young men lost their bones, In lonely trenches, In a plain of agony. Marching to nowhere, Where nothing waits upon nothing, Where the bones await the bones, In a dance of death. What will they do now? They’ll have toads for supper, They had snakes for lunch, And lizards for breakfast. Reptiles are a delicacy, On the survival menu. The cooks of Europe will praise, Their ingenuity, In the survival game! They will play at Rebels, And Vandals, Fill the nation with blood, And scandal. Then they will return as agents, And angels, Laughing and weeping and begging, For minor mercies. Didn’t they know that bones are brittle, That machete swing a bloody path? Didn’t they test the hardness of the egg, On the skin of their teeth, Before dashing it against rocks? Didn’t they know that water turned wine, But once in days of yore? So they should stop their foul breath, From infecting God’s good air.
SAA:                            (O/S) E don really reach de time to do am well!
FEVZIYE:                    The people of Dukana demand freedom, peace and justice! (EXIT)
KOMO:                       (HE CHECKS TO SEE IF THEY HAVE DEPARTED AND THEN TAKES OUTHIS CELLPHONE WORRIEDLY AND SPEAKS AFTER DIALING) Hello general, it is me Chief Komo from Dukana. … Yes I wanted to let you know that I need your help. … Yes, the people are getting restless and we need to teach them another lesson that they won’t forget… No it was the juju priestess this time… Okay general, goodbye. (HE SWITCHES) You see it works like this, in order to protect the oil fields you need the help of the people. The people are there to help us, and only then can we help them. These … natives don’t understand all that we give them: they don’t appreciate it. They’re getting clever because we educate them, and now they think they’re … smart. They want to throw our education back at us. They don’t throw stones anymore; they use fancy words to insult us instead. It’s disgusting! The government, however, is not a government for nothing. The government, thank god, has sense, and realizes that without investment, they cannot rule. Without the company, they do not have the money to keep peace, to keep the people fed. (HE EXITS) The people better wizen up before it is too late…
Scene 4
NAAKU:                     I am not an evil man like they all say. I am just different. I don’t want to fish like every other man in Dukana; I love to see things grow, and to see the results of my daily labour in the abundance of nature, in the reward of the harvest. I find this elevating. I have put much effort into my farm and it is not the usual patch of land planted with food crops for human consumption. No! I am growing a cash crop! Unlike the rest of the people in Dukana, I know that there is a government interested in farmers; I listen to what the government says on the radio; I know that the government is supporting farmers in many ways – particularly farmers like me; farmers who are helping themselves! I make use of these facilities to develop my oil palm plantation. I work very hard, all on my own, deep in the forest of Dukana. I listen to what people are saying and I see what is happening, but my fight is not with the oil company or the government; it is with the people of Dukana – my people – who think that I am evil and up to no good. My heart bleeds for what the people are suffering, but I can only change things for myself and so I will work hard and then build a brick house in town and find a wife and have a family. I will leave Dukana because Dukana has left me…
MARIA:                       Naaku was thin as a rake, taciturn and ugly. From the day he was born with two teeth in his infant mouth, there were rumours of his wickedness; of how he refused to attend school and was envious of all his friends. He had grown to be a man of few words because envy was eating him up. (SLIGHT PAUSE) Everyone said that he was an evil man and worse but no-one dared say anything to his face. He had been to our school but he was not given to book learning and had accepted the fact graciously. He spent a lot of time deep in the forest of Dukana where the land was owned by no-one in particular and where no-one dared to go because it was supposed to hold wicked terrors by day and night.
Scene 5
NAAKU:                     What are you doing here?
MARIA:                       I’m here to find out what you know about Beeson.
NAAKU:                     Who are you?
MARIA:                       My name is Maria, I am Beeson’s fiancé.
NAAKU:                     Yes I remember… He spoke about you often.
MARIA:                       Yes I’m sure. He must have said many things to you for you to able to betray him.
NAAKU:                     What?
MARIA:                       Yes, I know that you are responsible for him disappearing. The people of Dukana know that you betrayed him.
NAAKU:                     The people of Dukana know nothing. They are a superstitious, rumour-mongering lot who do not understand much.
MARIA:                       Speak not of things of which you know nothing and understand less…
NAAKU:                     Maybe it is you who does not understand and maybe I am wasting my time even talking to you. Maybe you are just like them…
MARIA:                       I did not come all this way to have a debate with you. I have come here to this dark and evil place to find out what you have done and if you are man enough you will tell me in honour of his memory.
NAAKU:                     I did not betray Beeson, he was my friend. … My only friend!
MARIA:                       Then why are the people saying…
NAAKU:                     The people’s limitations are many and to live among them is to drag oneself down. Beeson was my friend and even though he loved Dukana, he agreed with me...
MARIA:                       But why would the people say that you betrayed him?
NAAKU:                     I did not betray him, (HE STARES AT HER FOR A MOMENT IN SILENCE) but I know who did.
MARIA:                       Tell me!
NAAKU:                     What are going to do?
MARIA:                       I will avenge his death!
NAAKU:                     (HE TOUCHES HER) Please calm down. I have a message for you from him but first I have to explain what has been going on.
MARIA:                       Why should I trust you?
NAAKU:                     If you want to know the truth then you will have to trust that what I am about to tell you is just that.
MARIA:                       (GLARES AT HIM FOR A MOMENT BEFORE CAPITULATING) I’m sorry…
NAAKU:                     I understand it is not easy for any of us. There is too much fear and suspicion.
MARIA:                       Please tell me what you know…
NAAKU:                     Well, for a long time before he was arrested again Beeson was not able to move about freely because he was being watched…
MARIA:                       By whom?
NAAKU:                     (PAUSE) Maybe I shouldn’t be talking about these things to you…
MARIA:                       Why not? I am his fiancé and you said that you had a message for me from him…
NAAKU:                     You know that there are people among us who are willing to kill so that certain things remain a secret.
MARIA:                       How would they know what you tell me?
NAAKU:                     They have ears everywhere.
MARIA:                       Then why have they not done anything to you?
NAAKU:                     They are not aware that I know anything and if they did, they would not know where to find me.
MARIA:                       But I found you…
NAAKU:                     That’s because I knew you would come. Beeson told me that you would. He told me all about you.
MARIA:                       What did he say?
NAAKU:                     He said that you would soon return and that if he wasn’t back yet, I should make sure that you are safe and that you know the truth about what has been going on.
MARIA:                       Then why won’t you tell me?
NAAKU:                     The last we spoke, Beeson was going away to attend an important meeting, but he was arrested and now he is dead and I am no longer sure what I should say…
MARIA:                       To every man upon this earth, Death cometh soon or late, And how can man die better, Than facing fearful odds, For the ashes of his fathers, And the temples of his Gods?
NAAKU:                     Yes, but there are powerful forces involved and you know that they will think nothing of taking another life. To them nine lives are but a trifling inconvenience to be disposed of; the only thing that matters is profit.
MARIA:                       We must stop them!
NAAKU:                     They will not be stopped so easily. They are murderers and powerful businessmen and politicians and the police and military are in their back pockets, feeding off the scraps that are spared at their banquet of avarice.
MARIA:                       Now you are scaring me…
NAAKU:                     Sometimes our fears are portents of that which we fail to understand... (PAUSE) It was not so long ago. … Coming up the stairs, Through the light drizzle, One dark night I met him, One with the darkness. I stopped for a moment, Frightened, Tense. He laughed gently and I relaxed, Happy to find, In spite of the gun, He was still a man. It lit the dark, That gentle laugh, In the pith of night… But it was only the low laugh, Of one who was soon to die. And now my loss of his friendship saddens me…
MARIA:                       Please Naaku tell me what is going on?
NAAKU:                     (PAUSE) You must promise that you will not mention a word to anyone because I cannot have your blood on my hands.
MARIA:                       (SHOCKED SILENCE) I, I cannot make any promises.
NAAKU:                     Think carefully because to speak out is to flirt with certain annihilation.
MARIA:                       But…
NAAKU:                     Silence, The vows of silence, They must be kept. For you cannot speak, While the guns roar, And you cannot cry, Where you’ll not be heard, For the loud resonance, Of an empty lie. Silence. And the vows of silence, Must be kept, Or else…
MARIA:                       Emotional pressures, Frequent and facile demands, Anaesthetize, Pervert consciences. Objective detachment, Sound judgment, And charity. Prove too high, impractical… So we proclaim a moratorium – For the meantime, Only the meantime. My friend, In mean times, We assume coats, Which become us, As we become them, During the meantime and, After the meantime, We have a system.
NAAKU:                     (SLIGHT PAUSE) No-one who met him ever forgot his aura. It remained with you like exotic cologne and it wasn’t just the remarkable physical presence with the near omnipresent pipe. It was the spirit of warrior ancestors that always reminded one of Faa Koli, that Sunjata epic general of the Senegambia who though very short, always bent down before passing through a door. Beeson was the son of a chief and a scholar who began devoting his time to human rights and environmental causes in Dukana when he realized that Komo didn’t care about the plight of the people …
MARIA:                       What has Komo got to do with any of this?
NAAKU:                     He knows more than he is telling…
MARIA:                       What do you mean?
NAAKU:                     The Chief is doing the company’s bidding.
MARIA:                       The oil company?
NAAKU:                     They are worse than criminals.
MARIA:                       But how is Komo involved?
NAAKU:                     That I cannot say but what I can tell you is that he was the only person who knew where Beeson was going to be on the morning that he was arrested.
MARIA:                       What?
NAAKU:                     Yes, he sent a message to Beeson saying that he wanted to have a meeting…
MARIA:                       I don’t believe you. Why would the chief of the people of Dukana betray the village’s favourite son?
NAAKU:                     Komo’s heart has been blackened by the profits of oil. He has been in bed with the company for many years and does their bidding every time they need it.
MARIA:                       But if Beeson knew this then why did he go to the meeting?
NAAKU:                     Beeson always believed that Komo would realize that what he was doing was a betrayal of the people’s trust and that somehow he would have a change of heart and mend his ways.
MARIA:                       (PAUSE) So what happened?
NAAKU:                     The Company decided that Beeson must die. They had four elders killed and then accused Beeson and his colleagues of the murders. A tribunal was set up and without delay Beeson was found guilty along with his colleagues. All that is except one…
MARIA:                       But why save just one?
NAAKU:                     You are not the only person who is asking that question, but be that as it may, nine men had to die for a lie that was created to ensure the company’s profits. They paid witnesses who testified against him and threatened witnesses who were going to testify for him and after all is said and done…
MARIA:                       Why would they go to all that trouble?
NAAKU:                     They believed that Beeson was a dangerous man. They believed that if he wanted he could incite the people…
MARIA:                       But why?
NAAKU:                     They are afraid that the people will stand up and put a stop to the rape and pillage of the natural resources and the murder of innocent people; that they would stand together against the might of authority and the backlash of corporate retribution. The company decided that Beeson had to die to ensure the steady flow of profits into their coffers.
MARIA:                       A war is not a war until a brother kills a brother.
NAAKU:                     Money makes people mad and madness makes people do evil, terrible things. Komo is touched by this madness and he will be responsible for more evil if he is not stopped. Here is the message that Beeson left for you…
MARIA:                       (SHE READS IN SILENCE)
NAAKU:                     Creator of Ogoni, Land of Glory and wealth, Grant us thy peace and lasting love, Plant justice over our land, Give us thy wisdom and the strength, To shame our enemies. Creator of Ogoni, Land of glory and wealth, Grant everlasting blessings Lord…
MARIA:                       We have to do something! (SHE PREPARES TO EXIT)
NAAKU:                     I will not leave my farm. Dukana’s problems are not my own and Beeson knew what he was getting himself into when he took up the cause. I am just a simple farmer with a dream for my own future. Please be careful Maria…
MARIA:                       I will, thank you Naaku. Thank you for everything… And for nothing… (SHE EXITS)
NAAKU:                     (PAUSE) Corpses have grown, And covered the land, The xylophone of the deceased chief, Is still, has forgot the past. Ancestral spirits driven from home, Walk tearful abroad, The orphaned land weeps. We have squatted before the shrines, Have bled our knees in pain, The morning libation is vain, In vain the loud name call, At the feast of the new yam, The sacrificial cocks are dumb. The old year is dead, And the new unheralded, By shouts of children, Seeps sadly into empty homes, And the mortar falls at dusk, In the empty bridal chamber, Where lovers entwined like snakes, Made soft music to silence. Earth echoes with alien sounds – Stuttering rifles, weird moans – And the harsh face of war, Fills the land with abomination. (HE EXITS)
Scene 6
                                    (ENTER MAMA AND PETER)
MAMA:                       (ANGST) What are we to do?
PETER:                        We have to be patient, we have to wait.
MAMA:                       What useless advice you give to a mother who grieves too soon.
PETER:                        Your grief is premature and your joy will be delayed a while longer…
MAMA:                       My grief is real and while you stand here talking nonsense, sweet Maria is facing unknown demons on her own…
PETER:                        Ask not how I know, but deep in my heart I feel that Maria will return before too long.
MAMA:                       Oh how I hope and pray that your feeling is true for what will tomorrow be without the hope that my dear Maria instills in me.
PETER:                        It is not hope that will win this war that we have to fight and that is why we will be defeated because while we are hoping the enemy is fighting. 
MAMA:                       Speak not of war because you know not what victory costs.
PETER:                        No matter what the cost, we must win otherwise we will all die and rot here in Dukana to fertilize the soil for the enemy’s crops. We must crush the enemy and destroy all of those that oppose our right to self-determination!
MAMA:                       And all you do is talk while the young men go off to die.
PETER:                        We all have our role to play…
MAMA:                       I know the truth of what you speak as if war is just a topic of discussion. Were you there to see white balls of fire, Ascend the sky at dusk, Then fall into the thick copses, Where the youthful enemy lay, Were you there to see the stump, Of the sergeant’s leg borne dutifully, Into the young doctor’s room, Were you there to see sticking out, Of the shallow sandy grave, As though in supplication, The bony palms of the bombed soldier, You would not smile at the radio account, Of victories and smashed battalions.
JOHN:                         (ENTERS LOOKING DEVASTATED AS HE STARES BLANKLY AT THEM UNABLE TO SPEAK)
PETER:                        What is the matter my friend?
MAMA:                       What happened?
JOHN:                         (HE TRIES TO SPEAK BUT ENDS UP TRYING TO GESTICULATE AND DESCRIBE THE EVENTS THAT HE HAD WITNESSED)
PETER:                        What?
MAMA:                       A bulldozer…
PETER:                        Many bulldozers…
MAMA:                       Destruction?
PETER:                        Destroyed…
MAMA:                       Houses…
PETER:                        Crops…
MAMA:                       Beatings…
PETER:                        Another gas-flare?
MAMA:                       Another pipeline!
JOHN:                         (HE CRIES OUT IN ANGUISH) Argh!
PETER:                        Ah my friend…
JOHN:                         They destroyed Waale’s farm and her house and beat her when she tried to protest.
MAMA:                       I must go to my friend…
PETER:                        No I will go and you can wait for Maria… (HE EXITS)
JOHN:                         It’s no use…
MAMA:                       We know, but we cannot give up. They want to enslave us and place our very souls in their prisons, but we cannot let them!
JOHN:                         It is not the leaking roof, Nor the singing mosquitoes, In the damp, Wretched cell. It is not the clank of the key, As the warder locks you in. It is not the measly rations, Unfit for man or beast, Nor yet the emptiness of day, Dipping into the blankness of night, It is not, It is not, It is not. It is the lies that have been drummed, Into your ears for one generation, It is the security agent running amok, Executing callous calamitous orders, In exchange for a wretched meal a day, The magistrate writing in her book, Punishment she knows is undeserved, The moral decrepitude, Mental ineptitude, Lending dictatorship spurious legitimacy, Cowardice masked as obedience, Lurking in our denigrated souls, It is fear dampening trousers, We dare not wash off our urine, It is this, It is this, It is this, Dear friend, turns our free world, Into a dreary prison.
MARIA:                       (ENTERS) And now I know who is the key!
JOHN:                         Did you find Naaku?
MARIA:                       Yes, but he did not betray Beeson. I must find Komo. (SHE EXTS)
MAMA:                       Wait my child, we are coming with you…
                                    (THEY EXIT)
Scene 7
                                    (ENTER KOMO SPEAKING ON A MOBILE PHONE) (NB! THE CHORUS IS MAMA & PETER RESPONDING OR SPEAKING SIMULTANEOUSLY)
KOMO:                       Yes general of course, I will not trouble you with such small concerns. … Yes general of course, thank you. … Yes thanks. … Okay, yes thank you again general. … I will. … I promise. … Absolutely! … Okay general, yes good bye. (HE REFLECTS FOR A MOMENT) Well, for better or for worse, that’s that! After all the people must know that I will not tolerate any acts of terror, and all types of murder and killing must be crushed. I will murder the murderer, and kill the killer. The military is part of the government and the government is part of the military and after all is said and done, it is the job of all law abiding citizens to kill those who kill, and murder those who murder. To kill someone is not easy. To murder him is even more difficult. And even more tricky, is to kill a killer who has not yet killed; but the most difficult thing of all is to kill the murderer of a killer who has not killed until he is dead. It takes … a particular art to do this. In fact, you have to be a strategist. Maybe a little bit brutal, a little bit cold; but then again, a little bit warm on the inside, to show a smile every now and again: they call it charm. I mean, you might not want an appointment with me on the killing field, but in the office, I am man enough to offer you some tea with sugar and even maybe a biscuit. … Now, in order to do these things — in other words, to specialize in murdersome activities — these things require a little recompense in return. As the chief it is always alarming to witness the carnage committed against my people by evil leaders. I remember the days when we fought against the colonialist – and let me remind you that we had a bloodless war – and still we became free, proving that we are a peaceful country and we believe in the interests of all our many ethnic groups, the big ones especially, and our little brothers and sisters – the minorities. It is important for us to remember that all little children must have their big brothers to protect them, because they are few, and they will always suffer the possibility of extinction. But as a big brother it is our duty to protect the little children and to do this, as I said, requires a little recompense in return. These little children are our brothers on their little patch of land, and they have lots of oil. It is important for us in our big brotherly way, to ensure that this oil is used for the greater good. It’s all about numbers, you see. If a small group of ants discovers water, and the larger groups of ants in its territory do not have water, democratically speaking, the larger group is entitled to that water, because it serves a greater purpose. If the minority does not wish to share, then the tolerance of its big brother will be eroded. As a chief of a small people, I become a big brother too, a custodian; there to ensure that the right decisions are made, and to ensure that we, who have this wonderful natural resource, are being fair to the rest of our people.
(ENTER MARIA FOLLOWED BY MAMA AND JOHN)
MARIA:                       Komo…
KOMO:                       Hello my child, my friends…
CHORUS:                   Our chief…
KOMO:                       My heart feels for you my child.
CHORUS:                   We all feel for you…
MARIA:                       Traitor!
CHORUS:                   What?
KOMO:                       Traitor?
MARIA:                       Why did you betray Beeson?
KOMO:                       What?
CHORUS:                   What?
MARIA:                       I heard all about how you called him to the meeting where the police managed to arrest him.
KOMO:                       Oh child, who has been spreading such vicious rumours?
CHORUS:                   Naaku?!
MARIA:                       Is it then not true that you called Beeson to the meeting?
KOMO:                       Yes but…
CHORUS:                   (THEY BOTH INHALE AUDIBLY)
MARIA:                       And is it not true that you have received money from the oil company?
KOMO:                       Yes but…
MARIA:                       And is it not true that you were paid to call Beeson to a meeting?
CHORUS:                   A son of Dukana!
KOMO:                       But, but…
MARIA:                       Is it not true that you were paid by the company to betray the people?
CHORUS:                   Paid by the company?!
KOMO:                       I got paid for doing my work!
MARIA:                       How could you do such a thing?
CHORUS:                   We trusted you…
KOMO:                       (HE FLIES INTO A SUDDEN RAGE) Who told you these things? Who do you think you are to accuse your chief of betraying his people? Do you know that I can have you thrown in prison for this crime against my authority?
CHORUS:                   Oh Maria!
MARIA:                       (SHE TAKES OUT THE MESSAGE AND HANDS IT TO MAMA AND PETER) I have all the proof here: arrests, imprisonment, sanctioned destruction of farmlands,
CHORUS:                   Indiscriminate beatings, torture, police harassment, displacement, military collusion, force and violence!
MARIA:                       Wanton environmental degradation, sponsored militia attacks, house arrests, massacres and murder!
CHORUS:                   (LOOKING UP FROM THE MESSAGE) Murderer! Traitor!
KOMO:                       I am innocent, I can explain… They said there is a man; one man – the man. They said he wears bright colours; hot blood spewing, like oil from the ground. They said he speaks of a people that seek justice. They said he is a danger-man; the danger-man – just one man, the man. They said he sings anthems on one foot, carrying a red book, fingering its pages and smiling – just one man; this danger-man. They said he smokes a peace pipe with 300,000 others and denies us our daily bread. They said this man; just a man, one man, the danger-man will become king. They said every poor man will sing. They said he must hang. He must hang for Dukana. There was a man, just one man – the man. He haunts me like no other, he too is a son — he instilled fear in my bones, and yet he was a son without a gun. They said that sons without guns can go and sing in the gallows. It is not me who said these things…
MARIA:                       (SCREAMING) No one wants to hear your stories!
CHORUS:                   We’ve heard it too many times before but now we won’t believe your lies.
KOMO:                       This is all just a plot to discredit me good people. Pay no heed to these accusations…
MARIA:                       Are you going to stand there and call Beeson a liar?
CHORUS:                   Defiling the soul of a dead man that you helped to kill! Coward!
MARIA:                       How dare you besmirch the character of one so noble while you grovel in the gutter for hand-outs from your depraved taskmaster!
CHORUS:                   Such filth belongs in the gutter! If Beeson could hear you now he would turn in his grave…
                                    (ENTER BEESON)
BEESON:                    I can do better…
MARIA:                       Oh Beeson!
CHORUS:                   Oh Beeson son of Dukana!
KOMO:                       You!
BEESON:                    Traitorous coward! What lies do you want to spread now?
(MARIA JOINS MAMA AND PETER IN THE CHORUS)
CHORUS:                   The spirit of Beeson has come for retribution!
BEESON:                    It is not retribution or revenge that I seek.
KOMO:                       Then what is it that you want from me?
BEESON:                    The people of Dukana must know the truth! The people demand freedom, peace and justice!
CHORUS:                   Freedom, peace and justice!
BEESON:                    Remember O Lord, what has befallen us; behold and see our disgrace! Our inheritance has been turned over to strangers, our homes to aliens. We have become orphans, fatherless; our mother’s are like widows. We must pay for the water we drink, the wood we get must be bought. With a yoke on our necks, we are hard driven; we are driven; we are weary, we are given no rest. We have given the land to Egypt, and Assyria, to get bread enough. Our fathers sinned and are no more; and we bare their iniquities. Slaves rule over us; there is none to deliver us from their hand. We get our bread at the peril of our lives, because of the sword in the wilderness. Our skin is as hot as an oven with the burning heat of famine. Women are ravished in Zion, virgins in the town of Judah. Princes are hung up by their hands; no respect is shown to the elders. Young men are compelled to grind at the mill; and boys stagger under loads of wood. The old men have quit the city gate, the young men their music. The joy of our hearts has ceased; our dancing has been turned to mourning. The crown has fallen from our head; woe to us, for we have sinned! For this our heart has become sick, for these things our eyes have grown dim, for mount Zion which lies desolate; jackals prowl over it. But thou, O Lord, dost reign for ever, thy throne endures to all generations. Why dost thou forget us for ever, why dost thou so long forsake us? Restore us to thyself O Lord, that we may be restored! Renew our days as of old! Or hast thou utterly rejected us? Art thou exceedingly angry with us?
KOMO:                       The Lord God cannot help you now; you have to negotiate with the company. Shell is the new God of Nigeria
CHORUS:                   The flares of Shell are flames of hell, We bake beneath their light, Naught for us save the blight, Of cursed neglect and cursed Shell.

BEESON:                    Since oil was discovered in Dukana by Royal Dutch Shell in 1958, about 900 million barrels of oil of estimated value 30 billion US dollars have been mined from the area since then.
CHORUS:                   And we don’t have a cent!
BEESON:                    In 1990 the people of Dukana took stock of their condition and found that in spite of the stupendous oil and gas wealth of their land, they were extremely poor, had no social amenities, that unemployment was running at over 70% and that they were powerless, as an ethnic minority in a country of 100 million people, to do anything to alleviate their condition.
CHORUS:                   A poor, unemployed, disregarded ethnic minority!
BEESON:                    Worse, the environment was completely devastated by three decades of reckless oil exploitation and ecological warfare by Shell. In brief, the people of Dukana were faced with environmental degradation, political marginalization, economic strangulation, slavery and possible extinction.
CHORUS:                   Environmental degradation, political marginalization, economic strangulation, slavery and possible extinction!
BEESON:                    Shell has waged an ecological war that is highly lethal, the more so as it is unconventional. It is omnicidal in its effect. Human life, flora, fauna, the air, fall at its feet and finally the land itself dies. This is violence at its height although society is not aware of its methods and effects. Generally, it is supported by all the traditional instruments ancillary to warfare – propaganda, money and deceit. Victory is assessed by profits and in this sense Shell’s victory in Dukana has been total!
CHORUS:                   But the spirit of our fallen leaders and martyrs lives on!
BEESON:                    There has been an alliance between the oil companies and the previous military dictatorship as well as the current federal government which has at times endorsed widespread and indiscriminate violence physical, cultural, psychological, social and environmental.
CHORUS:                   Physical, cultural, psychological, social and environmental.
BEESON:                    This cozy, criminal relationship stems from the fact that Shell alleges that under Nigerian law, when a threat to any of its installations or oilfields is perceived or suspected, it is required to immediately call in the military to visit the threatening community with physical violence, but despite their use of largely disproportionate force, our struggle remained a non-violent one for many years even though we were fully aware that in non-violent struggle more people die than in armed struggle.
CHORUS:                   Too many have died; there is too much death!
BEESON:                    I have gazed into the traitorous heart of the abyss, Corporate demons and the greed of power have snuffed out my life, but my spirit is one with Dukana. Murder by decree not signed in the black ink of the white man, but stamped with his black oil. Enforcing a prophecy of doom drenched in the blood of the executed; a strangled groan echoing among the tombs of the gallows, dragging limbs through the slaughterhouse of the living! A chorus of the persecuted forged in the fire of passion, alive in the song of the poet. Maybe only now but never too late to act in the nick of time; but in the meantime, these mean times will persist. Oozing from a cracked shell – a Royal Dutch Shell – shelled and shocked and shackled. Muted notions of concession screaming complicity! Retreating forward back to your windmills and tulips. Dried lips, cracked lips, stretched lips grimacing the rictus smile of anguish. No tulips will grow here, strangled and pierced by treacherous thorns to rip the flesh of the fishermen and farmers and little boys and girls of untold villages. Villagers expire defiled and desecrated by the thorny barbs of your intention: laying waste to our fields and crops, crushing the truth of ancient wisdom with the hammer of your attention. Gas-flare scars soiling the trousers of the palm wine drunkard scribbling an incoherent prophecy for unsuspecting souls. The pensive rustle of silence amid the belching refinery growls; yet, though hard of listening, you can hear the call issuing forth from the fractured mouths of those who spoke too loud about the death rattle of the new born: is this music, our music? The noble prophecy of Dukana hung, the tainted stained shell swinging, from the broken arm of a grinding, crushing windmill returning to the sea of tulips swaying there. But never, never forever!
CHORUS:                   Our voices will be heard across the world. We, the people of Dukana demand freedom, peace and justice now!
MARIA:                       How I envy you, brown eyes, That you can laugh and sing, And sleep in bliss, While I, I’m storm tossed, In tormenting billows that lash me, Furiously from shore to shore. My smile a quirkish, mirthless grin, My sleep a garish closing of the eyes. This prayer of the listless insomniac, I dedicate to your eternal bliss. May you always laugh and sing, Young innocence, e’en when storms, Towering high wash me down, Cavernous chasms of despair, Then turn their fury on your tenderness.
(THE CAST TAKES A BOW AND ARE JOINED BY MEMBERS OF OSF)
CHORUS:                   Aake aake pia-Ogoni aake, Ii lee yirana ko nyo-uwe azia-ii, Sitam sitam pia-Ogoni sitam, Ii lee yirana ko nyo-uwe azia-ii, Nor-kpa nor-kpa pia-Ogoni nor-kpa, Ii lee yirana ko nyo-uwe azia-ii, Benor benor pia-Ogoni benor, Ii lee yirana ko nyo-uwe azia-ii, Enga enga pia-Ogoni enga, Ii lee yirana ko nyo-uwe azia-ii
(THE END)