The Crisis

CHARACTERS

ZIMA-Husband to Mrs. Zima

MRS ZIMA-Wife to Zima

WETO-Mrs. Zima’s son

MAGGIE    -Mrs. Zima neighbor

MAMA LEO -Mrs. Zima neighbor

CHIEF

 [The play takes place in Mrs. Zima’s house. The room is simple. A single table is at the center of the room and behind it an old stool. At the right of the room is a door and to the left a half closed window. At the left corner a child of seven or eight is huddled up crying in misery with an empty plate in front of him. Five minutes later a woman of lean body and dressed in simple attire enters the room].

Mrs. Zima: Weto! Weto! Stop crying. Wipe those tears on your face, stupid brat! (She draws near the boy). Must I tell you there is no food to eat in this house, huh- (She picks the plate and flings it into the far corner with fury). Wipe those tears before I – (A knock. She pauses a while then composes herself and walks to the door and opens it). Ah, Maggie, it’s you…

Maggie: Thank you Mrs. Zima. I passed by to remind you of what the chief said. (They both enter the room. Weto is now mum).

Mrs. Zima: But it is not today. Not tomorrow either.

Maggie: It will be Friday starting around 9 a.m. The chief made the announcement at the market place.

Mrs. Zima: Maggie things are degenerating to worse. Since last night we have tasted nothing. Look at Weto. (She points at her boy). He’s been weeping there like a bereaved kid.

Maggie: Bereaved of his basic need: food. Times are hard. (Without having been told, Maggie sits on the only stool behind a table).

Mrs. Zima: Will we survive this thing Maggie? You see everybody is running mad because of this drought. Zima is never at home. And he has no work he attends to imagine. When night falls and crickets start singing, he drags himself drunk to the house. Drinks chang’a from Monday to Sunday.

Maggie: But my husband says the government is trying.

Mrs. Zima: With what? (Extremely agitated).

Maggie: Don’t you see the maize being distributed? Even Unga. I support my husband on that.
(Long Silence).

 
Mrs. Zima: Maize, Unga or whatever it is I don’t care. What is the need of a government when it cannot sufficiently feed its masses? Tell me that. A child like Weto misses two meals a day and you support your husband and his lies. Telling me about the bloody government! (Maggie’s face creases and she is now breathing hard).

Maggie: Not that I support the gov- (Another knock. Both eye one another perplexed. Then in unison):

Mrs. Zima and Maggie: Come in. (After a short while the door opens and a plump woman of chocolate complexion and visible cheek bones enters).

 
Mama Leo: I heard you talking as I was going to the market. (Extending a handshake to both).

Mrs. Zima: Welcome. (She realizes there’s no seat for her visitor. All along she’s been standing herself. She unwraps her leso and stretches it on the floor. Together they sit there with Mama Leo).

Maggie:  (To Mama Leo). How is your son doing after the Malaria that hit him?

Mama Leo: Improving gradually. No money to take it to the hospital. But still I doubt whether it’s Malaria. Do you think so Mama Weto?

Maggie: If it’s not Malaria then what is it?

Mama Leo: The crisis. Maggie, the crisis. You know the crisis. Need I say what is ailing my son? Our cattle. Our families are being shattered. It is a crisis. Mad crisis! And yes, amidst all of it- (Pauses to evaluate what she is about to say) my fellows-somebody is profiting. Out of our hell, manna is falling on somebody’s plate. Somebody is paradising… (From a distant they can hear a drunken slur. A man is cursing bitterly: “What’s the gaaaaaaaavament…what’s the gaaaaaaaavament…”).

Mrs. Zima: (To both of them). You have to leave. Zima is on his way. These days he gets really violent. Please, Maggie, Mama Leo, not in bad taste though. Understand. (Both women pull themselves up and head to the door and open it. Moments later they bang the door behind them.  The boy who had been playing with a wooden-made toy car has also heard his father). 

 
Weto: Is father coming with food, mother?

Mrs. Zima: Alcohol morning. Alcohol evening. My son where do you expect food to come from? (Suddenly, the door is violently opened and a shirtless man storms drunkenly).

Zima: Food! Food! Get me something to eat. I am hungry and want only food.

Mrs. Zima: Baba Weto, where do-

Zima: Woman! Woman! Please don’t push me to that!

Mrs. Zima: But where is that food coming from? (Pityingly). I have nowhere to find that food. You know that Baba Weto.

Zima: (Enraged to limits). So I pay rent! Pay school fees! Medical bills of this football family! Pay your- (He hesitates to gather his words. He then heads toward his wife eyes flashing of anger. Weto sensing another fight is going to happen decides to break into a loud wail that kills the occasion). You are very lucky, woman! That boy has saved you. (He then makes some inaudible slurs and counts his fingers repeatedly). In less than two days time, is it?

Mrs. Zima: Yes. They announced it.

Zima: Less than two days. Only less than two days remaining? (Rather to himself).

Mrs Zima: Yes. (He ignores her and staggers to the door and the woman rushes to open for him. He stands at the doorstep with head drooped then with command): 

Zima: Get Weto something to eat. Do you hear?

Mrs Zima: (Submissively) Yes. (He leaves and staggers backs into the dark night. Long silence dominates during which Mrs. Zima goes where her son was and lights a primus stove. She takes some flour and mixes it with water then places a sufuria on the stove. It’s a little flour but she will try her best. The boy’s face has brightened up at the sight of the ongoing activity. After some moments, Weto is served with a watery gruel that her mother also takes. But as she now cleans the cups, suddenly a gentle knock again). Come in. we are there… (Before she even finishes, a burly man in government uniform enters gently). Ah, Chief, welcome. (She brings him the stool).

Chief: Don’t worry Mama Weto. I’ll be okay. Thank you. (Sitting himself). How are things anyway mother of all children?

Mrs. Zima: As always Chief. Survival a day. If we see another sunrise we return thanks to God.

Chief: The government is abating the storm. I think you remember the magnitude of the situation about a month ago. When people died of starvation for the first time here in our village.

Mrs. Zima: I remember the deaths. Yes I remember them. A mother and her two children. How can I forget that Chief?

Chief: And you know what role the government has played. (His eyes that have been darting in the room finally spot the boy). By the way, come with him on Friday at my office. The government has a special package for children under nine.

Mrs. Zima: How many tins or as usual? (She is now multitasking, conversing while arranging the plates in a basin).

Chief: The government cannot give more than one ‘gorogoro.’ There are other areas ravaged worse than here by the drought. (His phone rings and he answers. After some moments, he resumes). As I was saying mother of all children, the government cannot be a laughing stock. You are the people who go on demonstration demanding for equality and equity. You know how to chant ‘Haki Yetu.’ Your rights. And it’s those wishes and rights that we are serving. Equitably that is.

Mrs. Zima: Even coffins for the dead. (Sarcastically). A government of real equality and equity. It’s quick on burying the dead but slow on letting them live. A government of real equality and equity. Miseries that make me ashamed to say we have a government. What is the government that cannot feed its people? A government that is hasty only in our funerals. A government send off you call it. State funeral.

Chief: (He’s been pressing his phone repeatedly). Let’s forget that government equality and those other convoluted things. After all, I am just but an employee and you don’t expect me to burn the finger that feeds me. Forget that now. Let me go straight to what brought me- (He halts mid-sentence and seductively admires the model body of Mama Weto. He smiles at the beholding sight of beauty). I think you know.

Mrs. Zima: (Apprehensively). No.  I have not been told anything. Not even your youths have come here, Chief.

Chief: Not that one mother of all children. You can’t simply add one plus one and I hear you are the only educated woman around here. Beauty and brains package. Radiant face as the moon. Neck as that of a giraffe. Orange-shaped breasts full of honey sweetness. (He has now stood up and still admires Mrs. Zima). Fine legs, round- (He now walks toward her to seize her).

Mrs. Zima: (Springs away with rage and confusion). No chief. You can’t do that. Please. I respect you a lot. I know you can’t do that.

Chief: (Rooted at the same spot). Who will know? None. You can send him (Looking at the boy) to the neighbors now. I know that alcoholic does not come at this time.

Mrs. Zima: No Chief. I can’t. (Wheeling backwards as the Chief draws nearer). Do you know the scandal all this will bring?

Chief: I am the chief authority here Mama Weto. I call the shots. All disputes. Everything is under my control. Everything. Who challenges the lion in the jungle?

Mrs. Zima: I said I can’t. (Extremely enraged and louder now). Don’t make me scream on you.Weto! 

Weto! (The boy who had disappeared in the bedroom comes running and is shocked by the two people).

Weto: What has my mother done Chief? (Innocently). Please forgive my mother.

Mrs. Zima: Weto.

Weto: Yes mother.

(To be continued...)