The Crisis

                               (For those still struggling to survive)

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

[Previously on The Crisis: Mrs. Zima has received numerous visitors who include the Chief of the village. A ravaging hunger has swept across several households and citizens seem to be giving up. However, beneath the predicament of the villagers is a Chief with lewd motives; an act that will test to the core the limits of Mrs. Zima’s husband]. 

Mrs. Zima: Run quickly to Maggie’s place and tell them we are being attacked by the Chief. I am helpless. Run quick, son. (As the boy makes for the door, the chief hastily blocks him and threatens to cane him. He recoils in terror and runs back to the door adjacent to the main door that leads to the bedroom whimpering).

Chief: Look woman (Yelling). The relief food to be supplied on Friday is under my supreme authority. I know you know. And if you want to be on the right side then roll with me. (Beggingly). Look, nobody will discover about this. And Mama Weto you know how I have always admired you. Do you want to embarrass me tonight. Ladies night remember. 

Mrs. Zima: You want to blackmail me.

Chief: No that way. I cannot do such a thing. And you know.

Mrs. Zima: Then please leave my house before Zima storms in here. You know his drunken violence. Don’t you?

Chief: Look, only tonight. You will get two tins plus the special package for the kid. I mean, picture it this way: On Friday your other five or is it six children will be coming around and are looking forward to the one ‘gorogoro.’ And you understand only my command; my supreme authority will have the final say. Then you miss it. (Long silence). Entire family. Picture that scenario. Is it worth it? (Silence). Yes, try to think of it. Now will you- I mean can we go there- (He gestures at the door of the bedroom) and…you know these things mother of all the beautiful ones…(Mrs. Zima looks confused. The prospect of missing the relief food has completely dazed her.  She seems indecisive. She speaks inside her mind:”Do or not do. Sleep with him and get the two tins plus the package or refuse his sexual advances? O God help me make a sound decision.”). Think wisely poor woman. Here is your chance. Make or break. They say opportunity at times comes dressed in funny attire and you ignore only to regret later. Mark my words: This is a godsend opportunity. Many women are dying to have this chance before you right now. (Long silence. Then suddenly the door is violently opened and Zima enters still staggering then stops after banging it shut behind him).

Zima: So, so, so, who do we have here? Is it the Chief? What are you doing in my poor house at this hour?

Chief: (Completely shocked). I am the authority. I can visit any household at any hour I like. Are you answered?

Zima: You steal relief food and hide them in your home. Sacks upon sacks of government property. Employ your relatives and children to the distribution committee. Steal bags for your village sycophants. Fellow thieves. And still you are not satisfied. You sleep with poor men’s wives. You exchange government aid for sex with our wives, Chief. And you growl everywhere: I am the authority. I can visit any household at any hour I like. So dark the con of man, no wonder it was said. Do you think we are blinded by your abuse of office?

Chief: Don’t turn this erstwhile peaceful forum into an insult ring. I said I am the overall authority and it remains so because the law mandates that.

Zima: (Drawing nearer to the chief menacingly): Mandates to come and seduce my wife at night, huh? Tell me. I am ignorant. Prove me wrong that the Law is not an ass. 

(Thoroughly exasperated, the chief grabs Zima by his button less shirt and thumps his face sending him sprawling on the floor. He then attempts to knock him in the abdomen while accusing him of being behind a cartel dirtying his name in the village. Mrs. Zima is now screaming and the boy has also joined her in the chorus of wails. Zima fights his way on the ground and manages to rise and knock his opponent on the chin with his right knee. He reaches to seize the stool but the chief beats him on his game by jumping on both of his legs. Zima falls with a heavy thud face first on the hard concrete. He takes times to regain then espies a kitchen knife in the basin).

Mrs. Zima: Please you are mature people. Stop this! Chief! Zima! Stop this! Please stop it!

Zima: He is going to know what stuff I am made of. Wait. (He crawls and finally grabs the knife. The chief pounces to snatch the knife but it is too late. He hits Zima again on the face as Zima attempts to rise up. But he before he complements with another last punch, Zima drives the knife twice into his pot-belly. The Chief drops to the floor while blood profusely decorates the floor). Go call the police. Call the police I have killed a criminal Mama Weto. (Zima commands, the knife still dripping of fresh blood).

Mrs. Zima: Murder! They will call it murder! And they will not understand. A family of our standing, only cold-blood murder will fit. Why? Why have you killed him? (She breaks into a wail).

Zima: It is better I go to jail for it. If it is the price to pay for your dignity against all this suffocating injustices, indignity, inequality, so be it. They take us for a ride always but it cannot be all the time. I have done what every sensible poor man could have done. And I have nothing left with except this burning pride of standing up for our household. Mama Weto you are my only source of pride in this misery and darkness of Life. (And he turns to the audience solemnly: If you were me, what could you have done?)

Mrs Zima: And so you kill the government?

Zima: My dignity! My respect! (He walks to the door and opens it then without further ceremony escapes into the dark night. Moments later neighbors rush into the house all in wails. Weto is crying even louder than before.)

THE CURTAIN FALLS

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...)

How to Euthanise a Cactus: Book Review

                                    (In memory of Kofi Awoonor. A poet has fallen)
                                       

           Poetry as a genre of literature attains among other functions raising socio-political awareness. How to Euthanise a Cactus by Stephen Derwent Partington (SDP) actually does that without wasting time. The anthology plunges the reader into ‘Nightmares’ as the first poem. And the whole experience is bleak and nightmarish.  

            He begins: “There are truths we cannot write/for fear of jinx” and continues; with absolute melancholy: “There is an old, unspoken contract/that obliges us to leave such dreams/unspoken./We compact them like a grave.” The poet sets the stage for horrible things happening to fellow humanity of which we have little intervention hence he quips: “the death we couldn’t act to alter.” 

            Later, the book veers off into the heartlessness and deceit that characterized the Post Election Violence (PEV) after ‘stolen’ presidential elections in 2007. Recounting the incidents of January and February 2008; the poet employs irony to mock at peace. He says in ‘Lethe’: “When peace erupted, none of us was ready.” However, the next poem praises those who refused to participate in the orgy of violence that claimed about 1,333 Kenyans with several displaced. SDP lauds those who changed their minds at the last minute out of empathy and human sensibility; something that separates us from beasts.

             In ‘Wonder of the World: A Study of Exodus’ the poet scorns at the obsession with the wildebeest migration that was declared the seventh wonder of world when evicted children wandered helplessly without a place to go.

            Other poems tackle various themes ranging from geopolitical issues such as the ‘The Arab-Israeli Question’ to political hypocrisy in ‘Politicised Funerals.’ Notably, ‘Shopping in Zimbabwe’ grabs the limelight with its satirical shots aimed at a country presently accustomed to sanctions. SDP observes: “In a lush land, nothing grows/along the furrows of the shelves.” But things are depressing if the citizens lack means of survival. “Behind, the mortuary supermarket, /cool and white, is offering its shelves.” 

            Empty promises aimed at the youth are covered in ‘Dream Deferred’ while the consequences of graft explored in ‘Soda.’ In ‘Social Physics of Mikokoteni’ the poet offers the daily struggles of the common man and the simplicity of life in pushing the handcart when he notes: “Mikokoteni know the love of equilibrium/and simply get along.” 

            There are also poems of nostalgia such as the remembrance of a student who committed suicide and cases of love lost found in ‘Etchings.’ Parenthood is found in ‘Present at Keelhauling’ and ‘Parenting Baby and Beyond’ where the persona demonstrates gladness at having a baby. Discontent with the weather is depicted in ‘Kenyan Morning, After A Single Downpour During Drought’ where the persona uses personification to express the feelings of inanimate things such as the soil and the morning. The poet also pokes fun at religion toward the end of the collection in ‘Fun Forgivingness: an Addendum.’ He remarks: ‘And in this version, which all school kids/through the centuries have mimicked…”

            Stephen Derwent Partington’s poetry stings the conscience; rattles conventions but most important; it makes the reader uneasy yet maintains its aesthetic value of raising the bar of poetry to higher levels. The anthology is a must read for all who want to enjoy poetry.

AWOONOR’S COFFEE – A TRIBUTE by OLUOCH-MADIANG’

You sleep on your hand Kofi, laid
Silent in a coffee splash on Nairobi’s floor
By mumbling devils.
How rudely has your dance of cocoa and coffee tastes
Been interrupted, at this moment turned into a
Morning of your blood!

We cannot bear our leadened hearts, shame
Weighing us down that your god finger has been folded
By sissies here under our greening sun.
Would you Kofi understand
Any fingers that splattered men’s blood & coffee
Like does a hen scratching asunder bush faeces?
Neither would we.
Your finger must be unfolded somehow, and a life
Communed in this coffee and cocoa tango.

A scorching Tero Buru shall therefore thunder I foresee,
And our choice bulls will stampede from here to Accra:
Awoonor take this to the Ewe bank,
Not a single Mogadisho bush will withstand the trampling hooves,
Or grow hardy enough to hide the fingers of scarecrows.
No, this will be no revenge, not a coward’s bile:
A Passover.

Your spilled blood smeared on our foreheads,
And your poems tattooed on our tongues
Will deliver us to life atriumphed, and we shall ride
Your monument home atop our bulls’ longest horns!

Then we will sip silently,
And nod in cocoa and coffee bliss
Erohamano, Migosi Kofi Awoonor.


 Kofi Awoonor