by Adam Brace
‘Let go or I will hit you with my other hand,’ said ChickenBones.
But the Nkishi said, ‘Oh Doctor, it is you who has eaten all the babies.’
And ChickenBones struck with his other hand and that too became fixed to the Nkishi.
Without both hands, Doctor ChickenBones could not catch anything to eat. And soon he was starving.
‘Why not eat your own tongue if you are hungry?’ said the Nkishi.
And ChickenBones was so hungry that he did, he bit off his own tongue and ate it. And finally his white clothes which never became dirty were covered in blood. It was not his blood but the blood of the babies that he had eaten. And his mouth which ate all the babies became so full of the blood that he never breathed again and fell down dead. And that’s the end of the story.>
Oudry
Patience
Oudry
Of course you know Nkishi can’t do those things.>
Patience
There are yells in the distance. Oudry is suddenly alert. They listen.
More yells. They listen again. They look at each other.
Oudry springs up and grabs food. He pulls Patience out of bed by her arm; it hurts her. He grabs a T-shirt, wraps food in it and presses it into her stomach.
More yells and voices outside.
The door of the hut opens. They look up. Beatrice runs in.
Patience
Oudry
Beatrice
Patience looks at her mother, then her father, and runs out of the door.
Oudry
There are more yells, growing nearer. Beatrice is scrabbling for food, Oudry helping her. Beatrice turns to run out of the door.
A man forces his way in. He is a Militiaman, tall and raggedly dressed, a Kalashnikov slung casually over his shoulder.
He stands looking at them.
Oudry and Beatrice start throwing all their food and possessions in front of him.
Beatrice
The man stands still. He looks at them. There are now loud screams and gunshots in the near distance. Another man enters holding Patience.
The men laugh. One of them points his rifle at Oudry.
Militiaman
TEN
ELECTRIC THINGS
The same hut. Next morning.
The noise of people busy outside. Patience sits with her legs tightly in front of her chest.
Meredith is sitting next to Patience with a notepad. Meredith is a Canadian in the uniform of an international medical charity.
Between the brackets, Meredith speaks falteringly in a language she is not fluent in.
Meredith
Patience shakes her head.
Before. I help your mother.>
Meredith goes to her and looks at her hair.
Patience thinks and nods. Meredith strokes her hair.
Patience slightly loosens her hands in front of her knees. Meredith very delicately parts Patience’s legs and inspects her wounds. It is very quick.
Meredith hands Patience some water, takes out a radio and stands up to leave.
Patience shakes her head. She looks imploringly at Meredith.
Patience begins to get upset.
Patience shakes her head slightly. Meredith sits down. And takes out a radio.
Okay, so can you understand what I’m saying now? If I’m speaking English do you understand me? Anything?
Patience
Meredith Okay, fine.
Patience is happier. Meredith reads into radio in a deliberately calm and clear voice.
Receiving? Over.
Girl thirteen fourteen, mother maybe late thirties. Two brothers work at the tin mine, meant to return today, haven’t yet. Father machete wound to head, some scalp missing, broken nose and eye swollen shut. Fortuitous walking wounded. Wife raped by two men. Daughter by six including probable forced assault by father. Probable EB2. Suspected insertion of bayonet. Fistula. Severe bleeding stemmed by improvised rag. Recommend PEP kit. Over.
Radio Can mother walk, over?
Meredith Just about, over.
Radio Send to clinic, treat only emergencies on ground, over.
Meredith Received, over.
Radio Daughter emergency, over?
Meredith Daughter emergency yes, over.
Meredith puts the radio down and sits with Patience.
Patience screws up her face.
A noise outside. Patience becomes agitated.
Someone is entering.
It is Stef. She is extremely panicked.
Wh—
Don’t
Stef Sorry.
Meredith Don’t come in. Don’t come any further in.
Stef Sorry sorry, I
Meredith It’s fine, just
Stef I didn’t know this was
Meredith Just stay put.
Okay so.
You’re the Brit they left.
Stef Yeah. Stef.
Meredith Okay you need to speak very calmly, Stef.
To me, not to her.
No sudden movements.
What is it?
Stef The sat phone has started working.
Meredith Okay.
Stef Um, I. I don’t. Someone told me to just get the sat phone working.
I don’t know what to do next.
Meredith Sure
Stef I don’t wanna waste the –
Meredith Sure.
Stef – sat phone battery. And you’re the nearest. What’s this called?
Meredith A hut.
Stef A hut, oh yeah.
Meredith Take the sat phone. And walk back to the four-by-fours.
Stef There’s a man outside with a hole in his head.
Meredith And sit in the four-by-fours
Stef What about the man?
Meredith He’s being dealt with.
Stef He’s not
Meredith He is.
Stef He’s not, I promise.
Meredith He is being. Dealt with. If there’s no one with him that doesn’t
Stef There isn’t
Meredith That doesn’t mean he’s not being dealt with. Please calm down
Patience has become agitated at the tone.
(To Patience.)
Stef Okay yeah.
Meredith They brought you for your hands. But not here okay.
Stef Okay, wh—
What about my hands?
Meredith Use your hands on the sat phone. In the four-by-four.
That is where you’re gonna be most helpful. Yes?
Stef Yes.
Meredith Call the last dialled number. And report the coordinates on the display.
Well done. You’re doing a great job.
Stef So are you
Meredith Okay thanks but. Just. Walk back now. Walk back to the four-by-fours.
Stef Yes. I’m going.
Meredith Don’t look at the man.
Stef It’s a terrible wound.
Meredith Don’t look at the wound. What’re you not gonna do?
Stef I’m not gonna look.
Meredith One foot in front of the other. Go and get it done.
Stef leaves.
<
br /> Patience
Meredith
Patience
Meredith Uh
Patience
Meredith
Oh right yeah
Patience
Meredith
Patience
Meredith
Electric things.>
Patience doesn’t understand. Meredith leans in to help her.
ELEVEN
MORE HELP IS
Outside the hut.
Oudry sits slumped and dazed. A dressing flapping from a recent head wound.
Blood and scalp visible.
Stef leaves the hut. She is shaken and unsteady.
She walks with purpose past Oudry, not looking at him.
Stef I’m sorry. More help is.
I can’t.
She stops suddenly, she has stepped on something.
She picks it up. It is his thumb-piano. She holds it out to him without looking at him.
I’m sorry, I have to walk to the four-by-fours.
She nearly looks at him.
Oudry takes it. In taking it from her, a note is half played.
I’m told to walk back to the four-by-fours.
Stef moves past him and exits without looking at him.
End of Part One.
Part Two
TWELVE
FOUND POETRY
Oudry is different from Part One. He no longer has a hat on and his wound is visible. His relationship with the audience has changed – he plays up to them more. His relationship with Stef has changed – he is a distraction to her. He invades scenes. He plays music.
*
The act opens with a burst of sustained song from a rumba band. It is exuberant and energising. It could start in the interval.
Stef and Tony are visible, watching a video of the band on a tablet.
Tony stops it on the tablet and the band stops.
Tony What these guys’ve got going for them is they’d appeal to the Congolese here and the polo-necks who buy world music.
Stef Oh, they’re wonderful. Do they have political affiliations in Congo?
Tony They’ve performed public concerts that politicians attended, but that’s it.
Stef So this is the band.
Tony Yeah, I really think so.
Stef Tony?
Tony Yes?
Stef Well done.
Tony Thank you.
I did find this one lot – they do rumba covers of western indie rock.
Tony swipes his tablet and the band burst out one line of ‘Heaven Knows I’m Miserable Now’ by The Smiths in an upbeat rumba style. Stef swipes it away.
Stef Yeah, great fun, but they’re obviously not all Congolese and they’re not right for the festival.
Have you had time to look at these poems?
Tony takes her tablet and scans the poem. Victor enters and watches as they read.
Oudry
Inside my ten-inch netbook
thunderheads forming in clusters on the squall line
worldviews are exchanged
used to solder a circuit board that
approved pharmacy medicines
shaped by lack of editorial care
shipped direct to where they’re needed
ensure Zenith Bank can help you
when your battery goes dead
and lose memory of those happy times
local slappers waiting by their phones
children asking at the window for pens
allowing the viewer to detach themselves.
Stef It’s just
Tony Personally I don’t understand how they’re poems.
Stef I think we do understand how they’re poems, but we
Victor Yes?
Stef We don’t necessarily see them as something compatible with the festival.
Victor It is Congolese poetry.
Oudry enters the scene (or interacts with it in a way he hasn’t before). Stef’s eye is drawn by him.
Stef It’s not, it’s not recognisably part of a uh, a Congolese tradition, is it?
Victor It’s Congolese.
Tony Sure
Victor It’s written by a Congolese.
Stef For the festival to be a truly awareness-raising event, we need the submissions to reflect Congo.
Victor These reflect Congo, very closely.
It’s poems put together by a person from emails.
From spam emails. Sent by people he never met. And he takes the words. And makes it into a poem.
Tony So the poet didn’t write it?
Victor He did not write the words but he did write the poem.
Tony So it’s a cut’n’paste job.
Victor He took these emails as raw materials, they don’t belong to him, and he changed them around to be something else, that belong to him.
Stef is trying not to be distracted by Oudry.
Stef I suppose I think that, if you have to take time explaining that then, then I wonder how valuable that is.
Victor People do it very much, very frequently.
Stef Do they?
Victor It’s called ‘found poetry’.
Stef I’m sorry I didn’t study literature.
Victor But I did, you see.
Oudry produces an mbira (thumb-piano) from somewhere within the scene. The framed sick bag? A tablet becoming an mbira? Could be a larger version of the one she saw him with in Scene Nine and Eleven.
Stef Could we meet the poet?
Victor Why is this important?
Stef Victor, can I ask. Are we meeting the poet right now?
Victor
Why don’t you ask Anne-Marie to read the poems? She would read them very beautifully, I think.
Stef I suppose what we want to ask is – had the poet thought about writing something more, something more directly about the problems of your, his country?
Oudry plays some notes on the mbira.
Victor You want me to ask him to try again?
Stef Could you? Ask him to write more, uh, directly. About DRC.
Victor
I can see.
Tony Thanks, Victor.
Stef We really appreciate your input, whether we can use these poems or not – you’re coming to the committee meeting on Friday?
Victor Yes. You need your one-third, don’t you?
Stef Sure but. It’s also important to me.
Victor exits.
Stef is alone. Oudry looks at Stef and engages with her in a new way. Perhaps he smiles broadly at her for the first time and holds her gaze. Whatever it is, it is a strange disconcerting moment for her.
She concentrates on her tablet. Oudry reads to her and plays his thumb-piano.
Oudry
My telephone contains
soaring yellow-beaked birds
in campus novel form,
is life mouthwatering lobster-tail
a routine opening hatches responding to signals
chatting and meeting nice new friend
nobody applies to claim money
we photograph their dead in different ways
nobody now looks for answers past
a bold move beyond market failure
can make her understand you
need to be as slim as a cavewoman
finally free from shame
soaked in cosmoline packing grease
browsing in a mode that will not record your history.
Stand-up Oliver enters and prepares to do his act.
(Plays a note.) Next: Oliver, British-Congolese comedian.
Oliver ‘Any Ugandans in? No, okay, perfect! I use to date a Ugandan girl.’ The
n the crowd is like, ahhh I dunno what I think about that. And I go
‘But I had to stop because this girl, you’ve never met a girl like her. First time I take her for a date, whenever I stop the car she is always kissing me. Then I take her home and park outside her house, and she put my hand straight between her legs. Straight between!’
Then the crowd is like, eeeeh.
‘And she is like this, oh yeah oh yeah oh Oliver – she remembered my name eh’
Laugh.
And then, ‘Please are you married?’ ‘No, why do you ask?’ ‘Because the ring on your finger is hurting me!’ And I say, ‘That is not a ring, that is my wristwatch.’ Beeg laugh.
‘Swiss-made Tag Heuer original, and I’m going home now because I don’t want to lose it!’ Another laugh, less but still good.
Tony Great
Stef Yeah. Great
Oliver So yeah, that’s something, uh. For the late-night crowd, late-night but very good response.
Ira enters, a formidable African American writer.
Oudry (plays a note) Ira Coleman, American writer.
Ira (reads)
That night.
Men approached the camp.
Their faces were steel.
Their hands were bruised fruit.
They would shut out the moon.
Tony and Stef with Ira.
Tony So powerful.
Stef Wow. The momentum of the writing.
Ira Thank you. I was blessed to interview a number of strong Congolese women. I was just trying to do them justice.
Stef Where did you interview them?
Ira Anywhere. Rooms, kitchens, the street.
