Staging the Amistad. Charlie Haffner

Yes, Grandma, the ceremony is tonight. I am happy I made it after all . . .

      GRANDMA: Are you? (Laughter again.) Please help me with some tobacco. (Student helps to fill and ignite the pipe. Grandma takes a few satisfying puffs. Clears her throat.) You see, my son, our people have a tradition which is based on the belief that a person survives after death, and it is this surviving personality spirit that enters the land of the dead.

      STUDENT: I agree with you, Grandma. From my readings, I have discovered that nearly all African tribes have some kind of ancestral culture. I think the Mendes of Africa call it Tenjamei or so . . .

      GRANDMA: You are quite right, my son. In order for the spirit of the dead ancestor to “enter his new country,” that spirit has to first cross a river. It is here that the Tenjamei or “crossing the river” rites come in.

      STUDENT: Ehhnn . . . Grandma, let me take this point down. (He takes out a notebook from his raffia bag and writes in it.) . . . Eh . . . Grandma, go on, please . . .

      GRANDMA: (Ridicules.) Ah . . . you people are always writing . . . our bookmen of today! (Laughter.)

      STUDENT: Grandma, please don’t laugh . . . you have just made a very relevant point. Please go on.

      GRANDMA: Alright . . . alright . . . the spirit cannot cross the river unless these rites have been carried out. So it is important that surviving relatives are willing to perform them.

      STUDENT: (Still writing,) Hhnn . . . otherwise, Grandma?

      GRANDMA: Otherwise, to deny a dead person these rites is tantamount to condemning the spirit and thus be haunted by it . . .

      STUDENT: . . . Is that true, Grandma?

      GRANDMA: You ask me if that is true? Can your Grandma tell a lie? Even if it is a lie, write it down . . . go on, write this one down. Our ancestors can be angry with us and, as a result, become vengeful towards us because they were wronged during their lifetime or after . . .

      STUDENT: So misfortune suffered today by say . . . a person, or a family . . .

      GRANDMA: . . . or even a nation can be a sign of ancestral displeasure and a warning to the parties concerned that they must look closely into their conduct—toward their ancestral spirits.

      STUDENT: (Still writing.) Hhnn . . . I see . . .

      GRANDMA: (Ridicules.) What do you see? You see nothing, son. You bookmen and leaders of today fail to see that it is our ancestors that offer us guidance and counseling throughout our never ending stream of life. But when a child is well fed, does he not look upon the grave as an ordinary heap of earth?

      STUDENT: What is that, Grandma?

      GRANDMA: You just go on copying. As far as I am concerned, Sengbe Pieh is about the most influential Sierra Leonean that ever lived. It is a great tragedy that he is not remembered by his own people who have still not realized the importance of using him as a symbol of national pride.

      STUDENT: Surely, Grandma, ever since I was far younger than this, I have heard names, Africans of other countries like Shaka the Zulu, Sundiata Keita, Mansa Musa, Osie Tutu, yes . . . . .!!! The Samoris and the Lion of Judah, who pitched their strength against the white man—boldly trying to keep them away from Africa.

      GRANDMA: Well, my son, we too have our Bai Burehs, our Manga Sewas, our Ndawas, Kai Londos, Alimany Sulukus, Madam Yokos, and not to mention Sengbe Pieh. But the truth will be out tonight. A snail may run, but cannot avoid its shell. The truth never falters. As from tonight, the world will know who Sengbe Pieh was. Come, let’s go . . .

      Grandma exits. Student stays on.

      STUDENT: (Flipping through his pages excitedly.) . . . Ehh . . . Grandma, please wait, let me check what I have down so far. (He addresses the audience.) Ladies and Gentlemen, I am a student of the school of theatre arts. I am doing a research on a lost Sierra Leonean. I want to write a play about his life and times, and a song that will tell of his heroic deeds so that the world . . . (Grandma returns.)

      GRANDMA: My son, come now, let’s go . . .

      STUDENT: Ehh. Grandma, please let me check what I have down so far . . .

      GRANDMA: Oh son, come on . . .

      STUDENT: Grandma, just a quick run-down . . . ehh . . . (Flipping through his pages excitedly.) . . . Ehh . . . Sengbe Pieh—born in Sierra Leone, West Africa . . . 1813 . . . a Mende man from the south region of his country, a farmer . . . son of a town chief—a wife and two children . . . eh . . . it was in January 1839 . . .

      GRANDMA: Son, let’s go, food is ready . . .

      STUDENT: Hhnn? Did you say food is ready, Grandma?

      GRANDMA: (Grabbing Student by his arm and pulling him.) Yes, food is ready. Let’s go or it will get cold. See, the sun is going down. There is not much time left.

      As they exit, a dirge takes over, increasingly into a crescendo and fades away on blackout.

      SCENE TWO

      A typical African grave site in the dead of midnight. In the background are sounds of howling, moans, dry cries, and barking blending with fetish rhythms. The Herald emerges slowly from behind the grave. He carries a staff in his right hand and a bell in the left. He starts a slow dance which develops as the rhythm intensifies. Abruptly, lifting his hand in the air, he brings the music to a stop.

      HERALD: (In a clear, stern voice.) Oh . . . Ngaywoh . . . let it reach you. Let it reach to Kaanga. Let it reach to Ginagaa and to Ndorgdohuswi, Nbondaysia, Kiniayasia and the great sons of men on earth. Here we are again, today. We are here at your graveside, for sickness is threatening us. We cry in vain for help. We ail and suffer. Poverty comes as rain and calamity engulfs us in flames. Agbohloh wants to go Bondo,¹ but there is no waist to tie the jigida. Trohki wants to box, but his hand is too short. Hearts are unclean—Ngaywoh, hearts are unclean. Evil plotters multiply like mosquitoes in open swampland. The dog flirts with the lioness, not knowing that his death has come. Layvay informs us that we have wronged our great ancestors and we have, ourselves, condemned their spirits to remain on earth and be haunted by them. We have come to beg to pull the curse inflicted upon us, so that we can, hereafter, live in unity, peace, prosperity and freedom once more . . . . .

      Exit. The fetish drums take over again. A group of Fetish Adherents dance onto the stage, possessed. As the drums flare, the Herald dances in swiftly and, at his signal, the music stops, abruptly. He pitches a tune which the others take up and leads a fetish dance, which drives them into frenzy. He exits. Seconds later, the jingling of the hand bell marks the entry of the Chief Priest, in fetish dress, hat, and talisman. In front of the conjuring Chief Priest, stagger two Shrine Attendants side by side, possessed, carrying a bowl of red rice and a bulie (jug) of palm wine. The Herald guides the struggling adherents to their position.

      HERALD: (To the possessed boys.) Easy . . . Easy . . . great custodian of Ngaywoh, he steps forward . . . he who never tires . . . the most supreme . . . the most bounteous . . . he comes . . . he who accompanies the most divine . . . the most magnanimous . . . easy . . . he, the carrier of the bundle of the great guiding spirits must be stronger than strong . . . easy . . .

      CHIEF PRIEST: (Emphatically.) Oh . . . you ancestors, the spirits of our fathers, and grandfathers, and great grandfathers, and great, great grandfathers, who make the end of the sea your abode . . . you ancestral spirits in the belly of the Earth—I call you forth. You the guardian spirit that watch over mortals, you fathers who can sleep no more—I summon you all—you Sengbe, Bureh, Yoko, Manga, Londo, Ndawa, Wallaci, Miltini, Siaka.² I invoke and convoke you and your attendant deities!!!

      HERALD: Hiii . . . Hiii . . . he comes . . . he comes . . . the spirits have