My Children! My Africa! Read online

  He was right Thami. I have seen it. It is all there in the books just as he said it was and I have made it mine. I can stand on the banks of all those great rivers, look up at the majesty of all those mountains, whenever I want to. It is a journey I have made many times. Whenever my spirit was low and I sat alone in my room, I said to myself: Walk Anela! Walk! . . . and I imagined myself at the foot of the Wapadsberg setting off for that horizon that called me that day forty years ago. It always worked! When I left that little room, I walked back into the world a proud man, because I was an African and all the splendor was my birthright.

  (Pause) I don’t want to make that journey again Thami. There is someone waiting for me now at the end of it who has made a mockery of all my visions of splendor. He has in his arms my real birthright. I saw him on the television in the Reverend Mbopa’s lounge. An Ethopian tribesman, and he was carrying the body of a little child that had died of hunger in the famine . . . a small bundle carelessly wrapped in a few rags. I couldn’t tell how old the man was. The lines of despair and starvation on his face made him look as old as Africa itself.

  He held that little bundle very lightly as he shuffled along to a mass grave, and when he reached it, he didn’t have the strength to kneel and lay it down gently. . . . He just opened his arms and let it fall. I was very upset when the program ended. Nobody had thought to tell us his name and whether he was the child’s father, or grandfather, or uncle. And the same for the baby! Didn’t it have a name? How dare you show me one of our children being thrown away and not tell me its name! I demand to know who is in that bundle!

  (Pause) Not knowing their names doesn’t matter anymore. They are more than just themselves. The tribesmen and dead child do duty for all of us Thami. Every African soul is either carrying that bundle or in it.

  What is wrong with this world that it wants to waste you all like that . . . my children . . . my Africa!

  (Holding out a hand as if he wanted to touch Thami’s face) My beautiful and proud young Africa!

  More breaking glass and stones and the sound of a crowd outside the school. Mr. M starts to move. Thami stops him.

  THAMI: No! Don’t go out there. Let me speak to them first. Listen to me! I will tell them I have confronted you with the charges and that you have denied them and that I believe you. I will tell them you are innocent.

  MR. M: You will lie for me, Thami?

  THAMI: Yes.

  MR. M (Desperate to hear the truth): Why?

  Thami can’t speak.

  Why will you lie for me Thami?

  THAMI: I’ve told you before.

  MR. M: The “Cause”?

  THAMI: Yes.

  MR. M: Then I do not need to hide behind your lies.

  THAMI: They will kill you.

  MR. M: Do you think I’m frightened of them? Do you think I’m frightened of dying?

  Mr. M breaks away from Thami. Ringing his bell furiously he goes outside and confronts the mob. They kill him.

  SCENE 4

  Thami waiting. Isabel arrives.

  THAMI: Isabel.

  ISABEL (It takes her a few seconds to respond): Hello Thami.

  THAMI: Thank you for coming.

  ISABEL (She is tense. Talking to him is not easy): I wasn’t going to. Let me tell you straight out that there is nothing in this world . . . nothing! . . . that I want to see less at this moment than anything or anybody from the location. But you said in your note that it was urgent, so here I am. If you’ve got something to say, I’ll listen.

  THAMI: Are you in a hurry?

  ISABEL: I haven’t got to be somewhere else, if that’s what you mean. But if you’re asking because it looks as if I would like to run away from here, from you!—very fast—then the answer is yes. But don’t worry I’ll be able to control that urge for as long as you need to say what you want to.

  THAMI (Awkward in the face of Isabel’s severe and unyielding attitude): I just wanted to say good-bye.

  ISABEL: Again?

  THAMI: What do you mean?

  ISABEL: You’ve already done that Thami. Maybe you didn’t use that word, but you turned your back on me and walked out of my life that last afternoon the three of us . . . (She can’t finish) How long ago was that?

  THAMI: Three weeks I think.

  ISABEL: So why do you want to do it again? Aren’t you happy with the last time? It was so dramatic Thami!

  THAMI (Patiently): I wanted to see you because I’m leaving the town, I’m going away for good.

  ISABEL: Oh I see. This is meant to be a “sad” good-bye is it? (She is on the edge) I’m sorry if I’m hurting your feelings but I thought you wanted to see me because you had something to say about recent events in our little community . . . (She takes a crumpled little piece of newspaper out of her pocket and opens it with unsteady hands) a certain unrest-related . . . I think that is the phrase they use . . . yes . . . here it is . . . (Reading) “. . . unrest-related incident in which according to witnesses the defenseless teacher was attacked by a group of blacks who struck him over the head with an iron rod before setting him on fire.”

  THAMI: Stop it Isabel.

  ISABEL (Fighting hard for self-control): Oh Thami, I wish I could! I’ve tried everything, but nothing helps. It just keeps going around and around inside my head. I’ve tried crying. I’ve tried praying! I’ve even tried confrontation. Ja, the day after it happened I tried to get into the location. I wanted to find the witnesses who reported it so accurately and ask them: “Why didn’t you stop it!” There was a police roadblock at the entrance and they wouldn’t let me in. They thought I was crazy or something and “escorted” me back into the safekeeping of two now very frightened parents.

  There is nothing wrong with me! All I need is someone to tell me why he was killed. What madness drove those people to kill a man who had devoted his whole life to helping them. He was such a good man Thami! He was one of the most beautiful human beings I have ever known and his death is one of the ugliest things I have ever known.

  Thami gives her a few seconds to calm down.

  THAMI (Gently): He was an informer Isabel. Somehow or the other somebody discovered that Mr. M was an informer.

  ISABEL: You mean that list of pupils taking part in the boycott? You call that informing?

  THAMI: No. It was worse than that. He went to the police and gave them the names and addresses of our political action committee. All of them were arrested after his visit. They are now in detention.

  ISABEL: Mr. M did that?

  THAMI: Yes.

  ISABEL: I don’t believe it.

  THAMI: It’s true Isabel.

  ISABEL: No! What proof do you have?

  THAMI: His own words. He told me so himself. I didn’t believe it either when he was first accused, but the last time I saw him, he said it was true, that he had been to the police.

  ISABEL (Stunned disbelief): Mr. M? A police spy? For how long?

  THAMI: NO. It wasn’t like that. He wasn’t paid or anything. He went to the police just that one time. He said he felt it was his duty.

  ISABEL: And what do you mean?

  THAMI: Operation Qhumisa . . . the boycotts and strikes, the arson . . . you know he didn’t agree with any of that. But he was also very confused about it all. I think he wished he had never done it.

  ISABEL: So he went to the police just once.

  THAMI: Yes.

  ISABEL: As a matter of conscience.

  THAMI: Yes.

  ISABEL: That doesn’t make him an “informer” Thami!

  THAMI: Then what do you call somebody who gives information to the police?

  ISABEL: No! You know what that word really means, the sort of person it suggests. Was Mr. M one of those? He was acting out of concern for his people . . . you said so yourself. He thought he was doing the right thing! You don’t murder a man for that!

  THAMI (Near the end of his patience): Be careful Isabel.

  ISABEL: Of what?

  THAMI: The words you use.<
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  ISABEL: Oh? Which one don’t you like? Murder? What do you want me to call it . . . “an unrest-related incident”? If you are going to call him an informer, then I am going to call his death murder!

  THAMI: It was an act of self-defense.

  ISABEL: By whom?

  THAMI: The People.

  ISABEL (Almost speechless with outrage): What? A mad mob attacks one unarmed defenseless man and you want me to call it—

  THAMI (Abandoning all attempts at patience. He speaks with the full authority of the anger inside him): Stop Isabel! You just keep quiet now and listen to me. You’re always saying you want to understand us and what it means to be black . . . well if you do, listen to me carefully now. I don’t call it murder, and I don’t call the people who did it a mad mob and yes, I do expect you to see it as an act of self-defense—listen to me!—blind and stupid but still self-defense.

  He betrayed us and our fight for freedom. Five men are in detention because of Mr. M’s visit to the police station. There have been other arrests and there will be more. Why do you think I’m running away?

  How were those people to know he wasn’t a paid informer who had been doing it for a long time and would do it again? They were defending themselves against what they thought was a terrible danger to themselves. What Anela Myalatya did to them and their cause is what your laws define as treason when it is done to you and threatens the safety and security of your comfortable white world. Anybody accused of it is put on trial in your courts and if found guilty they get hanged. Many of my people have been found guilty and have been hanged. Those hangings we call murder!

  Try to understand, Isabel. Try to imagine what it is like to be a black person, choking inside with rage and frustration, bitterness, and then to discover that one of your own kind is a traitor, has betrayed you to those responsible for the suffering and misery of your family, of your people. What would you do? Remember there is no magistrate or court you can drag him to and demand that he be tried for that crime. There is no justice for black people in this country other than what we make for ourselves. When you judge us for what happened in front of the school four days ago just remember that you carry a share of the responsibility for it. It is your laws that have made simple, decent black people so desperate that they turn into “mad mobs.”

  Isabel has been listening and watching intently. It looks as if she is going to say something but she stops herself.

  Say it, Isabel.

  ISABEL: No.

  THAMI: This is your last chance. You once challenged me to be honest with you. I’m challenging you now.

  ISABEL (She faces him): Where were you when it happened

  Thami? (Pause) And if you were, did you try to stop them?

  THAMI: Isn’t there a third question Isabel? Was I one of the

  mob that killed him?

  ISABEL: Yes. Forgive me, Thami—please forgive me!—but there is that question as well. Only once! Believe me, only once—late at night when I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t believe it was there in my head, but I heard the words: “Was Thami one of the ones who did it?”

  THAMI: If the police catch me, that’s the question they will ask.

  ISABEL: I’m asking you because . . . (An open, helpless gesture) I’m lost! I don’t know what to think or feel anymore. Help me. Please. You’re the only one who can. Nobody else seems to understand that I loved him.

  This final confrontation is steady and unflinching on both sides.

  THAMI: Yes, I was there. Yes, I did try to stop it. (He gives Isabel the time to deal with this answer) I knew how angry the people were. I went to warn him. If he had listened to me he would still be alive, but he wouldn’t. It was almost as if he wanted it to happen. I think he hated himself very much for what he had done Isabel. He kept saying to me that it was all over. He was right. There was nothing left for him. That visit to the police station had finished everything. Nobody would have ever spoken to him again or let him teach their children.

  ISABEL: Oh Thami, it is all so wrong! So stupid! That’s what I can’t take . . . the terrible stupidity of it. We needed him. All of us.

  THAMI: I know.

  ISABEL: Then why is he dead?

  THAMI: You must stop asking these questions Isabel. You know the answers.

  ISABEL: They don’t make any sense Thami.

  THAMI: I know what you are feeling. (Pause) I also loved him. Doesn’t help much to say it now I know, but I did. Because he made me angry and impatient with his “old-fashioned” ideas, I didn’t want to admit it. Even if I had, it wouldn’t have stopped me from doing what I did, the boycott and everything, but I should have tried harder to make him understand why I was doing it. You were right to ask about that. Now . . . ? (A helpless gesture) You know the most terrible words in your language, Isabel? Too late.

  ISABEL: Ja.

  THAMI: I’ll never forgive myself for not trying harder with him and letting him know . . . my true feelings for him. Right until the end I tried to deny it . . . to him, to myself.

  ISABEL: I’m sorry. I . . .

  THAMI: That’s all right.

  ISABEL: Are the police really looking for you?

  THAMI: Yes. Some of my friends have already been detained. They’re pulling in anybody they can get their hands on.

  ISABEL: Where are you going? Cape Town?

  THAMI: No. That’s the first place they’ll look. I’ve written to my parents telling them about everything. I’m heading north.

  ISABEL: To where?

  THAMI: Far Isabel. I’m leaving the country.

  ISABEL: Does that mean what I think it does?

  THAMI (He nods): I’m going to join the movement. I want to be a fighter. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time. Now I know it’s the right thing to do. I don’t want to end up being one of the mob that killed Mr. M—but that will happen to me if I stay here.

  ISABEL: Oh, Thami.

  THAMI: I know I’m doing the right thing. Believe me.

  ISABEL: I’ll try.

  THAMI: And you?

  ISABEL: I don’t know what to do with myself Thami. All I know is that I’m frightened of losing him. He’s only been dead four days and I think I’m already starting to forget what he looked like. But the worst thing is that there’s nowhere for me to go and . . . you know . . . just be near him. That’s so awful. I got my father to phone the police but they said there wasn’t enough left of him to justify a grave. What there was has been disposed of in a “Christian manner.” So where do I go? The burnt-out ruins of the school? I couldn’t face that.

  THAMI: Get your father or somebody to drive you to the top of the Wapadsberg Pass. It’s on the road to Craddock.

  ISABEL: I know it.

  THAMI: It was a very special place to him. He told me that it was there where it all started, where he knew what he wanted to do with his life . . . being a teacher, being the Mr. M we knew. You’ll be near him up there. I must go now.

  ISABEL: Do you need any money?

  THAMI: No. Sala Kakuhle Isabel. That’s the Xhosa good-bye.

  ISABEL: I know it. U’sispumla taught me how to say it. Hamba Kakuhle Thami.

  Thami leaves.

  SCENE 5

  Isabel alone. She stands quietly, examining the silence. After a few seconds she nods her head slowly.

  ISABEL: Yes! Thami was right Mr. M. He said I’d feel near you up here.

  He’s out there somewhere Mr. M . . . traveling north. He didn’t say where exactly he was going, but I think we can guess, can’t we.

  I’m here for a very “old-fashioned” reason, so I know you’ll approve. I’ve come to pay my last respects to Anela Myalatya. I know the old-fashioned way of doing that is to bring flowers, lay them on the grave, say a quiet prayer and then go back to your life. But that seemed sort of silly this time. You’ll have enough flowers around here when the spring comes . . . which it will. So instead I’ve brought you something which I know will mean more to you than flowers or prayers ever
could. A promise. I am going to make Anela Myalatya a promise.

  You gave me a little lecture once about wasted lives . . . how much of it you’d seen, how much you hated it, how much you didn’t want that to happen to Thami and me. I sort of understood what you meant at the time. Now, I most certainly do. Your death has seen to that.

  My promise to you is that I am going to try as hard as I can, in every way that I can, to see that it doesn’t happen to me. I am going to try my best to make my life useful in the way yours was. I want you to be proud of me. After all, I am one of your children you know. You did welcome me to your family.

  (A pause) The future is still ours, Mr. M.

  The actor leaves the stage.

  END OF PLAY