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 assembled . . . the great ancestors have descended . . . (To the invisible spirits.) Welcome, you assembled fathers from beyond the seas . . . we welcome you . . . (Suddenly, he runs out.)
CHIEF PRIEST: (Pouring libation, offering red rice, and throwing kola nuts as a means of communication.) Here, great fathers from beyond—we have called you here. Things are very difficult for us. We do not know. So, we ask. Speak to us . . . speak . . . speak . . . speak . . .
HERALD: (Runs from behind the grave, dressed like a ghost. He jingles a hand bell and spins on the ground.) Hiii . . . bbrr . . . bbrr . . . hiii . . . news . . . news . . . he comes . . . hot news . . . news from the dead . . . news from the ancestors, long forgotten . . . (Fixes to a spot, listens, no clue, shakes his head, fixes to another spot, listens again, no sign, then suddenly.) He comes . . . he is here . . . he comes . . .
Then, a Ghost, weeping and wailing, gives indication of his arrival.
CHIEF PRIEST: (Fixing himself on the spot, half possessed, looking up at the ghost.) Ahh . . . welcome . . . you are welcome . . . Sengbe Pieh . . . welcome . . . it’s a long time we have not heard from you. Sengbe, welcome. You must be thirsty. Here is some water. Drink.
GHOST: (Emphatically.) No!!
CHIEF PRIEST: Sengbe, are you not thirsty? Drink.
GHOST: Ahn . . . ahn . . . I cannot drink.
CHIEF PRIEST: Pardon your children, Sengbe. Forgive us. You are our guiding spirit of the unknown—prompt to punish us whenever we transgress. I am Gbanagbome, son of Kai Koni Sokogbana of Kpa Mende. Please do not refuse our call. Here, Sengbe, take our good morning.
GHOST: Good morning. How are you and our people?
CHIEF PRIEST: So and so, Sengbe. How do you and your associates fare, over there.
GHOST: We are alive and well. They send you their regards.
CHIEF PRIEST: Sengbe, the living gathered here want to hear from you. You were a member of this community when you were captured and sold to slavery. Do you remember?
GHOST: Of course, I remember everything. I remember very well.
CHIEF PRIEST: Tell us, Sengbe, what happened. Stories have come and stories have gone, yet we do not know who to trust. Our children want to know and we cannot tell them. Help us, Sengbe. Let us right our wrongs, once and for all. Our cocoyam is white. We can no longer cover it. If I had known, always comes last. The cockroach does not go to market but it eats palm oil. Before it burns, let it soak more and more . . .
GHOST: Okay. Thank you. Thank
