A PLAY
PERSONS: OLAOHA, OBINNE, IKEDIKE, NWELUMMA, ANIMOKE, EZEMMUO, VILLAGERS.
I
Night at a clearing in a forest. Three large palms stand on one edge of the clearing, siblings considering the scene before them.
A boy, OBINNE, and a girl, OLAOHA play under the full moon, weaving in and out of the palm trees. Obinne moves with grace, his tall and lanky features complementing Olaoha’s petite frame. Where Obinne is personable in a so-so way, Olaoha is decided on beauty, with skin that shimmers under the moon.
Obinne catches Olaoha, pulls her to himself, and they hold each other.
OBINNE: How much longer do you think we may hold each other like so?
OLAOHA: Let the moon go further down the sky, my love.
OBINNE: But that is not what I mean.
OLAOHA: What do you mean, Obi m?
OBINNE: I know Ikedike has come to your father’s obi.
OLAOHA: [breaking away] He is on a fool’s errand.
OBINNE: You know what your parents are, Ola m.
OLAOHA: Am I not Olaoha? Am I a goat that will be led to the homestead of the highest bidder?
Obinne takes her into his arms again.
OBINNE: No, Ola m. You are not.
OLAOHA: [placing her arms around his neck] Amadioha will cleave the earth in half before I leave you.
OBINNE: And even then, I will not leave you.
They kiss. Light fades.
II
A small obi swept clean. Olaoha is seated on one bench with her mother, NWELUMMA. Her father, ANIMOKE, sits on another. The couple are a study in contrast, with Nwelumma slender and fair, and Animoke stocky and the colour of soot.
ANIMOKE: Ikedike and his people are coming on Eke. I want everything and everywhere set for that day. Olaoha, I expect you shall look your best.
OLAOHA: You should be the one looking your best, since you are the one getting married.
ANIMOKE: Indeed, ingratitude lies in the heart of children like the sea. [pointing to the barn some way away from the obi] Do you know who filled that barn to bursting with the food you have been stuffing your mouth with? Ikedike. He planted and harvested everything himself.
OLAOHA: Forgive me, nna m. I did not know I had been traded for some tubers of yam.
NWELUMMA: Olaoha, should you not consider yourself lucky? The maidens of Amaiyi would spread themselves like wrapper on the ground for Ikedike to walk on, but it is you that he favours.
OLAOHA: He should take his favour to the market and sell it; I have no use for it.
ANIMOKE: Do not invite my wrath, you foolish child. [rising] Eke. Remember the day, and do not bring shame upon my head.
Animoke leaves.
OLAOHA: I will die first before this thing happens.
NWELUMMA: Olaoha, Ikedike is a fine man; an excellent young man. What do you have against him?
OLAOHA: There is no place in my heart for him.
NWELUMMA: And what is your heart?
OLAOHA: I do not expect that you would understand.
NWELUMMA: Do not think you are the first woman to have your heart beat drums for a man. You think your breath will cease if you live apart from him. So you run away with him, against all reason. But love does not build huts; love does not feed the hungry mouth. Love cannot afford the sacrifices necessary to appease the children of your womb to stay with you. And when you have nothing but a sickly babe slowly crawling to her grave, you give her hand for five money bags. She stays, and the ones that come after her. And when she is old enough, you trust she will be wise enough to pay your debt, especially when the bargain is not so bad.
OLAOHA: [crying] Can you not believe that my love will fare better than yours?
NWELUMMA: Yes. One’s chi bends to one’s will. But can even Mmaji’s famed palm kernel soap wash off the etchings of fate on one’s palm? Obinne, what does he have to his name? He is but a wretched orphan.
OLAOHA: We will work hard! We will build our fortune together!
NWELUMMA: [rising] I beg you to think of your children. Whom will you sell when the love sours? For sour it surely will.
Exit Nwelumma, as Olaoha weeps into her palms. Light fades.
III
A woman’s hut. Bed, stools, and a mahogany chest provide furniture. On the wall line expensive-looking beads and tastefully crafted wall hangings, indicating the wealth of the owner.
Olaoha sits on a stool, demure. IKEDIKE sits beside her. His physique does justice to his name – towering and muscular, with an upcoming potbelly tempered only by the resistance of his abdominal muscles. His beard is one to contend with; his handsomeness is not in contention.
IKEDIKE: Shall I send someone to ask Somadina to bring his choicest catch on his way back from the river? His fishes are always the best.
OLAOHA: No.
IKEDIKE: Do you like the Akwaete I got you? It was hard to find.
OLAOHA: Thank you.
IKEDIKE: It is a cool evening. Shall we walk down to the village square?
OLAOHA: No.
There is a pause as Ikedike looks around in mild frustration.
IKEDIKE: Shall we go to your bed, then?
OLAOHA: No.
IKEDIKE: My wife, I do not understand you. Are you not anxious to give your father a child at the earliest time?
OLAOHA: His obi is not in danger of desolation.
IKEDIKE: And mine? Shall I straddle the river and suffer soap suds in my eye?
Ikedike places his hand on Olaoha’s thigh. She removes it.
OLAOHA: I am tired tonight.
IKEDIKE: You are often tired.
OLAOHA: I am sorry.
IKEDIKE: I will do all the work. Surely, you cannot be too tired to receive pleasure?
OLAOHA: [rising] I must go to my mother; I feel she is sick.
IKEDIKE: [rising as well] But we saw her yesterday – the specimen of good health.
OLAOHA: I tell you, we have a tight connection. I can feel her calling for me.
Olaoha begins to make for the door. Ikedike looks a bit confused.
IKEDIKE: Very well, then. Bid her a quick recovery from me.
Olaoha hurries out of the hut, Ikedike’s gaze lingering after her. His eyes narrow. Light fades.
IV
The clearing in the forest. Olaoha and Obinne sit at the foot of the middle palm, entwined. Olaoha hums a tune. Obinne massages her feet.
Kosoluchi Agboanike: Does he treat you nicely?
OLAOHA: He is not a bad man.
OBINNE: So that your heart may one day turn to him?
Olaoha directs a questioning look at Obinne.
OBINNE: Do not misunderstand me, Ola. But you are his wife.
OLAOHA: Are you accusing me or telling me something that has escaped me?
OBINNE: It is not easy for me, you must know.
OLAOHA: And I, who must behold his face every day I wake? Where has ease been lent me in all of this?
There is silence between the lovers. Olaoha throws Obinne’s hand off and goes over to the edge of the clearing to sulk. Obinne comes behind her, holds her waist. She does not resist him. They regard the starry night.
OBINNE: I have kin in Obodugo. It is several days from here.
He turns Olaoha gently to face him.
OBINNE: Nobody will find us there.
Olaoha looks away.
OBINNE: Ola m. Will you not come with me?
Olaoha looks up at him. The entreaty in his eyes, the tempered longing in hers – the moon illuminates it all.
OLAOHA: Shall it be well with us there? Can you tell?
OBINNE: Love will always make a way. That, I can tell.
Olaoha is weeping now. Obinne plants his lips gently on hers. She responds. Their hands travel the width of their bodies, seeking comfort and something else. After a while, they break off, still holding each other.
OBINNE: There is music in my throat. A song of desire and the beginnings of freedom. Will you wait for me, Ola m, while I fetch my flute?
OLAOHA: Go, love. Let the goddess of the night lend speed to your heels, for I cannot bear to be apart from you in this moment.
Obinne places a kiss on Olaoha’s forehead and takes off. Olaoha sighs and returns to the foot of the middle palm.
There is a rustling in the bush nearby. She stands, frightened.
OLAOHA: Who are you? Man or spirit, show yourself.
The bush parts and Ikedike emerges, to the consternation of Olaoha.
IKEDIKE: Not the man you were expecting, eh?
Olaoha throws her face away.
IKEDIKE: I did not know your mother had the gift of shifting shapes. Now she takes on the form of Obinne. Now the forest is your father’s homestead.
Olaoha maintains her silence. Ikedike takes a few steps towards her; she takes a few steps backwards.
IKEDIKE: You avoid me like the plague; but you would surrender your body to another. The body I paid for.
OLAOHA: [facing Ikedike] Ha! The body you paid for? Am I one of the fishes that make their home in Somadina’s nets? Or have I become the bush rat that Dinta lays traps for?
IKEDIKE: Why do you hold me in such contempt? What have I done but try to please you?
OLAOHA: You should have tried harder and left me be in my father’s house. You have dragged the horse to the river; be content if you cannot force it to drink therefrom.
IKEDIKE: But you will drink from Obinne’s river?
OLAOHA: You, who are used to having your way, cannot know what love is.
IKEDIKE: And that is the man you choose to love? He is not half the man I am.
OLAOHA: Go to bed with the excess of your manliness, then. Why bother me?
Ikedike advances. Olaoha can go no further as her back hits the palm tree.
OLAOHA: Stay away.
IKEDIKE: Can you not love me?
The crack in his voice steals the bite from Olaoha’s words. She looks away.
OLAOHA: I cannot call my heart back from her errand. She has gone on her way.
IKEDIKE: I will give you anything you want.
OLAOHA: Ikedike…
IKEDIKE: Love grows. You must know this. Water it and it will grow…
OLAOHA: You must let me go! Can you not hear how pathetic you sound? I do not love you. I will never love you if I had infinite time to try.
IKEDIKE: But you have not tried…
Olaoha, sick of the exchange, attempts to leave the scene. Ikedike takes her hand and pulls her to himself.
OLAOHA: Let me go, you brute!
IKEDIKE: How can you hate me so much? You must love me; everybody loves me!
OLAOHA: Then go to everybody! Leave me!
They struggle – Ikedike attempting to envelope Olaoha in an embrace, the latter resisting with hateful might. But the man is a great wrestler, after all, and soon Olaoha surrenders, limp in the chokehold Ikedike must believe is an affectionate embrace.
IKEDIKE: Yes, yes. We can make it, see? It starts like so. You can love me if you try.
They stay that way for some time. Ikedike pulls Olaoha away to look at her face, catches her as she begins to crumple to the ground. Eyes half shut, body limp. The woman in his arms is a corpse.
Ikedike shakes Olaoha, but there is no waking the dead.
IKEDIKE: Olaoha… Olaoha… Do not pursue this charade any longer. Wake up!
Doubtful annoyance gives way to sickening fear. Ikedike moans as he lays Olaoha on the ground. He casts his eyes about, an entrapped animal. He rests his gaze on the beautiful body at his feet. Fear gives way to grief as he crumbles beside her and chokes on his tears.
Suddenly, he arrests his mourning and listens. Footsteps are approaching the scene. He hurries and disappears into the bush from whence he came.
Obinne enters the scene, flute in hand. He sees Olaoha supine and smiles.
OBINNE: Forgive my tardy heels, Ola m.
He approaches the body and kneels beside it.
OBINNE: I am here now.
He reaches out and touches Olaoha’s cheek.
OBINNE: Ola m.
As he gets no response, he shakes the body a little. Panic creeps into his voice.
OBINNE: Olaoha… Olaoha?
Obinne casts his eyes about, not unlike Ikedike before him. He looks at the body in front of him, perplexed.
OBINNE: Olaoha? My heart, I am here now. Wake up.
The bush rustles and Ikedike emerges once more. Obinne looks up at him, incapable of summoning surprise in his anxiety.
IKEDIKE: What have you done to my wife?
Ikedike bowls Obinne over and kneels beside Olaoha.
IKEDIKE: Olaoha? Ola m?
He regards the face serene and reflecting the moon’s light, passions working in him that Obinne cannot see. He turns to Obinne.
IKEDIKE: You have killed her, have you not?
His voice is low and dangerous.
OBINNE: I… I do not know… I…
IKEDIKE: It was not enough for you to try and seduce a man’s wife. But when she refused your advances, you decided to destroy her?
Obinne’s lips tremble.
OBINNE: I left her standing there… She was standing there…
IKEDIKE: Whom are you attempting to beguile with your false talk? Am I a child? You have killed my wife!
Realisation finally meets Obinne. He closes his eyes, and the tears have a free fall. The false accusation does not register. He bends over Olaoha’s hand.
OBINNE: Do not go without me, my heart.
Ikedike shoves Obinne roughly aside and stands. His eyes are a malevolent red. His hands are shaking.
IKEDIKE: You will hang for this, if it is the last thing I make sure of.
Light fades on Obinne, a pathetic weeping bundle on the ground.
V
The villagers gather at the clearing in the forest. Nwelumma is the symbol of grief. Animoke tries to present a stolid front, but his bloodshot eyes tell the tale. Ikedike keeps sniffling for anyone who will hear.
Two strong men drag Obinne to the forefront and make him face the crowd. He is pathetic, does not fight. A shadow. The villagers vilify him. Stones, sand, spittle, curses collide with his person.
The chief priest, EZEMMUO, comes forward, and the villagers restrain themselves. He digs his staff into the ground and faces the crowd, his back to Obinne. At all times, Ezemmuo is fearful, with his chalked eye and grim-set face. But on this day, he is especially forbidding.
EZEMMUO: Ani has been desecrated in this place. She demands purification. You know the law She has laid down.
VILLAGERS: Blood will cleanse blood. He who spills shall cleanse his spill.
EZEMMUO: Blood will cleanse blood.
VILLAGERS: Blood will cleanse blood.
EZEMMUO: He who spills shall cleanse his spill.
VILLAGERS: Blood will cleanse blood.
There is silence, save for Nwelumma’s wretched weeps.
EZEMMUO: Does the condemned have anything to say for himself?
One of the strong men holding Obinne prods him, as he seems to be in a trance. He looks up, forlorn.
OBINNE: I only ask that you quicken my passage; ferry me to Ola m. Life is not worth a morsel without her.
IKEDIKE: I will strike your murderous mouth!
Ikedike makes to get to Obinne and is restrained.
ANIMOKE: Send the bastard to his death already; so pathetic.
NWELUMMA: [crying]Has enough blood not been spilt already? Will his death bring my daughter back from her nether journey?
ANIMOKE: Keep shut, woman! Shall the laws be changed according to your tears?
Ezemmuo lifts his staff and digs it back into the ground. The jangling of the cowries and bones on it calls the crowd to order. He turns to the men holding Obinne.
EZEMMUO: Send the wicked hence from the living.
Ezemmuo departs. The men drag an unprotesting Obinne to the middle palm, from which hangs a noose. The villagers resume their vitriol. Nwelumma weeps in the arms of her friends. Animoke watches with steel and hate. Ikedike, shrunken – perhaps with guilt – quietly leaves the scene.
The noose is tightened around Obinne’s neck. His impending demise appears to tie the tongues of the villagers. There is silence as the men leave him to dangle; as his neck breaks without pomp.
The spectacle is over no sooner than it began. The villagers disperse in whispering pockets, death having stripped them of volume.
The sun looks down on the earth without vigour. The breeze is on leave. The three palms silently regard the motionless bounty bequeathed them.