FROM THE KIND KILLER BY ACHIRO PATRICIA OLWOCH

ACT I Scene 1
           This is a one man show…Nata tells her story…
 
NATA
      I sat in a small dilapidated latrine clutching my
      small child. I was pregnant with my other child. I
      was so worried that at any one time the latrine would
      collapse…but this was the only place that was safe
      for my child and I.

     She moves around the stage…
 NATA

(Speaking slowly)
 My husband had been cut down, right before my eyes.
 Let me tell you the story from the beginning.

  She sits in the middle of the stage…

NATA
      You see…his friend Kabalata from next door came and
      knocked at our door. We were watching cartoons with
      my little son. Well, I was the one watching, my
      husband was seated with his laptop typing away like
      the world was about to end. (Slowly) In a way, I
      guess it did end for him.
      When Kabalata knocked at the door, I jumped up to
      open it. What I saw…
      …he was holding a machette in his hand. It was
      bloody…there were people running all over the place
      behid him…there was chaos and screaming and
      death…I was so confused.
      My son came behind me and started to cry…Kabalata
      put his finger to his mouth…silence…he was
      saying. I stepped back and picked up my son. Kabalata
      entered the house slowly…weilding his bloody
      machette. My husband stood up from where he was
      seated and walked up to him. He said nothing…he
      just gestured to me to leave the room. He faced
      Kabalata…that was the last time I saw my husband
      standing and alive.
           Nata is in the middle of the stage…craddling
           her child…and humming a tune…it is as if she
           is rocking her child to sleep. She lays the
           child in the middle of the stage and covers him
           with a ’lesu’ piece of cloth that she is wearing
           around her waist.
           She watches over her child like a hawk as he
           sleeps…

NATA
      Kabalata killed my husband…he cut him down in cold
      blood. The he came to the room where I was
      hiding…he had tears in his eyes. I was
      terrified…his machette was dripping with blood.
      Blood I knew was from my husband. He just stood
      there…tears…a bloody machette…there was
      screaming everywhere else around…but not in my
      house…right at that moment there was such a
      silence…such a cold feeling it was like someone was
      rubbing an ice block all over my body. Even my child
      would not cry. He tried to but all that came out was
      a muffled sound…it was as if the sound had gotten
      stuck in his throat on the way out.
           There is silence…deathly silence…
           Nata continues to speak slowly…
 NATA
      Now we are living in his house…we hide in the out
      door latrine during the day and in the night, he
      collects us under the shadow of night and hides us in
      his house. It is a hut actually…you see he used to
      be our shamba boy. He used to come and cut the grass
      around our compound. Now I am at his mercy…I live
      in his hut and sleep on a mat on the cold muddy
      floor…and I hide away in his latrine during the
      day. Saying that tables turn is an understatement.
           Nata walks around the stage…
 NATA
      I did ask him once…why he took my husband and left
      me and my child. He said that he had to prove that he
      has ’worked’ that day. Work! That us what they call
      the killings…the massacre…work! They equate it to
      clearing a shamba…cutting away weeds.
      Weasals…that is what they call us, just because we
      belong to another political group…or because we do
      not follow their political group. My husband worked
      for the government…he was their enemy. Why did he
      save me? Why didnt he cut me down too?
           Nata picks up her child and cradles him…
 NATA
      They meet in his hut. The killers…they meet in
      Kabalata’s hut…they are so many. Sometimes they are
      too many to gather in his hut so they sit under the
      mangoe tree in his compound. I can hear each and
      every word they say…the latrine is behind the mango
      tree. It is an old broken down latrine…no one uses
      it anymore. That is why it is the safest place for me
      to hide. It is smelly and full of all the flies the
      world has to offer but it is safe. It is either
      living in filth or dying like a dog. Some days, I think that it would be better to die. Better to die
      than watch my child sit and be covered with flies
      amidst the stench and all the filth.

Enyo will be published and available for free download on Arts Lounge, on the 20th of December, 2020.

Leave a comment

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *