Ukuphuthelwa (Insomnia)
Acknowledgements
This next post is an excerpt from a work-shopped production I was cast in last year (2012). The piece was directed wonderfully by Mandla Mbothwe (assisted by Ms Jess Harrison and Themba "Crocodile-Longlegs" Mchunu) - all of whom were a pillar of strength along one of the most challenging journeys of my life. The production brought together an auditorium full of strangers and churned out a close-knit family of strong performers ... my family. To my brother Sisesakhe UThixo Isigqibo Ntabezo, I say thank you for never failing to motivate me along this fool's quest to hopefully becoming the best drunken writer from our lifetime. To my mother, who doesn't know half the things I do here - but trusts that I will not fail to attain a degree. To my best friends Wesley (who never fails to bemuse me), Violet (who never lets me forget who I am and where I come from), Tumi (who I know still loves me - even though I've become estranged) and most sincerely to my bro-cousing Itu (for sticking by me through my darkest years).
This excerpt is solely the part I wrote for the production. You had to have been there to fully experience the wonder and magnificence of the event. Some of the actions in this text have been added as an attempt to re-invent the chronology of the piece for the purpose of this text solely. The production itself, my role in it, remains a vivid memory eternally etched in my soul.
Happy Birthday, Push . . .
Fade in ...
SCENE
A spotlight goes on and shines on a man sitting at his desk in his study typing something on the typewriter in front of him. His hair is messy and unkempt, his clothes rugged and torn and for some or other reason his toes are in a tub full of water. He finishes his last page and reads it out loud in a slight English accent.
Writer: Most accounts of history are wrought with bloodshed, pain and suffering; and the pages are stained with tears. This one is no different at all. How do I as a stranger to the land accurately capture the grotesque screams of men and women being slaughtered? How do I revive fallen warriors:
He clears his throught, and continues:
Klaas Stuurman, leader of the Khoi people! Chief Tshaka of AmaQunukhwebe! Chief Chungwa of AmaQunukhwebe!
He stops reading, looks up, and continues pensively.
Writer: How do I begin to tell the story of the history of people and places whose names I cannot pronounce.
He looks down again with a sigh and runs his hand through his hair. He then continues reading.
Writer: This is the story of Grahamstown; built on the bones of Chief Chungwa! Built on the blood of Xhosa men and Xhosa women who died at the hands of Britain! This is the story of Egazini!
He places the page on the pile next to his typewriter and lights a cigarette before he places another page in the typewriter. He reads out loud as he types.
Writer: PEOPLE FORGET! 1816 - 1818! The Rise of Nxele ka Makhanda! Ntsikana ka Gaba! Dyani ka Tshatshu! The Battle of the Gods!
PEOPLE FORGET! October 1818 - The Battle of AmaLinde! PEOPLE FORGET! 1842 - Chief Tyali (Brothor of Chief Maqoma); Hero of the Sixth Frontier War ... DEAD! PEOPLE. FORGET. HISTORY!
Black out
SCENE
There is silence except for the sound of clicking typewriter keys. The spotlight returns and illuminates Writer, still seated at his desk, with a group of African women standing in a semi-circle around him; singing a traditional Xhosa hymn. The women stop singing and start humming gently. The writer reads his last page to the hum.
Writer: It all started in July, 1781 between the Burgher - Van Jaarveld Commando and Chief Mdange. On escalation, the frontier wars saw the loss of a revered Xhosa chief's son, a truece undervalued by both sides and the death of Chief Tshaka of AmaGqunukhwebe.
In All, theere were nine frontier wars - each with its own number of casualties, cattle-raids and pillaging. All until the proclamation of peace by Cathcart on 2 March 1853.
The hum stops as soon as he finishes reading. The light fades and a deep repeats: ... PEOPLE FORGET.
END
This next post is an excerpt from a work-shopped production I was cast in last year (2012). The piece was directed wonderfully by Mandla Mbothwe (assisted by Ms Jess Harrison and Themba "Crocodile-Longlegs" Mchunu) - all of whom were a pillar of strength along one of the most challenging journeys of my life. The production brought together an auditorium full of strangers and churned out a close-knit family of strong performers ... my family. To my brother Sisesakhe UThixo Isigqibo Ntabezo, I say thank you for never failing to motivate me along this fool's quest to hopefully becoming the best drunken writer from our lifetime. To my mother, who doesn't know half the things I do here - but trusts that I will not fail to attain a degree. To my best friends Wesley (who never fails to bemuse me), Violet (who never lets me forget who I am and where I come from), Tumi (who I know still loves me - even though I've become estranged) and most sincerely to my bro-cousing Itu (for sticking by me through my darkest years).
This excerpt is solely the part I wrote for the production. You had to have been there to fully experience the wonder and magnificence of the event. Some of the actions in this text have been added as an attempt to re-invent the chronology of the piece for the purpose of this text solely. The production itself, my role in it, remains a vivid memory eternally etched in my soul.
Happy Birthday, Push . . .
Ukuphuthelwa (Insomnia)
Fade in ...
SCENE
A spotlight goes on and shines on a man sitting at his desk in his study typing something on the typewriter in front of him. His hair is messy and unkempt, his clothes rugged and torn and for some or other reason his toes are in a tub full of water. He finishes his last page and reads it out loud in a slight English accent.
Writer: Most accounts of history are wrought with bloodshed, pain and suffering; and the pages are stained with tears. This one is no different at all. How do I as a stranger to the land accurately capture the grotesque screams of men and women being slaughtered? How do I revive fallen warriors:
He clears his throught, and continues:
Klaas Stuurman, leader of the Khoi people! Chief Tshaka of AmaQunukhwebe! Chief Chungwa of AmaQunukhwebe!
He stops reading, looks up, and continues pensively.
Writer: How do I begin to tell the story of the history of people and places whose names I cannot pronounce.
He looks down again with a sigh and runs his hand through his hair. He then continues reading.
Writer: This is the story of Grahamstown; built on the bones of Chief Chungwa! Built on the blood of Xhosa men and Xhosa women who died at the hands of Britain! This is the story of Egazini!
He places the page on the pile next to his typewriter and lights a cigarette before he places another page in the typewriter. He reads out loud as he types.
Writer: PEOPLE FORGET! 1816 - 1818! The Rise of Nxele ka Makhanda! Ntsikana ka Gaba! Dyani ka Tshatshu! The Battle of the Gods!
PEOPLE FORGET! October 1818 - The Battle of AmaLinde! PEOPLE FORGET! 1842 - Chief Tyali (Brothor of Chief Maqoma); Hero of the Sixth Frontier War ... DEAD! PEOPLE. FORGET. HISTORY!
Black out
SCENE
There is silence except for the sound of clicking typewriter keys. The spotlight returns and illuminates Writer, still seated at his desk, with a group of African women standing in a semi-circle around him; singing a traditional Xhosa hymn. The women stop singing and start humming gently. The writer reads his last page to the hum.
Writer: It all started in July, 1781 between the Burgher - Van Jaarveld Commando and Chief Mdange. On escalation, the frontier wars saw the loss of a revered Xhosa chief's son, a truece undervalued by both sides and the death of Chief Tshaka of AmaGqunukhwebe.
In All, theere were nine frontier wars - each with its own number of casualties, cattle-raids and pillaging. All until the proclamation of peace by Cathcart on 2 March 1853.
The hum stops as soon as he finishes reading. The light fades and a deep repeats: ... PEOPLE FORGET.
END
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