Koffi Kwahulé was born in a village by the ocean in the French colony of Côte D’Ivoire. It was a village, he told me, with its own very distinctive language and culture.
Being a gifted child, he was separated from his family, his village and his language and sent to be educated in the capital, where the language of instruction was French.
Living in Paris, he told me, he knew no-one who spoke his birth language.
As far as he knew, he was the only one.
But when he wrote his plays, he heard his characters speaking in the language of his childhood.
And then he translated what they said into French.
The English of my translation, he told me, felt closer to his own language than the French.
I think that is probably the greatest compliment anyone has ever paid me as a translator, and I remain deeply moved by it.
I was separated from my childhood to be trained to become a coloniser; he was separated from his because he was one of the colonised.
Perhaps what connected us, then, was this shared experience of trauma and exile.
A deep anger and sadness pervades his work; I guess because he is both an alien suffering the racism of his adapted country and an alien uprooted from the country and the continent of his birth.
But deep compassion and profound poetry also suffuse his work, and I guess that’s why I love it.
I translated this play for the Royal Court in 2000, and they gave it a rehearsed reading.
And then in 2002 the Arcola Theatre mounted a fantastic production by Sacha Wares.
You can read a review here Bintou: The Guardian.
And soon after that I lost touch with Koffi.
Wikipedia says he is “among the most popular African playwrights in the world”, and I hope that’s true.
He certainly deserves to be.
BINTOU by Koffi Kwahulé . translated by Jo Clifford.
translation © John Clifford 2000
All rights whatsoever in this play are strictly reserved and application for performance etc. should be made before rehearsals to Alan Brodie Representation Ltd, Barbon Buildings, 14 Red Lion Square, London, WC1R 4QH. No performance may be given unless a licence has been obtained.
Gangsta Rap-t.
Nenesse’ bar. The juke box is playing a French song of the thirties.
The Lycaons enter. Manu carries a huge ghetto blaster.
Bintou: Nenesse, I’m ready now..
Nenesse: Ready for what?
Bintou: Ready to be a dancer. Look.
(She makes a sign to Manu who turns on the ghetto blaster.It plays Oriental music.
Now we hear both kinds of music mixed up together.
Nenesse: Now wait a minute, Bintou. I don’t quite get it
Kelkhal: What do you mean, you don’t quite get it
Bintou: You said if I got to dance like a real dancer, you’d let me dance here. You promised.
Nenesse: Oh that! I just said it, I didn’t mean-
Manu: What? Are you saying you didn’t mean it?
Nenesse: Well, you know how it is, you just say things....
Blackout: Nenesse, you made a mistake there. Hear that Nenesse? That was something you should not have done. You definitely should not have done.
Nenesse: Now listen. Don’t try to be smart. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. I mean, you’re just thirteen! I’d have no end of hassles, Bintou...
Manu: Just thirteen is she? That hasn’t stopped you drooling over her
Nenesse: Now listen thirteen. I could be sent to jail for that. And for a long time. It’s out of the question.
Kelkhal: Aren’t you exaggerating just a little?
Nenesse: No. Now look sweetheart, this is serious. And I don’t want to get into trouble with the law. This is not the right time.
Blackout: But you keep pigs in here, don’t you. I’ve seen them?
Kelkhal: Do you really expect us to believe you? Do you really think we’re so fucking stupid?
Bintou: Calm, boys, calm. (She slide behind the counter and takes a bottle) I’m sure he didn’t mean it. You were trying to be funny, weren’t you, Nenesse? It was one of your jokes, wasn’t it? (She drops a bottle which breaks) Oh shit, what a stupid thing to do. (She picks up another bottle and drops it, too) It’s obviously not my day. You know it means a lot to me, Nenesse. To me, and my mother. (She grabs another bottle)
Nenesse: Stop it Bintou! You know I like you. I’ve tried to be like a father to you.
Bintou (dropping the bottle): Nenesse, I don’t need a father. Don’t ever talk to me about fathers. Fathers are weak shit.Now listen, Nenesse. There are three things in this world Bintou hates: anyone talking to her about fathers, anyone making her waste time, and anyone making a promise to her and lying. That is absolutely out of order, Nenesse. And I have been breaking my arse practising belly dancing and you, Nenesse, you have not kept your word. So, let’s try at least not to waste any more time. Do you know why no-one comes to this little arse hole of a bar? Do you know why Nenesse? Cause it’s got no magic. And you need magic Nenesse, especially when you have a bar that’s got about as much magic as a rat’s arse. So listen:for a month, Nenesse, a whole month I will dance in this rat hole for nothing. Call it a month’s free trial. Downstairs, where the people come to hide away and play forbidden little games. That’s where I’ll dance; and if after a month, there’s still no magic in this bar, then we are quits. But if you get your customers come back, and you will get them back because I know what they want,Nenesse, and what they want to see is a thirteen year old girl wiggling her arse to eastern music in the cellar of a crummy bar. And then, when your bar is so full people are queuing down the street, I will fix my pay on my terms. Just be clear about this Nenesse: this is not a proposition, this is not an offer or a suggestion, this is your only chance to redeem yourself.
Nenesse: Yes ok Bintou, if it was up to me.... it’s just I’d be exposing myself to no end of hassle with the vice squad. It’s just too big a risk.
Bintou: There’s magic in risk. You’ve been around. You know that.
Kelkhal: You have broken your word. Samiagamal has not broken hers. So let her do what she says she’ll do.
Blackout (taking out his weapon): Or otherwise we’ll beat your balls off. And you can tell us what you think of that.
Manu: Blackout’s already bumped someone off, Nenesse.
Nenesse: That black bastard? Don’t imagine I give a fuck about him. Okoume. I’ve said what I had to say. And I am telling you like a father, yes, like a father, Bintou: all you’re saying makes no sense at all.
Blackout (with a Provencal accent): Oh dad you’re breaking my heart. (He grabs him by the neck) Stop giving us all this shit about how you’ve seen everything and done everything. I couldn’t give a fuck about all this shit of you being so fucking experienced and wise, Nenesse. So: you keep your fucking word or I put a fucking bullet between your fucking eyes.
(Enter P’tit Jean followed by Terminator and Assassino. P’tit Jean has a gun, and
Assassino has a ghetto blaster spitting out rap music. French song of the thirties,
oriental music and rap all mingle. P’tit Jean makes a sign to Assassino who puts up
the volume. At once, Manu puts up his volume. New sign from P’tit Jean. Assassino
puts up the volume again. So does Manu. Both machines are pumping out music at
their highest volume, drowning out the french song while the two groups eye each
other up like fighting dogs. After a moment, P’tit Jean makes a sign to Assassino who
turns his machine off. Manu does the same with his, leaving space for the only french
song.
P’tit Jean: Bintou, I come on behalf of...Tell that guy to put his gun away.
Blackout: You first.
P’tit Jean: Tell him to put his fucking gun away!
Terminator: It’s just that P’tit Jean has a nervous index finger. He can’t stop it twitching. One false move and who knows what might happen.
Bintou: Put yours away first
P’tit Jean: No, after you.
Bintou (calmly): No question. Your gun first. Blackout will then put his away...I promise.
P’tit Jean puts his weapon away. Bintou makes a sign to Blackout, who does the
same)
P’tit Jean: Your father sent me to look for you.
Bintou (fiercely:) P’tit Jean, never ever speak of my father!
Terminator: Don’t speak to P’tit Jean like that. Or I’ll rape you. There.
Bintou: Rape me? What with?
Terminator (taken aback): What you mean, what with?
P’tit Jean: Shut it, Terminator!
Assassino: But P’tit Jean, can’t we just fuck her a little? Fuck her a little to pay her back.
P’tit Jean: Shut up Assassino!... Your family has sent me to look for you, Bintou.
Bintou: P’tit Jean, you have grown up since we last met. Now you’ve got a gun. A gun and two bums. It’s almost a gang.
Assassino: Us, we’re the pitbulls.
Terminator :Yeah
Assassino: And we’ve come to make the Lycaons bleed.
Terminator: Yeah
Manu: I’m so frightened I’m pissing in my knickers
Terminator: You’re right to piss yourself, thick arse, because of what you did to P’tit Jean. And because we’re the pitbulls and we are going to make you bleed
(They both take out their knives)
Bintou: Come on, P’tit Jean! Open your eyes, P’tit Jean! Why are you trying so hard to pretend to be hard? I know you’re too good for this world. But is that really why... Raise your head and look me in the eyes! If that’s really what you want, then look, here’s my knife. (She offers him her knife which he does not take) Look at me!... Look, here, I’m offering you my chest: plunge the knife into my heart, ease your pain with my blood.. if that is what you want.
P’tit Jean (after a silence, to the Pitbulls): You too, stop acting like clowns! Put those blades away.
They do it.
Blackout: Do your mummies know you’re playing with knives?
(Terminator suddenly throws himself on Blackout, and so lets loose a general struggle
at the same time as the rap and the eastern music explode out the speakers. Soon the
whole bar is upside down. P’tit Jean takes advantage of the general confusion to
carry Bintou off. The Lycaons throw themselves after him. They are chased by the
Pitbulls. As soon as everyone has gone, the rap and the eastern music stop playing to
allow the french song of the thirties to be heard once again)
Rape
At Bintou’s parent’s house. African ritual music. Bintou is in the centre of the stage,
blindfold. She is surrounded by her family and Moussoba.
Bintou tears off the blindfold and the lighting becomes harsher.
Bintou: What do you want?
Moussoba: Take off your clothes
Bintou: What do you mean, asking Bintou to such a stupid thing? What have you crawled out of?
Moussoba: Don’t raise your witch’s voice against me!
Bintou: Then stop poisoning the air with your breath!
Mother: Bintou... it’s Moussoba
Bintou: Bring all the human garbage here you like, mother, that’s your business. But don’t expect me to have to speak to it.
Moussoba makes a sign to the uncle.
Uncle: Take your clothes off!
Bintou: Who are you? I told you not to speak to me!
Uncle: Take off your clothes!
Bintou: Come and take them off me.
He joins her.
Mother: It’s for your own good, Bintou.
Uncle: Undress yourself!
Bintou :You undress me.
He slaps her. The chorus comes running.
Mother: Drissa!
Uncle: Silence, woman! If you had not behaved like an unworthy mother, we would not be here now!
Aunt: She who gives birth to a depraved child does not suffer as much as those who must then raise her.
Bintou: Who asked you to raise me? What about my father? Does he know what you’re cooking up?
Aunt: And when did you care about what your father thinks?
Uncle (brutally tearing her skirt): Undress!
Bintou spits in his face. He slaps her.
Bintou: Still excited aren’t you? You’re like a little dog with a hard on! Piss off! Come on, pull your knickers down. That’s what you want to do. You want to rub your cock up against me like a greasy pole. Your itchy cock. Your besotted cock that wants a piece of me, a piece of virgin sensuality. That wants to suck at a piece of fresh flesh. So what’s holding you back? Perhaps you’re waiting for permission from Auntie Rokia
Suddenly, as if seized by madness, the uncle hurls himself upon her and tears her
garments yelling “Undress yourself!” Little by little, his frenzy subsides. Bending
over the body which is now naked and motionless, the uncle absently caresses
Bintou’s face as if to reassure himself that his blows have not damaged her
Uncle: Have I hurt you? Bintou, Bintou, are you hurt..?
Aunt:Drissa!
The uncle comes to himself and realises the situation. He picks up the inert body. All
the family places itself the opposite side from the chorus. Only Moussoba occupies
the centre of the stage. She brandishes a knife while the mother has Bintou’s flick
knife. The scene is fixed and no-one actually does what the lines say. The whole
ensemble looks like a strange family photograph.
Moussoba: Open her legs!
Chorus :Strong brutal hands
Male hands
Opened her legs
And then she felt the shadow
The shadow of the fingers of the Woman-with-the-knife
snaking their way along her thighs
I fought back
The male hands became
Stronger and more brutal still
Moussoba: I hold her shaft
Chorus I imagined the knife she brandished
I imagined its intoxication
As it sniffed my blood
I imagined it rusty with blood
Old blood, the blood of so many
And I begged my mother
That nothing be done to me
With a knife
Which had already paddled
In the blood of so many
And since I was condemned to this
Condemned without hope of reprieve
I begged that it would be done
With my own knife
I begged so loudly and so strongly that mother...
Moussoba: Then give me her wretched knife, and let’s get it over with! I’ve three others to do before dawn.
The Mother gives her the switchblade.
Chorus: The woman held the blade
And with thumb and index finger
Cold as the ash of long extinguished fires
The woman with the knife
Fingered the shaft
And it seemed then to Bintou
That her body was stretching out
That her body was spreading wide
Right out to the very edges of the world
My body was stretching out
My body was slowly calming
When suddenly
The sound of Moussoba opening the switchblade
At once I felt the cold kiss
Of the blade on the crest of my secret place
A member of the chorus screams. Slowly, blood seeps out of the blade of the
knife to slide down the length of Moussoba’s still raised arm
Then it was
Fire
Then it was
Blood
Then it was
Blackness
The Uncle puts Bintou down on the ground
Bintou (sitting up, as if in a dream): Daddy still hasn’t come.Daddy can’t be coming. Even today, on such an important day, he prefers to stay locked up in his room. Thank you, mummy, thank you for the dress. It is beautiful, it really is very beautiful. This red veil sewn with precious stones is so gorgeous. I am overcome with joy. I never guessed that being married would fill me with so much happiness. I am happy, mummy, so happy I could embrace the whole world.
My Lycaons! (The Lycaons appear. Kelkhal is dressed as an Arab prince., Blackout as an African Prince, and Manu, who holds in his hand a policeman’s uniform cap, as a European prince of the Renaissance) I was afraid that you would be offended by the fact that... Come, Okoume, come my killer with hands of silk, come (She embraces him) And you, Kader, my warrior loaded with secret poems, come. (She embraces him) Emmanuel, my Enchantment,.... (Manu gives her the policeman’s uniform cap) It’s for me? You’ve done it, you’ve done it at last. Blackout lent you his gun and bang! And Kelkhal covered you... And there was me thinking you wouldn’t come. But here you are and with a wedding present: a cop’s scalp. (She embraces Manu) My Lycaons... my three mad wise men, as P’tit Jean called them....P’tit Jean! Where is P’tit Jean? (P’tit Jean appears) Don’t be shy, come here. Come. (She presses him against her) Isn’t my dress beautiful? Mummy made it for me. (She offers him a leg) Here, it’s for you. Come on, its for you, the garter. (P’tit moves as if to remove an imaginary garter then recoils in horror, looking at his hands) Your hand is covered in blood, P’tit Jean. And it’s crying, P’tit Jean. Why’s the blood on your hand crying? (He buries his head in his hands and runs accross the stage) There’s blood everywhere. It’s stained my dress... I’m losing my blood, losing all my blood...Mummy, life is draining out of me, I am draining out of me, everything, mummy, everything draining out of me! All this blood. I had no idea I had so much blood in me....
It has finally come
my huge scarlet bird with golden wings
My blood is a big bird
Who lifts me and carries me away on its wings of fire
And I become the bird, the bird with giant wingswho disappears into the bleeding expectant sky
I lose myself
Lose myself in
The bandaged impatience of the void
I am the scarlet bird with giant wings
Bird... circle... line... point...
I am... I am... I am
Bintou collapses. The chorus intones an oriental funeral chant while the Lycaons lift
up the body to carry it with straight arms and leave.
The members of the family scatter, visibly anxious.
Moussoba: Your daughter has not been courageous. Bintou has decided to share the couch of death. Your daughter was not made for this world. She has gone back to the source. Let there be no witness to this but the night.. Wash away the blood: dig the grave here. No-one will think to search inside the house. Remember: that as long as the wall does not crack, the cockroach will not take up her lodging. Do not show any sign of mourning. Above all no weeping: you will be betrayed by grief.
She leaves. The members of the family, each one in their corner, eye each other up
like dogs. Silence. The uncle leaves and comes back with a pick-axe and spade. He
gives the first blow of the pickaxe and blackness falls. When the light comes back, the uncle has just finished closing up the newly dug grave. Suddenly, he discovers the chorus surrounding him.
Uncle Who are you? (Silence) When did you come in? (Silence) What have you seen? (Silence) Who are you? Are you friends of Bintou? (The uncle moves back, s if panic stricken by the silence of the chorus) If you are Bintou’s friends, then Bintou isn’t here any more. She has gone back to the country. Our country. But she will come back. In a month. She just needs time. Enough time to get to know all the family and then she will be back. (Silence) But speak, say something! Who are you and what do you want of me? (Silence) Bintou had never been. Never set foot in her own country. So her mother thought it was the best time, for her own good.. But you know Bintou, she could decide all of a sudden not to come back... Don’t do this. Don’t. Stop following me! Leave me alone. Leave me alone!
He leaves, followed by the Chorus.
Black