MOVEMENT ONE
Light opens on a moderately furnished sitting room of the SOROIBES. There is a picture of
BARR. SOROIBE, his wife, MADAM SOROIBE, and their son, ENYINNAYA, hanging at the
centre of the wall. On the opposite wall is an enlarged photo of BARR SOROIBE wearing his
professional outfit—a black gown and a white wig. A tired wooden mini shelf carrying his
plaques sits a few metres away from the picture. At the centre of the sitting room is an old
television, a video player, with compact discs littered. On the left, there is a long mirror. Files
are piled at the right, and old chairs surround the room to form a C. ENYINNAYA sits at one end
of the room. Soon, BARR. SOROIBE enters, on a black suit and a striped blue and black tie runs
beyond his stomach. He sits on one of the chairs, untying his shoelace.
ENYINNAYA: Good afternoon, Dad. Welcome!
BARR. SOROIBE: (still untying his shoelace) Enyinnaya, you’re at home today.
Where is your mother?
ENYINNAYA: She left for the market.
BARR. SOROIBE: Why didn’t she go there since morning? Will I now eat my own
sweat?
[Silence. BARR. SOROIBE drops his bag well.]
ENYINNAYA: She has been busy since morning.
BARR. SOROIBE: Doing what? Painting her face, of course. You like to support her
every time. [Pauses, bringing his voice lower] But a son should be
his father’s friend, not so?
ENYINNAYA: I don’t know.
BARR. SOROIBE: Maybe you really don’t, but let me tell you. That was why I named
you “Enyinnaya” which means, “A friend of his father.” That is
how it should be. And that is why we should be agreeing with each
other. We obviously don’t agree on one thing. [Pauses] Can we
just have a father and son discussion?
ENYINNAYA: The last time we had it, you didn’t give me a chance to speak. You
kept screaming that a father is always right.
BARR. SOROIBE: You’re lucky to have a learned father. I didn’t have this benefit. Go
to other Nigerian homes and ask. The language a father gives a
child is the language of koboko, and it has only one syllabic word,
Itawai, Itawai [Demonstrating how to flog].
ENYINNAYA: You have done worse.
BARR. SOROIBE: I stopped flogging you years ago. You’re a man now. If not for
things you know, you would have been in Bwari Law School. Not
so?
ENYINNAYA: There you go again. You have your way of dragging all these in.
BARR. SOROIBE: There is no other way.
ENYINNAYA: Then let me rest.
BARR. SOROIBE: You’re talking to your father.
ENYINNAYA: That is it. How can we have this discussion when you keep saying
this?
BARR. SOROIBE: It is the voice of caution. Just in case you cross the line.
ENYINNAYA: So, we better don’t talk about anything.
[ENYINNAYA tries to leave. BARR. SOROIBE calls him back.]
BARR. SOROIBE: Enyinnaya, Enyinnaya, come back here.
[ENYINNAYA returns, standing. BARR. SOROIBE struggles to
remove his shoe, but fails. ENYINNAYA walks up to him and helps
him remove it with ease.]
BARR. SOROIBE: [breathing out] Thank you, my boy. Have a seat. [Silence after
ENYINNAYA sits.] Look, I want your mother to come back and see
what we have done. That we are now five and six, that we are men
after all. Now, let me begin with this. As I was just entering here,
our neighbour’s wife greeted me and with the way she was
smiling, I knew she had something to say, so I said, “Lady
Chikadibia, why this happiness?” She smiled and said that her son
who moved to Atlanta has finished his undergraduate studies in
Literature and now pursuing his Masters in Comparative
Literature.
[Silence.]
BARR. SOROIBE: You know that her son, don’t you? The one that couldn’t pass his
JAMB exams for three years. He failed JAMB so much that I
began to see him as their yearly customer.
ENYINNAYA: I didn’t see him that way, then.
BARR. SOROIBE: You don’t say. Look, that woman and her husband are still terrible.
Wait a minute, their son managed to go to America and all they
would allow him to study is Literature? Eh? Literature nkiti,
ordinary Literature? Eji Literature eje ebee? Where is one going
with Literature? Can you imagine, Enyinnaya? I said within me,
“Even if my son spends ten years studying Law, he is better than
Ndi Literature, the Literature people.”
ENYINNAYA: This is the problem I have with you.
BARR. SOROIBE: What problem?
ENYINNAYA: You don’t see anything wrong with the things you say?
BARR. SOROIBE: No.
ENYINNAYA: Didn’t it matter that the boy wanted Literature?
BARR. SOROIBE: I doubt. No one in his right senses can wake up and decide to study
ordinary Literature. Those who study Literature are those who
failed to get Law.
ENYINNAYA: Ahhh…
BARR. SOROIBE: Yes. We know them.
ENYINNAYA: Dad, allow young people to live their dreams.
BARR. SOROIBE: Dreams are fantasies, Enyinnaya. I have lived life enough to know
where there is no road. If you’re not doing any professional course
in Nigeria, you’re useless.
ENYINNAYA: Ahhh…
BARR. SOROIBE: Literature! What will he now be doing? He wants to be Soyinka or
Adichie? [Laughs].
ENYINNAYA: But Soyinka studied Literature.
BARR. SOROIBE: Yes, but that was a time when Literature was something
honourable and Soyinka made the best out of it. This is the age of
science and technology. If you must be in the Arts, you must do
something professional and Law is the only professional thing
there. [Pauses.] Did Adichie study Literature as an undergraduate?
ENYINNAYA: No.
BARR. SOROIBE: So, what does that tell you? The best writers of this age didn’t
study Literature. Anyone who can speak good English can be a
good writer, no matter the field. You see? That boy is wasting his
time in America. [Brings his voice low]. Those who study
Literature don’t produce the best works because they become their
own critics. They usually resign from writing, become failed
writers and start masquerading as critics, critiquing other people’s
works. You see? That boy will fail.
ENYINNAYA: Do you know what you put me through? Do you know how
depressing it is when I am reading a textbook I don’t enjoy?
BARR. SOROIBE: Because I read those textbooks, that is why there is a roof over
your head. If I did it, you can. How many heads do I have? How
many heads do the Chief Justice’s daughters have?
ENYINNAYA: I don’t want to become someone else. You have frustrated me.
You have made me lose interest in everything around me.
BARR. SOROIBE: But you have not lost interest in comedy, have you?
[Silence.]
BARR. SOROIBE: Pour that comedy energy into your textbooks. In the end, nobody
will ask you how many parties you organized.
ENYINNAYA: I should pursue what I hate?
BARR. SOROIBE: Just love it. You see, that is the thing. Once you decide to love
something, you will love everything that comes with it, including
the stress.
ENYINNAYA: You have led me into everyday depression.
BARR. SOROIBE: Depression? No, you can’t have depression. Depression is for
those people you see on TV who put ropes on their necks and
jump.
ENYINNAYA: You think they are not people’s children. You think they don’t
have fathers like you. You make me wonder about the kind of
education you had received.
BARR. SOROIBE: Enyinnaya, you’re crossing the line.
ENYINNAYA: Father and son discussion, isn’t it?
BARR. SOROIBE: You’re crossing the line.
ENYINNAYA: My comic nature is the reason I haven’t done anything extreme.
But I am losing it. I’m drowning. My freedom is hidden in
comedy.
BARR. SOROIBE: Supu! I like how English flows in your mouth. That is probably
why I still like you. But I don’t understand how you don’t pass
your exams with it.
[Silence.]
ENYINNAYA: If I struggle to pass the final law exam, I may just give you the
certificate to eat.
BARR. SOROIBE: Why?
ENYINNAYA: I have been saying it, haven’t I?
BARR. SOROIBE: What?
ENYINNAYA: I don’t have the passion.
BARR. SOROIBE: Enyinnaya, you will not know the honour of being a lawyer till you
become one.
ENYINNAYA: I have seen the honour in you.
BARR. SOROIBE: You have, haven’t you?
ENYINNAYA: I don’t want it.
BARR. SOROIBE: You will.
ENYINNAYA: I won’t.
BARR. SOROIBE: You will.
ENYINNAYA: I won’t.
BARR. SOROIBE: A child that is carried at the back will never know how long the
journey is.
ENYINNAYA: My carrier, bring me down; let me walk with my legs.
BARR. SOROIBE: [Laughs] Wait, wait, I know you are tensed about how it will be.
Look, you will enjoy the process.
ENYINNAYA: Which process?
BARR. SOROIBE: Of being a law custodian of the country.
ENYINNAYA: I don’t get.
BARR. SOROIBE: Don’t you see how I am addressed in public functions. Everyone
makes way for me.
ENYINNAYA: But how do you address issues in your private home?
BARR. SOROIBE: It is nobody’s business.
ENYINNAYA: Really?
BARR. SOROIBE: Everyone has a battle they are facing. But they won’t tell you.
ENYINNAYA: Yes. You’re the battle I am facing in this house.
BARR. SOROIBE: You can’t be serious, can you?
ENYINNAYA: I feel like disappearing.
BARR. SOROIBE: To where?
ENYINNAYA: That is why I haven’t disappeared yet.
BARR. SOROIBE: [Laughs] You know what you will be missing. Your father has
worked so hard to give you all you have. But life is not rosy. If you
must keep enjoying life like your father, you must do something
serious.
ENYINNAYA: My mind wanders around all night. I have become one with the
night. I can trade all the things you have for my peace of mind.
[Pause.]
BARR. SOROIBE: Wait, for one minute, I am beginning to take you seriously. Is that
how you have planned to squander all I have?
ENYINNAYA: I don’t understand.
[Pauses. Holds his son on his shoulder.]
BARR. SOROIBE: Enyinnaya, if I had given my father so many troubles like you’re
giving me, I am not sure he could have lived as long as he did.
ENYINNAYA: Then, allow me to breathe. I need air.
[Pauses.]
BARR. SOROIBE: I have made so many mistakes as a lawyer. If you become one, I
will guide you through. And one day, you may be a Chief Justice.
Put your mind into it. I see it coming.
ENYINNAYA: Better stop seeing it. Vision of the blind!
BARR. SOROIBE: You’re crossing your line.
ENYINNAYA: Father and son discussions…
BARR. SOROIBE: It shouldn’t make you stupid. Save yourself!
[Silence.]
BARR. SOROIBE: Enyinnaya, I don’t want you to be like your late uncle, Onyegbula.
He died two years before you were born. When I look at you
sometimes, something tells me that Onyegbula came back in you.
He was just like you. Never took life seriously.
ENYINNAYA: I didn’t meet him, but whenever I mention my surname ‘Soroibe’
in Owerri, people ask me if I were a relative of Onyegbula Soroibe.
No one has asked me if I am a relative to Barrister Ekennaya
Soroibe.
BARR. SOROIBE: You’re crossing your line.
ENYINNAYA: Father and son discussion…
BARR. SOROIBE: Sharap!
[Silence.]
BARR. SOROIBE: I knew that Onyegbula will come back and haunt me. I was told by
the prophets, at least. In his first life, he was a singer, now he
wants to be a comedian. God forbid! [Flings his fingers] Not under
my roof!
[Silence.]
BARR. SOROIBE: But I asked God not to give me a son like Onyegbula. I did what I
was told to do on his grave.
ENYINNAYA: What did you do?
BARR. SOROIBE: Never mind!
ENYINNAYA: Father and son discussion…
BARR. SOROIBE: Not in this matter. But tell me, are you Onyegbula?
ENYINNAYA: What kind of question is that, father?
BARR. SOROIBE: I am only curious. Do you think you’re coming back to life for
someone?
ENYINNAYA: I don’t understand.
BARR. SOROIBE: Reincarnation. That is what it is called.
ENYINNAYA: I don’t understand.
BARR. SOROIBE: Father and son discussion…
ENYINNAYA: What!
BARR. SOROIBE: Trust me. I won’t tell anyone.
ENYINNAYA: Tell what?
BARR. SOROIBE: Onyegbula!
ENYINNAYA: Did what?
BARR. SOROIBE: Is he in you?
ENYINNAYA: How?
BARR. SOROIBE: He sent you to torment me?
ENYINNAYA: Are you alright, father?
[BARR. SOROIBE begins to chase ENYINNAYA around the sitting
room.]
[MADAM SOROIBE enters.]
MADAM SOROIBE: What is happening here?
BARR. SOROIBE: Mama Enyinnaya, talk to your son!
ENYINNAYA: What did I do?
BARR. SOROIBE: Let him tell us who he is.
MADAM SOROIBE: How?
BARR. SOROIBE: Onyegbula! He said he will be back.
MADAM SOROIBE: Onyegbula, your brother? Back? Where? Isn’t he dead?
BARR. SOROIBE: He said he will haunt me.
MADAM SOROIBE: Who?
BARR. SOROIBE: Onyegbula!
[ENYINNAYA is hiding behind the mother.]
MADAM SOROIBE: Are you alright, Papa Enyinnaya?
BARR. SOROIBE: Perfectly!
MADAM SOROIBE: [To ENYINNAYA]. What is wrong with your father?
ENYINNAYA: I don’t know. He is just acting strange.
MADAM SOROIBE: Papa Enyinnaya!
BARR. SOROIBE: Catch that boy for me!
MADAM SOROIBE: Why? Kill both of us.
BARR. SOROIBE: Ask him where he is from?
MADAM SOROIBE: This is afternoon. He didn’t go out today.
BARR. SOROIBE: No, just ask him.
MADAM SOROIBE: Enyinnaya, where did you go to?
BARR. SOROIBE: No. Not where he went to…where he came from!
MADAM SOROIBE: I don’t understand.
BARR. SOROIBE: Just ask him.
ENYINNAYA: I don’t understand too.
BARR. SOROIBE: I am losing it.
ENYINNAYA: What?
MADAM SOROIBE: What is happening here?
BARR. SOROIBE: Onyegbula is back.
ENYINNAYA: Where?
BARR. SOROIBE: In you. Don’t pretend!
MADAM SOROIBE: What?
ENYINNAYA: I don’t know mother.
[BARR. SOROIBE chases them around the stage till the light
fades.]

Igbokwe, Sixtus Chetachi is a final year student of English and Literary Studies, University of
Nigeria, Nsukka. He is an almumnus of the Purple Hibiscus Creative Writing Workshop,
facilitated by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie. He is the editor of The Muse 48