SCENE ONE
A well-furnished living room is revealed. There is a centre table on which bottles of unfinished drink have been placed; documents lay littered on an adjacent desk. UNCLE MARK sits majestically on an arm chair. His son, ABEL sits in another. Next to them is UKAGWULA, UNCLE MARK’S nephew. UNCLE MARK is a man in his mid-fifties. Most distinctive of him is his bulging belly. He is holding a toothpick as his tummy dances to the rhythm of the raucous laughter that is shaking his huge body. As light is shed on the stage, a loud laughter resonates from UNCLE MARK and his son. UKAGWULA looks confused as he stares at both.
UKAGWULA: Uncle, if you have seen patches of shit on my body, do well to tell me.
UNCLE MARK: Not just patches. You can’t see how you have messed up your already terrible life?
UKAGWULA: How, Uncle? I still don’t see anything funny in my story.
ABEL: Exactly! We can’t take that away from you. You have an interesting story. A story of a man who makes a living by singing on the streets of Owerri.
UKAGWULA: That’s a mockery, Abel, isn’t it?
ABEL: [Laughs] Of course, it’s not. What would I gain from making a mockery of my cousin?
UNCLE MARK: Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
UKAGWULA: So what do you plan to do with me, Uncle?
ABEL: [Yawns] What a day, father!
UNCLE MARK: Indeed, an interesting one. I have had a feeling, from sunrise, that it would be quite a funny day.
ABEL: And you didn’t tell me.
UNCLE MARK: Most good things are better left unsaid.
UKAGWULA: I am still here, Uncle.
UNCLE MARK: I have eyes.
UKAGWULA: Yes?
UNCLE MARK: I’m not like your father.
UKAGWULA: Ahhh….is there something you are not saying?
UNCLE MARK: No.
ABEL: Some things are better left unsaid.
UNCLE MARK: Don’t be silly. You don’t ask questions well.
UKAGWULA: How?
ABEL: Don’t you get it, boy?
UNCLE MARK: Tell him, son!
ABEL: [Clears his throat] Your question should be: what would my father do with your terrible life?
UKAGWULA: I don’t know.
ABEL: You tell him.
UKAGWULA: I need a job.
[UNCLE MARK and ABEL stare at themselves, bursting out in laughter. They pause to drink from their glasses.]
UKAGWULA: You don’t get it, Uncle. My wife and I are hungry.
UNCLE MARK: Oh, that reminds me. How is your wife?
UKAGWULA: She is like me: hungry!
UNCLE MARK: Ahhh…you don’t say.
UKAGWULA: I do.
UNCLE MARK: She is too pretty to be hungry. I wonder why she should be when you are alive.
UKAGWULA: I don’t understand, Uncle.
UNCLE MARK: It’s you that I don’t understand.
UKAGWULA: I said she is hungry, Uncle.
UNCLE MARK: And I’m saying you should be long dead and buried.
UKAGWULA: Ahhh….
ABEL: But, come on, how can you let your wife be hungry when you have an indispensable asset in your possession?
UKAGWULA: What do you mean?
UNCLE MARK: Your father’s piece of land at Ukwuorji!
ABEL: Isn’t it up to a plot and half or so?
UKAGWULA: But that’s the only thing my father left for me.
UNCLE MARK: And so? At least you had a father who remembered to leave a piece of land. What did my own father leave me with?
ABEL: Ask him.
UNCLE MARK: You only need to make up your mind to have it sold. If you do, every other thing shall be added unto you.
UKAGWULA: Is Uncle Mark advising me to sell off my only inheritance?
UNCLE MARK: Don’t be silly. You don’t say things by saying them. You should be smarter than this.
ABEL: He is not hungry, father.
UNCLE MARK: Of course he isn’t. We know hungry people when we see them.
ABEL: Yes.
UKAGWULA: Help me, Uncle. [He kneels.]
UNCLE MARK: You think you are the only one that has knees? [He kneels also.] Don’t you know that I can help you if you help me too? [Stands up.] Rubbish.
ABEL: [Laughs and holds his tummy] Oh, what a day!
UKAGWULA: [Stands up] How can I help you, Uncle?
[From the background, the sound of clapping heels is heard as LADY GAGA, Mr Mark’s Secretary, excitedly runs into the room with a paper in her hands. All three are taken aback.]
UNCLE MARK: Why the haste? Who is chasing you?
LADY GAGA: No one is chasing me, Sir.
ABEL: You don’t mean it, do you?
LADY GAGA: I am positive, no one is.
UNCLE MARK: You are fired then.
ABEL: Simple.
LADY GAGA: Ah… Please, sir. There is a cause.
UNCLE MARK: So you want to lead me to my grave with a high blood pressure?
LADY GAGA: May the heavens forbid.
ABEL: Sharap…You don’t sound smart when you say that.
UNCLE MARK: Now that you are fired, may I have your last wish?
LADY GAGA: Ahh…Sir, I only brought good news.
UNCLE MARK: I doubt the veracity of that. Can anything good ever come from you?
ABEL: Say what you have to say and carry your fired body away from here.
LADY GAGA: It’s Thermowax, sir.
UNCLE MARK: Eheee… That useless company, they are terrible like you. What is it this time?
LADY GAGA: They have credited 19 million naira to our company’s account; thereby clearing all the debt they have been owing us for the past ten years.
UNCLE MARK and ABEL: Ahhh….
ABEL: I said it, father. Today is a great day.
UNCLE MARK: I don’t even know what to say. So, they had been telling the truth all the while?
LADY GAGA: Obviously, Sir.
UNCLE MARK: [To LADY GAGA] Thermowax has just saved your sorry ass…
LADY GAGA: Thank you, Sir.
UNCLE MARK: Get out!
[LADY GAGA scurries out.]
UNCLE MARK: Samankwe! Samankwe! Where is that fool of a boy?
SAMANKWE: [Answers from afar] Yes, sah! [Runs in panting] I am here. I heard you calling me in my dream. I woke up to hear your voice. Sah, you called me, didn’t you?
UNCLE MARK: That is how you will sleep your way to death.
ABEL: [Laughs]
UNCLE MARK: Get me more wine and some brandy too.
SAMANKWE: White wine or Red wine, sah?
UNCLE MARK: Red.
SAMANKWE: Cabenet, Syrah, Merlot, or Malbec?
UNCLE MARK: Merlot
SAMANKWE: Hot, warm, cold, chilled or very chilled?
ABEL: Oh, goodness!
UNCLE MARK: If I lose my taste for wine, I swear, I will drink your blood. Let me get a gun and send you to your death.
[SAMANKWE runs away and returns with a bottle of wine which he drops on the table.]
ABEL: Ahh… He is still here, father.
UNCLE MARK: Who?
ABEL: Him, Ukagwula!
UNCLE MARK: I have eyes. Is he still hungry? Where is this boy? Samankwe! Samankwe!
SAMANKWE: Yes, sah!
UNCLE MARK: Get him some roast corn.
SAMANKWE: Okay, sah. [He leaves]
UKAGWULA: Thank you, sir.
UNCLE MARK: This should satiate your hunger.
UKAGWULA: Yes, sir.
UNCLE MARK: Sharap… Don’t reply as though you had any choice.
ABEL: A beggar has no choice.
UNCLE MARK: Tell him, son.
UKAGWULA: [Almost in tears] How can I help you, sir?
UNCLE MARK: Now, we are talking. You know, your father wasn’t entirely stupid.
UKAGWULA: Yes…
UNCLE MARK: But not until he married your mother…
ABEL: That terrible woman.
UNCLE MARK: That is by the way. [Clears throat and rushes out; returns with a land map which he hands over to ABEL] While I talk, Abel, point out specific areas on the map for Ukagwula. I know he would not understand me without some form of assistance. I am also aware of how clueless his late father was.
ABEL: Ah…father.
UNCLE MARK: I am dealing with the people I know.
ABEL: Alright.
UNCLE MARK: Ukagwula, I want you to take a cursory glance at these carved out areas. [ABEL points them out but UKAGWULA raises his hand in an attempt to touch the map] Oh no! You see? [To ABEL] I know the people I am dealing with. I asked him to just look at the template! In fact, hand it over to me. [He stands to collect them from ABEL] To cut the long story short, I want to buy this piece of land at Ukwuorji.
UKAGWULA: What?
UNCLE MARK: Stop screaming in my house. I didn’t make you hungry. If you have anything good to say, say it. I am offering you fifty thousand naira for that land.
UKAGWULA: Fifty gini?
ABEL: Don’t scream as though you have a choice. When last did you see fifty thousand naira in your life?
UNCLE MARK: Ask him. [To UKAGWULA] If you have anything to say, say it.
UKAGWULA: I have heard all you said, Uncle. But I am not here to sell the only piece of land my late father left for me. I only came to ask you for a job. I know you can do it, Uncle. You have my CV. I graduated seven years ago. Right now, I am at that point where I will do any type of work. I can even be one of your servants. There are lots of people working for you, I can be one of them. With that, I would be able to feed my family.
ABEL: You are not hungry yet.
UNCLE MARK: Indeed! When he is, we will know. Ok, I will make it sixty thousand naira. This is because you are the dealer. Give me the land and sixty thousand naira is yours to the having. With that, you can relieve your family of hunger and thirst.
[SAMANKWE comes on stage with the roast corn: wrapped in a piece of paper.]
SAMANKWE: Here is the corn, Sir.
UNCLE MARK: Give it to him.
[SAMANKWE hands the corn over to UKAGWULA.]
UKAGWULA: [With a smile] Thank you, Uncle.
UNCLE MARK: Eat. This is the season of corn-eating.
ABEL: Maybe the corn will help him rethink the offer.
[UKAGWULA, still smiling, unwraps the corn. However, he is soon taken by shock at what he sees on the paper.]
UKAGWULA: Ahhh…What!
UNCLE MARK: Why is he screaming again?
ABEL: Does he scream when he is hungry and when he sees food also?
UKAGWULA: My eyes can’t believe this. [He raises the paper] Uncle Mark, what have I done to deserve this? [To the audience] Take a look. My CV, being used to wrap corn?
UNCLE MARK: You are lucky that it didn’t even end in my toilet. [laughs maniacally]
ABEL: [Joins in the laughter] Father, you never lack words.
UNCLE MARK: Ukagwula, you are wasting my time. I am guessing that you don’t know that I lose millions in every wasted second. So, do we have a deal?
ABEL: He doesn’t know that at all, say: Time Na Money.
UNCLE MARK: And to think that he is a singer; yet he doesn’t know what Mike Okri sang about time.
[UNCLE MARK begins to sing. ABEL sprays money on him as UKAGWULA continues to stare at his CV.]
UNCLE MARK: Time na money hey
Time na money
Make you use your time well
No wakawaka
No gossip gossip
No spoil another man
Use your time well
Do better thing
Money no dey come from heaven
Do better thing money go come
Na true word I dey tell you so oo
Oninado.
The light fades.
THE END.
Cheta Igbokwe is a student of English and Literary Studies at the University of Nigeria, Nsukka. His first screenplay, Island of Happiness, has been described by the Nobel Laureate, Wole Soyinka, as a ‘magnificent work of art,’ and has been screened at different Film Festivals and nominated for awards at the Africa Movie Academy Awards (AMAA) and the Newark Film Festival Awards. He is the Drama Editor of the Muse 47 Journal and the editor of the Muse 48 journal.