CAST

Majangwa a worn-out drummer-entertainer

Nakirijja his wife, a former dancer

A crowd of villagers

Kintu, the leader

Nambi, his wife

Kayikuuzi, a strong man

Death

A man, a murderer

A girl, a cinema-goer

A boy, her companion

Act One

The stage is a roadside on the way to Mityana, thirty-nine miles from Kampala. The road runs across the stage so that the audience eavesdrops on the proceedings from a cliff (or is it a ditch?) on the other side of the road, opposite the side where the action takes place.

It is nearly dark. The sun is a few minutes gone now, but the moon and stars have not yet lit up the butt end of twilight, a kind of loose and largely unformed night. There are a few moments of calm and solitude. Then enters Majangwa in his traditionally recognisable attire complete with his mugalabi drum. He has obviously been walking for some distance. Equally obviously, he does not want to stop. He appears to have a pressing destination somewhere.

Something, however, behind him puts a break on his speed. But he presses on all the way across the stage. He stops, turns back and looks at the distance he has covered. There is a pause. He walks back a few paces. Stops. Then with a patience that has almost run out, he calls:

Majangwa Nakirijja! Nakirijja! Nakiriijja (No reply.) She must be miles behind me. (Pause. In quiet desperation) Nakirijja. (Pause.) This road is too lenient. Too free with itself. It should have rejected her the minute it set eyes upon her, tripped her and cast her into the path of some moving object. (Pause.) What a waste. Such a road – firm of muscle, flat-bellied, long, outstretched, waiting for the ravishing approach of the traveller's feet. And what does it get? Some old limping goat that can't keep up the pace. (Pause.) Nakirijja Ono!!

(No reply. Majangwa decides to stop – and wait. He takes the drum from his shoulder, contemplates it and then strikes a few, beats with the palm of his hand. It gives a high clear note.)