 It's academic, and it's theater, and the place where they both meet. We have to be audience and participants for each other. We do actual practices, historical practices, cultural practices. Everyone? Everybody, please. Examples of women sharing what it is that you do, sharing how you do that. There's no way you can ignore Latinos anymore. Work from all around the world you can come and see and talk about. What time is it now in Kenya? It started out about different people and about different things. A whole sea of phenomenon. Theater for everybody. Yes, everybody. That's just what should be done. And in view of my understanding of life, relationships, death has already changed. Cut back from the insurance, so my hand is on. So again, thank you all very, very much for coming. I hope you can also stay for the later reading at 7.30 tonight from Mexico. Conchillón play is also a fantastic work. It's the conclusion of the festival again. Thank you all for coming. And we have to say one of the actors who was supposed to with us had a terrible news from his family as someone died. He was telling how to go. So it's kind of not clear. It shouldn't be here. It's not with us. But somehow also he will be here and we kept the reading how it is supposed to be. It was a non-speaking role that I significantly wanted. I understand your right and see your right. So again, I would like to keep that lecture for you to keep in mind. Thank you again. Good morning, good morning. Welcome. Take your seat. My name is Njauu, the archangel of the soldier. But I am not a soldier. I'm a driver. I pick you tourists up at the airport. I take you to the hotel there. You pay $20 for a cook. In practice where the wheels is not supposed to wear clothes like the one is wearing with cuff and colors. It is too hard for cutting colors. I pet you in the morning and give you your tourist pass. A safari hat, a mat, a badge for welcome tours and I smile non-stop. You're now in my hand. Some of you, some of you are the same, want to see the animals. Some, the lake, some are from the NGOs. You want to do good. Visit people with AIDS and malaria. Some of you want to see the rhino or the mouse or the what what. I'm the friendly one. I've got the extra mile. I make sure there is an ice and ice box. If you have asked me a question, I'll give you the answers that you want to hear. Yes, there's terrible corruption here. Terrible, terrible. Yes, the Chinese are building our roads. They are making our women pregnant. Soon before we know, all of our children will have scented ice. The Chinese are going to know why. When the Chinese tourists visit, I say, yes, yes, they are American. They are loud. And the fat, very fat. But you are all the same. The Americans think, well, the South African come their penis. The Americans speak loudly. Oh my God, is that a Messiah? Oh my God, where can we have cheap tableclubs? So, what's going on here with the Muslims? Are they, are they causing trouble here too? I know everything. I'm self-educated. You tourists show me everything. Okay, I watch you. I witness all the stories. I have adulterous, induce less information. So, let's go. Are you ready? Are you comfortable? Sit best on. Are you ready to the bathroom? We are driving five hours before the first stop. You're sure you don't want to use the bathroom? Okay, let's go. He's singing, praying, calling to the fish, quiet. Intrigued, watches on. He is mute. The performer representing Peter uses dance to express himself, which serves as a motif throughout the play, a combination of classical and traditional. John senses that the fish are nearby. He stops in anticipation, listens, waits, senses, and decides. He picks up an imaginary net and throws it into the water. Peter, excited, dances the dance of the triumphant fisherman and the star. Splashing water, John is struck unconscious. Peter slowly carries him to safety. John fragile stands in an enamel basin, whilst Ruth carefully bathes his body. John's leg is badly injured, and he uses a crutch to stand. John thoughtfully weeds from the Bible. For we know that the whole creation has been groaning together in the pains of childbirth until now. And not only the creation, but we ourselves, who are the first fruits of the spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for adoption as sons, the redemption of our bodies. For in this hope we are sane. Now hope that is seen is not hope. For who hopes for what he sees? But if we hope for what we do not see, we wait for it with patience, what we do not see. What could that be, Ruth? We cannot see. I suppose it could be love, we cannot see love. We need to get you meat. Fish, you need your strength to get better. I'm getting better. My strength comes from you, my wife. Martha has joined a fishing group. You know Martha, the daughter of Sarah. Yeah, I know her. The group is run by the British. They teach women to fish. Ah, what did the British know about fishing? I could join for a while, just until you get better. My wife, the fisherman, do you want to bite off my other leg? I was just suggesting for a few months, you need your strength and God gave me a strong body. Do you know that I used to go out on the boat with my father when I was small? Those other little girls would tease me. Ruth, the boat's cap size. The tents are heavy, it's cold out there. No, but John, we cannot sit here and starve. I will make a plan. Do you hear that sound? What sound, John? The chewing. It's you chewing, John. No, no. Please don't stop this again, John. You were just beginning to get better. There's nothing there. I heard it again last night, Ruth. Ooh, who did you hear? You know who the same one. He stood outside our shack, chewing. No, I was up late. I would have heard him. He was there. I heard him. You were asleep. There, asleep. It's in your imagination, John. I saw it's eyes, Ruth. It was dark, but I saw its eyes. Yes, you've told me many times, John, wipe it from your mind now. This piece that twists your soul and makes you someone else. My husband does not wake at night. My John has got steel in his veins and the heart of a lion. My John is not scared of some lonely animal. Mother says that fishing is not difficult. And they don't sell the fish. It's just for eating, so they pose no threat to the other fishermen. Have you not read the Bible, Ruth? When Jesus chose his disciples, did he gather fishermen or fishing women? Jesus did not provide for your leg, John. But he will, Ruth. He will. I was speaking to David. He says they might need someone to help men net. It will be something. That's good news. In the meantime, John, I should learn to... No more, Ruth. I will not hear any more. I'm still the man of this house. Bloody leg is bleeding again. Jesus, where are your fish, Peter? Peter withdraws his down on the floor. He does not want to take up too much space and makes himself small. He is in his own world, but he's still without the conversation. Leave him, John. You stay in my house. I have brought you up since you are a boy. You eat my food, my wife cooks for you, and you come home every night with empty nets. Leave him, John. But you stick up for him. He's a healthy young man. He could take my place in a boat. He fishes all day from the shore and he brings home an empty plate. There! There! There's your supper, Peter. Eat it from the floor like the dog you are. John, but there's no point fighting with this boy. You're too honest and too wise to behave like this. You're not like this. Ruth, you are a woman. And so? So, do as other women do and be quiet about it. What are you saying, John? John, are you saying... Be quiet. I have no mood for this provocation. John, are you saying that you would prefer... Be quiet. I'm not saying anything. I'm not saying anything. I'm going to send a message to my brother, my brother, Neara. Neara. Neara, he must come home and help us. He knows what to do. He'll make a plan. Neara. Where is Neara? Making speeches. He is a clanging bell. His grandfather sold all the ghosts to get him an education. And what has he done with it? Shamed us. Hanging around with politicians and troublemakers. Neara's a shrewd man. He'll bring menacing from the city. Menacing? God knows I need something. Been shouting at my wife like an old drunk. Peter Genby practices throwing the net. Three times we nearly had a child in our lives. The first was a girl. She was born early and too small. She couldn't breathe. She only left for a few seconds. The second was a boy. His hands like rods, like little webs, so tiny, like a little bird. He also died quickly. The third time there was a girl again. And she was bigger even, had hair. She left for two weeks. And we called her a sander. I thought we had been blessed. And then she started bleeding. Who knew a baby could have so much blood? Late at night at the clinic in the town where I took your aunt. The nurse told me that God had taken our little one. Can you imagine? It was over for me. I ran back home. Climbed into a boat and rode in the middle of the lake. I screamed and screamed. I screamed my heart right out. And I knew then you can't control things. What's going to happen will happen. You can just hope for the best. It is God's will. My mother is dead. It is dead. They are dying. I'm not supposed to be here. I'm supposed to be there. I should have never come here. How are it? The place of the papatines. An Egyptian goddess who presented fertility and childhood. She is depicted as a pregnant papatines who stood on her hind legs. That's what one American told me. They are the PhD in HIP. Doctor in Epipopartum Mouses. Do you say Epipartum Mouses or Epipartum Mice? But how can something so ugly and terrifying be a goddess? I'm the driver. I take people on holiday to go see people who are suffering. Then I get a tip. I'm not supposed to go off-route. I'm not supposed to give the locals myth. But I did. I gave Nihara a lift. And that's why I'm here. We ride in the rain. Nihara in the black umbrella. The red and black checkered scarf. The deep voice of a prophet. He wanted to drop in on the family on the way back to the city. I was obliging. I've known Nihara for a long time, but I have never known his madness. Now I know I am part of it. In the kitchen, she's cleaning a fish. In the distance, on the shore, there is a faint tableau of a silent John looking into the lake, whilst Peter throws an imaginary net. The movement is quiet, subtle, and dreamlike. Jahu and Nihara enter. Nihara with an umbrella. It has been raining. Have you brought medicine? I? Yeah, look how thin you are. I brought medicine. I brought antibiotics and disinfectant. Do you remember in Jahu? I do. In Jahu was kind enough to give me a letter. Please, Ruth. Give him some tea. Hello, Ruth. Hello, Joe. You look too nice. Joe, it's good to see you again. It's been so very long, Nihara. Please, let your back. You are looking just like our mother, Ruth. My mother thought you were happy. Have you seen John and Peter? No, we have just arrived. Here's John Walk. On a crutch, he's determined. Anybody around here? Is it safe for you to be here? The militia has been through the village recently. They are relentless, looking for the rebels, terrorists, even checking the boats. Yeah, I'll have to go soon. In Jahu, it's too late for that. It's too late for you to leave now. You can go in the morning. You are safe. But I'm not the wrong. I'm not the rebel, and I'm certainly not a terrorist. Yes, you must stay in Jahu. They will stop you at night. Thank you, Ruth. I am quite tired. The roads are like riverbed. My brain has been roughing around in my head for days. You're still working for the tourist company? Well, yes. I can drive most of the routes with my ice roads. The problem is, I have to speak to the tourists. Keep them entertained. Some weeks back, I had a woman who needed to use the toilet every half an hour. And you know, there are no Western toilets for about 600 kilometers. I suggested that she do as we do here. She refused. She became more and more rude and more aggressive. Eventually, she just shouted, Stop, stop! And right there in the middle of the road, she let it go. The expression on her face, that she was quite pleasant. Quite talkative. She's a yoga teacher from Juarez. You still like telling your stories. It's been so long, Miara. Peter has grown now. A lot has happened. Not yet. Nothing ever happens here. I bet you mean that there's no problem yet. The people are dead. Forgotten. But in the city, things are different. There's a spirit, change. Although it's become dangerous. Change to what? From what? Does it matter, Ruth? We are alive, Miara. We have hope we are here. Alive. And so, John? A hippopotamus. He turned the boat and got John's name. You know, I once met a man who would chase by a bear in America. He was riding the bicycle suddenly. Peter was with him, Miara. He was terrified. God knows what he saw. He stopped speaking now. He never spoke much. Not at all. Not a word. It's been months now. John can no longer fish. Peter does not speak. But we need you here, Miara. Things will be good again. I'm sure you can get a place on one of the boats. John can no longer fish. The wound is making him ill. He's going crazy. Did Peter not take John's place? He cannot. He's not normal. He does not speak. He throws the net all day but brings back nothing. John is out now looking for him. But you have fish? Yes. A gift from a neighbor. What? Your fish must be quite equal. No, they are scarce. Almost nothing these days. Then why the gift? I did some chores, Miara. There was a python out in the van and away here. Beautiful creature. Curled up a sleep on the back window ceiling. Did you kill it? No. I threw it in the bushes. That's me. Hey, just lying in my van first to sleep. I said to the snake, snake, what are you going? Have you paid for the transport? Do you want my tourists to have heart attack? He's going to bring me bad luck. I've never had one in my life before. What have you been up to, Miara? You left us so suddenly and you had a good job in the future. A good job. A job at living fish in a factory or a man with an MA degree in social history. That university was a waste of time, Miara. Well, at least you got paid. I passed five in the morning for eight hours and then for overtime and still not to, not to buy a pair of shoes in three months. My back crooked. Cleaning fish, scrubbing them, rinsing them. Do you know what it is like to have a thousand eyes looking at you? Golden head and the moist. Scrubbed my stink. My hands were too close to my fingers. Pain, freezing. And a degree. One day, I looked at the eyes and the eye looked at me. The next thing I passed out landed in a trailer load of the deadest fish. I was surrounded by fiends and scars and slibly coldness. I laid up for a long time until the superintendent found me. What the hell are you doing sleeping with the fish? Get out of there. Fish. I couldn't stand. I couldn't walk. He called some co-workers to let me out. Once I stood on my feet and felt the ground. I began to walk. I walked for 18 months across the continent through the border post, through without a passport. I spent weeks in many prisons, but I refused to stop. It is my right to walk, and so I did. It is my right to walk, so I did. That was eight years ago at least. Time. The British have started an NGO here in the village. They provide boats and nets for women. Ha, the British. Yo, Bruce. Don't be absurd. You know there's no future in that. What's another guilt trip for the British? Don't play into their heads. It's better than nothing, Nyara. Women are not supposed to fish, Ruth. And... Nyara, I'm surprised at you. Are you not a liberal? Huh? The activist. You have a right to walk, and can I not fish? There is a limit, Ruth. A limit? I don't know. Once I met a woman who was a boxer. Can you believe it? A boxer, a fighter. She had huge muscles. Carrying part of our own language. Nyara. John, my brother. Jadu, welcome. Thank you. And Nyara, it's been years. Could you not have given us someone, ain't ya? You return like the prodigal son. We could have prepared a feast for you. Alright, feast. That's not even sugar. But we would have found some. Yeah. Where there is a wheel, there is a wheel. I'm pleased you are back home. We have needed you. Times have been hard. Peter. Peter, this is your father. Do you remember him? Peter. I will speak to him later. Maybe it's time for you to know the truth, Nyara. The people gossip. Well, let them gossip. Did you hear about the hippo attack, Nyara? I tell you, it was the biggest I have seen. Bigger than the boat, he had me like a dog shaking a rat. Bigger than the boat? Jesus, not a head at all. I heard John. A rat. I was a rat in his mouth. But I made it. Hey, Nyara. I fought him. Like David and Goliath. I punched the hippo part of his in between the eyes. I still have fight me. Did you know that they sweat blood? Hippos, especially when they're excited, are red juice. It has a terrible smell. Be quiet now, John. Let me look at your wound. Nyara's brought some medicine. A rat. Jesus. Are you sure that was a male hippo? It is good to have support of the family. I tell you, it was a big monster. No warning. None of us saw it coming. Most men would be dead, dead even from the fright. But I am a tough old man. These are fish, Nyara. Some years ago, a guy came with a bucket of fish eggs. We don't know who he was or even where he was from. These eggs grew into massive motherfuckers. Excuse my American predator thoughts. They eat everything. Even their own children. The bigger they get, they eat bigger for the fish. Soon enough, our fish will finish. And we're left with these illegal immigrants who are not getting smaller because they are no fish to eat. They are silver with a black eye and a yellow ring around the black. They're ugly and they taste horrible. This is why I'm a tour guide because I know everything. The brother of Ruth, he left the village years ago to seek arms. I don't know something. I thought he was here to bring medicine, but soon I realized he had another plan. The plan that he flew with me. In gentle light, Ruth lies holding a sleeping John. Joel sits contemplated beyond the jetty. Nyara on the shore is watching Peter cast his net. Peter dances a dance of emptiness and frustration. He becomes frantic in his pursuit of truth, casting his net out into the enormous lake. Peter, Peter, what are you fishing for? I know you are angry with me. I have no choice. How do you get out of here? Every time I looked at you, I saw your mother's face, her mouth, her skin, nothing but despair and the heat, the smell of pathetic fishmen who are no longer men. That's what they change means as long as it's no more this. We people have suffered abuse of chiefs, crafting politicians, exploitative merchants, all kinds of vulgarities, and now we suffer ourselves. I want you to go to school, Peter. Not for a job. Why should you work for some exploitative will? But for an education, learn to think. I want you to come with me, Peter. Taste the wind, be a man, all you have here and an old crippled uncle who only possibility is he might have an old job fixing nets. Nets for what? To catch what? Well, I'm not a hippopotamus. Oh, Dr. Jawa, then he picks up his net and walks into the distance. Jawa looks at Nyara. You know he's a soldier. You never told me that. I was only 15 when I made his mother pregnant. His mother was a beautiful woman. She died a child of mine. Okay, there was too much rain that year. We could not get out of the clinic. We pay taxes for roads, but do you see roads? We pay taxes for refrigeration next to the lake. Do you see refrigeration? Well, our taxes, huh? Lining the purpose of the human needs, those above the law, those above God. All right, Nyara, it's not you that pay taxes, me. Me. You don't even have a job. Too busy going to political meetings, drinking whiskey with a fat cat. Why does she don't speak to me in Jawa? Have you ever seen such a child? Maybe I've learned nothing to say. He's not hurting me anymore. He is hurting me, huh? He has always hurt me with his pale face and stare like it's my fault. Just be his father. That's what they mean. Don't you ever think? Don't you dare make a plan. Go to nothing here, start their business. I think he's a good man. Bring him up, your son. Do his best. He will die soon. Have you seen his leg? You know, I've got my heart. It is going to kill that. I don't know why I came back. I am so angry again. Do you have a whatsoever in Jawa? Don't you hope for something better? I have a job. I have four children. Their mother left me when the youngest was two months old. Can you imagine? I have to stop driving and be a mother until I've found a young woman to help me. Now she has a child with a young man who is studying to be a teacher and I provide for her child too. I don't have time to look for more. I do my job and feed my children. I hope that they are okay. That's all. But at least you have a job. Yes. Do you have a woman? No. Some of the kids you want. No, you know that. I can't have a woman again. Not after what happened. I gave her everything and then she left me. Didn't you have a roof over there when you were young? No, you can't call that. No, but I was very fond of them. Why don't you take her? Roof. People would go with her. They will have a future. This is why I brought you here in Jawa. You have known roof for a long time. It would be a perfect match. You brought me here for roof. Roof. Roof is married to John. John is useless. He will die soon. Have you seen his leg? It has brought you off. He won't live long. You're mad, Nera. You want me to take John's wife? Yeah, I saw you looking at her. Mad shoe. Mad, mad, mad. I can't leave her here. This place is dying. People are becoming animals. It is disgusting. You are disgusting. You are disgusting in that. Look, in Jawa, I have loved it back then. I believe in the sanctity of marriage, but there is no other option. I saw her looking at you. She's a good woman. She will look after you. I'm leaving tomorrow, and I hope that I'll never see you again. She is holding herself. Look, that she gets the fish. You don't know that? That is what all the women here do. She is holding herself for fish. For fish to put on a plate for her bearing husband. My mother, if she were alive, what would she be doing? Would kill her. She was a true woman, true. Tore and graceful. I was her first, I was first of her only two children. And it was because of conceiving me. I took her virginity. She had to grow up because of me. She was straight and powerful. And my father outfishing his whole life, outfishing. And when he left, it wasn't a few months, and she married another man who was not even a man. He was stupid, loud, violent, and then he made her sick, so very sick. John knows what he is doing. He knows she hoarses herself. He pretends he does it, but it suits him. I told you, now you see. Ruth enters, walking across the banks of the lake, carrying a bucket of fish on her head, and seeing quietly. John sits and watches her proudly. She sees John sitting at the lake side, and they smile at one another. David says when the wind comes, they will need help from the nets. A few more weeks, the wind is tricky. How was your lake feeling? The same. I told you, now you see. Perhaps it will take a few days. John, the fish, I... Do you remember when we first met? Yes, John. Do you remember? Yes, yes. The river bank, me washing. You getting off the boat with your net full. You were the champion. The lucky one who always knew where they were swimming. How? To bring the biggest ones in. I would sing for them, call them. Me waking you up with sweet tea. I climbed inside you, you and me. No spaces between us, our skin, our sweat. Your eyes, gentle, seeing all of me. The way you took my hand, and placed it on your softness. Yes. And you like a strong, fierce tree, a tree that could never be blown over. John, the other man I... Yes. Don't love them, will you? Please do what you have to do, but just think of me. I am the only one. John, I don't... I don't... How can you even suggest... I'm not suggesting. I'm saying if you have to, then you must. John, I should go home to my mother's place now. It's cheaper for me to catch a taxi while I'm alive than for you to send my body here. Transporting the dead is an expensive business. It's none again. Good morning, John. How are you feeling? I need to speak to someone about my death. Can you come with me to the rain street? Where is Nyara? Do you trust the brothers of yours? As much as one can trust. I never knew like this. Maybe he has contracted malaria and lost his mind. His morality. Nyara's always been otherwise, but he means well. He's a bad bastard. It's him. I'm sure it's him. He destroyed my battery. He's plotting and scheming. You must take him out. Tell him to go. Don't be ridiculous, Senjawa. Why would he do that? He can't leave yet. He must help us and he must mend his relationship with his son before he leaves. Peter needs a father. Peter needs a father? Have I not been a good father to him all these years? Senjawa, can you smell that? I didn't mean it like that. Are you saying I'm not a man? That's not what I'm saying. What has your man got to do with anything? Senjawa is right. Nyara must go. I'm sorry, Senjawa. You should not have come with Nyara. No, I should not have come. But I have some time. I thought I could lend a hand, helping. You've always been a good man, Senjawa. My homeboy. I had a left. You did well to me. But I asked you to come. I don't know. That was then. I was too shy and I had nothing to offer you then. Life brings us what we ask for. I must have asked for John. John, he's a good man. Yes, he is. But he will not bend. He will not shift. You know, Jawa, I have desires. I could make some money for us. I could start a small business selling fish to the villagers. I mean, we stay at a lake but can't afford our own fish. The fishing company loads our fish into aeroplanes and leaves us with skeletons and even those we have to buy. But if we women can catch a few each day, just enough for the table and we're not working for the company, they can't stop us from selling them. Then the license to fish. Why do we need a license to eat what God gave us? You sound just like Nyara now. Those I know, you will get in trouble with me. Those are dangerous waters. Sue, we will need permission to breathe our own air. But the NGOs say that they might be able to help us get a license. It will cause a disruption. The men will be jealous. I remember once there was a woman in the neighborhood village. She learned to drive a tractor and a few weeks later she disappeared. Go. Are you saying that it is impossible? I'm saying it is a good idea. But ideas in reality, things don't just change, Ruth. It's like digging up a very old tree with the idea of taking it across the river and planting it in your road for shade. On the way across the river, the tree will sink and nothing will remain. The old tree will be gone. Nothing will take its place and you will have your shade. Maybe I will help you transport the fish to the river. What do you do? It has never been done before. And here, Ruth, you know how dangerous it is to work against the grain. Anything can be put on you. Drugs, terrorism, witchcraft. I once met a man who… Sonja, it's not impossible. It's not impossible for a man to bring up four small children by himself. I did not think that possible at the time, but you made a plan. You're a good father, Joe. Not really. I do what I have to. So still out there, huh? On the water, it rocks you back and forth like when you were an infant and your mother was putting you to sleep. Back and forth, safe, silent. The world continuing somewhere over there. You stay towards the back of the boaters. It's better for the betters. And the wind, gentle. A part of you, not like back on the land. At night, I dream I am rocking, as if I was still on the water. But I don't feel safe. It feels safe on the water. You are written, Christian. I knew it. I tried, Joe. For a few days, it's not the men's bodies that are mine. They're sweat. They're smell. I can handle that. It's their eyes, Joe. They so hate themselves. They hate their mothers in that mode. They hate that their mothers made them hate their fathers. They hate their fathers for leaving them. They are just all so small and angry. I knew that, Joe, Christian. An old woman flaunting her colors. A church dress. They say we have the best sunsets in the world. It's fishing. Yes, very much. Why are you here, Miara? You have bought the medicine. Thank you. But you, you should leave now. Don't you have work to do? I thought you belonged to some important organization that is going to overthrow the government. My organization believes in peace for demonstrations. We try to fight corruption and uphold the Constitution. We're not about ethnicity. We're not about ideology. We want plans, ideas, thoughts, passing, clarity. Not fingers and pies, greed, selfishness. We are there to serve the people. Impressive. What are your plans, John? For the future, how are you going to keep going? I will serve my family. I will get better eventually. I must. I will work again. And my hope is to one day buy a small piece of land and farm some chickens. Go. Two buys of land. Yes. Pet you. You can barely walk, John. Who do you see here buying land? Your friends buying land. You should leave, Miara. I have to take care of Ruth and Peter. Take care of them. Are you going to get a job on the boat? I could teach you. I know all the secrets of the land. You know I cannot do that. That is not my life. Then leave, Miara. We have no use for you here. Just another mouth to feed. It is Ruth that is feeding. Yes, she is doing that. Like my mother did. Yes. How long could you let this continue, John? Your leg is rotting. It's still... I'm sorry, but it does. If something were to happen to you, Ruth and Peter would be desert. I will not desert them. I have loved Ruth since I was a boy. I will not leave her. John, what would her mother say? What would your mother say? They would say, look after your husband and pray that he gets better soon. Not about you. About how she is putting food on the table. She is just doing some chores. What chores? Whose chores? Some washing. Looking after clothes. Let us not buy fish, John. You know that. To come with us. With me and Injawu. Injawu has money. Our Judas. Do you think she enjoys being with other men? I suppose some of them are nice to have. By her new dress, John, she will bring home more fish. Go, Nihara. Go before I kill you. I'm just saying. Maybe one or two of them are decent lovers. They can't help you that. I'm just saying she is that. I'm just, I'm not saying she enjoys it. But a woman needs to feel something. Hey, hey. John, I'm not trying to be cruel. I am a man who values integrity. You just have to face the facts. All he has here is the prospect of getting a disease. Wasting away, like our mother. Bone and a mouth, under a tree. Practice who she will be a few years from now. Get out of here. Leave us. You are a barbarian. Hey, you will let my sister go. Do you understand? She will not die here, like our mother. You will give her and Peter a chase. People born with hope and others not. Is there something inside you like a need to eat or drink or keep yourself warm? An instinct or is it a belief? Something you believe is there because someone told you to have hope. Your mother or priest or teacher, near as hope. Near as whole purpose in life is to grab hold of hope. But too much, too violently, like he would take it by the neck and throttle it. John's hope is as a wish. He can never be and does not exist. Ruth's hope is humble, she can get it, but it is cruel in the world so full of man. Peter's hope is from another world, the ancestor. At least he can believe in it and me. I will die without it, like John. I need it, even if it is not. But mine are just little... The kitchen, John was packing, the family sit quietly, Ruth washing bandages. N'yara enters with a new battery, he picks up some fish and eats. It is amazing I can still eat the store. Ruth, you are coming with us. You and Peter, we leave tomorrow morning. John and I had a discussion and he agrees. It is the best day. If he gets better, you can come back. There is nothing for you here. What? N'yara, John? It's better, Ruth. I think you should go. What are you talking about? The two of you can't just make decisions for me. I cannot have you staying here and prostituting yourself for a plate of fish. That's what you think, isn't it, N'yara? And you too, John. Is that what you think? Well, you can both go to hell. Tell the truth, Ruth. You cannot hide it from us. And you, N'yara, why don't you tell the truth, huh? Have you told your son who his real father is? Have you told him why he has such pale skin? Do you really think he could be your offspring? That's enough. Forget what you heard, Peter. It means nothing. Go with them, Ruth. It makes sense. You can come back in a few months. Where are you going, John? John, I love you, only you. I need to stretch my leg. We can talk later, Ruth. Be good to them, N'ja'u. Don't, John. John, I will never leave without you. I'm sorry, Peter. You do not deserve this. Do not listen to her, Peter. She is nothing but a qualmin' of prostitute, just like her mother. I'm not a prostitute! I'm not having sex for fish! I am fishing, okay? I am fishing. I am a fisherman. You are a whore! Like your mother, you are a whore! N'yara, our mother was never a whore. What are you talking about? After father left, she took another man. A husband. She needed support. She did not want to be a part of the widowers. The women who take handouts and join pathetic groups where people look down on them. She had me. She needed money. Money! And all he did was make her sick. Make her in! But who are you to judge, huh? What do you know about responsibility? What do you know about her sickness? It was me who was feeding her. Bathing her, carrying her around like a child. You have the opportunity of an education. Of getting us all out of this squalor, but you abandoned all of those dreams for what? For empty promises from careless politicians. You abandoned your education, your job, your son, your family. Our grandfather sold his fucking goats for your stupid education. What can I do with an education where there's no jobs? No jobs unless you are the right family, unless you are family of the right drag. Or unless you have money to bribe someone to give you a job. But you're making excuses. Did anyone ask me if I wanted an education? No. You got it and you shut all over it. What kind of example are you to your son? He is not my son. You have done a good job of pointing that out to Matt, Ruth. No, but it could have been. It could have been if you had just stopped worrying about yourself for a second and seen the world around you. Look at him for a moment. Felt his yearning. The story goes that Peter's mother had a beautiful voice and sometimes sang at the bar near the factory. Pilots would come from overseas and pick up the fish from the factory. Sometimes they would stay for a few days. They needed women. They say that Peter's mother got pregnant from one of these men. She did not want to admit her fault and told the young liar that he had made her pregnant. She died a childbirth and the truth never came out. Now until now that is. Maybe he knew this all along. Maybe Peter knew this. The smell of orphaned children sitting around a small fire sleeping. The smell of fucking women who have not bothered to wash. The smell of urine in all the alleys. The smell of forgotten hope. New unnatedness. A time when we were in partnership with God and the land. The land. The lake. The soil was gold. He provided for us everything we needed. The only time I feel that now is when I walk and I walk. Decay. Can't agree. It's being eaten from the inside like this village. Like my life. You know Peter there was a time when we were one with God here in this village. They stole our God took him from us made him a factory worker gave him to a prostitute a pimp. Not from this world. No I'm dying because I can't be here anymore. And Ruth can't be here anymore. And Yara's right about that. But I won't die like a dog rotting in his own backyard. The flies. The stench. A man. And the hippo get me eat me crush my bones swallow my heart chew me grind me and let me fight and scream. Let me stick my fingers into his eyes scratch his tongue with my fingernails. Let me rip and it's nostrils. That hippo still knows who it is. It still is the master of this lady. It is not for God. John resolute walks into the lake. Peter watches Peter dances in the water. The struggle the trium. That night Ruth searched for John. She went from house to house. She called out his name in the street and on the bank of the river. Soon the search party gathered of old men and women. Children. Dogs. Everything and everyone looked for John. Some rise that was still calling his name and then Peter appeared. It was as if he came out of the lake like some kind of ghost or spirit. He looked like an ancestor from another world wise tired and full. He carried with him the eyes of a No one knows how to kill a hippo now without a gun. Towerettes have been murdered. The goddess of fertility was beheaded. And then and then Peter in broken speech says John killed the hippopotamus. He died like a man. He fought and he screamed. He stuck his fingers into the animal's eyes. He scratched its tongue with his fingernails. He bit its nostrils. He killed the hippopotamus. This was my mother's dress. John would have liked me to wear it. Thank you Joe. You look smart Peter. Look at you. I didn't recognize you when I walked in. I thought who is this handsome young man visiting room. Maybe a pastor or an undertaker. Nihara has left. Taking his things. On food? Yes, walking and praying running away again. I will wait for you after the funeral room. I can't afford you much but I will take care of you. You're a good man. In there. Only to the lakeside where she collects John's hat, crotch, shirts and shoes. She gives them to Peter. Which I will stand, car keys in hand, suitcase on the ground. The sun is setting. The funeral is over. It was a dignified burial, a nice coffee, food for everyone, a good sermon. We couldn't find much of his remains, but Ruth said that his hat and shoes were enough. And now I'm the driver waiting for my passengers. I've been waiting for nearly an hour. Perhaps she's still packing for my children. My eldest daughter, who is studying to be a nurse. The youngest still in school. The one I brought up on my own, she wants to be a film star. I told her by my house and the new kitchen table that I bought. Shiny, yellow wood, big enough for the whole family. My church, where we sing all Sunday and where we make food for all the little children who come and have a plate during the week after school. It's almost two and a half as long as it is cold. Peter cautiously steps out from the shadows like a shy rhino. He is ready and wears John's hat and shoes. He carries with him a small bag. Jaowoo looks at him. Peter smiles. Jaowoo accepting nods. Jaowoo waits for Ruth to appear. Jaowoo looks out. Lights begin to crossbade on Peter and John to the sound of John's chant. She is out on the lake. She chants quietly. She waits, listens, smiles and decides. She heaves the net out triumphantly into the lake. Thank you for sticking around for a little brief conversation here with playwright and director Laura Foote. Please give her a hand. I'd love to just right away kick out a question to you all about what is a lingering impression or a theme or a line that struck you as you sat through tonight's reading. Just throw out some words or some phrases. Moby Dick. Moby Dick, all right. Anybody else desire home? Reflection. You probably have filled all those things in, right? Restoration. Restoration? Yeah, definitely. Thank you for flying all this way and being here with us in New York. You are a writer and a director and in your recent mentorship with Peter Hall, he told you to write more, right? He said playwrights are rarer, more precious than directors. In fact, directors are a dime a dozen. They're right. I don't think that's true at all. But he said that he should write. How do you balance the sides of your creativity between being a director or being a writer? Do you distinguish between the two or do you find they coexist peacefully with one another? I think that directing and writing go well together. I've always been of the school of kind of like an author. So sometimes writing on my feet, working with the actors. But to get into the role of writer and to find that silent, quiet space that takes some time when I go back to writing to be with myself and question myself, that's quite challenging. But once I've written the piece and go into the rehearsal room, then the director-writer is a good combination for me. Do you often direct your own work? Yes. So, you know, the premiere would most of the plays that I've written. Is there a conscious moment in your creative process when you say the writing is now finished? I am focusing on how it is being presented to the audience. Or do you feel like the writing continues to evolve? But I think the different layers of text. So, you know, the subtext or the pretext, you know, that starts in my imagination or in my dreams. And then the written text. And then, you know, there's the actors' text and the performance text. So that keeps evolving as we near towards opening night. And even then there's a different text. The text that happens with the audience on a specific night, you know, that's a particular mise-en-scene. So I don't think it ever stops. But at certain points, okay, well, there's the written text now. Now where do we go in terms of performance text? And in that case, we might need to alter some of the writing. But at times, I thought perhaps it's not good for me to direct the work. Because maybe another vision, a stronger vision, you know, might assist the text. And that has happened. Other people have directed my work and something fresh has come to it. But I think for a start, it's good for me to direct it. What was the journey for this particular play? Like, when did it enter your consciousness? What was the process? Where is it added in its life? Well, it started when I saw Hubert Sorpa's documentary, Darwin's Nightmare. And that was several years ago, probably seven or eight years ago. And that's just the most extraordinary documentary. And it stayed with me for a very long time. And then, with Mandela being ill, there was a sense from all of us, really, of, well, when Malibu passes away, where will our hope rest? We had been hoping for so long. And then we had this euphoric Korean-born nation, and then came the fear of, well, what happens when you've placed your hope in a person, a being, and then they pass? And what will happen to us? Where do we place our hope next? And this started the question of, well, where does this hope something internal that I'm born with? And what if I don't have it? And where do I place it? And what happens if people place their hope in the wrong person? A dictator or a maniac? So just this question of going round and round in my head of where do we place our hope? When we wake up in the morning, how do we get out of bed if there's no hope? So there's those two between Darwin's nightmare and that idea of hope, I started to play with the ideas for this particular story. And then I went to Kenya and stayed on the lake for a little while and met all the fishermen and met different people and listened to their stories. And so I started putting the piece together and then directed it for the Baxter Theatre. And then worked obviously with the choreographer because the dance element is strong in the pieces. That's a big part of the piece. And so that's another text, the text of the dancer, which came into being through your hustles and your hustles. Your text and even the images that you predicted on the screen tonight brought me back to my own time in Kenya, especially on the coast in Lamu and on Manda Island over there and the community that exists that has been for centuries and it makes it living off of the natural resources and then the tourists that come in and sort of consume all of that. I found that very provocative and was able to sort of relive some of those beautiful, beautiful memories. In Cape Town, what is your relationship to, I'm sorry, switching gears here a little bit, to the tourism industry and your relationship. Obviously, you have a very strong and important relationship with the local community through the work at the Baxter. Do you have any tourists that come through? No, Cape Town is a tourist hub because it's such a beautiful city. So tourism is a big part of where we live. We live in Cape Town and it's cheap for you. Cape Town is extraordinary. It's really picturesque and beautiful, but there's also a huge disparity between rich and poor and a lot of millions of people that have been left out of the new South Africa. So it's always a sense of juxtaposition. So we at the Baxter don't have a particular relationship with tourists. I mean, we put out all our work and we do have tourists coming to see our work, but we don't have a market as such for tourism. Are you a hopeful person? Yes, I'm hopeful, but as I said, after watching our country going through the various arc that it's been through and me having witnessed that for the last 50 years or right through the struggle years, it's difficult at the moment and that's the question that the play brings up, I suppose, is okay, where do we place our hope now? Because it's exhausting to rekindle the hope, but I am always a hopeful person. You said this is a challenging moment for the country after Mandela's passing and that symbol Tell us if you can be vulnerable about the honestly what is going on inside your soul in terms of the hope you have for your country. It's longevity. Well, you pray that it doesn't happen like what happened in Kenya or in other African states where the government becomes so corrupt that the people are completely forgotten, because we went through all those years of apartheid with this corrupt and horrific and greedy government and we came out of that thinking, okay, well, here's an opportunity for humanity and it's very difficult to now go through another cycle going, oh, here comes the corruption again, here comes the greed again, because we've seen that already, we've seen that lack of humanity. So it's a difficult time, but there is hope and there are the young people that are speaking out and saying, no, this is not what we want. At the backstreet you may be aware that there's a tremendous program for new writing that is happening in the community and what are you finding in terms of themes that the writers that you are supporting are bringing to light through their crap? A lot of social issues, family violence, gender issues, you know, the artists are beginning to voice and female artists beginning to voice those things that they wasn't space for previously. So a lot of gender issues and violence in homes, you know, and that's again the cycle of poverty, the cycle of violence that's being explored by young people. As a woman leading a major cultural institution in South Africa, what are, what themes do you relate to in terms of Ruth's journey in this play? I suppose all of them, you know, I suppose the, you know, the voice, finding the voice and also being misunderstood. And I think, you know, for women in Africa, like it's extremely difficult to fight and kick up against the patriarchal society. So for her to be, you know, a good wife and a loyal wife and loving, but at the same time find her own voice extremely complex. And I think a lot of, a lot of women and the tradition, you know, the history, I think a lot of women not only in Kenya, but I suppose in all of the, all of the world struggle with that, with that balancing of tradition, loyalty and then, you know, articulation of self. Are you, if you guys can be articulate of selves for a moment, do you have any questions for Laura regarding relationship to her play or her, her, her life in Cape Town, her theater? Yes. The actual writing's not so long, like two, two months, because, but I'd thought about it for very long, you know, for several years, right from when I saw the documentaries, it sort of sits for a long time and then there was a research period and then I actually sat down to write. So, you know, it's not a, it's not a long play, you know, it's not a big play, it's quite a small story. As I said, the text that you weren't seeing tonight was the dance text that was accompanied in the piece. It struck me that you, the activist character who doesn't seem to know anything really about what's going on, is not able to do anything in the world outside, but he does cast his net on the home ground and he does make change for his sister. He really does do that. Do you think that most of the activism is futile? I don't think activism is futile, but it's confused. You know, it's who's fighting for what, but the energy of activism is hopeful. You know, even when people start wars, it's because they want change. They want this to change. And that is destructive, possibly, but not futile because it has the charge of some kind of energy. I mean, as opposed to sitting and dying at the lake, starving, there's an energy, I think. Well, I think, go ahead, please. I was going to ask if you could talk a little bit more about your process of going from the page to the stage and when this play was produced, how it was, what your process was, maybe that comes to light. I work with the actors, so I'm not a director who stages. So it's very loose. I'm an organic and we just, you know, we take the text and we start working with it and exploring. And then always have things in the room. Well, in this case, we had a lake, so we had water, but a beautiful set of a jetty underneath the water. So then you start playing with the water. The choreography, a lot of it was in the water. And you start playing with nets. You start playing with the visuals. So it's really a process of playfulness and creativity. The water was part of the set. Yeah. Yeah, but half the set was water, which was challenging to tour. We toured, we went to the Vienna Festival, we went to Graemstad and China's book. But it's not that difficult to... I'm sure, yeah, for South Africa, that was quite normal, but I'm sure, yeah. Yeah, it's quite easy to make the set like that. You might be surprised. So along with that, did you find, when you began to work with the actors, that any of the verbal text, the text that you had written, changed as well from their work when developing the piece? Did the actors contribute to the text of the play as they were rehearsing? You know, in all my other plays, yes, the big one says yes. But this was quite interesting because it was set in Kenya. The vernacular of the actors was not, you know, was South African. And so usually we improvise, we improvise in a vernacular tone, you know, in Cape Town, it would be sequoza. And because that was the case, they stuck to the English on the script. So they didn't really add in this case. But in all, all my other work, they do, do, we do add in rehearsal. Yes. I haven't seen your other work. Do you use drummers often? Because it's amazing. The question was if Flora uses drummers or other types of musicians in her work? Yeah, well that, I mean, that was amazing of Pongile. But I mean, he just, you know, we've only had a couple of hours rehearsal and he was able to bring that to, I sent him the music we used, but he really improvised his own music. So I quite often, yeah, use music and drumming and percussion. Depending on the play, I mean, I have more realistic, naturalistic plays that wouldn't use that. But in the sort of African storytelling traditional play then we often use music and drumming. And you have just written a new play, which is getting its premiere in Grandstown. So tell us about that one. When you say I've written it, it's still on first draft phase. And that's a personal story. That's a story actually based on my parents. It's about a woman with manic depression or bipolar. And a man who spends his life trying to fix her. And then there's a third character who's a friend who's a psychiatrist, professor in psychiatry. And so I've been spending a lot of time with Dr. Bauman, who's a psychiatrist at Volcomberg in Cape Town. And really exploring this notion, or it's not a notion, is this order of bipolar disorder, which is something that I think is diagnosed. Lots of people are told these days that they have bipolar or every second person that has a mood swing is told they have a bipolar. But the actual disease of bipolar manic depression is very, very serious. And so I felt that it was important to explore what that is and how a family lives with it and how the person themselves lives with it. So it's very rich territory to write something that's funny and alive and and so painful. So it's brand new. So I can't even say I've written it yet. It's going to happen. You have to fly to Gramstown to along with two other of your plays that are being produced at the same time. It's a Herculean effort over the course of 10 days. I have a play called Sopang, which explores a story of infant rape that happened in South Africa. It's a huge, huge and horrible thing that happens. Huge, when I say huge, is the scale of it. 20,000 child rapes are reported a year. And then another one called Kuru Moose, which is a magical, realistic type crazy story of a moose that runs through the eastern Cape and there's children who are looking for a happier, better place. But it's, again, a social story where the father sells his daughter to pay off her gambling debt. So those are social, but they're some terrible and I sound very dark, but all of the plays that I write have a certain amount of hope and light. Well, I wanted to end by telling you a quote that came from a mutual friend of ours, Rachel Chanoff, who is a cultural producer here in New York and indeed around the world, and she says about you, the thing that I find extraordinary in Laura's writing is that she embraces and illuminates the deep, sweet humanity of her characters and fearlessly exposes their darkest impulses as well. She brings such a gorgeous generosity to her leadership at the Baxter and also to the world of her plays. It's not lovely. Thank you for being with us tonight. Thank you for joining us. Thank you. Can I say, can I quickly please say thank you to Penn for having me here and their generosity and thank you to very courageous cast through themselves. And also to Lila who was my assistant and to Nina Swart who did the videography and who's here helping us today to put it all together. Thank you so much.