Ruined
Page 1
Table of Contents
BOOKS BY LYNN NOTTAGE
Title Page
Dedication
Introduction
Acknowledgements
PRODUCTION HISTORY
CHARACTERS
ACT ONE
Scene 1
Scene 2
Scene 3
Scene 4
Scene 5
Scene 6
ACT TWO
Scene 1
Scene 2
Scene 3
Scene 4
Scene 5
Scene 6
Scene 7
SWAHILI TRANSLATIONS
SONGS FROM RUINED
PHOTOGRAPHS
Copyright Page
BOOKS BY LYNN NOTTAGE
AVAILABLE FROM TCG
Crumbs from the Table of Joy
and Other Plays
INCLUDES:
POOF!
Por’knockers
Mud, River, Stone
Las Meninas
Intimate Apparel and Fabulation, or
The Re-Education of Undine: Two Plays
Ruined
For Ruby Gerber
My reason for optimism
INTRODUCTION
By Kate Whoriskey
All of us who spend our lives in theater know that, at its core, this performing art is sacred. It has an incredible capacity for illuminating the unseen, reshaping history, bringing out empathy and providing social commentary. And yet it takes years in the trenches to develop a handful of meaningful productions. Once in a great while a project seems to get enough of the elements right that it becomes a memorable piece of theater. Ruined is one of those pieces.
How did it all begin?
Five years ago, Lynn and I were preparing for our second collaboration, Fabulation. On a break, we got into a conversation about Brecht and found that both of us admired Mother Courage. I have always been drawn to Brecht’s heightened style and epic writing, and was compelled by the notion of staging a woman’s complicated relationship to war. The cruel paradox of Mother Courage, a woman who profited from a war that took her children, seemed like fertile theatrical ground.
Lynn wanted to do a version of Mother Courage set in the Congo. A violent war over natural resources had been raging there for years, causing one of the highest death tolls of any war, and, yet, the violence generated very little media attention. Since her days working for Amnesty International, Lynn had been disturbed by the lack of interest the international community showed for such a devastating conflict. She thought that doing an adaptation might call attention to the crisis.
Months passed without further conversation about the transplanted Mother Courage. Then, one day, Lynn called me: “I bought a ticket to Uganda,” she said, “do you want to go with me?” Lynn had chosen the bordering country of Uganda because the violence in the Congo had been heating up between the Hema and the Lendus and multiple other factions. There was an Amnesty International based in Kampala, Uganda, and she could use contacts to set up interviews with Congolese women who had crossed over the border to escape the violence. She had bought her ticket to leave the day after Fabulation rehearsals ended.
So we opened Fabulation, and the next day boarded a plane bound for Central Africa.
One of the first people we met in Kampala was a driver who said he was willing to take us anywhere, but also wanted to warn us about certain locations we chose. First on our itinerary was the refugee camp in Arva, north of Kampala. “I am willing to take you there. I do food runs there for various NGOs, but I want to let you know the violence is increasing there.” He spoke of rebels cutting off women’s tongues to upset the camps. The violence was reminiscent of explorer turned colonizer Henry Morton Stanley. A century ago, Stanley was responsible for securing free labor to support Belgian King Leopold II’s rubber trade. To ensure cooperation, Stanley cut off the hands of anyone refusing to work. Such butchery, practiced by colonizers one hundred years earlier, seemed to influence current acts of violence in a post-colonial Congo.
The senseless yet targeted violence got me thinking about the women we were here to interview and what their stories were. I have often questioned why rape is an integral part of any war. After interviewing the women, I realized that it was not just a tool to humiliate the women or to degrade the opposing side’s masculinity, it was a way to strip women of their wombs. All but one of the women interviewed were raped by multiple men. The physical damage incurred was so great that they were left without the ability to produce children.
Like many people who perpetrate sexual crimes, the men and boys who raped were themselves victims of unspeakable violence. Rebels interested in recruiting more soldiers would invade family houses and make boys kill their parents in order to save themselves. These boys became so damaged they would join the rebel group that forced them to make this unconscionable choice. When I spoke to Doctor Denis Mukwege, who is the lead doctor at Panzi hospital in Bukavu, in the Democratic Republic of Congo, I asked him if he ever met a boy who suffered this experience and was then rehabilitated. He answered no. Worse than a suicide bomber, these boys and men are so psychologically scarred that from the point of the trauma forward, they spend the rest of their lives terrorizing and destroying others.
Since our trip, I have been haunted by the human capacity to use creativity and imagination to such deadly ends. I would like to think that we are better off in the United States, but when you look at what was done in Abu Ghraib and Guantanamo Bay, we are only wealthy enough to keep it offshore. In the United States, we have the money to create weaponry that removes us from the violence we enact. By contrast, in the Congo, the mixture of poverty and war is a lethal combination. Due to a lack of money, the human body becomes the weapon, the teenage boy the terror, and a woman’s womb “the battleground.”
As we interviewed more and more people, it became clear that we did not want to be beholden to Brecht’s ideas. Lynn was interested in portraying the lives of Central Africans as accurately as she could, and she found Mother Courage to be a false frame. She decided to abandon the idea of adaptation in favor of a structure that was true to our experiences in Uganda. What struck both of us from our trip was that while there was incredible chaos in the region, this was home, and people were determined to survive and build lives here. When the media focuses attention on these areas, they often describe the violence, the poverty and the AIDS crisis. It is rare to hear the full story, the positive alongside the negative.
What was so rich about our trip is that we witnessed great beauty, strength and artistry.
We met women who had formed a group called Isis, dedicated to documenting the violence against women and administering medical and psychological care to the communities that had been traumatized by armed conflicts. We met the phenomenal spirit of Doctor Mukwege, who dedicates his life to repairing the physical injuries of women. We met people who ran orphanages for children whose parents were lost to the war and AIDS. They took care of hundreds of orphans with respect and discipline. We also heard incredible music, saw stand-up comedians perform, bought and enjoyed hand-crafted masks, baskets, jewelry and textiles, drank Waragi, the local liquor, went on safari, took a white-water rafting trip down the Nile and hiked for hours to see the gorillas on the border of the Congo.
On a different trip to the region, Lynn spoke with a Rwandan about life after the genocide. He said to her, “We must fight to sustain the complexity.” This phrase became a mantra for creating the piece. We did not want to focus solely on the damage but also the hope.
The core commitment of Ruined is to celebrate and examine the spectrum of human life in all its complexities: the sacred with the profane, the transcendent with the lethal, the flaws with the beauty, and selfishness with generosity.
Lynn has the gift and genius for looking inside moments of profound disruption, witnessing the chaos, absorbing the psychic damage, and then synthesizing a narrative that shows us we are capable of so much more.
Her writing not only provides the drama, it also gives all the clues so that one can tap into the contrasting elements. As a director committed to staging complexity, my task is to counter the drama with humor, spirit and wit, and to treat the stories collected in Central Africa with the understanding that at every moment the Congolese are determined to survive.
I am proud to have worked on a show that has gotten the attention of the United Nations and the United States Senate. Several delegates from the United Nations, including Secretary General Ban-Ki Moon, have attended the performance, as have human rights activists and organizations. Lynn Nottage and Quincy Tyler Bernstine were invited to attend the Senate Foreign Relations Committee hearing of the Subcommittee on International Operations and Organizations, Democracy, Human Rights and Global Women’s Issues, and the Subcommittee on African Affairs, which was designed to examine the use of violence against women, particularly rape, as a tool of war in conflict zones and “to explore what steps are being taken to stop this horrific practice once and for all.” Quincy Tyler Bernstine then presented Salima’s Act Two monologue at a reception following that hearing.
These moments restore my faith that theater can activate change, heal a bit of the horror, restore hope and give voice to the silent and unseen.
It has been a privilege to work on this play with Lynn, the acting ensemble, the producers at Manhattan Theatre Club and the Goodman, and the design team. I am thankful that audiences are empathizing with the lives of people that news outlets typically avoid.
A friend of mine says that if you commit yourself to a life in theater, you may only make five to ten pieces that are truly momentous. I am glad to say that Ruined was one.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
A heartfelt thank you to the incredible Congolese women who bravely shared their stories. My play is a tribute to their tenacious spirits.
Some of the Congolese women who shared their narratives were: Shabaru Brigitte, Jeanne Kavira, Nya Kakoheryo, Sindje Tokoko Esther, Alimasi Mulemaza, Pauline Tamwe, Muzima Salima, Mama Nadi Zabibu, Abambu Josephine, Sophie Somana, Ntamusimwa Emilienne, Biswaza Mariah, Katungu Vihamba Rose and Bernadette Bwira Astride.
Special thanks:
To the phenomenal cast and crew of Ruined, Kate Whoriskey, Tony Gerber, Bob Falls, Roche Schulfer, Tanya Palmer, Dan Sullivan, Lynne Meadow, Barry Grove, Steve Scott, Mandy Greenfield, Jerry Patch, Lisa McNulty, Nancy Piccione, Peter Hagan, Jocelyn Clarke, LAByrinth Theater Company, Jessica Neuwirth, Taina Bien-Aime and Equality Now, Jane Saks and the Ellen Belic Stone Institute for the Study of Women and Gender in the Arts and Media, David Mukassa, Charles Dickens Elem, the Guggenheim Foundation, Jimmy Obomba and Amnesty International (the Kampala office), Rory Breaker, Kayondo Wahabu, Asiimwe Deborah and Jerry Gerber.
PRODUCTION HISTORY
Ruined was originally commissioned by and received its world premiere at the Goodman Theatre in Chicago (Robert Falls, Artistic Director; Roche Schulfer, Executive Director) in November 2008. The production was co-produced by Manhattan Theatre Club (Lynne Meadow, Artistic Director; Barry Grove, Executive Producer). It was directed by Kate Whoriskey; the set design was by Derek McLane, the lighting design was by Peter Kaczorowski, the costume design was by Paul Tazewell, the sound design was by Rob Milburn and Michael Bodeen and the original music was composed by Dominic Kanza; the dramaturg was Tanya Palmer and the production stage manager was Kimberly Osgood. The cast was:
MAMA NADI Saidah Arrika Ekulona
JOSEPHINE Cherise Boothe
SOPHIE Condola Phyleia Rashad
SALIMA Quincy Tyler Bernstine
CHRISTIAN Russell Gebert Jones
MR. HARARI Tom Mardirosian
JEROME KISEMBE/SOLDIER/AID WORKER Chris Chalk
COMMANDER OSEMBENGA/SOLDIER Kevin Mambo
FORTUNE/SOLDIER/MINER Chiké Johnson
SIMON/SOLDIER/MINER William Jackson Harper
SOLDIER Simon Shabantu Kashama
SOLDIER Ali Amin Carter
Ruined made its New York City premiere at Manhattan Theatre Club (Lynne Meadow, Artistic Director; Barry Grove, Executive Director) in February 2009. It was directed by Kate Whoriskey; the set design was by Derek McLane, the lighting design was by Peter Kaczorowski, the costume design was by Paul Tazewell, the sound design was by Rob Milburn and Michael Bodeen and the original music was composed by Dominic Kanza; the production stage manager was Donald Fried, the stage manager was Alison Desantis and the guitarist was Simon Shabantu Kashama. The cast was:
MAMA NADI Saidah Arrika Ekulona
JOSEPHINE Cherise Boothe
SOPHIE Condola Rashad
SALIMA Quincy Tyler Bernstine
CHRISTIAN Russell Gebert Jones
MR. HARARI Tom Mardirosian
JEROME KISEMBE/SOLDIER Chris Chalk
COMMANDER OSEMBENGA/SOLDIER Kevin Mambo
FORTUNE/SOLDIER/MINER Chiké Johnson
SIMON/SOLDIER/MINER/
AID WORKER William Jackson Harper
PASCAL/SOLDIER Ron McBee
CHARACTERS
MAMA NADI A madam, a businesswoman, attractive, early forties
JOSEPHINE One of Mama’s girls, early twenties
SOPHIE One of Mama’s girls, eighteen
SALIMA One of Mama’s girls, nineteen
CHRISTIAN A traveling salesman, early forties
MR. HARARI A Lebanese diamond merchant, early forties
JEROME KISEMBE A rebel leader
COMMANDER
OSEMBENGA A military leader for the current government
FORTUNE A Government Soldier, Salima’s husband
SIMON A Government Soldier, Fortune’s cousin
LAURENT A Government Soldier, Osembenga’s assistant
REBEL SOLDIERS
GOVERNMENT SOLDIERS
AID WORKER
SETTING
A small mining town. The Democratic Republic of Congo.
ACT ONE
Scene 1
A small mining town. The sounds of the tropical Ituri rain forest. The Democratic Republic of Congo.
A bar, makeshift furniture and a rundown pool table. A lot of effort has gone into making the worn bar cheerful. A stack of plastic washtubs rests in the corner. An old car battery powers the audio system, a covered birdcage sits conspicuously in the corner of the room.
Mama Nadi, early forties, an attractive woman with an arrogant stride and majestic air, watches Christian, early forties, a perpetually cheerful traveling salesman, knock back a Fanta. His good looks have been worn down by hard living on the road. He wears a suit that might have been considered stylish when new, but it’s now nearly ten years old, and overly loved.
CHRISTIAN: Ah. Cold. The only cold Fanta in twenty-five kilometers. You don’t know how good this tastes.
(Mama flashes a warm flirtatious smile, then pours herself a Primus beer.)
MAMA: And where the hell have you been?
CHRISTIAN: It was no easy task getting here.
MAMA: I’ve been expecting you for the last three weeks. How am I supposed do business? No soap, no cigarettes, no condoms. Not even a half liter of petrol for the generator.
CHRISTIAN: Why are you picking a fight with me already? I didn’t create this damn chaos. Nobody, and I’m telling you, nobody could get through on the main road. Every two kilometers a boy with a Kalashnikov and pockets that need filling. Toll, tax, tariff. They invent reasons to lighten your load.
MAMA: Then why does Mr. Harari always manage to get through?
CHRISTIAN: Mr. Harari doesn’t bring you things you need, does he? Mr. Harari has interests that supercede his safety. Me, I still hope to have a family one day. (Laughs heartily)
MAMA: And my lipstick?
CHRISTIAN: Your lipstick? Aye! Did you ask me for lipstick?
MAMA: Of course, I did, you idiot!
CHRISTIAN: Look at the way you speak to me, chérie. Comment estce possible? You should be happy I made it here in one piece.
(Christian produces a tube of lipstick from his pocket.)
Play nice, or I’ll give this to Josephine. She knows just how to show her appreciation.
MAMA: Yes, but you always take home a little more than you ask for with Josephine. I hope you know how to use a condom.
(Christian laughs.)
CHRISTIAN: Are you jealous?
MAMA: Leave me alone, you’re too predictable. (Turns away, dismissive)
CHRISTIAN: Where are you going? Hey, hey what are you doing? (Teasingly) Chérie, I know you wanted me to forget, so you could yell at me, but you won’t get the pleasure this time. (Christian taunts her with the lipstick. Mama resists the urge to smile.)
MAMA: Oh shut up and give it to me.
(He passes her the lipstick.)
Thank you, Christian.
CHRISTIAN: I didn’t hear you—MAMA: Don’t press your luck. And it better be red.
(Mama grabs a sliver of a broken mirror from behind the rough-hewn bar, and gracefully applies the lipstick.)
CHRISTIAN: You don’t have to say it. I know you want a husband. MAMA: Like a hole in my head. CHRISTIAN (Reciting):What, is this love?
An unexpected wind,
A fluctuation,
Fronting the coming of a storm.
Resolve, a thorny bush
Blown asunder and swept away.
There, chérie. I give you a poem in lieu of the kiss you won’t allow me.
(Christian laughs, warmly. Mama puts out a bowl of peanuts, a peace offering.)
MAMA: Here. I saved you some groundnuts, professor. CHRISTIAN: That’s all you saved for me? MAMA: Be smart, and I’ll show you the door in one second.
(Mama scolds him with her eyes.)
CHRISTIAN: Ach, ach … why are you wearing my grandmama’s face?
(Christian mocks her expression. Mama laughs and downs her beer.)
MAMA: You sure you don’t want a beer?
CHRISTIAN: You know me better than that, chérie, I haven’t had a drop of liquor in four years.
MAMA (Teasing): It’s cold.