Chapter 6
Eddy Bruma
Eddy Bruma was born in 1925. He finished his studies in Surinamese law after World War II. He was for a short time president of a nationalistic youth club in Paramaribo, which must have been a rather frustrating experience. In Creole society there existed an especially strong urge to assimilate to the Dutch way of life, as is so typical of a colonial society. As we have seen, this often gave nationalistic feelings a certain ambiguity. Bruma believed that Surinam would never be able to shape its own future, to solve its own problems, and to make a valuable contribution to mankind, if the Dutch way of life continued to be the ultimate norm. The physical emancipation of 1863 had to be followed, he believed, by a psychological one. These ideas brought him into close contact with the work of Koenders, who also tried to convince the Creoles that they had to respect themselves.
There was, however, a clear difference in their general aims. Bruma not only wanted to educate the underprivileged Creoles, but also regarded a change in the basic outlook of the whole society as a prerequisite for social change. Political independence could be based only on cultural and psychological independence.
Bruma's basic ideas were unacceptable in Surinam. After his departure to Holland to finish his studies at the university level, he teamed up with a group of Surinamese students, recruited from all walks of society, who proved more susceptible to his ideas. They had been confronted in Holland with the failure of their assimilation ideals. They were not regarded as Dutch students with a slight tropical touch but remained foreigners who rather surprisingly also spoke Dutch. This inspired them to search for their own identity.
Bruma already had a strong conviction that Surinam should have its own identity. Now he was given the chance to shape the new ideas of his countrymen. In Amsterdam he founded the cultural nationalistic movement Wie Eegie Sanie (Our own things) in which for the first time intellectuals and laborers pooled resources on an equal basis. The laborers were in the privileged position of having a better mastery of Creole and a more intimate knowledge of lower-class Creole culture. Thus they could help the students to find a non-European identity.
After the completion of his studies in Holland, Bruma returned to Surinam. With the help of the other members of Wie Eegie Sanie he now succeeded in disseminating these new ideas. It was a period of great activity, witnessed and described in 1962 by an outsider as follows:
The leader of the Nationalists and possibly the most discussed person in Suriname is Eduard Bruma, a Negro lawyer in his middle thirties. He is dark brown, of medium height and build, with an unusually striking face: his brow puckers easily above the nosebridge and he has high eyebrows that slope steeply outwards over deep-set intense eyes. When he drives around in Paramaribo in his monster green Chevrolet boys and men wave, and there is a hint of conspiracy in their greeting. For though the Nationalist agitation is carried on openly, the Nationalists have as yet no official positions and the movement has a touch of the underground.1
The government, although politically almost independent, was indeed quick to recognize the political implications of these new cultural ideas. If this movement succeeded, the old colonial elite was bound to lose its prominent position in society. In the multiracial setting of Surinam, the movement, interpreted as a struggle for Creole supremacy, brought forth reactions from other racial groups. It must be said that Bruma himself always stressed his national, and therefore multiracial, approach. He did not succeed in proving this unequivocally.
It seems only natural that Bruma was gradually drawn into the vortex of politics, although he never became a true dyed-in-the-wool politician. He always remained an outsider, refusing to be drawn into political schemes and accepting successive losses with good humor. Politics to him did not seem a serious business in itself, only an instrument for social change.
In the cultural battle Bruma started to use Creole as a means of literary expression. He has been extremely careless with his manuscripts. A few poems have been published in Foetoe-boi,2 and one short story has been published in Tongoni,3 but that is about all of
his literary production which has found its way into print. His most valuable contribution to Creole literature may perhaps be in the field of drama. Bruma had already produced a play in Holland around 1952, but on that occasion he was forced to express himseif in Dutch.4 Back in Surinam he took over Koenders's job of annually producing a play in Creole on July first, Emancipation Day. He has for some years written and produced plays in Creole with his own group. He continued the tradition of popular, mainly improvised drama on well-known themes of slavery, produced by local groups, but he introduced a more sophisticated structure. In this way he has greatly influenced local plays. His own plays have never been published, and they may on the whole have been written in too great a hurry to be published in full. By mere chance we managed to lay hands on one of his best plays, Basja Pataka, produced about 1958 in Paramaribo.
In this play Bruma treats the problem of collaboration during the period of slavery. The peace treaties concluded with different groups of maroons contained a paragraph in which the maroons solemnly promised not to shelter runaway slaves any longer but to send them back to their former masters for punishment. Today Creoles tend to interpret their own past in Surinam as a constant battle for freedom, fought openly by the maroons and surreptitiously by the slaves. The above-mentioned paragraph in the peace treaties is difficult to accept and could even be interpreted as treasonous. Bruma paints two different types of collaborators among the slaves against this general background of the peace treaties. There is the rather simple character of the old doctor, who has had his own revolutionary past, and is ready to volunteer witty advice, but does not want to get involved in any way in revolutionary activities. He is in a way the intellectual, discussing freedom on a highly abstract level but mortally afraid of the possible consequences if his words are taken literally. More complex is the hero of the play, Basja Pataka. As the unscrupulous driver, he is in a sense the prototype of the collaborator, the right hand of his white master. He extracts the utmost from his fellow slaves for the benefit of their master. But he is at the same time the fanatic worker, devoted to his task, not to his master. In fact, neither master nor slave exists in his eyes, only the task, which constitutes his only ethos in life. This makes him a lone wolf, feared and respected by all. When in a critical moment, he fails, he loses even his power of speech and lives in a pig sty like a pariah.
Two years later, when the slaves had lost all hope, and when the maroons refused to help them and they were on the point of giving up, Pataka is shaken from his lethargy. He regains his power of speech and takes the lost cause of the slaves upon himself with the same fervor with which he formerly embraced the cause of his master. He becomes the head of a slave uprising, which is doomed to failure. He has a purpose no longer dependent upon its success.
Different historical data have been used in constructing this play. The slave uprising in Coronie in 1836 served as a model. The leader of this slave uprising, a certain slave Colin, lost his power of speech and only regained it to start a hopeless struggle for freedom (Renselaar 1963, Voorhoeve Renselaar 1962). He has been identified with the hero of a story from the time of slavery, Basja Pataka.5 To explain the crisis on the plantation during which Pataka loses his speech, Bruma used data from a court case against a certain Cameron, who killed a slave for dancing the forbidden Congo Tombe on the plantation.6 We reproduce here part of the first act of Bruma's play.7
[naar vertaling]
Basya Pataka
Act 1
Tsye! We i si, a tori di u yere e singi de, a ningi ningi ba busara. A no now uma e gowe libi man. Sensi a fosi ten i ben a wan basya, den e kari basya Pataka. A pranasi kon broko now, a biro kawna. Now skowtupost kon drape de, a Kunofru. We, dape ben de a moro hogri presi, pe den ben e tyari srafu gowe go makti. Efi i de wan hogri srafu, dan den tya i gowe go makti a Kunofru. Ma den ben e poti ton a den mofo hari ken pondo. We, a basya fu drape ben de basya Pataka. We basya Pataka ... ho! Pataka a wan sani, a de a libi, efi i meki wan grap nanga en, a e beti tumusi takru. A dede, toku a e beti. Bika efi i abi a drey pataka, dan i anu misi go na en tifi sey, a sutu i kaba. Yu e nyan hen srefi, toku a e beti yu. Dùs pataka a wan hogri sani. A man ben de wan hogri nengre, ne a teki a nen fu
[naar vertaling]
Pataka. Dan a ben
kon de basya. Dan ala suma e kari en taki basya Pataka. We, te a kon
na oso, ala dey a mu nyan dri sortu tonton. Den tonton den tan na
ini baki ini. Wan sey weti kasaba tonton, wan sey bâna tonton, wan
sey kokori tonton. Kap-kapu yarabaka ede nanga katfisi, stimofo,
bonyo-bonyo sowtu meti de na ini wan krabasi. So ala dey s'sa Akuba
be e bori tonton. Efi a dey di a kon, s'sa Akuba bori bâna, a e kisi
s'sa Akuba, a e fon en. No fon en prey-prey fonfon, a e fon en bun
fonfon.
Wakti! A sibi u e sibi bâna, now mi sabi suma a e taki. Na wi eygi basya. Ma a bun a no e pasa fu yere yu, noso yu ben sa kaba fu gi den dreygi tori disi.
Ala pondo lay kaba?
No wan no tan abra. Lay te fu sungu.
Dati bun!
Sensi mi de, mi no si pondo lay so hesi ete. Fruku mamanten u o hari den na fesisey. Un libi waktiman a baka fu sorgu fu a frudu no koti a tetey.
Basya, a gersi den srafu wani aksi wan sani.
Noti den no abi fu aksi mi. Efi na pansboko den wani, dati den kan kisi.
Ma basya, den wroko tranga!
Na fu dati den de. Mi denki dati i ben sabi dati kaba.
Un tya seyri go na bakadan fu tapu den boto?
Ala dati seti.
Mi e si wan basra alen hipi en srefi a dati sey. Efi a sa lusu, den boto sa sungu.
Ala dati seti tu.... Sensi mi de a firi, mi no man kaba fu luku a loktu. Mi no man futrow en. Mi no man tagi wan suma san mi e firi. Mi skin e piki mi, dati dineti no e go de wan bun neti gi unu.
Fa so! San yu wani taki. Piki mi, meki mi sabi sortu hogri un poti na un ede fu du. Ma mi dya e wakti unu. Mi e warskow unu.
A no dati basya. Na di mi ben de a tapu na dan na libasey, wan safri draywinti ben way, mi skin ben gro.
Wan draywinti?
Na so basya. A ben frede mi. A ben dray leki wan fini froyti na ini mi yesi, mi ben firi en, mi ben yere en.
Wan winti leki wan fini froyti? Boy, yu sabi bun san yu e taki? Yu wani mi krawasi yu te yu fadon dede, dineti? Hesi taki a no tru. Hesi noso mi sa broko yu bakabonyo!
No naki basya! No naki! A no tru! Mi no yere noti!
Oooo! Yu leyman yu!
Efi yu no wani bribi, na yu mu sabi. Den gado mu kibri wi na san mi e fruwakti no go pasa dineti. Draywinti na wan tumusi takru sani. Furu nengre sa krey, furu bakra sa krey. Draywinti no sabi papa, no mama. A no sabi srafu, a no sabi basya.
Yu o ferteri mi draywinti tori. Mi boy, wan yari ten, di mi ben de na mamakondre ete, wan draywinti ben way neti. Efi a no ben de so, taki wi ben abi wan trangawan na wi mindri di ben sabi fa fu kowru na atibron fu den gado disi, no wan fu wi no ben tan.
Brada, nanga san a man ben kowru na atibron fu den gado? Na fosi tron mi yere so wan tori.
We, draywinti ... u e kowru en nanga wan steyfi kongo tombe. Te un dansi en so, un dansi en wan pisi, dan na draywinti e kaba way.
Un no kan kaba nanga den tori disi? Fu san ede ala sortu takru winti mu go way dyaso na wi kondre? Kande na srafu libi disi no tranga nofo gi wi? Dan ete un wani draywinti nanga marawinti mu kon broko wi masanga?
Na heri mamanten kaba mi pruberi fu feni wan piki na tapu den sani, di yu aksi mi esrede. Mi mu tagi yu leti mi no man feni.
Yu no abi fu suku moro, mama. Awansi fa yu sa suku, yu no sa man feni.
San na dati? San a ben aksi yu?
A aksi mi efi mi sabi, san na a sani di du wi nengre, meki un no kan komopo na ini katibo. Ne mi e suku, mi no man feni san a wani taki.
Mi aksi yu wan sani moro.
Na so, olanga mi denki wi Koroninengre e go tan, meki den e du nanga wi san den wani.
A no tru! A no dati mi aksi yu. Mi aksi yu olanga wi o teki en.
Yu abi leti. Olanga wi sa swari dati! Yu sabi a boy fu mi. A abi twarfu yari. Tra dey neti, na leti dya mi nanga en sidon, di ala
[naar vertaling]
suma go sribi kaba.
A neti ben kowru, na sewinti ben way so switi. Fosi tron sensi mi
kon dyaso mi ben firi so wan rostu na ini mi ati. A ben gersi na
Afrikan kondre mi ben de baka.
Afrikan kondre, Mama kondre! Ay, mi Gado!
Dan a boy pasa en anu na mi baka, leki a ben wani mi firi, taki mi nanga en na wan.
Dan a aksi mi:
M'ma, fu san ede den bakra moro tranga moro wi?
Mi no ben sabi san mi musu piki en. Mi tagi en taki den no tranga moro wi, ma a no bribi mi. A piki taki:
Ma ... someni nengre, so pikinso bakra, dan ete den na basi.
Mi tagi en na di unu ben prati, na fu di wi ben feti nanga un srefi na Afrikan kondre, ne wi no ben kan wini den bakra, di den kon fufuru wi tya gowe. Na now wi kon ferstan wi srefi moro betre. Ma en ati no ben sidon. A aksi mi:
Efi dati de so, dan fu san ede basya e makandra nanga den bakra fu makti wi?
Na wan sani nomo mi ben kan tagi en, dati basya na wan takru libisuma. A kan tanapu e arki mi efi a wani, mi no kan yepi, ma na so mi ati gi mi fu piki na boy.
Yu ben mu tagi en taki disi sani a kon miti, na bakapisi fu katibo. A no kaba mi kaba fu ferteri un Kunofru tori. San mi eygi ay si dya a tapu na pranasi furu tumusi fu mi mofo ferteri. Yu ben mu tagi en taki tra nengre fu wi kondre sori kaba, taki den no moro mendre leki den bakra. Den wini den, den kiri den, den makti den sote, te den ben abi fu kon begi fu tapu na feti. Dati meki den nengre dati, fa mi yere a tori, kisi fri. Den kan go te den wani, den kan kon te den wani. A so mi yere. Mi ay no si den, ma mi e bribi.
Fa a sa man tagi a boy so wan sani. Wi alamala dyaso yere na tori. Na letiwan fu en wi no man sabi. Ma efi na mi, mi sa syen fu meki den pikin fu wi sabi na tori. Na wan syen tori.
Fa so? San yu wani taki?
San mi wani taki? Mi wani taki disi. Na wi alamala kon dya. Den ben kon fri fosi wi. Dan den fergiti, taki wi tan na ini a sari.
Fa so?
Den fergiti ya! Mi yere taki den sweri fu seni wi gi den bakra, efi wi sa lowe na den kampu.
Oooo!
Na so mi yere. A no wan syen tori?
We, dan efi wi wani lowe, dan na frey wi sa abi fu frey. Ma yu abi leti, ef a de so, dan na wan syen tori.
Mi Gado! Mi Gado! San e pasa nanga wi. Ala wi oso, ala wi sani go. Mi si fa mi masra nanga mi pikin fadon komopo na ini en oso go na gron. Ala tu dede. San pasa! San pasa!
Masra, yu no si mi pikin? Masra, yu no si mi boy Kofi? Tagi mi no? Yu no si Kofi? Dri yari nomo a abi. Yu no si mi boy? Pe a de?
Basya, aksi den nengre san pasa nanga den. Pe den e go? San yu e wakti?
Mi e go kaba.
Masra nengre! San du unu? Pe u e lowe gowe? Piki mi. San de fu du?
Masra, a betre un seti lon na wi baka. Den Gado ati bron. Takru winti e dray kon na birosey. Ala wi pranasi kon tron wan doti ipi. Lusu mi, meki mi gowe. Suma wani kan tan.
Wakti! Suma na yu? Pe yu komopo?
Mi na Novari nengre.
Na winti broko Novari, leki fa mi ferstan?
A broko en, a broko en. Noti noti no tan abra. A opo wi kampu tya go hey na loktu. Noyti moro wi no si den. A opo na granmasra oso tya go hey na loktu. No wan planga fu en no kon na gron moro. Kronoto bon e seyri a loktu gowe se. A ben tranga fu si.
Èn den srafu?
Den dede. Den dede leki agu. Na wi so, den tu ay suma
[naar vertaling]
disi tan abra. Gado
srefi meki wi ben de na firi ete, di a winti bigin way. Noso wi tu
ben dede leki dagu. Ne wi seti lon.
Pe na granmasra fu na pranasi de?
Noti fu en wi no si di wi kon na fesisey. Trawan taki a ben de na ini oso.
Dan suma gi un pasi fu lon libi na pranasi?
Na winti ben takru tumusi. Fa wi ben sa man du wan tra fasi? Na pasi wi e lon kon, ne wi miti ala den tra nengre. Bonse nengre, Oxford nengre. Den alamala grabu san den ben kan teki. Ne yu si wi kon pasa dya. Ma wi futu weri. Wi lon kaba pasa wan yuru.
Na winti kaba way?
No ete. A e way wan pisi, dan a e dray go na sekanti. Efi yu si fa na watra e spoyti kon na loktu te a dorosey. A ben frede fu si. Baka wan pisi ten a e dray kon baka. Wi di ben e lon na tapu na pasi, wi ben e firi fa na gron ben e seki na wi ondro. A gersi na pasi ben sa way komopo na ondro wi futu. Efi wi no ben trowe wi srefi nanga bere na gron, a ben sa teki wi, opo wi go trowe na ini den swampu. Masra ef yu ben si san a meki nanga Kwami, di ben e lon na mi sey. Mi bari gi Kwami. Dukrun! Ma a ben weri so te. A no man dyompo go na bantama. A tanapu langa langa na tapu na pasi. Watra ay e lon na en fesi. A winti dray en leki wan maraston. En futu na loktu. A iti en wan pisi dan a fanga en baka, e dray en tya gowe na se.... Dati ben tranga fu si.
Basya, wi mu tapu en. Wi mu tapu en fu a no kon. Wi mu naki wan kongo tombe gi en. A sa kiri wi. Basya, taki no!
En srefi kon, en srefi sa gowe. Na tapu na pranasi disi pe mi de basya, no wan winti no e kon broko mi wroko. Na Afrikan kondre marawinti e arki kongo tombe, dyaso a e arki mi!
A sa kiri wi, basya.
Solanga mi de basya, noti no sa pasa.
Ma ef yu dede basya? Ef na winti kiri yu, basya?
Mi sa tranga moro en.
Masra, mi basya sa tranga moro en. Mi sa luku yu pranasi gi yu. Yu no abi fu frede. A no mi fara den busi disi meki na pranasi? A no mi meki yu pondo bigi moro ala den trawan? A no mi meki yu sukrumiri de na moro bigiwan fu heri Koroni?
Libi wi, meki wi dansi na kongo tombe.
Komopo! Frede meki den e kroypi leki dagu. Mi no wani kongo
[naar vertaling]
tombe dansi na tapu
na pranasi. Mara winti kan kon! A sa miti mi!
Yu no wani! Ma wi wani! Wi sa dansi na kongo tombe.
Basya, fu san ede yu no wani den dansi?
Masra, kongo tombe na watramama. Efi a dansi wan leysi na tapu yu pranasi, dede, malengri nanga takru du sa de wan aladey sani tapu yu pranasi. Kande na kongo tombe sa de wan tapu gi na marawinti, ma lespeki nanga koroku no sa de moro na wi mindri. Feti nanga dede sa de wan moro hogri marawinti di sa broko yu pranasi, te noti no tan. Kande na marawinti di sa kon na en presi sa tergi yu pranasi nomo nomo. Masra, yu kan go sidon baka nanga yu fisiti.
[naar origineel]
Basya Pataka
8
Act 1
Well, you see, the song that you've heard here is ‘ningi ningi ba busara.’ It's not only nowadays that women run off from their husbands. Long ago there was an overseer called Basja Pataka. The now dilapidated plantation is somewhere in the lower Commewijne. Now, there was a police outpost at Kunofru.10 Well, there you had the most fear-inspiring place, where slaves were sent to be broken in. If you were an evil slave, then they sent you to Kunofru to be tamed. They put a bridle in your mouth so that you could pull the pontoon filled with cane. The overseer at that place was called Basja Pataka. Well, Basja Pataka! Ho! Pataka! That is something! When he is alive and you joke with him, then he bites you in a terrible manner. When he is dead, he still bites you. For if you have a dried pataka and your hand should accidentally come near the teeth, then he's at you at once. Even if you eat him up, still he bites you. Therefore a pataka is a terrible thing, and that man was a terrible negro. Therefore he
[naar origineel]
assumed the name
Pataka, and when he became overseer, all the people called him Basja
Pataka. Well, when he comes home every day he had to eat three types
of dumplings. The dumplings were in a calabash. On the one side
dumplings made from white cassava. On the other dumplings from
plantain. And then dumplings from bitter cassava. And then in the
one calabash there are chopped up heads of the yellow backfish,
catfish, meat, and bony salted meat. Thus sister Akuba prepared
dumplings every day. When he came home one day and sister Akuba had
cooked bananas, he grabbed hold of her and gave her a thrashing. Not
for a joke, he gave her a hell of a beating.
Wait! We were sifting the plantains, but now we know who you're referring to. It is our very own overseer. It's a good thing he doesn't hear you. Else it would have been over with your pestering.
Are all the pontoons loaded?
They're all loaded to the top. Every one.
That's good.
I've never seen pontoons loaded in such a hurry. Tomorrow morning early we'll pull them to the front of the plantation. We have left the guards behind to see that the tide does not break the ropes.
Basja, it seems the slaves want to ask you something.
They have nothing to ask. If they want to feel the Spanish buck, they can.11
But Basja, they've slaved hard.
That's their purpose. I thought you already knew that.
Have you taken canvasses to the back to cover up the boats.
Everything has been seen to.
I see foul weather approaching over there. If it breaks, the boats will sink.
That has also been taken care of. The whole day in the fields I've been anxiously watching the sky. I don't trust it. I can't say what I think. I have a feeling that this night will bring us no good.
What do you mean? Answer me. Tell me what you're up to. I'm prepared for you. I warn you.
It isn't that, overseer. When I stood on the dam near the river, a soft wind eddied from all directions. It gave me goose pimples.
Eddied, you say?
Yes, indeed. It frightened me. It eddied like a soft whistle in my ears. I felt it, heard it.
A wind like a soft whistle? Boy, do you know what you're saying? You want me to beat the hell out of you tonight? Quick, take it back. At once, or I break your spine.
Don't beat, Basja, don't beat. It's not true. I never heard a thing!
Ah! Liar that you are.
If you don't want to believe it, it's your business. May the gods prevent what I expect from happening tonight. Whirlwinds are something terrible. Many negroes will weep. Many whites will weep. Whirlwinds make no distinction. They know no father, mother, slave, or overseer.
You're telling me! Boy, once when I was still in the motherland, a whirlwind blew at night. If there wasn't a powerful one among us who knew how to help the anger of those gods die down, then none of us would have been left.
Brother, with what did he soothe the anger of the god? It's new to me.
Well, a whirlwind ... we soothed it with a spirited Kongo-Tombe. When we had danced it for awhile the whirlwind stopped blowing.
Can't you stop? Why must all kinds of dangerous winds blow here on our plantation? Isn't this life of slavery enough? Do you also want whirlwinds and typhoons to destroy our huts?
All morning I've been trying to find answers to the things you asked me yesterday. I must honestly tell you I can't find them.
You don't have to look any longer, mother. No matter how you try, you won't find the answer.
What did he ask?
He asked me whether I knew what happened to us negroes that we can't overcome our slavery. Since that time I've been looking for the answer. I can't find it.
I asked you something else.
That's right: how long, in my opinion, the negroes from Coronie will allow them to treat us as they please.
Not true. I didn't ask you that. I asked you how long we will accept it.
You're right. How long will we suffer it! You know my boy? He's twelve years old. Last night he and I sat precisely here, when all
[naar origineel]
people had gone to
sleep. The night was cool. The sea breeze blew so nicely. For the
first time since my arrival here, I felt peace in my heart. It
seemed as if I were back in Africa.
Africa! Motherland! Oh God!
Then the boy stroked my back as if he wanted to make me feel that we were one.
Then he asked me:
Mother, why are whites stronger than us?
I did not know how to answer him. I said that they were not stronger than us. But he did not believe me.
But ... so many negroes, so few whites. And they're still the boss.
I said to him that this is so because we are divided, because we fight each other in Africa, that for this reason we couldn't win against the whites when they stole us. Now we understand each other better. But he was not satisfied. He asked me:
If that is so, why does Basja take the white man's side to tame us?
I could only tell him this, that Basja is a bad person. Even if he stands right here listening to me I can't help it. For so my heart told me to answer.
You should have told him that such things happen in the times of slavery. I'm not yet finished with my story about Kunofru. That which my own eyes saw here on the plantation is more than my mouth can tell. You should have told him that other negroes from our plantation have shown that they are not inferior to the whites. They've conquered them, killed them, made it so difficult for them that they had to beg them to stop fighting. Therefore those negroes, so I have heard, gained their freedom. They can go wherever they want. So I have heard it. I have not seen them personally. But I believe it.
How can she tell the boy such a thing? We all of us here have heard it. But the truth of the matter we'll never know. In my opinion I would feel ashamed to tell this story to our children. It's a shameful story.
What! What are you trying to say?
What am I trying to say? Simply this. We have all come here. They were free before us. And then they forgot that we were still in trouble.
How so?
Yes, they've forgotten it. I've heard that they have sworn an oath to send us back to the whites if we run away to their villages.
That I have heard. Isn't it a shame!
Well, if we want to run away, we will have to fly. But you're right, if it's true, it's a shame.
A group of people in the background consisting of men, women, and children run past. The children are crying, the women are complaining. All of them have small bundles of clothes and other things on their heads. They look back while running. One can see that they have run away from something terrible. The slaves are frightened when they see them. They jump up to see what's wrong.
God, my God, what's happening to us. All our houses, everything is lost. I saw my husband and my child flung out of the house, both of them dead. What's really happening to us!
Mister, haven't you seen my child? Mister, haven't you seen my boy, Kofi? Say something. Have you seen Kofi? He's only three years old. Have you seen my boy? Where is he?
Basja, ask the negroes what has happened? Where are they off to? What are they waiting for?
I'm off already.
Man, what's eating you people? Where are you running to? Answer me. What's up?
Mister, it would be better if you followed us. The gods are mad. An evil wind turns and approaches. Our whole plantation is in ruins. Leave me, let me go. He who wants to stay, let him.
Wait! Who are you? Where are you from?
I'm a negro from Novar.
Do I understand you well, that a storm has destroyed Novar?
Destroyed! Yes, destroyed! Nothing is left. It has flung our huts into the air. We haven't seen them back again. It has flung our owner's house into the air and into the sea. It was terrible.
And the slaves?
Dead! Dead like pigs! Only us left. A few grains of us remained.
[naar origineel]
God has seen to it
that we were in the field when the storm started, else we would also
have been killed. So we are away.
Where's the owner of the plantation?
We did not see a speck of him when we came to the front of the plantation. They say he was in the house.
Who then gave you permission to leave the plantation?
The storm was so terrible. What else could we do? We ran down the road. Then we came across all the other negroes. Negroes from Bonse, negroes from Oxford, all of them grabbing what they could. Then we passed this place. And we are tired. We have run for more than an hour.
Has the storm stopped?
Not yet. It blows for a little, then turns to the sea. You see how the water splashes in the air. It was terrible. After some time, it turns back. We who ran along the road felt the earth under us shaking. It seemed as if the trembling road was being blown from under our feet. If we hadn't flung ourselves to the earth, it would have grabbed us and chucked us into the swamp. Mister, if you'd seen what it did with Kwami who was walking next to me! I called to Kwami ‘Dive!’ but he was so tired he couldn't jump into the trench, he remained standing on the road. Tears rolled down his face. The wind turned him like a millstone, feet upward. It cast him some distance, caught him again, and then turned him sideways. It was terrible.
Basja, we must keep the storm away. Keep it away that it doesn't come here. We must do a Congo-Tombe for it. It will kill us. Basja, say it please.
It came on its own, it will go away on its own. On this plantation no wind will come to destroy my work. In Africa the whirlwind listens to the Congo-Tombe. Here it listens to me.
It will kill us, Basja.
As long as I'm Basja nothing will happen.
But if you're no longer here, Basja, if the wind kills you...
I'll be stronger than it.
Master, I, Basja, will be stronger. I'll look after your plantation. Don't be afraid. Have I not felled the bushes to create this plantation? Have I not made your boats bigger than all the others? Have I not turned your sugar mills into the largest in all Coronie?
Let us, let us dance the Congo-Tombe!
Shut up! Quiet!
I don't want the Congo-
[naar
origineel]
Tombe to be danced on the plantation!
Let the whirlwind come. He'll find me ready.
You don't, but we want to. We will dance the Congo-Tombe.
Basja, why don't you want them to dance?
Master, Congo-Tombe is a water spirit. Danced once on the plantation, then death, sickness, and bad behavior will be an everyday thing on your plantation. Maybe the Congo-Tombe will stop the whirlwind. But there will be no respect and happiness among us. Strife and death will be a more terrible whirlwind, which will destroy your plantation until nothing is left. Maybe the whirlwind which comes in its place will only disturb your plantation. Master, you can go and sit down again.
