RUINED

RUINED, by Lynn Nottage. Mama, about how she has made her way in the Congo.

MAMA.  My Papa work too much, always want more, no rest.  He drove his farm hard, too the forest grows a man will never starve.  You’re in the Congo.  Things slip from our fingers like butter.  When I was eleven, this white man turned up with a piece of paper.  It say he has rights to my family land.  (with acid.)  Just like that.  Taken!  And you want to hear a joke?  Poor old Papa bought magic from a friend, he thought a hand full of powder would give him back his land.  Everyone talk  diamonds, but I . . .  I want a powerful slip of paper that says I can cut down forests and dig holes and build to the moon if I choose.  I don’t want someone to turn up at my door, and take my life from me.  Not ever again.  But how does a woman get a piece of land, without having to pick up a gun?

This pebble.  It doesn’t look like anything.  Stupid man, give it to me to hold for a one night of company and four beers not even cold enough to quench his thirst.  He said he’d be back for it and he’d pay me.  It’s a rough diamond.  It probably took him a half year of sifting through mud to dig up, and he promised his simple wife a Chinese motor scooter and fabric from Senegal.  And here it is, in my hand, some unfortunate woman’s dream.  What will I do with it?  I don’t know, but as long as they are foolish enough to give it to me, I’ll keep accepting it.  My mother taught me that you can follow behind everyone and walk in the dust, or you can walk ahead through the unbroken thorny brush.  You may get blood on your ankles, but you arrive first and not covered in the residue of others.  This land is fertile and blessed in many regards, and the men are not the only ones entitled to its bounty.

You men kill me.  You come in here, drink your beer, take your pleasure, and then wanna judge the way I run my “business.”  The front door swings both ways.  I didn’t force anyone’s hand.  I didn’t come to this place as Mama Nadi, I found her the same way miners find their wealth in the muck.  I stumbled off of that road without two twigs to start a fire.  I turned a basket of sweets and soggy biscuits into a business.  I don’t give a damn what any of you think.  This is my place, Mama Nadi’s.