Memory, Guilt, and Moral Awakening: An Alternative Ending to A Dance of the Forests
This blog is part of thinking activity given by Prakruti Bhatt Ma'am. Let discusss it :
1. INTRODUCTION: THE UNINVITED GUESTS OF INDEPENDENCE
In October 1960, as Nigeria stood on the precipice of sovereignty, the "Gathering of the Tribes" was envisioned as a grand liturgical act of national self-fashioning. The living expected to summon "illustrious ancestors" and "nobility" from the understreams of history to sanctify the new state. However, Wole Soyinka, acting as the nation’s uncomfortable conscience in A Dance of the Forests, performed a startling subversion of this ancestral hagiography.
Instead of the caparisoned heroes of a romanticized past, the earth split to disgorge "obscenities"—a bloated Dead Man and a pregnant Dead Woman. These restless dead, heavy with "ancient bitterness and resentment," arrived not to bless, but to ask: "Will you take my case?" This central irony pierces the veil of post-colonial optimism; while the new nation sought a glorious lineage to justify its future, Soyinka insisted that the foundation of independence was already choked with the "restless dead" and the unresolved crimes of antiquity.
2. TAKEAWAY 1: ANCESTORS AREN'T ALWAYS HEROES
Soyinka’s first provocation is the dismantling of the "illustrious ancestor" myth. The living—represented by Adenebi, Rola, and Demoke—are physically repulsed by the spirits they ostensibly summoned. The Dead Man, a captain from the court of Mata Kharibu eight centuries prior, and his pregnant wife, appear in "dated warrior’s outfits," now mouldy and reeking of the "understreams."
The play reveals a sharp ontological conflict: the dead seek judgment, while the living seek only to avoid it. By presenting the ancestors as accusers rather than icons, Soyinka warns that the past is a repository of "bitterness" that cannot be laundered for the sake of national pride. As the Dirge-Man sings:
"Leave the dead some room to dance... But the living are not willing to do so."
This refusal to "take the case" of the dead highlights the cowardice of a present that prefers the comfort of a lie to the "original nakedness" of historical truth.
3. TAKEAWAY 2: THE "CHIMNEY OF EREKO" AND THE SMOKE OF MODERNITY
Perhaps the most visceral symbol of post-colonial corruption is the "Chimney of Ereko," the passenger lorry that becomes the "Incinerator." Through the cynical dialogue between Obaneji (Forest Father in disguise) and the Council Orator Adenebi, we discover the "repetitive pattern of weaknesses and crimes" that bridges the ancient and the modern.
A council official accepted a "substantial bribe" to increase the lorry’s legal capacity from forty to seventy. The resulting inferno—where the wooden body of the "God My Saviour" lorry trapped its passengers—left sixty-five souls to burn to death. This is the "smoke of modernity." The petrol fumes are not merely a nuisance; they are used by the living to drive off forest spirits, a metaphor for how modern man utilizes the smog of his own corruption to mask the "stale stench" of his history and the spiritual weight of his "small-time" murders.
4. TAKEAWAY 3: MADAME TORTOISE—THE ETERNAL RECURRENCE OF DESTRUCTION
In the character of Rola, the modern courtesan, Soyinka presents the "eternal recurrence" of the destructive feminine archetype. Rola is the contemporary iteration of Madame Tortoise, the queen of Mata Kharibu’s court for whom men "leapt to their deaths" from the roof. Her unapologetic brazenness—"Investors, that is all they ever were—to me"—is a sharp contrast to the unctuous hypocrisy of the Council Orator, Adenebi.
While Adenebi hides behind "purple robes" and historical "glory," Rola’s honesty is her only redeeming quality. She acknowledges the "pit that glitters" within her, refusing to offer the "pity" that the weak demand. Soyinka suggests that the "Madame Tortoise" legend is a permanent fixture of human history; whether in a medieval court or a modern city, the exploitation of "foolish investors" remains the same, shifting only its outward "encrustations."
5. TAKEAWAY 4: THE GODS ARE AS PETTY AS WE ARE
Soyinka’s forest is no sanctuary of divine wisdom; it is a theatre of "divine spleen." The squabble between Ogun, the patron of carvers, and Eshuoro, the wayward spirit of the Araba tree, reveals that the heavens are as tribalistic as the earth. Ogun protects Demoke despite his crime—the murder of his apprentice Oremole—simply because Demoke is his "servant" and "carver."
Ogun’s protection of his "minion" is not based on justice but on vanity. He even assumes the voice of Demoke’s father to lead him away from Forest Father’s judgment. This suggests that human violence is often merely an extension of divine vendettas. The gods do not seek to reform the "human community"; they seek to maintain their influence, mirroring the favoritism and "soul-deadening habit" of the humans who deify them.
6. TAKEAWAY 5: THE DOOMED FUTURE OF THE HALF-CHILD
The "Dance for the Half-Child" sequence provides a harrowing vision of a "stilled" future. The Half-Child is a spirit who is "born dead," a "branded navel" migrating from "womb to branded womb." Tossed between the Triplets—Posterity, the Greater Cause, and the Means—and Eshuoro’s Jester, the child represents a legacy that is compromised before it is even birthed.
In the context of 1960, this is Soyinka’s most biting critique: a new nation cannot be "born" if it is merely a repetition of ancient "futility." The Half-Child is the embodiment of a future "impaled on one-eyed brooms," watched by the "ever legion" of the four hundred million Ants—the oppressed masses of history who wait for a cycle to break that the living seem determined to preserve.
7. A NEW VISION: AN ALTERNATIVE ENDING TO 'A DANCE OF THE FORESTS'
The scene remains the dark, moisture-dripping clearing of the Araba forest. The air is cloying, thick with the scent of wet earth and the lingering, acrid sting of petrol fumes. FOREST HEAD sits upon his stone, an old man weary of the millennia. Before him, the frantic 'ampe' game reaches a fever pitch. ESHUORO’S JESTER and the THIRD TRIPLET (POSTERITY) toss the HALF-CHILD—who has now become a mere wood figure, an 'ibeji'—back and forth over the knives of the SECOND TRIPLET (GREATER CAUSE).
OGUN and ESHUORO stand like statues of iron and wood, their divine eyes locked in a stalemate of pride. DEMOKE, ROLA, and ADENEBI are huddled together, their faces masked in the passive resignation of those who have seen too much. Suddenly, the rhythmic clapping of the 'ampe' is interrupted by a sound from the earth itself—the low, collective murmur of the ANTS, the four hundred million who have begun to swarm the edges of the clearing.
ADENEBI, usually the Orator of unctuous lies, suddenly steps forward. He rips the mask from his face. His voice, when it comes, is no longer the booming chant of the Council; it is rhythmic, sharp, and carries the weight of a sudden, terrible clarity.
ADENEBI: Stop this pantomime of shadows! Forest Head, I have spent my life weaving caparisoned myths for a nation built on the charred remains of sixty-five souls. I spoke of Mali and Songhai while the "God My Saviour" lorry became an incinerator for the poor. I will no longer be the historian of your "repetitive patterns"!
The Jester freezes, the Half-Child suspended in the air. ESHUORO growls, a sound like a falling tree.
ESHUORO: Be silent, little Orator! You are a "lesser criminal." Your role is to be judged, not to judge the witnesses of the Forest!
ADENEBI: (Raising his hand, pointing to the Ants) I am judged by them—the ever legion, the victims of the "spade of progress." We are the ones who took the bribe, Forest Head. We are the ones who turned the Araba into a totem of vanity. But I will not have my tongue used as a "trick of delay" any longer. I reject the "illustrious" ancestors. I reject the "nobility" of our crimes!
ROLA steps forward next. The "Madame Tortoise" coldness in her face does not merely crack; it dissolves into a look of genuine, searing pity for the wood figure in the Jester’s arms.
ROLA: And I! I have called men "investors" to hide the fact that I was the pit they fell into. But this child... he is not a pawn for your divine spleen, Eshuoro. Nor is he a sacrifice for your anvil, Ogun. He is the "branded womb" of every woman I have ever been, and I will not see him tossed into the understreams again!
ROLA walks toward the JESTER. She does not "swing her hips." She reaches out her hands, which are no longer the hands of a courtesan, but the hands of a mother who has carried a child for a hundred generations.
ROLA: Give him to me. Not as a spirit. Not as a wood carving. Give him to the living.
ESHUORO raises his club, but DEMOKE steps between them. He holds his carving adze. He looks at OGUN, his master, and for the first time, there is no fear in his eyes.
DEMOKE: Ogun, you protected me because I am your "servant." But I did not carve the Araba for you. I carved it because I was dizzy with the height of my own blood-guilt. I plucked Oremole down because he saw the "original nakedness" I was too cowardly to face. I will not be your "minion" tonight. I am the carver who has finally felt the weight of the wood.
OGUN: (His voice a low, vibrating rumble of iron) You would reject the hand that stayed the fire? You would stand alone in the forest?
DEMOKE: I have felt the "encrustations of soul-deadening habit," and I am peeling them away. Forest Head, we are the human community. We are the ones who "shave and scrape" the world to our liking. And we say—the dance is over.
The humans—ADENEBI, ROLA, and DEMOKE—form a tight triangle, their backs to the gods, their eyes on the CHILD. The JESTER, unnerved by this collective "nakedness," lets the HALF-CHILD slip from his arms. The wood figure does not hit the ground. As it falls, the ANTS rise in a wave, a carpet of living earth that catches the child.
The grey, ghostly hue of the 'ibeji' begins to fade. The wood grain turns to skin; the "branded" marks dissolve. The child draws a sudden, sharp breath—a living boy of flesh and blood.
The DEAD WOMAN lets out a long, shuddering sigh. Her "endless burden" is lifted as she begins to recede into the dark boles of the trees, her eyes fixed on the now-breathing child. The TRIPLETS shriek, their "Greater Causes" and "Posterities" dissolving into the petrol fumes of the "Incinerator" lorry, which groans one last time and vanishes.
ESHUORO and OGUN look at each other, their divine power neutralized by the humans' refusal to be mesmerized by their "divine spleen." They vanish into the mists, leaving only the sound of the moisture dripping.
FOREST HEAD rises slowly. He approaches the clearing and looks at the four humans and the living child. His face is a mask of weary wonder.
FOREST HEAD: You have pierced the encrustations. You have reversed a deed that was begun eight centuries ago. But do not think the "cycle" is broken. You have only earned a "trick of delay" against the futility of your own natures.
ADENEBI: It is a delay we will use to speak a truth that does not require "purple robes."
DEMOKE: We will not carve another totem for ghosts. We will carve a home for the living.
The sound of the "beaters" grows louder in the distance, but it is no longer the sound of a hunt. The dawn breaks, a sharp, clear yellow that cuts through the forest rot. The humans stand together, the CHILD at their center, as they walk toward the sound of the drums, leaving the dead some room to sleep, and the living room to breathe.
Wole Soyinka’s masterpiece remains a chilling mirror for any society emerging from the "encrustations" of its own history. It challenges us to look beyond the "purple robes" of national myth and confront the "Incinerator" of our own making. By the play’s end, we are left with a fundamental question regarding our capacity for regeneration. Are we brave enough to "torture awareness" from our own souls, or will we continue to play the "ampe" game with our future?
If our ancestors returned today to ask us to "take their case," would we recognize ourselves in their bitterness, or are we brave enough to carve a new totem—one that honors the "original nakedness" of our humanity?
.jpg)
Comments
Post a Comment