Are you proud of your identity?
In the beginning, people appear in their original form; as God made them. But as they grow up, they make themselves what they want the world to know them as, or the world makes them what it wants them to be
Play: I am Not Here Because I Want
Playwright: Alex Mukulu
Showing At: National Theatre this weekend
Reviewer: Bob Kisiki
In the beginning, people appear in their original form; as God made them.
But as they grow up, they make themselves what they want the world to know them as, or the world makes them what it wants them to be. At the end of the day, they are either ugly with the devil or beautiful with God.
That is an attempt at a gender-aware version of the chorus of Alex Mukulu’s latest play, I am Not Here Because I Want. It is also, in essence, the most apt summary of the concerns of the play, as well as of the contributing factors that come across as having fashioned its writing.
I am Not Here Because I Want (a contrived title, if you consider) is an identity play, like all Mukulu’s plays. It specifically seeks to do cardinal things:
lTell people to remain what God made them as, because that is beautiful;
Tell the white community that look, Black is OK; it has a past, a culture, a purpose, direction and future; all of which are beautiful.
To appeal to the world community to do something about the plight of refugees, because they (world community) make them (refugees). In fact, it is basically the refugees the title talks about: they are not in their status, in their various places of asylum, because they want.
The story could have stood, without the refugee element, though Mukulu manages to make it a dominant reference. I say ‘reference’, because as a theme it only grabs ‘sub’ status.
This is the story, in pithy terms: A leader of a theatre company conceives this vision to travel abroad with his company, to dramatise the concerns of refugees.
He chooses to do it abroad because here in Uganda, sponsors demand to append their money to only shows that will give Ugandans what they want: bare thighs, or goat races. Bare thighs for refugees? You can see why the refugee crisis is there, in the first place!
Anyhow, at the visa office of an unnamed (white) embassy, the leader, Mr Nkoko (acted by Mukulu himself) goes through a most grilling, trying and, ultimately, frustrating racist interview that lasts three months, with three-week breaks in between.
The interviews are made to look like verification for Nkoko’s visa-worthiness, and proof that he and his company would return to Uganda, but a peep below the surface shows that it is Mukulu’s standpoint to tell his identity story.
The story takes place at the embassy, at Window Three. This window actually ends up being Nkoko’s psychological torture chamber; a place where he stands trial, to prove his innocence as a black, a Ugandan and an original model of what God made him to be.
I am Not Here Because I Want is an allegory, a story with multiple underlying levels. It is composed of several metaphors Mukulu uses to develop his themes. Even the refugee aspect can be treated as an image; a metaphor that questions the true identity of us all:
You cry, but where are your tears? You laugh, but whose face is that? Aren’t you a refugee of sorts? Is that what God intended you to be, or are you taking refuge in cosmetics, literally and otherwise?
In his defence of a number of typically African/Ugandan traits the lady at Window Three questions, Nkoko uses a selection of African personalities as case studies. Some for their ‘beauty with God’, and others for their ‘ugliness with the devil’.
The lady queries how one can be married and have no marriage certificate. How can one go abroad and return to a country where one owns no land and no pet? How can a man have a wife he does not love passionately? How can one leave affluence and ‘civilisation’ abroad and return to poverty and darkness?
It is to answer these questions that Nkoko uses cases like Michael Jackson (who became what he was not); Miriam Makeba (who sang herself into becoming Mama Africa); Nelson Mandela (most respected statesman in contemporary politics); Amin (who needs an explanation?) and Jesus (the icon of humility, truth and goodness).
And Mukulu returns to you: are you proud of your true identity, or do you bend to pressure to present the old ‘African’ image of the guy with the spear and shield? What matters to you now? Mukulu says status and economic priorities have changed with the times.
There was a time when what counted most was land, but that gave way to cash crops, then education, then the gun, and now it is the computer. He that is IT-compliant is the rich person; a citizen of the world.
Looked at deeply, Nkoko’s (actually Mukulu’s) defence is his own self-accusation. If you call on people to stay what God made them, and at the same time dismiss the old African image and promote the IT identity, what are you saying God made the African as?
Artistically speaking, Mukulu’s latest play might also be judged the least Mukulu-like. The music is predominantly not his; the dances are mere dashes, and the acting was left to him.
The chorus is faceless, and either by design or accident, almost characterless. They introduce themselves at the beginning as refugees in Uganda, then Nkoko identifies them later as the Ugandan company he wanted to travel with abroad. Who are they? For once, though Mukulu takes the central role, he does not dominate the stage, as in past productions. I refuse to say more.
Playwright: Alex Mukulu
Showing At: National Theatre this weekend
Reviewer: Bob Kisiki
In the beginning, people appear in their original form; as God made them.
But as they grow up, they make themselves what they want the world to know them as, or the world makes them what it wants them to be. At the end of the day, they are either ugly with the devil or beautiful with God.
That is an attempt at a gender-aware version of the chorus of Alex Mukulu’s latest play, I am Not Here Because I Want. It is also, in essence, the most apt summary of the concerns of the play, as well as of the contributing factors that come across as having fashioned its writing.
I am Not Here Because I Want (a contrived title, if you consider) is an identity play, like all Mukulu’s plays. It specifically seeks to do cardinal things:
lTell people to remain what God made them as, because that is beautiful;
The story could have stood, without the refugee element, though Mukulu manages to make it a dominant reference. I say ‘reference’, because as a theme it only grabs ‘sub’ status.
This is the story, in pithy terms: A leader of a theatre company conceives this vision to travel abroad with his company, to dramatise the concerns of refugees.
He chooses to do it abroad because here in Uganda, sponsors demand to append their money to only shows that will give Ugandans what they want: bare thighs, or goat races. Bare thighs for refugees? You can see why the refugee crisis is there, in the first place!
Anyhow, at the visa office of an unnamed (white) embassy, the leader, Mr Nkoko (acted by Mukulu himself) goes through a most grilling, trying and, ultimately, frustrating racist interview that lasts three months, with three-week breaks in between.
The interviews are made to look like verification for Nkoko’s visa-worthiness, and proof that he and his company would return to Uganda, but a peep below the surface shows that it is Mukulu’s standpoint to tell his identity story.
The story takes place at the embassy, at Window Three. This window actually ends up being Nkoko’s psychological torture chamber; a place where he stands trial, to prove his innocence as a black, a Ugandan and an original model of what God made him to be.
I am Not Here Because I Want is an allegory, a story with multiple underlying levels. It is composed of several metaphors Mukulu uses to develop his themes. Even the refugee aspect can be treated as an image; a metaphor that questions the true identity of us all:
You cry, but where are your tears? You laugh, but whose face is that? Aren’t you a refugee of sorts? Is that what God intended you to be, or are you taking refuge in cosmetics, literally and otherwise?
In his defence of a number of typically African/Ugandan traits the lady at Window Three questions, Nkoko uses a selection of African personalities as case studies. Some for their ‘beauty with God’, and others for their ‘ugliness with the devil’.
The lady queries how one can be married and have no marriage certificate. How can one go abroad and return to a country where one owns no land and no pet? How can a man have a wife he does not love passionately? How can one leave affluence and ‘civilisation’ abroad and return to poverty and darkness?
It is to answer these questions that Nkoko uses cases like Michael Jackson (who became what he was not); Miriam Makeba (who sang herself into becoming Mama Africa); Nelson Mandela (most respected statesman in contemporary politics); Amin (who needs an explanation?) and Jesus (the icon of humility, truth and goodness).
And Mukulu returns to you: are you proud of your true identity, or do you bend to pressure to present the old ‘African’ image of the guy with the spear and shield? What matters to you now? Mukulu says status and economic priorities have changed with the times.
There was a time when what counted most was land, but that gave way to cash crops, then education, then the gun, and now it is the computer. He that is IT-compliant is the rich person; a citizen of the world.
Looked at deeply, Nkoko’s (actually Mukulu’s) defence is his own self-accusation. If you call on people to stay what God made them, and at the same time dismiss the old African image and promote the IT identity, what are you saying God made the African as?
Artistically speaking, Mukulu’s latest play might also be judged the least Mukulu-like. The music is predominantly not his; the dances are mere dashes, and the acting was left to him.
The chorus is faceless, and either by design or accident, almost characterless. They introduce themselves at the beginning as refugees in Uganda, then Nkoko identifies them later as the Ugandan company he wanted to travel with abroad. Who are they? For once, though Mukulu takes the central role, he does not dominate the stage, as in past productions. I refuse to say more.