THE CHIEF
THE LAME MAN
THE BLIND MAN
THE BLIND MAN’S FATHER
Southern Africa, in the turbulent years of the Lifaqane (between the late eighteenth and the mid-nineteenth centuries), just outside a cave that is no longer solely the provisional home of THE BLIND MAN and THE LAME MAN but is now also the site of the all-male affair that is a lekhotla, or a traditional court. The stage is accordingly peopled with several men, including THE CHIEF, who is, of course, presiding over the hearing. He stands between THE BLIND MAN and THE LAME MAN, who are the defendant and claimant, respectively. Standing alongside THE BLIND MAN is THE BLIND MAN’S FATHER. THE LAME MAN also has his father near him.
(THE CHIEF steps forwards to address the audience.)
THE CHIEF: Friends, a dispute has been brought before me involving two of my people, and I’d like you to help me settle it, if you wouldn’t mind.
Like all other peoples in the land, my people and I have, because of our enemies, become permanent wanderers. When they drove us out of the land, we agreed to seek refuge among the mountains, a wise decision since the enemy has not given us any trouble up until now.
The journey to higher ground was a long one. This, of course, meant that we made several stops along the way. One of these was at this very cave behind me, but with the enemy drawing near, it wasn’t long before we continued on our way. In that move we thought it’d be best to leave two of our own men behind at the cave. One of them is blind, and the other, while seeing, is lame. And before you accuse us of being cruel, I should add that we didn’t completely abandon them. As a matter of fact, we’ve since come back to this cave to see them many times, taking with us water and some of the little food we have managed to find in this drought-stricken land.
Which brings me to the issue at hand: after arriving here earlier, we noticed that the two men had far more meat than they had the last time we saw them. And so we asked them about it, and they told us that they’d found an antelope some time before we arrived. An antelope! Can you believe it? We were all happy for them, their fathers more so. Although, surprisingly, neither one of them seemed particularly thrilled when they told us this. We asked what the matter was, and we learned that it’s the antelope’s hide. The Blind Man believes he should have it, but The Lame Man doesn’t agree and thinks he should have it instead.
Their fathers were very upset by this. The Lame Man’s father was especially dismayed, and he and his son have asked me to settle this matter once and for all. Now, let’s hear what they have to say.
(THE CHIEF then sits on a rock that is situated a short distance from but is between THE BLIND MAN and THE LAME MAN. He then motions for the proceedings to begin.)
THE LAME MAN: Well, allow me to start by thanking you, my chief, and your advisors, for giving me the chance to tell you why I should have the antelope hide. But before going any further, I’d like to tell you all exactly how we discovered the animal in the first place.
I was seated where we usually are in the cave, and as I looked up, I saw coming down along the side of a mountain in the distance a flock of crows and vultures. I wasted no time in sharing this with my sightless friend here (gestures towards THE BLIND MAN), who was seated next to me, knowing, as we all do, that one does not stay quiet about something like that and that there was probably something the birds had found. He got up and said, “We should go to a clearing to get a better view. I’ll carry you, and in that way, you can be my eyes and I your feet. And we’ll take whatever it is the birds might have found, as long as it isn’t a corpse or the remains of a dog. Hurry!” Of course, I climbed onto his back like he told me to, and we were off. As we got closer to the clearing, I saw them swarming below the mountain’s ridge. Finally, we arrived where the birds were, and as soon as we did, they scattered. “Are we there yet?” my blind friend asked shortly afterwards. I told him we’d arrived. He then asked me what the birds had been circling, and I told him it was a dead antelope. “I knew it,” he said, “I knew it as soon as I heard the song of the larks we crossed paths with on our way here. You heard the praises I sang for the larks, right?” “Yes, I did,” I said. He then told me to climb off his back and to begin skinning the antelope we’d found and to cut it up. He said to tell him if I needed any help, which I never did. When I was through, I—not he—carried the meat on my back, and then climbed onto my blind friend’s back once again and we left for the cave. Then he—
THE BLIND MAN (annoyed): My friend, the story isn’t only for you to tell, now, is it? Please, leave me something to say. And why are you speaking on my behalf? I don’t recall you and I being on the same side, and if that is so, you should just say your part, and I’ll say mine. (Pauses briefly.) You know what, you’ve had all the time to speak so I think I will speak now.
Yes, yes, fellow men! Things happened mostly as my friend here has said. As he’s said, I had to bear a very heavy load on my shoulders. In fact, I was so burdened that I had to drag myself on all fours for part of the way back to the cave! But, even then, I pressed on. I later realised that I was not only carrying my companion, but that the hide was draped on my other shoulder as well, and when I did, oh, I just wanted to cry. You know, whoever said bohloko ha bo utloelanoe was not lying. Not at all. When you suffer, you really do so with no one else but yourself. And after all this, I didn’t think that this man would have the gall to say the hide belongs to him, yet, sadly, here we are.
I have hope that you will recognise my efforts and understand why I deserve to be rewarded; that you will not disregard the sweat I put into this whole operation the way you would a mere dog’s.
Now, my lame friend is not only a claimant. Although he probably didn’t realise it, he’s also defended me. Allow me to explain: he mentioned that, having the eyes to see, he saw the birds in the distance. He continued to say that when his vision could not take him any farther, he told me what he’d seen, to which I said, “Let’s go and see what they’ve spotted. Come, let me carry you, and you can be my eyes, and I your feet.” As a watchman would upon seeing an enemy approaching from afar, he informed me, waiting on me, as a watchman would, to give a command, which I did. Yes, he may have eyes to see, but my lame friend does not see the foolishness of what he’s said, and how it has laid bare his dishonesty and greed.
(After a brief pause, THE BLIND MAN’S FATHER steps up to speak.)
THE BLIND MAN’S FATHER: My chief and your advisors, I’d like to ask the claimant a few questions, if you’ll allow me. (THE CHIEF nods in approval.) So, you say you saw the birds, right? And what did you do afterwards?
THE LAME MAN: I told the defendant.
THE BLIND MAN’S FATHER: You told him, is that it?
THE LAME MAN: Yes.
THE BLIND MAN’S FATHER: And what did he say?
THE LAME MAN: He offered to carry me so I would become his eyes and he my feet so we could see the carcass the birds were hovering over and take those remains so long as they weren’t a human’s or a dog’s.
THE BLIND MAN’S FATHER: Wonderful answer, mate. Thank you for your answer and for all the other wonderful answers you’ve given me so far. I’d like us to move on now.
So, I’d like to know, had your blind friend not offered to carry you, what else would you have done after seeing the birds?
THE LAME MAN: If I hadn’t told my sightless companion when I did, I would’ve thought of something else we could’ve done, just as he came up with his idea of carrying me on his back. And, you know, the fact that I wasted no time in doing what your son told me to, I think, shows that I also would’ve eventually come up with the same idea—in due time.
THE BLIND MAN’S FATHER: So you would’ve had that very bright idea, but it wasn’t revealed to you soon enough?
THE LAME MAN: Yes. I would’ve thought of a plan, like he did, to get to where the birds were. You may not believe me, but it’s true. Besides, your son wouldn’t have known about the birds in the first place if I hadn’t told him because he’s blind.
THE BLIND MAN’S FATHER: Are you happy with the answers that you’ve given me?
THE LAME MAN: Yes, I am.
THE BLIND MAN’S FATHER: All right. I’d like to put a different question before you now, and I will try to be as direct as possible. I hope you’ll also give me straightforward answers. Did you tell your father everything you’ve told me now?
THE LAME MAN: Yes.
THE BLIND MAN’S FATHER: And you told him, as you should have, that my son was the carcass’s rightful owner, no?
THE LAME MAN (puzzled): Of course not. Why would I be here arguing that I deserve the hide if I’d told him that? Moreover, how could my father have possibly helped me bring our grievances before the chief?
THE BLIND MAN’S FATHER: And exactly what did you tell your father?
THE LAME MAN: I told him everything I’ve already told you. I told him about seeing the birds and telling your son and what your son said afterwards. I also made it clear that I never placed the hide on your son’s shoulder.
THE BLIND’S MAN FATHER: Tell me, which of these things do you think made it possible for you to find the antelope you ended up cooking and eating: your sight or my son’s hearing?
THE LAME MAN (increasingly baffled): Your son’s hearing? Like I’ve said to you many times before, ntate, if I’d not seen the birds, we wouldn’t have had anything to eat. Also, if I had chosen to say nothing about those birds, we, like so many, would’ve died of hunger. Ask your son, and he’ll tell you just as much. If he’d not told us to follow the birds, things would’ve been as terrible as they were yesterday, the day before that, and the day before that. (Becoming visibly frustrated.) I think I’ve answered enough of your questions, ntate, and I’d appreciate it if you left me alone now. (Brief pause.) But I will say this: if I didn’t have eyes with which to see and your son had legs like mine, neither one of us could have possibly found the antelope. Again, if I’d seen the birds but kept quiet about it, your son couldn’t have seen them. Simple as that. And, after telling him, I could’ve very well said no to his offer to carry me and let him go after the birds on his own. However, he would’ve likely ended up becoming food for the vultures since, being blind, he would’ve no doubt fallen into a donga somewhere and no one would’ve been around to help him get back up. Would you have wanted that, ntate?
(THE LAME MAN steps back.)
THE BLIND MAN’S FATHER (after a brief pause): Thank you for that, ntate. We’ve all heard what these two men, my son and his lame friend, have put forward about why they believe they are more deserving than the other of the antelope’s hide. Now, one very important thing I’d like to point out is how similar these two are, even in their apparent differences: one of them is blind, although he can walk. But, as we’ve just heard, he can’t get very far without tripping and falling. Then we have his lame friend. Although he may have what appear to be legs that work like anybody else’s, they are disfigured and weak stumps. And like my son, it wouldn’t be long before he, too, was on the ground.
In spite of both their conditions and the distance they had to travel, they were able to get to the dead carcass. And they made it there safely, which probably wouldn’t have been the case had each of them decided to go there on his own, as was argued. Through working together, they were both able to make it to the antelope, and they had food. That and the strength our God gave them.
And that’s all well and good, but then the claimant went and spoiled this good thing with his greed.
I would like to believe that we all know how common it is for the blind to have their food swiped. I’d like to think that we who have sight have all seen the sightless among us reach for their dishes for a morsel, reach for the dish again for another mouthful and find it empty, their food having been taken by those of us who can see—including our children.
(An eruption of murmurs ensues for a moment.)
And this is exactly what The Lame Man did. I think many of us were able to see the dishes where they’ve kept their meat, and the more observant among us I’m sure noticed how much more meat The Lame Man has in his dish than my son. Of course, they already ate some of it before we came, so we cannot say for sure how much meat they had in the first place. That said, of what does remain, my son’s share is undeniably the smallest. Moreover, even by just looking at them, although my son is bony, the claimant looks rounder. I understand that not all of you will be convinced by this last point, but I’d like you to consider that my son seems to have got the worst cuts, while the claimant has the best. (Shoots THE LAME MAN an intense look.) Or is that not so?
(An expression bordering on amusement, infuriation and confusion emerges on THE LAME MAN’S face. He remains quiet, however.)
Why did he do this? I’ll tell you why. It’s because he saw himself as being more deserving of the antelope, disregarding not just the fact that he did not do it alone, but the even bigger truth, which is that without the crows and ravens, none of us would be gathered here right now. In fact, if those birds suddenly gained the ability to talk and came down here and demanded the carcass back, the claimant would give it back to them, no questions asked. Knowing how dishonest he is, he’d no doubt point at my son as the culprit and claim that he was but a clueless baby.
I’d like to stop here and hand it over to you, my chief, to make your judgement. As you know, the work of us commoners is simply to trim the branches off the trees so you who are worthy can cut them down.
(THE BLIND MAN’S FATHER steps back, but he quickly returns to the fore.)
Forgive me, men, there is one more thing I would like to add. I can already sense that some of you will discount what I’ve said because you may assume I’m harbouring some kind of resentment towards the claimant, or that I am speaking for the defendant just because he’s my son. I want to make it clear that I have nothing against The Lame Man, and that I would’ve made the same consistent arguments even if it were someone else. I rest my case, men.
(THE CHIEF rises and walks forward to address the audience once more.)
THE CHIEF: There you have it, my friends. Now, tell me, in whose favour must I rule?
