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ACT ONE
Scene One
A small room in an airport. For some strange reason ‘Sorry Seems to Be the Hardest Word’ by Elton John plays.
NICHOLAS GARRIGAN, with a tan and a scruffy suit, is sitting, his head on a desk. A man, STONE, watches him, smoking. A WOMAN is shuffling through her notes.
WOMAN. Good flight?
NICHOLAS. What?
WOMAN. I asked if you had a good flight.
NICHOLAS. They lost my luggage. Not that I had much.
Pause.
WOMAN. Drink that tea. Expect you’ve missed things like that. Home comforts.
NICHOLAS drinks the tea.
You don’t know me, Dr Garrigan. You don’t need to know my name.
STONE. You know who I am.
NICHOLAS. Of course. Stone. Still a bloody spook, then?
STONE. Mislaid your manners along with your luggage?
NICHOLAS. Look, what do you want? – it’s late, I am extremely tired, I have been flying for –
WOMAN. The immigration authorities aren’t keen to have you in the country.
NICHOLAS. I’m a British citizen, I think.
WOMAN. You don’t have a British passport; you seem to have taken up Ugandan national identity. Our current policy for Ugandan citizens is less generous than for –
STONE. True-blue Brits.
WOMAN. I mean we could of course assist you to reapply for British citizenship; it’s not a quick process.
STONE. Question is do we want a person like you to be a citizen of this country.
NICHOLAS. Look, what are you driving at exactly?
WOMAN. Okay, out there, beyond the departure lounge, are the press. I think all the major outlets. All very keen to speak with you.
STONE. You’ve become a figure of some notoriety, Dr Garrigan.
NICHOLAS. Look, as I say I’m – I am very – tired – I have been – my life has been in danger – I have been travelling for several days, I’ve not – washed, I –
WOMAN pushes something towards him; it’s a notebook.
WOMAN. Do you recognise this?
He leafs through the notebook.
NICHOLAS. How did you get hold of that? That’s private property.
STONE. An excellent read. If an indiscreet one. But what’s missing for me at least, are the intentions of the author. Your intentions.
STONE retrieves it.
WOMAN. Your actions in Uganda. Your relationship with the former head of state of Uganda, Idi Amin. These actions were entirely of your own making, the maverick actions of a private individual with no connection to the British Government.
STONE. This is the story we require you to tell.
WOMAN. So, when did you first meet President Idi Amin Dada?
Scene Two
Sudden excitement of drums; IDI AMIN visible in distance, in full military regalia, the sound of MiG jets, ululation, figures running in his wake. The PRESS CORPS address us and him.
JOURNALIST THREE. Something extraordinary is happening in Uganda.
JOURNALIST TWO. Yes, today, barely ten years since we granted it independence in 1962 –
JOURNALIST ONE. – only nine years since we seized our independence from the British –
JOURNALIST TWO. After a coup, a new leader struts and frets the stage: Idi Amin.
JOURNALIST THREE. Here at this stadium in a remote province, ordinary Ugandans gather – is this a change they welcome?
JOURNALIST ONE. Good morning, madam, I can tell you are excited to see your new leader –
VOX POP ONE. Oh we are so happy today, happy, now we will have peace and life and stability.
JOURNALIST TWO. And you, sir, what do you yourself make of this move to military government?
VOX POP TWO. General Amin is a fighter! He is a boxer, a heavyweight boxer! He is a knockout for Uganda.
JOURNALIST THREE. Perhaps you’d have said the same thing about his predecessor, Mr Obote?
VOX POP TWO. No, no, Milton Obote is a killer, a killer, he killed my brother, here is my brother, Obote killed this man – Obote afude, Obote afude. Good riddance to bad rubbish!
IDI comes onto a podium to huge cheers, ululations – he speaks through a mic.
IDI. My fellow Ugandans, a new chapter in our country’s history has begun. Milton Obote was a wicked fellow, a demon of luxury and corruption – he favoured his people, the Langi people, and all other Ugandans suffered at his hands – but look around you, see now he is gone, completely gone from Uganda, no trace of him! And do not think I will wear his shoes; no, friends, I am a humble soldier, these tanks and guns you see here, all of this is a temporary measure, soon we will find a new and good and honest leader and then you will see how I will return to my barracks, my face smiling like this, my shoulders shaking with laughter. This is a day for rejoicing not fear.
As IDI retreats to applause and music, the JOURNALISTS chase after.
JOURNALIST TWO. Mr Amin, as Mr Obote’s former general, will you really end his hated legacy – ?
IDI. Of course, of course, I saw his tyranny at first hand.
JOURNALIST THREE. The whole world wishes to know what you stand for, General Amin.
IDI. I stand for a new start! I stand for a great Uganda!
JOURNALIST TWO. More nationalisation perhaps?
IDI. All foreign contracts will be honoured, do not worry.
JOURNALIST ONE. Maybe a restoration of the monarchy?
IDI. The time of kings is over.
JOURNALIST THREE. Or a return to the tribal conflicts of time immemorial? General Amin!
IDI. Ask these happy people your questions, I am busy building a nation.
Scene Three
The sound of a crash.
A remote road in relentless heat, western Uganda; the lowing of a cow. Shouting, cries.
Now JONAH WASSWA and a SOLDIER bring on NICHOLAS. At the roadside, his back turned to us, IDI is seated, mute. Nobody knows what to do next.
WASSWA. Fortunately, we found a doctor, Mr President. A British doctor. In the crowd. He is here with me now. By my side.
Pause.
Say something.
NICHOLAS. Oh.
Excellency, your speech, may I say was – very – very stirring.
Pause.
WASSWA (to NICHOLAS). Go to him! Tend to him.
NICHOLAS. Of course. How – how may I be of help?
IDI groans, prays to himself in Swahili.
WASSWA. His Excellency is in great pain. His wrist, I think his wrist is – shattered.
NICHOLAS. Right. Yes. I’m terribly sorry to hear that, Your Excellency – may I see? Could you maybe describe the circumstances? That resulted in this, er, fracture.
IDI is silent.
WASSWA. As you see His Excellency is literally unable to speak for the pain.
NICHOLAS. I see that. Perhaps then, you could –
WASSWA. His Excellency was driving his new car with tremendous skill.
The remains of which you see – there.
IDI. My poor Maserati. My poor Maserati Indy. Nought to sixty in nine seconds.
WASSWA. But despite his flawless driving of this car it seems there must have been an error – with the car, because this car – the steering wheel of the car –
IDI. There was no error with the Maserati Indy, the Maserati Indy has astonishing – astonishing holding – but even the Maserati Indy may not cope with indolent cattle blocking every road in this backward province – soldier, shoot that cow dead now!
WASSAW and the SOLDIER run offstage; a shot; the cow stops groaning.
Will you assist me, doctor, or will you stand there like a marabou?
NICHOLAS. Sorry, of course. May I see that? Can you move it at all?
IDI. How may a man move a broken wrist?
NICHOLAS. Give it a slight – if I may just…
IDI shouts in pain. The SOLDIER runs on with his gun.
SOLDIER. Shall I kill him, sir?
NICHOLAS. I was simply – I meant no harm. I just suspect – I suspect, from outward appearance, the state of your wrist, the ...
