Pandora's Box

Ade Solanke

• Publisher: Oberon Books
• Year: 2012
• Print ISBN: 9781849434973
• eBook ISBN: 9781849435994
• Edition: 1
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: British Drama
• Index: Literature

Nominated for the Nigeria Prize for Literature 2014 and for Best New Play in the Off West End Theatre Awards On holiday with her streetwise son in Lagos, a British-Nigerian mother is in turmoil. Should she leave her only child in a strict Lagos boarding school, or return him to the battlefields of inner London? A family spanning three generations and two continents meet in Lagos for the first time in over thirty years. But the joy of reunion unleashes long-suppressed truths.

SCENE ONE

Adelabu Street, Surulere, Lagos. August.

A large and opulent front room, filled with expensive furniture. The wall at the back is dominated by a large window. It’s open and from the street the sounds of early evening Lagos life waft in: the traffic, the hawkers, the Fuji music. The other walls are lined with family portraits and photos, as is an elaborate oak sideboard. A clock on it says 7pm. The room is so quiet we can we hear its loud ticking.

In the middle of the room is a sturdy, if well-worn, brown trunk. It’s the type generations of Africans will recognize: the one you store things in, for when you return home from abroad.

A WOMAN, TOYIN (late thirties) is kneeling before it, praying feverishly.

TOYIN: (English accent.) Please, God, please, please, let me be doing the right thing.

She stands up. We see she’s attractive, well-dressed and…very, very stressed. If girlfriend slept last night, it wasn’t restful! She takes a deep breath, braces herself and goes to a pile of suitcases stacked neatly by the door.

There’s one solitary case placed apart from the others; it’s bright blue, whilst all the others are reds and pinks.

She takes that case and another one from the other side. She opens the first and unloads its content. Top of the pile is a slick navy and gold school uniform. She holds it up, looks at it wistfully before tossing it aside.

TOYIN: You HAVE made the right choice, Toyin. You’re his mother.

Agitated, she starts sifting things from the blue case into the second one as the door opens. Another WOMAN enters. Meet ALHAJA RONKE OGUNBOLA (42), a Lagos socialite and entrepreneur. Handsome, imposing, and dressed in traditional Nigerian attire with a trendy, designer twist, she strides into the space like a tank. TOYIN swerves to avoid being barged by her heavy shopping bags.

TOYIN: Hi…oh, look out, Sis Ronke.

SIS RONKE: (Nigerian accent.) Oya. Oya. Move this. Move it.

TOYIN shoves the suitcases aside and RONKE dumps her bags. She slumps down into a plush sofa, swiping off her headgear and kicking off her heels.

SIS RONKE: Yea. My feet. (Calling.) Taofiki. TAOFIKI! That useless fool. I had to carry these from the car myself. Yet he dares to calls himself my houseboy! (Shouting.) Taofiki! (Pointing to the trunk.) Ah ah. What is that?

TOYIN: It’s the box we’ve been waiting for. From the freight company in London? My mum (She pauses and glances up at RONKE.) …I mean, our mum…is looking for the key… (She gulps.) … OUR mum is looking for the right key…

SIS RONKE: Oh, ‘YOUR mum’ is looking for the key. Very good. (Calling out.) TAOFIKI. Wambi [come here] (To TOYIN.) What’s inside?

TOYIN: Things she’s been collecting for you. She brought them with us.

SIS RONKE: (Snorting.) Thirty-nine years later. TAOFIKI!

TOYIN: ‘For my daughter in Nigeria, for my daughter in Nigeria’. That’s all we kids in London ever heard.

SIS RONKE: Indeed. Motherly love. Ha!

She picks up a mobile phone, pounds the keys.

TOYIN: Now we’re in Nigeria, she can finally give them to you.

SIS RONKE: Wonderful. How nice of her. (She barks into the phone.) Ah ah. How long do you want me to wait? Tell the driver to bring the rest of the bags up. (She hangs up.) That Taofiki. When I see him, he will suffer for this. So, where is YOUR Mum?

Another WOMAN enters, also wearing traditional dress. This is their mother, MRS PANDORA OLADURO (65), a stout and kindly woman. She’s jangling a bunch of keys. As per Yoruba culture, she’s addressed by the name of her eldest, Ronke.

MAMA-RONKE: I was right. They were in the red suitcase, under the fabric. Oh, Ronke, my dear, you’re back.

RONKE: Yes, Ma’mi. (She gets up a little grudgingly, and curtsies, as the YORUBA do to any elder.) Good evening, ma.

MAMA-RONKE: Welcome back. How was the drive?

RONKE: We didn’t get there till 5. Baba was so hungry.

MAMA-RONKE: I told him to eat before he left. Two hours from

Surulere to Yaba! Lagos!

RONKE: Because of the political rally. Here. I picked up the shea butter and chewing sticks for Auntie Joy. (She holds out two paper bags.)

MAMA-RONKE: (Taking them.) Ah, she’ll appreciate it. The real thing, direct from Africa.

She heads to the cases, then stops.

MAMA-RONKE: No, I’d better pack this in my hand luggage.

She turns to leave, now spotting TOYIN’s pile of unfolded clothes.

MAMA-RONKE: Hey! Toyin, you still haven’t packed Rotimi’s case? What have you been doing? Ah ah. (She picks it up.) Why is his uniform for the new school on the floor?

TOYIN: Mum, I’ve got something to tell you… I’ve decided…

MAMA-RONKE: (Dusting it down.) The Principal is coming to collect him in… (She glances at the clock.) yeh! Six o’clock!…at seven…in less than an hour. And we still have to unload this trunk. Is something the matter with you?

MAMA-RONKE puts the uniform back into the blue suitcase.

TOYIN: Mum, listen, I have to tell you…

MAMA-RONKE: Na you sabi. Carry on wasting time. I’m not going to let you make me miss my flight. (She goes to the trunk and fiddles with the lock.) Ronke?

RONKE: Ma’mi?

MAMA-RONKE: (Re. key.) Olorun! What kind of wahala is this?

Where can that useless key be, for goodness’ sake? Ronke?

SIS RONKE: Yes, I answered you, ma.

MAMA-RONKE: The driver can start loading the cases in my room. I’m not risking this your Lagos traffic. We must leave as soon as the Principal collects Timi.

TOYIN flinches at those words, stomps over to TIMI’s case, grabs the uniform and dumps it on the floor again, firmly. Her mother notices and turns to her quick-sharp.

MAMA-RONKE: What? Because of what Baba said?

As RONKE looks on, she grasps TOYIN’s hand, tenderly.

MAMA-RONKE: My dear, Baba means well. But we know better.

Timi will be better off in Africa.

RONKE studies their closeness as TOYIN takes a deep breath, about to bite the bullet.

TOYIN: No, Mum, I’ve got something to tell you…

MAMA-RONKE: Come on, don’t be silly. The time for talking is over. Now, those keys…

TOYIN: Mum, listen, I can’t…

MAMA-RONKE: No more nonsense. Please!

MAMA exits. She’s not hearing this.

TOYIN: Mum…

TOYIN follows her, but, catching RONKE’s silent glare, she stops, perplexed.

TOYIN: What? (Searching her memory for what she’s done wrong now.) Oh, I’m sorry. Yeah, I know, I did it again, didn’t I?… I meant our mum, not MY mum.

SIS RONKE: (Riled in a way even she doesn’t quite understand.)

Don’t be sorry. It’s what you are. It’s not your fault. You and your son. That boy…

TOYIN: I beg your pardon. His name is Timi.

SIS RONKE: Whatever you call him. You’re both the same. E ni e ko. No manners. He...

Table of contents

• Front Cover
• Title Page
• Copyright
• Contents
• Characters
• SCENE ONE
• SCENE TWO
• SCENE THREE
• SCENE FOUR
• SCENE FIVE