Tales of a City by the Sea

Samah Sabawi

• Editore: Currency Press
• Anno: 2016
• ISBN:
  9781925359756
• Argomento: Literature
• Categoria: Drama

'If only our bodies were bulletproof%##CHAR13##%If only our boats were made of steel%##CHAR13##%If only our dreams were real.'%##CHAR13##%%##CHAR13##%Gaza, 2008. A Palestinian journalist writes poetry on the beach. A doctor must decide to stay or leave. Then come the missiles and the phosphorus showers.%##CHAR13##%%##CHAR13##%This is a furious and tender exploration of the fragility of freedom. The national collides with the personal as activism and reporting take to the stage. Tales of a City by the Sea uses poetry, tenderness and humour to explore the love between those who have choices, and those who do not. Language fails us when it comes to displacement and grief; yet Samah Sabawi's language cracks grief open and remains present, like the sea.%##CHAR13##%%##CHAR13##%Tales of a City by the Sea was staged twice in 2014: at La Mama Theatre in Melbourne and at the Aida refugee camp in Palestine.

SCENE ONE

Gaza beach.

The SINGER stands outside of the parameters of the stage, preferably to the side where she can watch and bear witness to events. She is stationed there throughout the play.

She sings the opening song, ‘Nialak ma ahda balak’ (‘Lucky you have peace of mind’) as the audience walks into the theatre. The sound of waves is heard in the background throughout this scene.

On stage, JOMANA, a woman in her late twenties, is wearing a long-sleeved shirt and jeans. Her hijab scarf is wrapped loosely around her shoulders. She sits on the beach with a diary in her hand and is completely absorbed in writing. LAMA, a young woman in her early twenties, is standing nearby looking at the sea. LAMA is also dressed in conservative casual clothes, but her hair is totally covered by her hijab.

Once the audience is settled in their seats, the SINGER stops singing and JOMANA begins to read from her diary.

JOMANA: Gaza, August 2008

The landscape constantly changes

Only the sea remains

Salty

Fluid

Mysterious

Moody

A consistent presence amid the chaos—

The sound of an Israeli drone interrupts JOMANA. She looks up at the sky and follows the drone with her eyes until the sound fades out. She returns to her diary.

Its whooshing waves whisper tales

Of occupiers that have come and gone

Crusaders, tyrants and warlords

Riding on their horses

Riding on their tanks

Riding on their F-16 fighter jets

Always riding through

Leaving their footprints

And part of their history

Leaving their artefacts and ruins

Leaving fire and debris

Always leaving …

Only the sea remains.

LAMA: I love coming here.

JOMANA: I know.

LAMA: If you stand with your back to Gaza, facing the sea, you can easily imagine you are someplace else: Beirut … Alexandria … Tripoli … Santorini …

JOMANA: Countries … continents … the whole world is out there.

LAMA sits next to JOMANA. They stare silently into the sea.

LAMA: If only we could ride the sea.

JOMANA: If only our bodies were bulletproof.

LAMA: If only our boats were made of steel.

JOMANA: If only our dreams were real.

Pause.

Look! You can see the Free Gaza boats from here.

LAMA: They must be ready to leave. You know, I stayed up all night fantasising about sneaking on board these boats. Imagine me … an adventurous stowaway sailing off to see the world.

JOMANA: Sure … on what passport?

LAMA: I said stowaway … must you ruin every fantasy?

JOMANA: Fantasies get stuck at the borders; they never make it past the checkpoints.

LAMA: Well, a few fantasies must have snuck on board these boats because I’m having them.

Faint sound of music in the distance.

JOMANA: Really?

LAMA: Music!

JOMANA: What more will they do for these activists?

LAMA: Oh, how exciting! This is the most entertainment we’ve had here in years.

JOMANA’s phone beeps; she reads a text message, smiles and texts back.

Who are you texting?

JOMANA: One of my many admirers of course! Listen, why don’t you go to the pier and take a closer look at the action? I know you’re dying to.

LAMA: Only if you come with me!

JOMANA: I want to finish writing this poem and you are distracting me.

LAMA: You can write this poem some other time! Come on! Maybe we’ll be lucky and make it on the news tonight.

JOMANA: I wouldn’t want to steal the show from the activists.

LAMA: You won’t have to … the politicians have stolen the show a long time ago, with all the speeches and photo ops. Come on! We are the people … we too deserve our share of the spotlight.

JOMANA: Fascinating! Girls yo...