Tin Bucket Drum

A play

Neil Coppen

• Publisher: Wits University Press
• Year: 2016
• ISBN:
  9781776146420
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Drama
• Index: Literature

On a 'cold and starless night' a young pregnant widow, Nandi, arrives in Tin Town, a bleak, drought-stricken place ruled by silence and fear. Little do the inhabitants know that Nandi is carrying the baby who will, in time, change that. Taken in by Mkhulu (grandfather), whose father established the tin bucket factory that gave the town its name, Nandi gives birth to Nomvula, the Little Drummer Girl. Mkhulu remembers a past when 'people were free to sing and dance', when the rain came and the townsfolk held up their tin buckets to catch the precious, life-giving drops. And then came the Silent Sir and his spokesman, the Censor, and the town went silent. As the singing and dancing and drumming dried up, so did the rain. The tin bucket factory closed, taking with it the life and purpose of Tin Town's inhabitants. Only the Little Drummer Girl can bring back that life, but at enormous personal cost. In Tin Bucket Drum, Neil Coppen achieves a small miracle. Through his lyrical script and the creative use of lighting and sound, one woman, the Narrator, succeeds in evoking a host of characters as this allegorical tale of oppression and liberation plays itself out. It is a story that offers a host of lessons for many places and many times.

Scene 1

A celebration

The NARRATOR takes her position centre stage. She is dressed in tattered white garments, her face painted with white clay. A red sash is tied around her waist.

Eerie music plays. Drumming begins and builds. The scent of Impepho (traditional incense) fills the theatre. A rusted metal baobab tree cut out stands at the centre of the table and the low lighting angle casts imposing shadows of the tree upon the back screen.

NARRATOR: Once a year, on the day of her passing, we gather beneath the tree.

‘Is it time?’ the little ones ask, clutching their tin buckets in one hand, tugging their mothers’ skirts with the other.

‘Nearly time,’ respond their parents.

‘See the heavens heavy with the first rains.

Quickly, hang your bucket, it’s good luck to be the first one.’

The elders lift the children up to the great branches of the baobab ’til it’s full, bending beneath the weight of its tin bucket decorations.

Then wait … and wait.

Palms ready, feet poised.

The crowd whispering.

Anxious with anticipation.

Djembe percussion begins and builds and builds.

NARRATOR: She is coming … she is coming. She is drumming, she is drumming.

‘Is it time?’

‘Nearly time.’

‘Is it time?’

‘Nearly time.’

Time … for the celebration!!

Drumming climaxes, then diminishes.

NARRATOR: She is coming.

She is coming.

She is drumming.

She is drumming.

Listen down the street.

She is dancing … She is dancing.

Hear the music in her heart.

Hear the music in her feet.

Bringing, she is bringing

the rain, she is bringing.

Listen in the wind.

Hear her singing.

She is singing.

Is it time?

Nearly time.

Is it time?

Nearly time … nearly time … nearly time …

The NARRATOR shrinks into darkness. PERCUSSION culminates and fades.

Scene 2

The journey

The stage is washed in moonlight. The NARRATOR loads the table onto her back and walks in a weary circle, her body struggling beneath the weight of the table.

NARRATOR: On a cold and starless night, through the desert came the stranger.

A woman by the name of Nandi, widowed by civil war. With a few belongings strung to her back and an unborn baby restless in her belly, she had escaped. The woman’s husband had spoken of this place before: Tin Town. He had promised that after the war he would take her there, to that place where music was said to rattle over rooftops and into one’s dreams. Where lullabies mingled in the evening breezes and each new day was met with a dance.

NARRATOR now assumes the role of NANDI, offloading the table from her shoulders and placing her hands on her belly, comforting her unborn babe with reassuring whispers.

NANDI: Nearly there … nearly there.

See the lights of Tin Town, see them shining now like stars.

Listen to their music. They will bless you there. Welcome you into the world with their drums. Can you hear it, my little one?

Lalela [listen] … Lalela [listen].

NANDI listens, but there is silence.

NARRATOR: The only drumming she could hear was her unborn child’s impatient fists. Ready … restless … longing to dance free.

The PERCUSSIONIST pounds three forceful beats on the djembe as NANDI collapses to the ground clutching her belly.

NARRATOR: That morning Nandi arrived in Tin Town, but it was hardly the place described to her by her husband.

NANDI rises, dusts herself off and notices a tin bucket on the other side of the stage. She rushes over to the bucket and raises it to her parched lips, she stops before drinking.

NARRATOR: Here she was to find a paradise ruined with rust, its rivers dry, wells near empty. All hope turned to dust.

NANDI turns the bucket upside down and sand pours out.

NARRATOR: Above, the sun burnt fiercely in the sky. Stony faced soldiers lined the gravel road as a procession of black umbrellas shuffled past in ghostly silence. It was a silence that hovered over the whole town. Here no dogs dared to bark, birds were scared to sing. Even the clocks had stopped ticking.

The NARRATOR resumes the role of NANDI, trying to attract the attention of the passersby. She rushes up and down the line begging for help, but the procession pushes past, oblivious.

NANDI: Have you all lost your tongues?

Who has stolen your stories … your songs?

Who has silenced your drums?

As the NARRATOR, she turns to the audience and pushes a finger forcefully to her lips.

NARRATOR: Shhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

Again, the defiant percussive heartbeat pounds [three times] and NANDI collapses to the ground, holding her belly. From her whimpers it is clear that labour has begun.

Lights fade.

NARRATOR: After the meeting, one of the village elders, Mkhulu, saw Nandi, doubled over in the dust, holding her belly and whispering … it is time … it is time. He took pity on her and welcomed her into his home.

Scene 3

Mkhulu’s welcome

The NARRATOR puts on a crumpled hat, transforming herself into the benevolent old man, MKHULU, who ushers NANDI into his home, all the while glancing suspiciously over his shoulder to ensure no one is watching.

To indicate we are moving into an interior of a home, a window frame is projected on the shadow screen behind.

MKHULU [In a frightened whisper]: Woza … woza … woza … come … come in.

The old man shuts the door quietly behind him, dusting off surfaces as he goes. He places the table centre stage while untying the red sash and laying it over the table as a tablecloth. Although the room is sparse, it is clear that the old man takes e...

Table of contents

• Cover Page
• Dedication
• Title Page
• Copyright Page
• Contents
• Acknowledgements
• Foreword: Ismail Mahomed
• Tin Bucket Drum: Questions with Neil Coppen
• Selection of images from various performances
• Tin Bucket Drum: the play script
• Note on staging
• Scene 1 A celebration
• Scene 2 The journey
• Scene 3 Mkhulu’s welcome
• Scene 4 A child is born
• Scene 5 Awakening
• Scene 6 Sermon
• Scene 7 Silent confinement
• Scene 8 Mkhulu’s story
• Scene 9 Integration
• Scene 10 Problem child
• Scene 11 Legacy
• Scene 12 Rehabilitation
• Scene 13 Community service
• Scene 14 Revolution
• Scene 15 Lullaby
• Scene 16 Rebirth