Walking slowly along the unlit forestage, with a spotlight shining from above him, Olunde stares into the darkness around him; his head slightly tilted down toward the ground. His gaze blank with thought, jaw clenched and hands flexing. The sound of a steady drumming growing ever louder with each step. In the background, rises the voices of women softly humming along to the drumming. Olunde turns to the voices, the lights come on and the background now filled with a few stalls with richly colored fabrics. The Women come onto the stage following after an irate Iyaloja. Her head held high and lips pursed as she looks around before catching sight of Olunde. He approaches them with a somewhat grave look on his face.
Iyaloja: I see you are back.
Olunde (nodding): I am. I had come to bury my father.
Iyaloja: And so you will…what is wrong? Why do you look that way at me?
Olunde: Mr Pilkings has decided to interfere with tradition. He and his men have taken my father into custody. The laws of the white men forbid the killing of one’s self and so they have taken him.
Iyaloja looks furious, eyes sparking with anger, hands clawing the air as she seems to look through Olunde. The Women break into whispers at first but steadily grow louder and they shout in outrage. The Men of the tribe step onto stage and over to the Women, looking to Iyaloja for an answer of why they were so angry.
Iyaloja: This…this is what it has come to. Elesin Oba has lowered himself for the ghostly one and now he has forsaken our King. He wished to seed fertile soil and in doing so has tainted it, the seed may grow but will be cursed with the sins of the world. The King’s Horseman must ride with the King, guide him to the gate and yet he still breathes and stands among the living. He dooms out King to wander eternal, to know his rider has condemned and betrayed him to the void of evil.
Women:
Someone must ride.
The King must be guided.
Who will be the messenger?
He is doomed.
The evil will devour him.
And the darkness consume him.
Olunde: Pilkings will have guards to closely watch over my father and his bride. He will not be able to ride to our King’s side.
All goes silent. The drums have quieted and so have the cries of the women. Olunde stares for a moment into Iyaloja’s eyes, his shoulders tensed and eyes still clouded with thought. With a great heave of air, his body relaxes and straightens up. He nods his head slowly and seems to have come to a decision.
Iyaloja: What will we do? What will you do? Will you take the place of Elesin Oba and ride out to meet our King? Will you take your rightful place as a future horseman where your father has failed?
Men
Ride in his place
Do not keep our King waiting
Guide him through the gate
Leave him not in the dark
Don’t make him wander for eternity
Women
Bring our King to the next life
Leave him not alone
Ride swiftly
Olunde: I will ride to our King. He will not go without his Horseman and I will not make him. My father did not and cannot ride to him but I will. He has waited long enough. Before this night is out, before he can lose the light of the passage, I will join him on his ride. The gallop of my steed will be thunderous and swift. We will ride together through the gate. He won’t be lost to the darkness.
Men: Speak the words and begin.
Olunde: No, my father must do his duty. He must pass on his message. I will ride and guide our King, but he must be the one to release our King. He must not forget or forgo his oath.
Iyaloja: And what if they move him? What if he is not where you expect? How will you receive his words and ride if we cannot find him in time? Will you also abandon our King to the darkness and evil of the world?
Olunde: No. We’ll go shortly. I will set off for our King. Bring me to my father so he can release us.
Iyaloja: Where is he held? Where are we to bring you?
Olunde: Pilkings mentioned a cellar in the abandoned area of his home. That is likely where he was taken. Go ahead of us. Carry me there so they won’t have the time to move him.
Iyaloja: Let us begin.
Olunde looks off into the distance. A Woman walks over to him, a small cup in her hand. It’s a greyish brown cup with no handle, smooth all over, and almost hidden within her grip. A humming starts up, rhythmic and soft, the sound building as each voice joins the song. Olunde turns to her and thanks her quietly, glancing over at Iyaloja who stares back before he drinks the liquid inside. The lights fade out.
Olunde: Yes, let us begin.
Below is my unessay explanation
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1MY2EuPvn0F2kNSoQHMNk1J4jF5_XOsYi0cT4jhNomLA/edit?usp=sharing
Sprockets and Springes 