The actor playing the character of langston assumes a different persona, that of a university lecturer. He walks in wearing a different jacket from that worn by langston before, and goes to the podium. He is holding a piece of paper from which he reads as he introduces bloke.

LANGSTON/UNIVERSITY LECTURER: Good day, students. Today we have a very special guest who will be speaking on African rhythms in music and dance. He is a very experienced South African cultural activist who worked for Drum magazine in South Africa for many years. He is brought to the United States by AMSAC in association with the United Negro College Fund. Let us give a warm welcome to our guest speaker, Mr William Bloke Modisane.

BLOKE: Thank you. I am afraid that if you think I am here to talk cultural theory, you might be disappointed. I believe that there is only one way to communicate music and rhythms – it is through practice. Perhaps many of you remember the first time your parents bought you a guitar or violin, or the first time you pressed the keys on a piano. Maybe you even did classical training at school, and you learned music theory before actually playing.

Not so much in Africa. We are born with music and dance. Singing and dancing rituals are performed when our mothers are pregnant. Music and dance is part of our lives from the beginning – that is, before birth – throughout our living experience, to after the end of life. We sing when we are sad, we also sing when we are happy. Our protest songs and dance can easily be confused with celebration. The mark of all these acts is the rhythm.

African rhythms can be captured in the most natural phenomena to the most sophisticated instruments. It can begin simply with a tap of your fingers. [bloke demonstrates by tapping his fingers on the podium.] Please join me.

can takes a sip from his glass and grimaces as the brandy burns his stomach. He comes to the centre of the stage to address the audience directly.

CAN: These people don't understand that you can be political without being a politician. It is the hypocrisy of the politician that makes me feel uneasy about regarding myself as one. I’ve seen the betrayal all over the world. I don't want to be part of that class. I say to hell with politics and bottoms up to glasses!

You probably know that I am the infamous associate editor of Drum who disappears on drunken sprees for weeks on end. Why don't you ever ask who's the editor? Who am I assisting? Me, Can Themba, who am I assisting to publish whose story?

Let me break it down for you. I’ve been working for Drum since 1953. I joined the stable after winning their inaugural short story competition. Drum is a magazine that reports on township gossip, gangster violence, witchcraft, soccer and boxing matches, farm labour brutalities, township riots, police torture – stories of black people.

Which white person do you think is more capable than us in editing these stories? Which white person can understand the nuances of these stories better than we do? None. I’m telling you, there's no white person who is more qualified to edit our stories, much as I don't know everything that happens on the other side.

The first few issues after its establishment in 1951 were a total failure. And then they brought in razor-sharp reporters like Henry Nxumalo, Arthur Maimane, Todd Matshikiza, myself, Bloke Modisane, Zeke Mphahlele, Lewis Nkosi, Casey Motsisi and Nat Nakasa. All of a sudden, the magazine was bursting with talent, and it started selling like cheap liquor in the township.

So, we do all the hard work, but a white man gets the credit. Our white so-called editors know in their heart of hearts that a black associate editor is actually the editor. I may be indifferent to politics, but I believe in human justice.

Opposition to the day-to-day impacts of coal mining, dispossessionand environmental deterioration, but not the prospect of working forTendele, was evident during the interviews with some communitymembers in Somkhele, yet it was not as obvious when compared to theMakause residents in Mpumalanga. What is it, then, that has builtstrong anti-coal sentiments in Somkhele? And what explains thestrong material dependence on coal that Jacklyn Cock observed in theMpumalanga province?1 An answer to both questions rests on theeconomic histories of both provinces. While Somkhele and Makause liein regions that are notable contributors to the country'sagricultural sector, Mpumalanga's heavy dependence on coal is rootedin its role as South Africa's primary coal-producing area, supplyingboth national and international markets. The province's economy andemployment are significantly tied to the coal industry, with a largeworkforce directly employed by the mines and power stations. In thisregard, over the years, the coal industry overtook agriculturalproduction, making mining a major source of employment, unlike inKwaZulu-Natal, where both commercial and subsistence farmingremained dominant at least in some parts of the province. Without adoubt, access to land by communities in Somkhele – and those thatlive on customary land, broadly speaking – not only lessens theimpact of poverty and unemployment; the land, arguably, alsocushions communities when they resist exploitative forms of wagework provided by extractive industries. I also observed that accessto land enables communities to understand, without external input,the impacts of climate change on everyday life and enables them toimagine life without coal. However, I sensed that young peopledeveloped anticoal sentiments only when they realised that jobopportunities in the colliery mine are thin. That said, there was ashared view among residents that they can live off the land as theyhave in the past and that this is more sustainable than working forthe mine.

We hear the sound of a moving coal train. The sound goes on for at least 30 seconds. The screen shows the words spoken by bloke in the paragraph below, accompanied by his voice.

BLOKE: The train entered and puffed its way out of Mafikeng, and South Africa and everything I had known, loved and hated remained behind me. I was out of South Africa. But it was no victory or solution, the compulsive agony was still with me, the problem was still with me; only its immediacy was removed, like an orgasm in bed, the tension was released but the filth slimed down my thigh dripping on to the sheet. My physical life in South Africa had ended.

BLOKE: Dear Mr Hughes,

Thank you very much for the copy of An African Treasury and for sending me the cuttings. The notices were very encouraging. I have also received a cheque for $25 from Crown publishers. The money has been very helpful to the displaced and struggling artist that is I.

I believe the definition for a struggling artist is: a man, creative artist by repute, who lives on the advance of the next work. I drift from job to job, working my guts out by day and writing by night. I’m 36 and like ‘Simple’, that witty character in your popular columns, I haven't worked my way through to the first alimony, but I’m told there's hope yet, except that ‘hope’ and I have been buddies for a long, long time – that we get on famously together.

The lights come up on langston's side. His phone rings.

langston: Langston speaking, hullo. [He listens.] Rosey Pool, hey, I’m good, thanks. How are you doing, my dear sister? I hope your trip to London was a success. [Pause.] You found Bloke? And he gave you his address? Brilliant! [langston is visibly excited.] Oh yes, please give it to me. I was getting worried that he hasn't been answering my letters. Let me write it down. [He takes a pen and writes in his notebook.] Thank you, I really appreciate this.

LANGSTON [reads aloud as he types]: LOST

LOW LOST

LONG LOST

FOUND BLOKE.

I thought you had gone to Limbo, wherever that is – until Rosey Pool just called and gave me your address. Where have you been and what happened to the girl you wrote the poem about? And have you written any more poems? If so, send them to me to consider for my anthology. If I’d known where you were, on my way back from Lagos, I had some hours in the London airport and would have phoned you to take a helicopter out for a drink. Or maybe I’d have stayed over a day to see how you are doing. Anyhow, I might be going to the Mbari Writers’ Conference in June, so will probably stop in London on the way to or from – most likely from – on the homebound trip.

Have you got a telephone? Send me the number, please. And tell Rosey thanks for letting me know you are still in the land of the living. I’d gotten a bit worried since NOBODY had news of you – and you are my favourite Bantu.

BLOKE: Dumela, Langston, Sakubona:

In case your State Department has some habits that the South African one has, I must explain that the jazz above is not a secret code – stress, NOT. Both mean the same thing: hello; in Sesotho and Zulu.

can moves downstage centre, sits down on a chair near the coffee table and lights a cigarette.

CAN: I set out to investigate a story for Drum the other day. I visited churches frequented by white people to see if they would let me in. A few allowed me in even though you could see that my presence came as something of a shock to most of the congregants, some of whom responded with undisguised contempt. Many others chased me away like I was the devil incarnate!

At the Dutch Reformed Church in Langlaagte, I was stopped by an usher who said to me, ‘This is a church for whites only!’ ‘Do they worship a different God from that worshipped by blacks?’ I asked. He consulted with the church elders, and later a deacon came to allocate me a seat.

I was hoping to have a sip of Jesus’ blood to see if it wouldn't rid me of my hangover. When the collection saucers came, I dug into my pocket and fished out a few coins. I raised my hand, ready to contribute my precious coins, but the church official passed me by. And then came Major Spengler and his henchmen from the Special Branch. They called me aside and asked me if I was a member of the ANC. Despite my objections, they took me to a waiting car, and started interrogating me about my business there. Church members came one by one to look at me as if I was a captured monkey in a cage. One old Afrikaner woman bent down on her arthritic knees to scrutinise my face and screamed, ‘Jou Satan!’

The following Saturday, I went to the Seventh Day Adventist Church with our photographer, Peter Magubane. As I walked up the stairs, a hefty man yanked me off my feet and rushed me down the stairs. Assisted by two others, they twisted my arm behind my back and bundled me over to a car.

Out of the corner of my eye I caught sight of Peter in full flight, with members of the church in hot pursuit. I was driven to Marshall Square Police Station and charged with trespassing. I wondered if God himself didn't want me there.

The publication of The House of Truth & Bloke and His American Bantu: Two Plays brings my work as a playwright full circle. The two biographical plays that make up this publication have both graced some prominent stages with resounding success.

The House of Truth is a play about Can Themba (1924–1967), a writer and journalist who worked for Drum magazine between 1953 and 1959. Similarly, Bloke and His American Bantu is a play about the friendship between American poet Langston Hughes (1901–1967) and William Bloke Modisane (1923–1986), a South African writer who also worked for Drum magazine in the 1950s. Themba and Modisane were both part of the pantheon of journalists who revolutionised South African journalism in the 1950s. The lives of these two scribes are intertwined in many different ways but also have a number of divergences. Although they were contemporaries, the experiences explored in these two plays differ remarkably, as much as their periods and settings are different.

I wrote The House of Truth in 2015 as some form of a catharsis amidst a toxic combination of pressing deadlines imposed by both my professional and pedagogic undertakings. I was reading towards my doctoral degree while working for a government department on a full-time basis. The combination of government bureaucracy and academic demands was overwhelming and, quite paradoxically, I was at the same time both fascinated and inspired by the dynamism of Can Themba's life, which is what I was researching. I had the urge to take a break from the academic project and seek refuge in a creative outlet. Visualising the life of Can Themba unfolding before me, I explored it through writing a play, which had a cathartic effect. I presented the play script to venerated actor and director Sello Maake kaNcube, who had starred in the first stage adaptation of Themba's The Suit in 1993.

I titled the play The House of Truth because by writing it I was able to enter and invite everyone into Themba's world. The House of Truth was Themba's modest abode at 111 Ray Street in Sophiatown in Johannesburg, and he named it as such because truth telling was central to his being as a writer, journalist and a teacher.

• 1. Utii ni amri moja katika amri kubwa

• 2. Utii wa mwili na akili

• 3. Utii mapema katika utoto

• 4. Kazi, skuli au jeshi huchafuka bila utii

• 5. Katika maisha ya raia na utawala

• 6. Huua tofauti, huleta uchovu

Utii ni amri moja katika amri kubwa za Mungu, tena amri yenyewe ina maana kubwa kabisa. Adamu na Hawa walitakiwa kutii. Hapana ujinga mkubwa katika maisha kama kufikiri kwamba mtu aweza kuishi bila utii wowote.

Kwa ajili ya kuendesha vema sheria au maisha lazima pawe na utii. Utii ni kazi ya kudumisha amri mahali pa machafuko. Kuna utii wa mwili na wa akili. Mwili ulioadabishwa, kama askari, hutii amri kama mashine. Akili iliyoadabishwa haishikwi na hasira ghafula. Hatuwezi kufunzwa utii na wengine siku zote. Lazima tujifunze sisi wenyewe.

Utii ndiyo njia bora ya kuweka msingi kwa ubora kwa wakati ujao wa mtoto. Lazima afunzwe kutii wazee na walimu wake, kuamka na kulala bila kuchelewa, kujifunza masomo yake na kutakasa mwili wake. Kuna wazee waharibuo watoto kwa kuwaruhusu kutenda lolote wapendalo kwa sababu ya mapenzi. Wadhani kwamba utii ni utumwa, namna ya neno litazamiwalo kwa watumishi. Lakini si utumwa. Ni adili ya kutengeneza uhuru wa mtoto. Mtoto asiyeadabishwa atakuwa mtu mwenye fujo ya mawazo na matendo ya ujinga.

Utii una maana kubwa sana katika madaraka au sheria. Kazi ambayo watumishi wake huja wakatoka wakati wowote wapendao, itajiona katika orodha ya kufilisika mara moja. Skuli, ambayo walimu na wanafunzi huja wakati wowote wapendao, yachekesha sana kufikiri. Utii si udhalimu. Jeshi bila utii huwa kama kundi la watoto watukutu. Hadithi hutwambia kwamba jeshi la askari milioni moja wasioadabishwa hushindwa upesi na jeshi la askari elfu tano walioadabishwa. Kwa hivyo, utii ni sehemu kubwa ya mafundisho ya jeshi. Kosa dogo la utii huadhibiwa kwa ukali.

Katika maisha ya raia na utawala wa nchi, utii hufaa sana. Serikali huongoza utawala kwa msaada wa kikosi kidogo sana cha polisi au askari. Lakini hufaulu, kwa sababu ya utii. Toka kwa Gavana mpaka kwa mtumishi mdogo kabisa, kila mtu hutii amri, lao si kuuliza kwa nini, ila ikipasa, kutenda au kufa. Kwa hivi utii hupasa kwa serikali. Hupasa vile vile kwa kila jamii ya watu.

• 1. Uvumbuzi uwezeshao kusema na wote

• 2. Matumizi yake ya zamani

• 3. Maongozi na nguvu yake katika maisha

• 4. Mvuto wa elimu

• 5. Magazeti na vitabu

• 6. Hutuondolea giza kukatupa nuru

Kuandika kwa chapa ni uvumbuzi uwezeshao mtu yeyote kusema na umati mzima juu ya neno afikirilo kuwa muhimu, na uwezeshao nchi nzima kusikiliza maneno ya mtu kama huyo, kadiri alivyo mkubwa au mdogo, kwa urahisi na makini makubwa ya kuelewa asemayo kuliko mtawala Mwafrika anavyohutubia kabila katika baraza yake. Hatibu aweza kusema na watu waliopo, lakini kitabu kilichopigwa chapa hakisemi na kabila liliopo tu, ila husema na vizazi vyote vinavyofuata kikampatia na sifa mwandishi wake.

Tarehe ya kuvumbuliwa kuandika kwa chapa haijulikani hasa, lakini ikikadiriwa huwezekana kusemwa kwamba ni uvumbuizi wa karne ya kumi na tano. Caxton aliyeanzisha kiwanda chake mwenyewe cha kuandika kwa chapa akapiga chapa vitabu, husemwa kwamba ndiye mvumbuzi wa kuandika kwa chapa. Kuandika kwa chapa katika zama za kwanza kulikuwa si kwepesi wala hakukuwa wazi. Lakini kuandika kwa chapa kwa sasa ni ajabu ya kazi ya mashine.

Uvumbuzi wa kuandika kwa chapa umefanya maongozi makubwa sana katika hali zote za maisha. Kwa neno zima, uvumbuzi huu umeleta mageuzi makubwa kabisa katika ulimwengu. Kuandika kwa chapa ni uti wa malezi na elimu ya sasa. Hata katika karne ya kumi na tano uvumbuzi huu uligeuza maisha ya dini na nchi, kwa kufanya watu kujisomea wenyewe, badala ya kutengemea mashehe. Hivyo haki ya mashehe ya kumiliki elimu yote peke yao ilitanguka elimu ikawa miliki ya kila mtu.

Kuandika kwa chapa kulileta ufufuo wa elimu Ulaya. Zamani vitabu viliandikwa vikatunzwa katika miswada. Nakala nyingine zilipotakiwa, mtu ilimpasa kunakili kitabu kizima kwa mkono. Lakini kwa majilio ya kuandika kwa chapa idadi yoyote ya nakala huwezekana kupigwa chapa, na thamani ni ndogo. Maskini waweza kununua vitabu watakavyo. Elimu husafiri kila mlango. Maandiko huwa rahisi. Wakati na nguvu itumiwayo katika kunakili vitabu huokoka. Kwa hiyo kuandika kwa chapa kumesaidia sana maendeleo ya elimu.

• 1. Hifadhi yake

• 2. Balehe, utu uzima na mvuto

• 3. Onyo la mama

• 4. Hatari ya kujitolea

• 5. Wanaume wote si waovu

Hifadhi ya msichana ni jambo kubwa, hasa ipasapo mwanamume kutoa shauri. Walakini bahari kuu huvukwa. Kwa hivi ninatumaini kuwa sitazama katika jaribu hili.

Msichana wa leo ni mama wa kesho. Upumbavu ulioje kujifanya hatudhuriwi na mambo yake! Ukitaka kukomesha maisha yetu ua wasichana, na baada ya miaka si mingi hapatakuwa na kitu kiitwacho mtu. Robo tatu za hifadhi hii lazima, zifanywe na wanaume.

Msichana akipita balehe akafikia utu uzima hufanya mvuto mkubwa kwa mwanamume. Mvuto huu ni maumbile, na pana watu wadaio hapana maana ya kugombana na maumbile. Nataka ningeona kama waonavyo wenzangu; lakini watu wote hawana vipawa namna moja. Kinyume cha maono yao, naona halali kugombana na tokeo hili kwa sababu pengine mvuto huu humponza msichana.

Kama yapasa msichana kujitafutia riziki kwa utumishi kama uyaya, uuguzaji au ualimu; tena kama akikaa pasipo wazazi wake hukutana na majaribu mengi ya wanaume. Vikundi vya wanaume humzunguka kama nzi kando ya kipande cha sukari. Humganda kama nyuki juu ya tone la asali.

Kwa msichana aliyelelewa vema majaribu haya hayadhuru. Onyo la busara la mama likitolewa mapema ni ngao bora kwa msichana kuliko buibui jeusi, dirisha la komeo au mlango wa kufuli. Kwa bahati mbaya wasichana wengi hawapati malezi mazuri. Hawa lazima waokolewe. Wakiokoka watasaidia kuhimiza majilio ya Afrika bora. Hatutaki Afrika kuwa bora?

Msichana akijitolea ovyo katika tamaa ya mwili huharibikiwa na mambo yake mengi. Huingia katika hatari ya maambukizo ya maradhi mabaya. Hasara nyingine ya kusikitisha ni uzazi wa haramu. Kwa hali ya kiitikadi iliyo katika maisha yetu ya sasa, ni dhiki kubwa kwa msichana kupata mtoto asiye baba wa kusaidia ulezi wake. Moja lolote katika haya likitokea huharibu heshima ya msichana. Hufukuzwa kazini, hapati arusi njema na dunia nzima humdharau. Matokeo haya mabaya sana, nayo yote huletwa na wanaume wajinga na walafi.

Isifikiriwe kuwa wanaume wote waovu. Hasha mara mia. Wanaume wengi wema nao wana heshima. Hawana nia ya kuharibu maisha ya msichana hata kidogo. Fahari yao kubwa katika maisha ni kuwasaidia.

Ni bora tuendelee kuishi au tustahabu mauti? Swali hili gumu sana. Tungeendelea kuishi tukasikiliza kwa uvumilivu usio mpaka misiba yetu, au tungejitahidi kupigana na misiba hata kwa mauti mashaka yakapata kukoma kututesa? Mauti na usingizi ni kama maumbu. Hapana tofauti kubwa iwezekanayo kuonekana kati yake. Kama katika usingizi twasahau mashaka yetu ya mchana, kadhalika katika lepe la mauti, tutatupilia mbali uzito wa mashaka ya maisha. Faraja kama hiyo, kitulizo, au njia kama hiyo ambayo kwayo twaweza kuepuka mashaka yasiyohesabika ya maisha, ni ajabu kubwa na ipendezayo mno. Walakini, kama katika usingizi, majinamizi au ndoto za kutaabisha hutokea mara kwa mara, kadhalika mfano, katika mauti huenda pakatokea ndoto ambazo hapana mtu hata mmoja azijuaye. Hofu ya kuzimu kuna nini kubwa sana katika mioyo yetu.

Kama mauti ni faradhi yamekadiriwa kwa kila mtu. Kama ni deni limepasa watu wote kulipa. Pasipo shaka sisi sote tutakufa, wala hatutaweza kurudi katika maisha kama tuamkavyo katika usingizi wetu wa kila siku. Hofu hii ya mambo yasiyojulikana katika mauti ndiyo itufanyayo tutake kuendelea kwa taabu kuchukua uzito wetu wa huzuni katika maisha.