Bang Bang Bang (7 page)

Tell me the names of the victims so I can go and talk to them directly.

SADHBH. Why would I give you their names?

Would you mind not pointing your gun at me?

COLONEL MBURAME.
Vous ne pouvez pas comprendre, comment pouvez-vous comprendre?

SADHBH. Colonel Mburame.

COLONEL MBURAME.
J'essaie de protéger mon peuple.

Whatever I have to do to protect my people is whatever I have to do.

Comment s'appellent ils? Montrez les moi!

COLONEL MBURAME
grabs her notebook. He flicks quickly through it.

SADHBH. There are no names. It's a list of the allegations.

He reads through them.

COLONEL MBURAME. Why is this the business of the Irish?

SADHBH. My business here concerns serious violations of international humanitarian and human rights law.

COLONEL MBURAME. The white angel from the west –

Come to drag me to The Hague!

Is this not so?

SADHBH. I believe that things can be better, Colonel Mburame.

COLONEL MBURAME. Drink your tea, Madame Kavanagh.

She does as she is told.

He hands back the book.

Write – ‘It was never meant to happen this way.'

SADHBH. What wasn't?

COLONEL MBURAME. Some people were killed but that wasn't my fault.

Je ne suis pas coupable.

Write that in your book.

SADHBH. I will.

COLONEL MBURAME. Write – ‘It wasn't these two hands.'

Ce n'était pas ces mains,

ce n'était pas ces mains.

Tell that to your relevant authorities. Go home, Madame Kavanagh.

This is not your business. This is not your war.

COLONEL MBURAME
stands.

When I was a child there were massacres in my village. The blue helmets stood by as my father's cattle were stolen, his farm burned to the ground.

My mother murdered with a hammer.

The Hutu killers did not want to waste a bullet and cutting is such hard work. You are looking at my cut.

Touch me. Touch me. (
Grabs her hand and presses it on his forehead.
) A survivor's scar.

The wound festered with squirming insects for three weeks. I was left for dead, Madame Kavanagh.

He releases her hand.

This is your international concern?

Your ‘humanitarian assistance'?

We want none of it.

My conscience is clear.

COLONEL MBURAME
drinks his tea. He puts down his cup.

Pause.

And now, Madame Kavanagh, I fear I must leave you.

SADHBH
stands up.

Non! Attendez ici.
I'll tell your driver to come here. It's getting dark.
C'est plus prudent de rester ici jusqu'à l'arrivée de votre escorte.

SADHBH. Thank you, Colonel Mburame. I will think carefully about what you have said. I hope you do likewise.

COLONEL MBURAME
exits.
SADHBH
sits. She looks at the
FEMALE SOLDIER
. The
FEMALE SOLDIER
looks straight ahead.

End of Act One.

ACT TWO

One

Goma. A house party.

A noisy party scene – with Congolese Soukous music – dim lighting – perhaps candles – oil lamps. There are bottles, bodies, snogging, red plastic chairs, a string of lights, perhaps a poster advertising Primus.

People are dancing. There is an atmosphere of abandon.

After some moments the other bodies move on and
RONAN
and
VIN
are revealed. They are drinking bottles of Primus. The party still ongoing but at a much lower level.

RONAN (
an Irish Foreign correspondent
)
is talking with
VIN (
a young photographer
).

RONAN. You came to Goma on a punt?

VIN. Yeah. I think if I can get good pictures and a story.

Maybe someone like the
Sunday Times
will buy my work.

RONAN. Who do you know at the
Sunday Times
?

VIN. My mum's cousin is married to the editor of the Travel section.

RONAN. Brilliant.

VIN. I've heard people talking about Masisi.

You're going there, right?

RONAN. Right.

VIN. They say – it's violent. Murderous.

It's a restaurant for flies. They feast.

RONAN. What twat said that?

I wrote it, didn't I.

VIN. Yeah – but that's why I wanted to talk to you.

A girl from Médecins sans Frontières said you might be able to help me.

RONAN. How?

VIN. You'll need a photographer, right?

RONAN. I have a photographer.

VIN. I could just watch you?

RONAN. No. How do you intend to get to Masisi?

VIN. I'll hire a motorbike.

RONAN
laughs.

RONAN. I've never seen a roadworthy bike in Congo –

And the roads from Goma to Masisi / are terrible.

VIN. You can get stuck in mud. You can get held up. Robbed. I know.

RONAN. I have security when I travel.

You know that too. Right?

VIN. If I'm prepared to come here then I'm prepared to take the risks.

RONAN. Rule number one – the only rule –

No job is worth your life.

Why do you want to risk your life for an article –

VIN. Photo essay. I'm a / photographer.

RONAN. For a photo essay no one is going to want?

This is an ongoing story so unless you've got a commission?

Or find a story about cannibalism – maybe child-raping peacekeepers…

VIN. Yeah. Okay.

RONAN. Man!

You need papers to go anywhere.

VIN. I have a letter from the
Walthamstow Guardian.

RONAN. That'll be a great help.

VIN. Yeah, yeah. Okay.

RONAN. You can't just rock up to a village and take your camera out.

VIN. Will you help me or not?

RONAN. Forget it.

It's a responsibility.

VIN
takes a book out of his backpack.

VIN. Have a look at my pictures.

RONAN. Why not.

RONAN
flicks through the shots.

VIN. Those are of the flood near Cockermouth – the collapse of Lorton Bridge. It was incredible – my dad is an RAF squadron leader and we –

RONAN. The good news is – you've got talent.

VIN. And the bad news?

RONAN. You haven't a fucking clue why you're good.

There's nothing about this shot that tells me it's Cockermouth or anywhere for that matter. It's a wanky arty picture of water.

He flicks through the other pictures.

You've got to have purpose behind the image. Got it?

And I don't give a shit who your dad is.

VIN. I learn quickly.

RONAN. That helps.

VIN. I've got passion and honesty.

RONAN. So did a lot of dead photographers.

Hands him back his portfolio.

The face is very powerful. Don't be afraid of the obvious. Not bad, though.

VIN. Brilliant. Thanks. Thanks so much.

RONAN. For nothing. It's just an opinion. Take it or leave it.

He hands
VIN
back the portfolio.

Man, your best bet is to bed one of the aid workers.

VIN. What?

RONAN. They've got security, the houses, the cars and the contacts.

VIN. Do you know someone I can talk to? Anybody here?

RONAN. Look around. What do you see?

VIN. Wall-to-wall women.

RONAN. If I were you I would go back to the nice girl from Médecins sans Frontières and ask to see her stamp collection.

They're not called ‘Nurses Without Knickers' for nothing.

VIN. Really?

RONAN
rolls his eyes.

VIN
scans the room for the sex-starved.
RONAN
writes something on a bit of paper.

RONAN. Buddy?

VIN. Yes?

RONAN. This is not your playground. It's a dangerous place.

He hands him the piece of paper.

That's where I'm staying.

We're leaving at 6 a.m. and won't be waiting.

VIN. Are you serious?

RONAN. Jaysus, don't hug me. Get me a beer / for fuck's sake.

VIN. Excellent. Thank you. Bloody brilliant.

Will do.

VIN
wanders off and bumps smack into
SADHBH
and
MATHILDE.

RONAN (
to himself
). Ahh, Jesus wept.

VIN. Ladies! Can I get you a drink?

SADHBH. We're okay.

MATHILDE. It's okay.

RONAN. The Kincasslagh Kavanagh.

How the hell are you?

SADHBH. Not too shabby.

RONAN. And who is this vision?

SADHBH. Pick on someone your own age.

MATHILDE. Mathilde Rolla.

She holds out her hand and he shakes it.

Sadhbh's assistant.

RONAN. Ronan Fitzgerald.

Sadhbh's admirer.

SADHBH. He's like this with everyone.

RONAN
pulls out a bottle of Jägermeister and shot glasses.

It's going to be one of those nights, is it?

He pours three shots.

RONAN. Pull up a couple of pews there, Mathilde.

MATHILDE
drags over a chair.

SADHBH. There's something very wrong about drinking Jägermeister in Africa.

RONAN. Gowanouttathat. Get up the yard.

He knocks back a shot.

They knock back a shot.

MATHILDE. It's gone ‘up the yard' and tastes like medicine.

RONAN. Numbs the brain and warms the heart.

Just what the doctor ordered.

SADHBH. What's the craic?

RONAN. I've just been in Kigali covering Jean Butler's visit to some genocide sites – Jean Butler's visit to some ‘Maison des Veuves'. Jean Butler visits gorillas in the fucking mist.

MATHILDE. Who is Jean Butler?

RONAN. Did the nineties completely pass you by?

Jean Butler – Riverdance – the Eurovision?

SADHBH. What's she doing in Kigali?

RONAN. Teaching Rwandans to Riverdance. I don't fucking know, Sadhbh.

SADHBH. It's a PR visit.

RONAN. Lovely girl an' all – don't get me wrong – but there must be a more edifying way to make a livin'.

And Kigali is a fuckin joke.

There are so many NGOs they're trippin' over one another and they'll tell you the best place to get steak and where the jazz clubs are but they haven't a fucking clue about the disaster that's happening in North Kivu – I've been thinking about running an article on it.

Lazy fat-arse NGOs driving around in their four-by-fours while Masisi burns a couple of hours drive away.

Let's tell people exactly where their direct debit is going.

SADHBH. No aid agency will touch you with a shitty stick if you run that story.

RONAN. It's time we had a grown-up debate about the C-word in the aid world.

SADHBH. Corruption is a red herring, Ronan.

For God's sake – don't print stuff that will stop people giving.

I mean – our organisation daren't mention that donations are spent on office chairs. But you know – we have an office.

He pours them another shot.

RONAN. Are you suggesting your organisation be impervious to scrutiny?

SADHBH. I'm saying – recognise the impact of negative sentiment.

RONAN. True enough.

Another poncey party full of bleeding-heart aid workers.

Shouldn't you be in some hole lassoing warlords?

SADHBH. We've got R and R for a couple of days – Stephen is in Tanzania on business so we're going to try to – connect – if he can hitch a ride here.

RONAN
looks at
SADHBH
flirtatiously.

RONAN. He was a locationship, wasn't he?

SADHBH. Yep. I met Stephen exactly same time I met you.

RONAN
looks away.

RONAN. He got there just before I did.

SADHBH. ‘We' were never on the cards.

RONAN. Oh yes we were. Don't think you can deny it.

Mathilde, this woman could have changed me.

SADHBH. I doubt that somehow.

RONAN. Is he missing you? The poor fucker.

Must be awful when the girlfriend is married to the job.

How do you keep it going? You here – him there.

SADHBH. We manage.

RONAN
takes a large draught of his beer.

RONAN. Don't tell him I was asking for him.

SADHBH. I won't.

They clink glasses and drink a shot each.

RONAN. So what are you, Mathilde?

MATHILDE. Excuse me?

RONAN. Mercenary? Missionary? Misfit? All of the above?

MATHILDE. Who is this guy?

SADHBH. Don't pay any heed to him.

RONAN. That's all Congo needs.

Another mental female with a big heart.

VIN
delivers
RONAN
's beer.

Vin, meet Sadhbh Kavanagh – very senior human rights researcher here in Congo. /

And her glamorous assistant Mathilde Rolla.

You should pick their brains on Masisi.

VIN. Hi. Hi.

Oh, really?

MATHILDE. We've just come from there.

RONAN. Whose party is this anyway?

SADHBH. Did you never meet Romy – big tall dark-haired girl – / Doctor with the Red Cross?

MATHILDE (
to
VIN). We've just been investigating.

RONAN. She's Irish?

SADHBH. She's putting us / up for a few nights.

VIN (
to
MATHILDE). Sorry?

MATHILDE (
to
VIN). In Masisi. The attack on the Hutu –

RONAN. Dr Romy from Kinlough? Indeed. I know her intimately.

SADHBH. Of course you do. /

Hit me again.

VIN (
to
MATHILDE). I'd love to talk to you about it.

RONAN
pours them another shot.

The music flares up.