Negros or Slaves no more

 

I want to write a monolog with a futuristic undertone. The story line is about once enslaved Africans on an island in the Atlantic Ocean. For hundreds of years they have been controlled and under the spell and dominance of the Dutch. The Dutch for hundreds of years think they have crested the formula that will keep the Africans enslaved. They see it as keeping the Blacks Negros indefinite in time. In a solid state formula the Dutch has created. Human chicken heads. Confused and depended. 

They see the Blacks as their people puppets. People that are stuck in desiring for those that have oppressed them to acknowledge them. 

Something happens an awakening. The cycle becomes broken by the Blacks. They awaken to see their own values as human and independent. They stop caring about what their former colonizers think. 

They create an underground, a way of life hidden from the White Dutch.  

(Lights rise on AFIA, a woman in her prime, standing center stage. She wears simple island garb, but with a determined glint in her eyes. A futuristic cityscape, shrouded in mist, projects on the backdrop.)

AFIA

For generations, we've danced to their infernal tune. A symphony of chains and condescension. They, the pale Dutch, think they've bottled us in their little formula – Negros ad Infinitum. Solid state subjugation, that's what they call it. Heads of human chickens, clucking for scraps of approval from the very hands that stole our freedom.

(Afia paces the stage, her voice gaining anger)

AFIA

We yearned for their "recognition," a hollow word for the whip they cracked across our backs. We built their monuments, birthed their children, all the while waiting for a pat on the head, a crumb of validation. But the well of their kindness has always run dry.

(A pause. Afia's anger softens into resolve)

AFIA

But something has shifted. A spark, a whisper in the dead of night. We're starting to see ourselves, not as their twisted creation, but as the descendants of warriors, of storytellers, of dreamers. We carry the rhythm of our ancestors in our hearts, a rhythm far superior to their cold, mechanical tune.

(Afia gestures towards the backdrop, the cityscape starting to flicker)

AFIA

They cling to their steel and glass cages, their power fading with each sunrise. We, on the other hand, are cultivating something far more potent - a hidden world beneath their very noses. A symphony of resistance, of self-love, of the indomitable human spirit.

(Afia's voice rises)

AFIA

They can keep their "Negros ad Infinitum." We are forging our own future, a future where our humanity resonates louder than any machine, a future where we look not for their approval, but for the reflection of our own brilliance in each other's eyes.

(The backdrop explodes with vibrant colors, replacing the cityscape with an image of a thriving African community. Afia raises her arms in triumph)

AFIA

The dance is over. The Negros are no more. We are free.