Some would agree that the love that a mother has for her children is something that is universal no matter where on this earth that woman resides. This statement could not be truer for Evalynn Okolie a Mid-Nigerian woman in her mid-sixties. She is a single mother after she loses her husband to diabetes. She has two sons that she loves with everything that she has and like a mother bear her goal is to keep them safe. In Nigeria the belief is that if you have white skin, you are worth more than gold. When Evalynn’s son Soli was born and came out with no pigmentation his father shunned him, wanted to sell him, didn’t want any of the neighbors to know he existed and tried to get rid of him, but she saw him as a gift from God and would have none of it. She went out of her way to keep him hidden for worries that someone would kidnap him and sell him. Home schooled him, for years not allowing him to go outside at all, lied to him about why saying that his white skin would burn in the sun. But like all maturing children Soli gets curious, he ventures outside to find that she was wrong, his skin didn’t burn and slowly Evalynn began to allow him to go outside with his big brother, do normal things, she let her guard down. But when Soli goes missing Evalynn’s heart is broken. She searches for him and spends the rest of her life blaming herself. How do you fix the pain that a mother feels when she feels that she has failed at her one job… to be the protector. *The actress in this performance must be of African descent.
Soli
(Inside the Okolie’s Home, Evalynn Okolie, 65, is sitting on a couch, in her living room, arms rested on her lap. Her accent is heavy Mid-Nigeria. She is petite and about 5 feet tall, no more than 63 kilos. She is wearing an Ankara wrapper around her body, black buckled sandals and white socks. Her hair is shaved, completely bald.)
Evalynn Okolie: Obinna! Obinna! Go fetch pure water and bisect.
Oh no! I’m ready but you must take food first.Take. Eh he… Now I can talk. The boy, in the kitchen, is my oldest son Obinna Jeffery Okolie. He has been the man of the house since my husband died. Of em…how do you say.
(Yells for her son)
Obinna!
(Stumbles) Diabetes
Yes
Before he, died he blessed me with one more boy. Chukwuka Soloman Okolie, my youngest. My Soli. Your skin reminds me of him. But of course, he was more handsome than you. Solomon. My son. Was em… em. White fleshed. How do you English say…Albino. When I gave birth to him. I thought God was punishing me. I said. Ah Ah… What is this? How can I have a baby that looks like this? My husband wanted to sell him because he did not want to raise a white fleshed baby. In the village, they say “Beka Emala.” An unfortunate man with white skin. My husband said “the boy will be killed and sold if anyone sees him. We might as well sell the child and make money from him before anyone else can.” I did not agree with my husband. Sell a child that is my flesh and blood? That I sweated and cried to put here, into this world? Emba! No, no, no! This child was staying with me, even if he had come out blue. I mean, I just saw Soli’s eyes. And knew that this child was my blessing. I couldn’t do it. My husband did not talk to me for months. Not even in his dying days. Some nights he would try to take the baby while I was asleep. So, I started to sleep with Soli in the closet when he was home so that he could not take him away while I slept. He gave up after he got ill and died. I wasn’t sad when my husband died. Emba. No. I felt good. How do you say…I could… relax. I didn’t have to worry that Soli would be taken from me.