Mustafa
Laylah Ahmed
WHO Mustafa, thirties, British Asian, of Pakistani heritage.
TO WHOM Len, a senior police officer.
WHERE The recreation room of a UK prison.
WHEN Present day.
WHAT HAS JUST HAPPENED Mustafa is a devout Muslim. He is serving a prison sentence for the manslaughter of a teenage boy who died during an exorcism. Mustafa has been put in solitary confinement following a series of mysterious and violent incidents. Strange things happen around him. People are apt to behave more aggressively as if possessed; lights flicker on and off. His own personal prison officer, Len, quite out of character, has physically harmed him. He is known throughout the prison as Magic Mustafa and is regarded with deep suspicion. Mustafa, who is refusing to eat, to leave his cell and to take part in regulation activities, has been denied certain ‘privileges’. He has had his prayer mat and notebook confiscated. Mustafa decides that one simple way of getting them back is to go to the recreation room. While the other inmates are watching a football match on television, Mustafa plays a round of pool with himself. It is enough to ‘show willing’, and Len agrees to return the items. He wants to know, however, why Mustafa is refusing to eat. Len points out that it is not Ramadan. In the speech that follows Mustafa explains why he is fasting.
WHAT TO CONSIDER
• | Mustafa has always protested his innocence. |
• | The ‘djinn’ or evil spirit that he maintains killed the boy is still present. |
• | Outside, in his community, opinion is divided. Some believe Mustafa a hero for having saved the boy from the djinn, others think him ‘a crazed Mullah’, who murdered a boy who, most probably, was suffering from some kind of psychosis. Read the play to find out more. |
WHAT HE WANTS
• | To make meaningful contact with Len. Note how it is the first time in the play that he has spoken so freely and so copiously. |
• | To educate Len. |
• | (And more subliminally) to reassure Len that he, Mustafa, understands why Len was violent towards him and to show that he forgives him. |
KEYWORDS storm boiling growling rage angry hungry embarrassed ashamed
Mustafa
You know, I hated fasting when I was a kid. Didn’t get it. Why would anyone think it’d be good for you to not eat or drink…? Even cheated sometimes. […] Once when I was older, it’s Ramzaan and I’m in a shop trying to buy dates and get home to break fast with my brother and this old guy’s with his grandson and he’s holding up the queue. First he wants a few more items, then he’s lost his wallet, then he remembers something else he needs – and he doesn’t speak a word of English. He’s Bengali, going on in his own language and the kid on the till, Pakistani kid, is too embarrassed to try and communicate with the old guy. So I storm to the front of the queue and I start yelling at the old guy and shouting at the kid on the till. I’ve been waiting ages, it’s boiling hot and there’s like a massive hole in my stomach growling for food, for water, for this old guy to get out of the way! I’ve got to get home, I’m telling them, to break fast! […] Kid behind the till just gets more embarrassed, takes my money, hands me the dates and I leave. Got home, too late despite my efforts. My aunt’s yelling about me getting the wrong kinda dates, my brother’s nowhere to be seen so I leave – still haven’t eaten anything. I’m walking down the road in a rage, hungry as hell, and I see the old Bengali guy sitting on the street with his grandson. They obviously didn’t get out of the shop too soon so they’re breaking their fast right there in the street. The kid’s smiling and the old guy’s feeding him a banana and an apple – they didn’t have much. I see this tired old Bengali guy, in the boiling heat after a fifteen-hour fast, sipping water patiently, while his grandson eats the only thing they’ve got before they walk home. The kid’s too young to fast – was eating chocolate in the shop but still he’s munching away at the fruit – asking his gramps for more water. He sees me and… I’m ashamed – don’t know why. So I look away, think I’m gonna cross over the road, keep walking. But the kid runs up and pulls me over – the old guy’s telling me to sit. And he gives me a date, and a sip of water – pats me on the back, like he knows how angry and hungry I am. He offers me the fruit… Three of us sat there, on a pavement in the middle of the city sharing an apple, a banana and handful of dates. I haven’t missed a fast since that day.
[…]
Thing is, Len, everyone in that queue – Granddad included – was fasting. All of us were hungry. Everyone was boiling. I’d been fasting for years and I never thought about that – ridiculous, I know. My brother, who I rushed home for? Wasn’t fasting, out with his college mates somewhere in the city centre. That was it then. I wanted to know how an old guy like that, who must have been more knackered and hungry than me when I was shouting into his face in the shop – could smile and offer me a fair share at his meal when he had every right to kick off. Sometimes you have to do things for someone else – when you know you’re going to get nothing back but trouble. Just cos it’s the right thing to do… It ain’t just about the food and drink, Len, it’s about who we are, from sunup to sundown. Who we want to be… 