An experimental choreographed poem,made within the LA Rebellion movement…
Diary of an African Nun
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- Citation
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- Transcript
A nun in Uganda is consumed by fear and doubt about her decision to take the solemn vows of poverty, chastity and obedience. Her anguish intensifies night after night as she lies on a hard bed in her small room at the convent and listens to the rhythmic, beckoning drums of her village. Adapted from a short story by Alice Walker, the film was a deliberate first move by director Julie Dash toward narrative filmmaking, The work precedes and anticipates her acclaimed film Daughters of the Dust.
Citation
Main credits
Dash, Julie (film director)
Walker, Alice (screenwriter)
Barbara-O (actor)
Other credits
Cinematography, Orin Mitchell; editing, Julie Dash.
Distributor subjects
Africa; ReligionKeywords
WEBVTT
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of lovely Uganda mountains,
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and is a resting place for travelers,
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classrooms in daylight,
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a hotel when the sun sets.
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The Americans cannot understand my humility,
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I bring them clean sheets and towels
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and return their too much money and candid smiles.
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The Germans are very different.
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They do not offer money, but praise.
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The sight of me strikes their sentimentality,
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and as I am unalterably rooted in native ground,
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they consider me a work of primitive art
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housed in a magical color,
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the incarnation of civilization, anti-heathenism,
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and the fruit of a triumphing idea.
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They are coolly passionate,
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and smile at me lecherously
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with speculative crystal eyes of bright, historical blue.
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The French find me charmant,
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and would like to paint a picture.
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The Italians, used as they are to the habit,
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concern themselves with the giant cockroaches
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in the latrines,
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and give me hardly a glance,
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except in reproach for them.
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I am, perhaps, as I should be.
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Gloria Deum.
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Gloria in excelsis Deo.
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I am a wife of Christ,
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a wife of the Catholic Church,
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the wife of a celibate martyr and saint.
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The question is in the eyes of all who come here.
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Why are you, so young, so beautiful, a nun?
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I was born in this township,
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a village civilized by American missionaries.
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All my life, I have lived here
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within walking distance of the Ruwenzori Mountains.
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(people chanting in foreign language)
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When I was younger,
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in a bright blue school uniform and bare feet,
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I came every day to the mission school.
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\"Good morning,\' I chanted to the people I met,
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but especially to the nuns and priests
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who taught at my school.
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I did not know then that they could not have children.
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They seemed so productive and full of intense, regal life.
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I wanted to be like them,
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and now I am,
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shrouded in whiteness
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like the mountains I see from my window.
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(people chanting in foreign language)
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At 20, I earned the right to wear this dress,
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never to be without it,
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always to bathe myself in cold water, even in winter,
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and wear my mission-cropped hair well covered.
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(people chanting in foreign language)
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(people clapping rhythmically)
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Boys I knew as a child are kind to me now, and gentle,
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and I see them married, and kiss their children,
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each one of them so much what our Lord wanted.
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We have not yet been so lucky,
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and we never shall.
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(people chanting in foreign language)
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(people clapping rhythmically)
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(drums beating)
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At night, I sit in my room until seven,
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then I go obediently to bed.
(drums beating)
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Through the windows, I can hear the drums,
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smell the roasting goat\'s meat,
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feel the rhythm of the festive chants,
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and I sing my own chant in response to theirs.
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My chant is less old than theirs.
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They do not know this.
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They do not even care.
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Do I care?
(drums beating)
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Must I still long to be within the black circle
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around the red, glowing fire
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to feel the breath of love hot against my cheeks,
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smell the love strong about my waiting thighs?
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Must I still tremble at the passions
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stifled beneath this voluminous, rustling snow.
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(drums beating)
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How long must I sit by my window
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before I lure you down from the sky,
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pale lover, who never knew the dance
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and could not do it.
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I bear your colors, I am your livery, I belong to you.
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Will you not come down and take me?
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Or are you even less passionate
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than your father who took but could not show his face?
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(drums beating)
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Now they will be breaking out the wine,
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cutting the goats meat into sinewy strips.
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Teeth will clutch it, wring it,
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cruel, greedy, greasy lips will curl over it
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in an ecstasy which has never ceased
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wherever there were goats and men.
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(drums beating)
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Wine will be hot from the fire.
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It will cut through the obscene clutter on those lips
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and turn them from their goat\'s meat to that other.
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(drums beating)
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A young girl will come to the circle.
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Hidden in black, she will not speak to anyone.
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She will begin the dance,
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every eye following the blue flashes
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of her oiled, slippery body,
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every heart pounding to the flat clacks of her dusty feet.
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Her eyes are leveled at her lover, one of the crowd.
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He will dance with her.
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The tempo will increase.
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All the crowd can see the weakening of her knees,
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can feel in their own loins
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the loosening of her rolling thighs.
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The lover makes her wait until she\'s in a frenzy,
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tearing off her clothes
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and snatching at the narrow cloth he wears.
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Eyes of the crowd are forgotten.
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The final taking is unbearable
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as they rock through the oldest dance.
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(drums beating)
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Our Father which art in heaven, hallowed be Thy name,
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Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth,
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and in heaven,
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would the ecstasy be quite as fierce and sweet?
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\"Sweet sister,\" they will say,
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have we not yet made a convert of you?\"
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What must I answer my husband?
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To say the truth would mean oblivion,
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to be forgotten for another thousand years.
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Still, perhaps I shall answer this to him who took me:
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\"Dearly beloved, let me tell you
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about the mountains and the spring.
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The mountains that we see around us are black.
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It is the snow that gives them their icy whiteness.
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What have I or my mountains to do with a childless marriage,
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or with eyes that can only see the snow,
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or with you, or friends of yours
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who do not believe that you are really dead,
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pious faithful who do not yet realize
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that barrenness is death?
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Or perhaps I might say, \'Leave me alone,
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I will do your work.\'
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Or what is more likely, I will say nothing of the melancholy
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at your lack of faith in the spring,
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for what is my faith in the spring
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and the eternal melting of snows, you will ask,
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but your belief in the Resurrection?
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Could I convince one so wise
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that my belief bears more fruit?\"
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(drums beating)
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How to teach a barren world to dance.
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It is a contradiction that divides the world.
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My mouth must be silent, then,
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though my heart jumps to the booming of the drums,
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as to the last strong pulse of life in a dying world.
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But the drums will soon, one day, be silent.
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I will help muffle them forever.
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To assure life for my people in this world,
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I must be among the lying ones
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and teach them how to die.
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I will turn their dances into prayers to an empty sky,
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and their lovers into dead men,
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and their babies into unsung chants
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that choke their throats each spring.
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In this way will the wife
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of a loveless, barren, hopeless Western marriage
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broadcast the joys of an enlightened religion
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to an imaginative people.
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I am perhaps as I should be.
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Gloria Deum.
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Gloria in excelsis Deo.
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(drums beating)
(people chanting)
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(drums beating)
(people chanting)
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(drums beating)
(people chanting)
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(drums beating)
(people chanting)
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(drums beating)
(people chanting)
Distributor: Women Make Movies
Length: 13 minutes
Date: 1977
Genre: Dramatization
Language: English / English subtitles
Grade: College, Adults
Color/BW:
Closed Captioning: Available
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