A Dance of the Forests by Wole Soyinka

A Dance of the Forests by Wole Soyinka

Introduction

A Dance of the Forests is a profoundly symbolic and philosophical play by Wole Soyinka, where the themes of history, guilt, ritual, and the cyclical nature of human failure are explored. Written for Nigeria’s independence celebrations, Soyinka challenges the glorification of the past, instead turning to confront the moral corruption inherited from past generations. The play is not about romanticizing history but rather urging the present to face its collective guilt. Through Yoruba cosmology, spirits, and ritual drama, Soyinka uses the characters to examine how societies often evade responsibility for their actions by hiding behind traditions and celebrations.

In this alternative ending, the core themes of the play are preserved, but the focus shifts slightly. Instead of ending with a purely mystical or ritualistic closure, the ending emphasizes human responsibility, confession, and the moral reckoning of the living generation. The alternative ending remains loyal to Soyinka’s philosophical vision, yet it offers a more direct engagement with the past, suggesting that true change begins with acknowledgment rather than divine or ritualistic absolution.

Alternative Ending

As the masqueraders complete their final circle, the forest does not sink into complete darkness but settles into a strange half-light, symbolizing the unresolved nature of the community's guilt. The drums fall silent, and the weight of the silence itself becomes heavier than any sound, creating an atmosphere of anticipation. Demoke, still disturbed by the vision of the Half-Child and the crimes of the community, steps forward. Adenebi, Rola, and Agboreko remain at a distance, unsure whether the ritual has truly concluded or whether another judgment still lurks within the trees.

From the depths of the forest, the Dead Man and the Dead Woman emerge once again. This time, they are not driven by spirits nor forced by memory. They walk freely, their eyes devoid of accusation. The Half-Child, now taking on faint human features, is no longer formless. It does not cry; instead, it watches the living with a quiet, unsettling stillness.

Forest Head speaks softly:

“You summoned the past to crown your future.

The past has come, and you turned from it.

Yet it remains, for what is not faced is reborn.”

Adenebi protests, claiming that he has already paid the price—he has lost his office, dignity, and comfort. But Forest Head interrupts:

“You lost them to chance, not to truth.

Guilt still walks unburied.”

Rola, who is usually defiant and dismissive, lowers her eyes. For the first time, she speaks without her usual mockery, confessing the cruelty of her past life—her power, her manipulations, and the survival she purchased at the expense of others. She does not ask for forgiveness; she simply admits what she has been.

Agboreko, invoking ritual to justify the community’s actions, raises his staff to seal the moment with tradition. Demoke steps forward and blocks him, asserting:

“No,” Demoke says. “Ritual without memory is only dance. We have danced enough.”

He continues:

“We summoned our ancestors and received criminals. That is our likeness. If we end this night with drums and forgetting, the Half-Child will return—not as spirit, but as flesh.”

Demoke kneels before the Dead Woman—not to beg for forgiveness, but as an acknowledgment of shared guilt:

“We carry your wound in our festivals,” he says. “We carve your pain into our masks. But we do not change. If there is a future, let it begin with shame.”

Forest Head remains silent, watching. The spirits murmur like the wind through broken branches.

The Dead Man raises his hand and speaks:

“We are not here to be avenged.

We are here to be remembered correctly.”

The Half-Child touches the ground. Where its hand meets the earth, a faint red line appears, as though the soil itself remembers the blood spilled by the community.

Forest Head declares:

“There will be no blessing tonight.

Nor curse.

Only knowledge.”

The living are then commanded to face the Half-Child, not to speak of their suffering but of what they have caused. Each character admits their sins:

• Adenebi confesses the lives ruined by his bureaucratic arrogance.
• Rola admits the men she used and destroyed.
• Agboreko admits that he hid behind tradition to excuse his cowardice.

Their confessions do not redeem them but fracture the habit of denial. The masqueraders remove their masks and place them on the ground, symbolizing the shedding of false identities. The drums resume, but slowly and unevenly, as if the dancers are learning to move again after injury. The dance that follows is awkward, broken, and unsure, reflecting the community’s attempt to reconnect with itself through honest reckoning.

The Dead Woman withdraws into the shadows with the Half-Child and says:

“We go not because you are forgiven,

but because you are awake.”

Forest Head observes them silently before saying:

“Remember: the future is not born of festivals,

but of scars that refuse silence.”

The forest brightens slightly, suggesting the arrival of dawn. The spirits depart, and the humans remain—without masks, without gods to speak for them.

• Demoke says quietly, “We must build differently.”
• There is no final chorus, no divine answer—just human responsibility.
• The drums fade into footsteps.
• Blackout.

Conclusion

This alternative ending remains true to Soyinka’s original vision, rejecting sentimental reconciliation and easy forgiveness. It does not allow the community to escape its moral failings through ritual or divine spectacle. Instead, the characters are forced to confront their guilt, and the play underscores the idea that the past cannot be ignored or forgotten. The Half-Child remains a symbol of unfinished justice, and the Dead remain moral witnesses to the community’s failures rather than objects of vengeance or pity.

By shifting the resolution from divine intervention to human responsibility and confession, this alternative ending reinforces the notion that ritual alone cannot heal a society that refuses to engage with its moral inheritance. Instead of seeking absolution or blessing, the characters are presented with knowledge—the understanding that the future will not be shaped by ceremonies but by the choices made in response to the scars of the past.

The forest, no longer a mystical refuge, becomes a space of exposure where history must be confronted honestly. The new ending preserves Soyinka’s tragic vision of history as cyclical and self-perpetuating unless the living make the conscious decision to interrupt it. In this way, it emphasizes that true independence—whether political or moral—cannot be achieved through festivals or celebrations alone but only through an honest acknowledgment of guilt and the courage to act differently.

Reference :

Soyinka, Wole. A Dance of the Forests. Methuen Drama, 1981.

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