The lights come up on langston's side. His phone rings.

langston: Langston speaking, hullo. [He listens.] Rosey Pool, hey, I’m good, thanks. How are you doing, my dear sister? I hope your trip to London was a success. [Pause.] You found Bloke? And he gave you his address? Brilliant! [langston is visibly excited.] Oh yes, please give it to me. I was getting worried that he hasn't been answering my letters. Let me write it down. [He takes a pen and writes in his notebook.] Thank you, I really appreciate this.

LANGSTON [reads aloud as he types]: LOST

LOW LOST

LONG LOST

FOUND BLOKE.

I thought you had gone to Limbo, wherever that is – until Rosey Pool just called and gave me your address. Where have you been and what happened to the girl you wrote the poem about? And have you written any more poems? If so, send them to me to consider for my anthology. If I’d known where you were, on my way back from Lagos, I had some hours in the London airport and would have phoned you to take a helicopter out for a drink. Or maybe I’d have stayed over a day to see how you are doing. Anyhow, I might be going to the Mbari Writers’ Conference in June, so will probably stop in London on the way to or from – most likely from – on the homebound trip.

Have you got a telephone? Send me the number, please. And tell Rosey thanks for letting me know you are still in the land of the living. I’d gotten a bit worried since NOBODY had news of you – and you are my favourite Bantu.

BLOKE: Dumela, Langston, Sakubona:

In case your State Department has some habits that the South African one has, I must explain that the jazz above is not a secret code – stress, NOT. Both mean the same thing: hello; in Sesotho and Zulu.