Genre: Historical Drama
Runtime: ~10–12 mins
Setting: Gold Coast (present-day Ghana), near Anomabo, 1806
Main Characters:
Ama Serwaa – Fante woman, mid-20s, strong yet vulnerable
Kwesi Boateng – Her husband, a local Fante warrior
Kofi – Their son, 7 years old
Adwoa – Their baby daughter, less than 1 year old
Narrator – Sets the scene and context
British Soldier (Private Williams) – Young and conflicted
Colonel George Torrane – Governor of Anomabo
Kojo Bediako – Ashanti commander
Background voices – villagers, soldiers, drums, cannons, children
[OPENING SCENE]
🎵 [Faint heartbeat-like drums in the distance. Ambient nighttime forest. Faint wind. Crickets.]
NARRATOR (soft, measured):
In the early dawn of June 15th, 1806… the drums began.
Not for celebration.
Not for ceremony.
But for war.
They came from deep within the Ashanti forest… and they spoke one thing:
Revenge.
🎵 [Drums growing louder, rising tension. Sound of cooking pots clattering, hurried feet on packed dirt.]
AMA SERWAA (hushed panic):
Kofi! Wake up, child. Take your sister. Quickly—no questions.
🎧 [Baby crying softly. Boy rustling in a sleeping mat.]
KOFI (half-asleep):
Mama? What’s happening?
AMA (urgent):
Drums. That’s Ashanti drums. We must go. We must go now!
KWESI (off, from outside):
Ama! Take the children to Anomabo. Don’t wait for me.
🎧 [Distant shouts. Panic building.]
AMA (to him):
No! Kwesi—come with us!
KWESI (determined):
My place is with the Fante warriors. I will meet you at the fort. Go! Protect our children!
🎧 [He rushes off. Spears and shields rattle. Ama begins running. Footsteps, gasps.]
🎵 [Rising ambient tension. Thunder in distance. Rain slicking the ground.]
NARRATOR (vivid):
Ama Serwaa runs. Her baby wrapped to her back. Her son grasping her hand.
Behind her, the sky glows orange—not with sunrise, but flame.
🎧 [Screams and musket fire faintly in background. Distant war drums.]
KOFI (panting):
Mama… where’s Papa?
AMA (short breath):
He will find us… when we are safe.
🎧 [Crowds. Thunder. Cannons preparing. British voices shouting.]
PRIVATE WILLIAMS (nervous):
Sir, the gates! There are hundreds—thousands! They’re Fante civilians!
COLONEL TORRANE (cold):
Open the gates. But only for as many as we can manage. No chaos inside.
🎧 [Gates creaking open. Screaming. People flooding in.]
AMA (pleading):
Please! Please! Let us in! My children—look at my children!
GUARD (pushing her back):
We’re full! Stay back!
🎧 [Doors slam shut. Ama is left outside with many others. Baby crying louder now.]
🎧 [Ashanti war horns. Marching feet. Roaring warriors. Thunderous drums.]
KOJO BEDIAKO (Ashanti commander, thunderous):
Men of Asanteman! The king’s justice is upon them. Strike with honor.
Leave none who stand in our way.
🎧 [Muskets fire. War cries. Blades clash. Chaos unfolds.]
NARRATOR:
The Ashanti storm the fields.
The cannons from the British fort roar.
Ashanti soldiers fall. Fante warriors fall faster.
🎧 [After-battle wind. Distant crying. Smell of smoke. Silence with occasional moans.]
AMA (quiet, broken):
Kwesi…
🎧 [She kneels. Finds a cloth. Bloodied. Recognizes it.]
AMA (whispers):
Your headscarf… it’s his…
KOFI (quietly):
Mama… is Papa coming?
AMA (holding them):
He is with the ancestors now.
🎵 [Soft vocal humming of a Fante mourning song, fading gently into background.]
🎧 [Chains clinking. Ocean waves. Sounds of British guards shouting.]
NARRATOR:
Ama and her children reach Cape Coast… not as refugees… but as property.
COLONEL TORRANE (cold):
They are no longer under protection. They are assets now. Sell them.
PRIVATE WILLIAMS (shocked):
Sir? They're civilians!
TORRANE:
So were the rebels who murdered our peace. Do as you're told.
🎧 [Heavy door slams. Chains tighten.]
🎵 [Soft ambient tones. Wind through wooden beams. Quiet lullaby.]
AMA (voice-over):
I do not know what land we will be taken to.
I do not know if we will live to see it.
But I know this.
They can take our names off the paper…
But not from our mouths.
They can bind our wrists…
But not our memory.
They can sell our bodies…
But not our souls.
🎵 [Slow fade to silence]
NARRATOR (final lines):
In June 1806, the British refused to surrender rebel chiefs to the Ashanti.
War broke out. Thousands died.
And then, under the red coat of loyalty…
Two thousand Fante civilians were sold.
One of them… was Ama Serwaa.
Let history remember her voice.
🎵 [Final music cue: Soft traditional drum + vocal fadeout]
Length: ~12 minutes
Genre: Historical Fiction / Drama
Setting: Gold Coast, 1806 – villages around Anomabo, British Fort, Cape Coast
| Character Name | Description | Voice & Accent Direction |
|---|---|---|
| Narrator | Objective third-person guide, poetic and haunting | Calm, reflective tone with occasional dramatic intensity. Neutral West African or British accent. |
| Ama Serwaa | Young Fante mother, mid-20s, brave, protective | Soft but fierce. Ghanaian Fante accent. Deep emotional range: from fear to heartbreak to quiet resolve. |
| Kofi | Ama’s 7-year-old son, observant and innocent | Child voice. Curious, scared, sometimes confused. Fante accent. |
| Adwoa (baby) | Infant daughter | Baby sounds only (crying, cooing) |
| Kwesi Boateng | Ama’s husband, a loyal Fante warrior | Strong, grounded voice. Ghanaian Fante accent. Loving father, duty-bound. |
| Kojo Bediako | Ashanti military commander, powerful orator | Commanding presence. Rich, booming voice. Ashanti/Twi accent. Intense and proud. |
| Private Edward Williams | Young British soldier, witness to horror | British accent (Yorkshire or London). Empathetic and observant. |
| Colonel George Torrane | British governor of Fort Anomabo | Arrogant, clipped upper-class British accent. Cold and tactical. |
| British Guard | Gatekeeper at Fort | Brusque, Cockney or Scottish accent. Low empathy. |
| Various Background Voices | Civilians, soldiers, warriors | Used for group shouting, crying, chanting. Mixed accents. |
🎵 [FX: Faint war drums in distance. Jungle night. Wind, insects.]
NARRATOR (somber, slow)
In the early hours of June 15th, 1806… the drums began.
Not for festival. Not for mourning. But for fire.
They came from the dark belly of the Ashanti forest—
And they spoke one thing: Vengeance.
🎵 [FX: Drums growing. Footsteps. Cattle stirred. Village panic rising.]
AMA SERWAA (urgent, whispered; Fante accent)
Kofi! Wake up now. Take your sister. Quickly—no questions!
🎧 [FX: Cloth being wrapped. Child stirring.]
KOFI (groggy, confused)
Mama…? It’s still dark…
AMA (breathing faster)
The drums, child! Ashanti drums. We must go. Get up—NOW!
🎧 [FX: Door opens. Outside commotion.]
KWESI (from outside, firm but loving)
Ama! Take the children to Anomabo. Go! I’ll join you later.
AMA (desperate)
Kwesi, don’t! Come with us!
KWESI (resolute, proud)
I am a warrior, Ama. The Fante stand today. We fight—for them, and for you.
🎧 [FX: Spears rattle, footsteps running off. Baby begins to cry.]
AMA (under breath, trembling)
Oh gods… protect him.
🎵 [FX: Rain starts to fall. Running through wet brush. Crickets, frogs.]
NARRATOR (measured, cinematic)
Through wet leaves and broken paths, she runs.
With a baby on her back, and her firstborn in hand.
Behind her: ash, fire, and drums.
🎧 [FX: Distant musket fire. Screams. Thunder rolls.]
KOFI (frightened)
Mama… is Papa fighting the Ashanti?
AMA (short breath, soft)
Yes… but he is strong. He will come to us soon.
🎧 [FX: Heavy breathing, more footsteps nearby.]
🎵 [FX: Gun loading. Cannons preparing. Crowd panic.]
PRIVATE WILLIAMS (young, panicked)
Colonel! They’re piling up at the gates—civilians—thousands of them!
COL. TORRANE (stern, cold British)
Open the gates. But only for those we can control. I won’t have a riot inside these walls.
🎧 [FX: Wooden gates creak open. Sobbing, shouting.]
AMA (pleading, exhausted)
Please! My children—let us in! Please!
BRITISH GUARD (gruff)
Too many already! Stay back, woman!
🎧 [FX: Gates slam shut. Metal bolts slide.]
KOFI (crying)
Why won’t they let us in?
AMA (quietly, holding back tears)
Because… we are not theirs to protect.
🎵 [FX: Horns. Chanting warriors. War drums at full strength.]
KOJO BEDIAKO (roaring, warrior leader)
Men of Asanteman! The traitors of Assin shelter in Anomabo!
They hide behind stone and pale-faced lies.
Today we burn their shield, and the gods will know our name!
🎧 [FX: Roars of warriors, battle cries. Marching feet.]
NARRATOR (tense)
And the Ashanti moved—30,000 strong.
Descending like a storm, beneath red banners and golden blades.
🎵 [FX: Cannons blasting. Muskets. Screams. War cries.]
PRIVATE WILLIAMS (shouting over fire)
Reload! Reload! Hold the gate! They’re at the north wall!
KOJO BEDIAKO (commanding)
Forward! Through the smoke—strike for the king! Down the gate!
🎧 [FX: Blades clashing. Men falling. Fire spreading.]
NARRATOR (grim)
The gate never fell.
But blood ran like river water.
Over 3,000 Ashanti fell.
Over 8,000 Fante—slaughtered as they ran.
🎵 [FX: Wind. Moaning. Crackling fire. Quiet aftermath.]
AMA (soft, choked)
Kwesi…?
🎧 [FX: Cloth rustles. She picks up a blood-stained scarf.]
AMA (cont’d)
Your headscarf… Oh gods…
KOFI (whispers)
Mama… where’s Papa?
AMA (holds him close)
He’s with the ancestors now, my son.
🎵 [FX: Humming—Fante lullaby, soft and sorrowful.]
🎵 [FX: Ocean waves. Chains rattling. Portside noise.]
NARRATOR (disgusted, restrained)
Ama reached Cape Coast… not as a survivor,
but as a commodity.
TORRANE (matter-of-fact)
They are now assets. Arrange for their sale. The ships are waiting.
PRIVATE WILLIAMS (horrified)
Sir, they were refugees! Children—women—
TORRANE (coldly)
Slavery is still legal, Private. Do not pretend it is new to you.
🎧 [FX: Chains tightening. Weeping. Doors slamming shut.]
🎵 [FX: Ship creaks. Soft sobs. Wind.]
AMA (calm, voice of iron)
I do not know the name of the land where we are bound.
I do not know if my children will see their father’s grave.
But I know this.
They can take our names from paper…
But not from our tongues.
They can chain our hands…
But not our memories.
They can sell our bodies…
But not our soul.
🎵 [FX: Fante lullaby returns, layered with waves, fade to silence]
NARRATOR (soft, final)
In June 1806, two Assin rebels sought shelter from justice.
The Ashanti demanded blood. The British refused.
And as war took lives…
One man sold two thousand more—for silver and silence.
Let history remember Ama Serwaa.
And all the mothers who were not meant to survive.
🎵 [Final beat. Fade out.]