This powerful, compelling story is brought with colourful dynamism to the Crucible stage. The combined forces of strong cast, atmospheric set, lighting and soundscapes, plus a generosity of joyous, vibrant singing, drumming and movement work splendidly together in evoking Nigerian locations and in building tension as the plot advances. It’s true a good few Western ears will work hard to tune into some of the accents and fathom the poetic Yoruba imagery – but that in itself is part of the play’s message really.
Death and the King’s Horseman by Wole Soyinka, playwright, poet, novelist, actor, teacher and 1986 Nobel literature laureate, was first staged in the US in 1975, in Britain in 1990 and around the world since. The drama, sometimes set for GCSE, is based on true events in 1946’s Nigeria (though set slightly earlier) when the deep culture and spirituality of the Yoruba bumps up against Western values and colonialism.
To be king’s horseman in Yoruba culture was a privilege that came with strict duties and responsibilities, the gravest of all coming after the king died, for now the horseman himself was obliged to commit suicide. Fulfilling this final duty was the only way to uphold his own family’s honour and maintain the order of the entire universe, thereby protecting the fate and welfare of his whole community. King’s horseman, Elesin, though, can’t go through with it: outside events and personal interest conflict with this duty and he hesitates. Such conflicts, in which human flaws lead to downfall, are the set-up, of course, for any classic tragedy, and all is compounded when Elesin’s son suddenly returns from medical studies in England, intending to bury his father – until he finds he’s not dead. Now he has a dilemma of his own, but he’s not so indecisive.
Internationally renowned Utopia Theatre and artistic director Mojisola Kareem have combined with Sheffield Theatres for this play, in which award-winning professionals like Wale Ojo as horseman Elesin and Kehinde Bankole as mother of the market, Iyaloja, join with local, non-professionals. It all works a treat on a set that is, most convincingly, the marketplace. Warm wood sweeps down from the back wall and onto the thrust stage, where purple hues mingle with patches of sand and small groups of brightly clad women sit with three male drummers amid baskets of oranges and yams. These talented performers are the backbone of the piece in maintaining atmosphere and impetus; their tremendous call and response singing and movement, led by charismatic, fine-voiced Kayefi Osha, along with drumming, onstage and from afar, are integral to the progression of action and events.
Stark contrast is created as we move abruptly from Yoruba culture in the marketplace to lifestyles at the veranda-ed residence of District Officer Pilkings, a stereotypical, blinkered, bigoted colonialist, and his wife, Jane. Here waltz and tango music and no-nonsense Britishness are the order of the day, with total insensitivity to all things “native” or “pagan” well and truly ingrained. Writ large in these alternating scenes is an evergreen, universal dilemma: people from different backgrounds and cultures constantly misunderstand, misinterpret and misjudge one another. Unreasoning, inflexible, they refuse to listen, let alone empathise. Elesin’s suicide is not on for the Brits, and Simon’s duty is to prevent it. An interesting parallel emerges, though, when they hear of a World War II British naval captain who sacrifices himself and his entire ship for the greater good.
As the story unfolds, Yoruba proverbs and metaphors fly thick and fast (Pilkings considering them nonsensical riddles) often relating to Nature – the sap of the plantain, the death-announcing Not-I bird, chickens and ants, while, “Life is honour. It ends when honour ends,” sits central.
Wale Ojo’s fine portrayal of Elesin moves him on from a strong, vibrant, confident man in glorious robes with shining threads, full of honour and pride and ready to do his duty, to a cowering heap, bare-chested and in chains in a former slave cell, a totally broken man, clinging to life yet full of guilt and shame at his indecision and failure to do his duty. In beautiful lilac robes and headwear, Kehinde Bankole puts in a strong performance, too, as matriarch Iyaloja, stately and wise. When, against her advice, Elesin chooses, before he dies, to marry the young girl who’s currently engaged to her own son, she gives way, showing gentle compassion to the girl. Bridget Nkem, a timid, retiring, silent, cowed bride for most of the play, most movingly evokes the last, poignant moments, singing sweetly, full of heart-broken grief and tears.
The entire cast works strongly together. Little injections of welcome humour come from Julius Obende as Joseph and larger ones from Olusegun Lafup Ogundipe as Sergeant Amusa in uniform shorts, red sash and fez, a chap much put upon by his colonial employers and much taunted by the feisty ladies of the marketplace. Impressive and scary is Theo Ogundipe as Praise Singer, writhing and contorting, bathed in light and echo, his voice booming and reverberating as the spirit of the dead king, returning to address the errant horseman. Elesin’s son, Olunde, is played admirably by Michael Ahomka-Lindsay. With new-found English accent and smart suit Olunde suddenly returns after years away, yet the spirituality and tradition of his people are so deep within him that his own sense of honour is unflinching and he commits suicide without hesitation to make up for his father’s failure. At the sight of his son’s dead body, hopeless and wretched, Elesin stops desperately clinging to life and finally kills himself – but too late.
In full cultural contrast comes David Partridge’s sturdy portrayal of Simon Pilkings, a full-on, heavy-handed British colonialist through and through with a supremely arrogant, self-righteous sense of superiority – men over women, whites over barbaric natives and their pagan mumbo-jumbo. Shallow, ignorant, insensitive, unbending, intolerant, disrespectful and dismissive is his colonial approach. Courtesy of Laura Pyper’s fine portrayal, his wife Jane is forthright yet amiable and understanding. She has her own opinions, sounder than his, but she’s not in charge, of course, and is told to shut up.
Moving in itself, this heart-breaking story has us ponder on much broader, universal issues, both historical and current, that similarly result from our relentless, stubbornly blinkered, human behaviours and personal deficiencies. It’s a wordy drama, full of relevant, elegant, thought-provoking philosophical ideas, set on a stage full of colour, life, excitement and interest. Quite special.
Eileen Caiger Gray
