By Cuba Ukoh

Twitter: @CubaUkoh




One boyman is afflicted with sympathy in my platoon. There is nothing more irritating than a compassionate robber. A few days ago, for the third time! I had to snatch his gun and pull the trigger.

“Didn’t you see she recognized us?” I jacked the bastard when we returned to base. “You will rot in Kirikiri one day because of pity! Listen, boyman, you’re not better than me o! Shey you dey hear me?” The foolish giant nodded, and then I told him, I said, “You be barawo, I be barawo. We are going to hell already, so next time I give you an order and you fumble, I might just help you reach hell first.”

“Yasah,” he mumbled, shivering … the toothless bulldog.

I shook my head. “Boyman,”


“I mean it.”



My Oga thinks I’m a fool. Okotie and I are the new boymen in the platoon. Okotie is still a teenager but he guzzles shots like cold water and takes shots at any glint of opportunity. Fatal blood the mass of the Red Sea I imagine is on Okotie’s head. He claims he’s nineteen. I have reason to believe he’s seventeen, but that is another story.

I swear I’m good at my job. I bear the symptoms of success: I’m loyal, always punctual; I work hard, even put in extra hours. I’m also great with leads. Oh boy, I’m great with leads. My only problem is my conscience; I still have one, and I’m easily troubled by it. But know that I am no virgin, I have nearly killed before; struck a man into the spirit world for almost a week! It was a mistake though. The drunk had provoked me, and well, my fist is all bone and thunder. I remembered why the stranger’s face was so familiar weeks after the death-blow that went down at Akipu’s bar. We had sat close to each other in a Young Shall Grow bus almost a year before. He was that sort that went on and on about politics. I remember it was the trip to my grandmother’s funeral. What are the chances?

It embarrasses me that I have this problem–my, conscience issue. I’m old enough to be Okotie’s father; if he is the age I suspect. Yet between him and me, he’s become the exemplary boyman in the eyes of our platoon. If he gets promoted to real-guy soon and another boyman is recruited to join me, I would forever be the official clown of our platoon.

I’m tall, hefty; my body has worked against me all my life. The cement weights I lift at Fela’s backyard have turned my bulk into fine waves of robust muscles. The smell of sweat pursues me with ease. It doesn’t take much to win a resounding first impression. When I huff or heave against a grimace, I promise you will shiver. But this selling point has now put me in hot soup, because for my stature and poise I am automatically expected to be Okotie’s mentor. But … I have a conscience problem.

When a baga is acting stubborn to show money, we blast their ceiling. That, I don’t mind; ceilings can’t bleed. One shot, two shots, and they shiver to their safes, underneath their beds, cupboards, or wherever they have hidden the pepper. One man hid his stash in his kitchen oven, thirty-five thousand naira!  We took some bread and sardines with us as we left.

But it isn’t really like we play with guns. Just like police, we shoot to protect ourselves, I mean sometimes, we are even attacked by these people. We also shoot if the baga recognizes us, any of us.  Of course this doesn’t happen every night.

I can swear on my grandmother’s coffin that on our previous round I believed I was ready for blood. My line of mercy was thin; Oga had already threatened me on three different occasions. I just never imagined we would end up there. I’m an armed robber, not a soothsayer. How could I have explained the situation to Oga.

Anyway, I had a serious conversation with a green bottle of courage last night, chastising and chest pounding in dizzy circles around my room. I have to shoot without hesitation next time. I have to. Not because I’m intimidated by the bloody teenager, or even Oga’s threats. Truth is, I simply have not gathered enough honour to afford me one more visit with failure. My pride is stronger than this conscience of mine … I only feel sorry for the stranger who will pay the price.




I’m tired of wearing black. Each day I’m more convinced I should have chosen to mourn in white. Changing in the middle would be confusing to my husband’s people. But this black is tormenting me. I can feel it, poisoning my aura, feeding the endless nightmares that began after Thomas died. I wake up tortured by the memories of bitter dreams that will haunt me all day long. In these dreams he’s still alive and life is going on as it used to, he even goes to the shop … I cook dinner… but then I wake to find I did not bring him to the world of breath with me.

I’m thankful this week insomnia found me, but it has come with its own problems. Once I hear an odd sound at night, I jump out of bed. All I can think is that the thieves have broken into my compound again, or that my husband’s spirit is hovering about the house like the ghosts in those 90s Nollywood movies; white nightgown and powdered face, but my own ghost is anything but funny. Usually, my cat is responsible for the racket. Other times, I can’t account for these strange noises.

Hoping for peace of mind, I gave her away this morning. I have missed the simple pleasure of slumber without the torment of nightmares so genuine I wake up feeling I have just returned from a voyage overseas … over-dreams. I hope parting with Bell will help. Bell is the cat, a gift from my ex-boyfriend. He used to tease me because when I sniff, I wince my nose like a kitten. So one day he surprised me with Bell.

Before my gift I had thought last of pets as a child. But love did stupid things to you, stupid things that were good for your heart. And Bell came with all the warmth of my childhood in Kano. My husband despised her though he did not suspect me of anything short of loyalty, even though it was obvious I was unhappy. It was obvious. He hated the poor thing. When Bell would curl around his leg along her stroll minding her own business, he would snap, “I don’t know why you brought this hairy thing into my house!”

I was always tempted to reply, “It’s called fur.”

One noon after Bell defiled his newspaper with two lump droppings, I decided to try and return my gift.

“Return it to where?”

“I don’t know Tolu. I don’t want trouble. My husband is getting enraged by her. Ah, it’s as if he knows.”

“Do you know I am a jealous man?” Tolu ripped off my wrapper and flung me into his arms. I laughed for days.

Now something from that incident has risen with new meaning. And I remember this because I had said it in a playful spirit to watch him laugh. “Take your cat back to where you bought it, take it oh!”

To this he kissed my forehead and replied, “Ramatu, I don’t remember where I stole it from.”

Tolu has caused suspicion to riddle everything I do now. It is a mix of guilt over our affair and rage at his betrayal. I can’t help but magnify everybody’s words to numerous meanings now. I’m not to blame. How else am I to feel, when I had awoken, three in the morning, to find my lover in my new house, with a gang of hounds, guns and money sacks ablaze.

The room was lit a dull blue by the blank TV screen. Even in the black facemask, at once I knew who I was staring at. I knew his body, this man I made love to at Moonshine hotel Apata, every weekend, shivering with a gun in his hand pointed at my husband’s head? In my guiltiest of moments, I had never imagined it was this way they would meet if they ever did.

I closed my eyes, praying our new neighbours had alerted the neighbourhood vigilante. They were faster than police.

“Please sir, have mercy sir! I have given you all the money.” My husband started weeping. “Check anywhere sir, check everywhere sir! Everywhere!” He flung his arms around the room.

A smallish member of their gang was still scampering around our bedroom, filling up their sacks with our days old unpacked fixtures. The room went pitch-dark. Then a flashlight came on. I watched the criminal hobble our television set into a Ghana-must-go bag.

I heard a strong whisper, “Oga, the man we sold that microwave last month, it’s him. He keeps looking at me.” Another torchlight danced around the room, then settled on my husband’s face.

“You sure?”  Their Oga said his first words.

“Yes, that shop, the one at Bukuru road.”

Their Oga collected the torchlight and moved closer. He bobbed his head, left, then right, haunting familiarity. My husband’s fate weaved as he shivered, helpless. I perceived urine. Even in the moment I felt ashamed for him.

“You,” their Oga whispered, “you are the electrician shop man?”

“Me? No! I don’t have any shop at Bukuru!”

Oh Thomas, his shop was the first one on Bukuru lane. He had the habit of sitting in front with his friends to play draughts and sip palmwine.

“Please Oga! Before God and Man who made me I shall not reveal this to any third party sir, Please! Before God and man who made me!”

The smallish jackal giggled each time my husband said, before God, and man who made me.

“Boyman,” their Oga muttered switching off his torchlight. At once the room became a darker shade of dim. “Faya.”

My head shot to Tolu. He was staring at me for the first time.

“Boyman, you are wasting my time here.” Their leader muttered.

I was still searching his eyes when the blast went off. Tolu whimpered this womanly sound. My scream ran away forgetting its shadow–a gasp. As instructed, I lay down and laced my fingers over my head. The room was quiet later.



I have two boyfriends; one for rainy season, one for harmattan. My rainy season guy is Chidex. I spend up to six months at Port-Harcourt working with him every year. He sells imported seafood for my madam’s husband. Madam’s husband has plenty money oh, and he’ll soon settle Chidex with a small shop of his own. Harmattan is for me and Shay, Madam’s nephew. He’s a small boy but he knows how to shop for a big girl. But the main guy I want to marry is Tolu. Tolu is kind, gentle and so handsome. I know all the houses his gang has robbed in Madam’s area. I know he didn’t finish school. I even know the time he first became a thief. I know him up and down, but I still love him. Love has covered my eyes with Tolu.

Anytime he comes to buy food at Madam’s shop, I serve him extra meat. “My man of all seasons,” I wink. I’m not shy.

When he’s about to leave I tell him, “You never have to pay a dime baby.”  I wink again. I heard that in a movie. He always pays still. You see why I love Tolu?

I was seated in Madam’s restaurant last Friday evening when he rushed in. I jumped and covered the money I was counting. I started laughing once I saw his big head.

“My man of all seasons! The hunger is strong today?” But I looked at the worry on his face and stopped laughing. “Tolu?” I said wringing my hands, “Wetin happen?” Ah-ah, he started crying, right then! It’s not a manly thing but because it was Tolu I overlooked it.

“Who die?” I did not expect to hear someone was truly dead.

I calmed him down, wiped his beautiful eyes with a kitchen towel and locked the doors. Then we sat on the floor and he told me everything. To be honest, I was irritated by what he had done and I never really thought he was capable. But for Tolu to do it, I just believe it was somehow deserved.

“Are you sure?” His deep voice rumbled when I had finished advising him.

I nodded without hesitation. “There’s no problem, ah, what are friends for?” I smiled. A good woman supports her man.

My journey to Port-Harcourt was in three days but because of his emergency I gave Madam a long excuse and travelled that night with him. The funny thing about fate is that some days before, I had told him to come on Friday or even Saturday and say goodbye, because I would be gone by Monday morning and he knows he wouldn’t see my face for a longtime. He just chuckled with a toothpick dangling in his fine small mouth.

My heart sunk because I knew he didn’t care to come. He doesn’t have time for me. His girlfriend has possessed his mind like he has possessed mine. They have eaten in Madam’s restaurant together, right under my nose. I knew she was a married woman; I used to see her at Madam’s church with her husband. I notified Tolu never to bring his lover bitch to my work place again or I would report to her husband when I see him in church.

“This is not a place for adultery! You can take her to a cheap hotel if you like!”

“I’m sorry,” he smiled, then he hugged me, for the first time ever. After that day, I always used the girl’s husband to blackmail Tolu into little big things, like hugs. But I stopped after her husband died last month. They announced it at Madam’s church–he had died fighting armed robbers, defending the stupid wife.

Tolu has been depressed since the man’s death because his woman has refused to show him face. I’m happy the relationship is finally over. I started dishing him extra food after that so he doesn’t grow lean from heartbreak, “Consolation prize,” I say and rub his huge shoulders after serving him. He always replies with one weak little smile. I love Tolu.



I’m still a simple man. My grandmother’s home town is the kind of place I will like to settle down.  I can no longer trace the village stream by myself. Trees, tarred roads and one small bank have rearranged the childhood map in my head. If I could locate it, I would have gone to wash my hands and feet before reaching my grandmother’s grave … to show some level of cleansing, so she can forgive my sins.  But the sort of migraine and exhaustion that has eaten me up is not small. Eunice must have discovered my absence by now. I keep reminding myself to send her an apology text once I charge my phone. I settle at a provision stall close to home to buy pure-water. I request for the most expensive brand, Grandma deserves the best.

“Divine waterfall,” the sales boy smiles handing me a plump sachet.

I also request a sliced bar of duck soap to give my feet and hands a thorough wash. If I can’t find the stream, at least I should put all effort in the easier way out. I sit on the curb and scrub my sole and hands clean. I notice a fast food restaurant has been built across the road. When I am done, I decide I can do better. I return to the stall and purchase a XXL singlet and a pair of boxers.

The boy asks with a restrained smile, “Sir, shall I add toothpaste?”

“Yes, yes-yes, and a comb.” It’s not until I collect the comb I realize he had been teasing.

I go behind the stall and brush my teeth with my index finger because he’s out of toothbrushes. I strip my trouser there too and change into the boxers. The Chinese model on the singlet pack looks petite compared to me. I hear tender rips as I pull the white cotton down my torso. I dash the sales boy my change and instruct him to throw away my former clothes. A brand new man walks into my family compound soon. I haven’t told anyone I’ll be coming. I know they are probably at the viewing centre, I overheard the boy at the stall say it was ManU versus Chelsea today.

The white tiling cresting Mama’s grave is still neat as the first day it was laid over cement. I am relieved to have cleansed myself before coming. The sight is peaceful and this reminds me of my Ramatu. She is the only thing in my life I am proud of even though in true fashion of my living, I stole her too. I wish she had met my grandmother, or come to my village to see the type of family man I could be. I wish she had waited for me to exist in her life before deciding to get married. I wish hard I deserve her. I doubt she could ever forgive me but I hope she would come to believe all I have confessed.

I am thirty-one but already old with regrets. I regret everything from that drunk man I nearly killed and every crime I have ever met before that. I even now remember a Mallam I once stole a pack of cream-crackers from as a child, and I have not recalled this incident with this much guilt since I was maybe, eleven? Depression weighs on me as though I have exchanged my karma with the weight of Okotie’s.

But even in my regret I’m still feverish with anger. It happened the morning of our first round for April, at base–the old warehouse we gather for final discussions. I had come there right after leaving Ramatu. She had just sworn never to have anything to do with me again. “My house is haunted with spirits because of you Tolu!” She wailed cursing herself before me. She said she butchered Bell, like I killed her husband. I embraced her but she wrestled out my arms with a ferocity that terrified me.

“Ramatu! You know my Oga fired the gun. You saw it your–”

“So? You are all the same!” She spat on my foot–decent girl, she spat the sound alone–and beat her chest weeping. “Tolu if you ever touch me again I will buy rat poison and drink it. Then my blood would be on your head as well!”  I knew I had to leave then. Ramatu is also honest.

I carried my anger with me, preserving it for midnight rounds, and any baga, any bloody baga to provoke me. I expected to be the only one at base since I was hours early but I met Okotie, sipping ogogoro from a water bottle and dismantling parts of Ramatu’s television. No one had agreed to buy the bulky thing–the problem with old models. I walked past him. He didn’t greet, but childish matters do not bother me. The gentle clanking noise of screws and spanners against the cement floor was what I found annoying.

“Who asked you to do that?”

He didn’t even answer.

“Okotie!” I shouldn’t have been making echoes in a hideout but I was getting irritated with this boy.

His reply came unfazed, “Better to sell off the parts. One month has passed; no one will buy this thing like this when LG plasma’s are everywhere.”

“My question was who asked you to do that.”

“Must anyone ask before I use common sense?” Humour sizzled somewhere on his face and I felt the thing sting.

“Who are you talking to like that Okotie?” I tried to sound as impassive as he was but he had leverage over me. He had been sipping ogogoro; I had been deserted by Ramatu. “Okotie, I’m talking to you.”

“Oga calm down, I did electrician training when I was small, I know what I’m doing guy.”

“You’re still a bloody small boy! What do you think you know about life because you play with guns and steal old televisions?”

He stood up too, then strolled past me. “Compose yourself, boyman.” I knew he was mock-smiling even as he had his back to me.

“You have no respect, I don’t blame you! Your days are numbered in this platoon, bastard!”

“Are you sure?” He turned to flash me his bad dentition. “I doubt,” he winked then turned back and climbed a stool.

He was reaching for the spanner shelf when I snatched out my gun. I remember hearing the sound of the spanners falling. I realized myself in the process but anger is a selfish thing. “You think you’re better than everyone!” I caught my voice in an ugly roar. “You wicked pellet waster!” I stammered, “wicked child!”

I ran out to the road through the front door we never used. I took an okada across town, hoping to meet Eunice before the restaurant closed. I could trust her. She’s good with advice and nothing ever seems to shock her.

“Come with me to Port-Harcourt, let’s go Tolu, you will hide there till things calm down. I know a place we can stay. We don’t even have to leave Port-Harcourt unless you want us to.”  She embraced me. “Don’t cry Tolu, I’m telling you it was a mistake.”

“He’s just a child. I should not have done it!” I started weeping until she shook me with a violence that both calmed and surprised me.

“We will go to Port-Harcourt with night bus. Nothing will happen, no shaking.” She leaned closer and cupped my jaw with her small palm. Her smile flashed, militant. For a moment, I wondered if like me, she had killed before.




BAND AID returns every Sunday in November. Bigger and better!!

unnamed (1)

Majmua Theatre is super excited to announce that Band Aid returns BIGGER AND BETTER to Theatre@TerraKulture all Sundays in November.

Dates : November 1st, 8th, 15th, 22nd and 29th, 2015
Times: 3pm and 6pm
Tickets : Regular #3,000 and VIP #5,000

Written by Abiodun Kassim
Directed by Kenneth Uphopho (Saro the Musical & London Life Lagos Living)

Band Aid premiered in May, 2014 and recorded over large audiences and rave review in the media and on online, which prompted a repeat showing in December 12, 2014 at the MUSON.

Band Aid is the story of three Band mates – Femi , Flex, and Ton, connected by their love for music who meet and fall in love with Ivie who is also a music enthusiast.

They think she can help them conquer their fears and become successful. They think she has come to save them from themselves but she takes them on as a project to fill a void in her life. What happens when her demons emerge from the past she is trying to escape from? This is the conundrum at the heart of this funny, reflective and exhilarating play.

The play draws the audience in with good humour, AMAZING music and hits them with the truth they need to hear about chasing ones dreams and fighting ones fears.

Band Aid 2015 also features Toyin Oshinnaike who plays Sekere, Toju Akiya Ejoh who plays Ralph.

This production is a collaboration between Majmua Theatre, Live Theatre on Sunday and TerraKulture.

Majmua Theatre will also be showcasing short Excerpts from Bele and Abija

Bele (a collection of true pregnancy stories. From the rich poor and everyone in all facets of life. It is a majmua theater initiative and I am showcasing pieces from it as a preparation for the actual productions next year)

Abija ( a revolutionary story set in early nigeria. Totally fictional, it asks if the cancer of corruption will die with the older generation? )

Tickets to the show will start selling soon at TerraKulture,,, IN3k8 Media,, Quintessence in Parkview and Lekki outlets, and Sharwama&Co.

Stand a chance to win a Virgin Atlantic return ticket to London

Call/text 07069771347 and email for tickets and bulk purchases

Watch SHATTERED this Sunday at Terra Kulture


Loveth, arrives at the home of her benefactor Uncle Dave to collect her school fees which was due. Little did she know that this day would be different than the others. Uncle Dave would extend his love for her a little too far …. This ‘Uncle” was friends with her late father and also married to her mother’s only friend….

Should she sacrifice her dreams of going to school or tell the truth and most probably ruin the relationship between the families?

PAW Studios brings you “Shattered” a Bode Asiyanbi’s BBC award winning play which first premiered on stage at the British Council Lagos Theatre Festival in 2013. This is a captivating story of deception, betrayal and pain starring Bola Haastrup, Ijeoma Aniebo,Bunmi Sogade, Patrick Diabuah, KelvinMary Ndukwe, Goodness Emmanuel and Martins Iwuagu . “Shattered” is directed by the critically acclaimed director of “London Life Lagos Living” and “Saro the Musical 1&2” Kenneth Uphopho and produced by Brenda Uphopho.

Shattered comes to you onstage at Terra Kulture all Sundays (4, 11, 18 & 25) in October at 3 & 6PM daily.

CALL 08034448812

Catchup with behind-the-scenes footage of Shattered on youtube
▪ See more at:



When a tragedy happens and the family brings news of a long standing tradition, Ako realises that theirs really isn’t different from most marriages.
Can they redeem themselves in “a marriage based on hatred and mutual embarrassment”…?

Date: Tomorrow May 17th, 2015
Venue: Terra Kulture, Tiamiyu Savage Str. VI
Time: 3pm and 6pm each day.
Tickets: N. 3000. Students: N. 1500. VIP: 5000
For bookings, call +234 810 733 7161

In the course of preparing for this play, the cast did a photo shoot to explore the various expressions of a troubled marriage. It was an emotional experience which they would love to share with audiences all over. People are encouraged to name each expression and give a befitting caption, using the hash tags #OHDIDT #SomeMarriageFaces and any others suitable.
OH HOW DEARLY I DETEST THEE features Omoye Uzams and London/Westend actor, Timi Charles-Fadipe in his first performance in Nigeria alongside theatre veteran, Toyin Oshinnaike and Olarotimi Fakunle. The play is directed by Toritseju Ejoh and produced by Thespian Muse.

DISCOUNTED TICKETS TO SEE HEAR WORD Starring Joke Silva, Kate Henshaw, Bimbo Akintola, Taiwo Ajai-Lycett and a host of others

unnamed (1)


“Hear Word” is a collection of skits based on the true life experiences of inequality among Nigerian women from different walks of life.

Delivered by award-winning actresses such as Joke Silva, Taiwo Ajai-Lycett, Kate Henshaw, Bimbo Akintola, Dakore Egbuson-Akande,Elvina Ibru, Ufuoma Mcdermott, Lala Akindoju, Zara Udofia-Ejoh, Omonor, Rita Edward, Odenike the Debbie Ohiri.
Directed by Ifeoma Fafunwa.

30% OFF Regular tickets ( #3500 )
25% OFF VIP Tickets ( #7500 )

Tickets Valid for Only ONE of the following shows.

Friday, May 1, 2015
Saturday, May 2, 2015
02:00pm OR 07:00pm Show
Venue: Agip Hall, MUSON Centre, Onikan, Lagos Island
Text or Whatsapp Zainab on 07069771347

Maitisong Festival 2015: Interview with Donald Molosi

“Africa does not tell her stories enough. The fact that this one man who saved the lives of millions of Africans is largely unknown is a problem. I tell this story now because it does not exist in the stories we tell of Africans solving their own problems…”

The Maitisong Festival 2015 is an arts and culture extravaganza that’s taking Gaborone by storm for the rest of this week (22nd – 26th April). Among the amazingly talented performing acts is the unstoppable Donald Molosi who leads a stellar cast in the production of his award winning play Today It’s Me on the 25th. We were lucky enough to steal Donald away from his hectic schedule for a little chit-chat. Enjoy!

Donald Molosi's TODAY IT'S ME hits Gaborone

Tell us about your participation in the Maitisong 2015 festival? How did you get involved? Was it a contest, special selection?

I am elated to be performing at the Maitisong Festival 2015 as a headline act. I submitted my work like any artist and then the Director later informed me that they would be leading the theatre aspect of the festival with my show, Today It’s Me.

How has the public’s reacted to the festival?

The public loves this festival and its staying power 30 years later stands as testament to that. Batswana love seeing many different arts in one place so Maitisong festival provides exactly that. In a way, my show Today It’s Me is a microcosm of the festival in that my show has movement, dance, theatre, acting and live music.

You’ll be performing your award winning play Today It’s Me on the 25th of April, tell us about it.

Today It’s Me is a biographical story I wrote about Philly Lutaaya, the first prominent African to declare that he was living with AIDS. The play explores his courage, musical legacy and struggle from a humanist angle that leaves the audience very inspired and encouraged.

Why this play? What informed its choice for this festival?

Africa does not tell her stories enough. The fact that this one man who saved the lives of millions of Africans is largely unknown is a problem. I tell this story now because it does not exist in the stories we tell of Africans solving their own problems without the problematic intervention of the West. I have not performed in Botswana since three years ago when I performed Sir Seretse Khama’s story so this is an opportunity for me to show what else I can do.

How challenging has it been embodying Philly Lutaaya?

This is so far the hardest role I have taken on. I had to learn Luganda, both language and culture, and also do research in languages I did not know before. I spent years looking through photographs of his, listening to and dissecting his music, speaking with his family and truly beginning to embody him before I wrote the play. It has been a wonderful 5 year journey with his story so far and I look forward to it getting out more.

Molosi Maiti (2a)

In performance actors always seek to reveal layers of truth about their characters. Is the pressure to do this amplified when the character is a historical figure?

Pressure is not what I call it. I just call it basic work. Every character must be given the privilege to exist off-stage so that whatever you perform is a slice of a full life. With real historical characters, that work is even more crucial because you are more consciously creating an oral or performative archive about a people’s story. I enjoy every bit of it and it makes me a better human being to know so intimately the legends on whose shoulders we all stand on.

Your body of work reveals an affinity for historical African figures in your dramaturgy, and we must say it is always brilliant to see someone representing an aspect of the African continent that doesn’t get enough mainstream exposure. How has this focus on historical figures affected you as an artist and an African?

Thank you for seeing value in my obsession with African history and having it color my acting work. Too many Africans self-hate without realizing and those are the ones who ignorantly ask me why I tell African stories. So, it is refreshing and encouraging to hear you call my choice “brilliant.” Through my niche I have created a unique identity for myself in Hollywood, Broadway and at home in Botswana. I am a brand that is lucidly understood because the thread of African history runs through all my work. As a human being I have evolved a lot from learning about our communal human ancestors and seeking to live my life in honor of their efforts that in the 21st century I can be on Broadway telling an African story.

How impactful are events like the Maitisong festival on Botswana’s arts and culture scene? Would you say they demonstrate the economic potential of arts and culture in Africa?

Maitisong unites artists that ordinarily don’t cross paths so the networking aspect of the festival must be stated. It is a hub of activity that university students can use for internships and the like, so the festival goes beyond just thrilling audiences. It takes its social responsibility seriously as a gateway to international arts markets. Maitisong does not demonstrate our potential. Rather, it demonstrates our excellence in its fullest glory. I am past the days of celebrating potential and I celebrate excellence because excellent is what I want to always be.

Molosi Maiti (10)

The festival is only a few days away and preparing for it must have been a challenging but exciting journey. What has left the biggest imprint on you, thus far?

I have been fortunate to be working with amazing actors. I will always be grateful to be in such good company and to perform alongside Kgomotso Tshwenyego and Donn Swaby, both of them international actors of note. I am truly grateful and inspired especially that I am doing what I think is the hardest role of my acting life!

Molosi Maiti (6a)

Thespian Family Theatre Presents: Femi Osofisan’s THE MIDNIGHT HOTEL

midnight hotel handbill
The Midnight Hotel written by Femi Osofisan and directed by Israel Eboh showing on 4th, 5th & 6th April 2015 at 3:30pm and 6:30pm @AGIP Hall, MUSON Centre.
Don’t miss these exciting productions!
**Tickets available@ HealthPlus Pharmacy Stores: Ikeja City Mall, 11a Allen Avenue (Beside Mama Cass), 18b Ekukudo Avenue- Lekki Phase1 & the Palms Mall, Lekki. Also available at Online Stores
THESPIAN Family Theatre & Productions
“…building community, a stage at a time…”
**Tickets available@ HealthPlus Pharmacy Stores: Ikeja City Mall, 11a Allen Avenue (Beside Mama Cass), 18b Ekukudo Avenue- Lekki Phase1 & the Palms Mall, Lekki. Also available at Online Stores

Bethlehem comes to Lagos in Star-studded Stage Play – A TRUE CHRISTMAS STORY


Have you ever wondered what the circumstances would be if Mary and Joseph were Nigerians?

What would have happened in their village when the news broke that she was expecting a child without being with a man? It will no doubt be a scandal.

A True Christmas Story gives an account of how Mary met Joseph, their respective social, economic and family situations, chronicling the events leading up to immaculate conceptions and the events that folded when pregnancy news broke.

The play is set in our contemporary African setting and exploring themes of love, commitment, devotion and communality.

Davidhouse Multimedia Limited promoters of the Live Theatre on Sunday have harnessed the scenario and will debut “A True Christmas Story” a hilarious musical play based on the Nativity story.

Starring : Seun Ajayi, Amarachukwu Onoh, Noble Igwe, Cool FM’s Mannie, Omoye Uzamere, Tomiwa Kukoyi, Ben Ogbeiwi, Nedu Ani of Wazobia FM, Kolawole Adewale, Morolayo Fakeye, Opeyemi Dada and Igos,

Directed by Abiodun Kassim
Poduced by Adenugba Oluwanishola.

Sunday, December 7, 2014
Federal Palace Hotel, Ahmadu Bello Way, Lagos.
Tickets are N5,000 for Regular Tickets, N15,000 for VIP
Tickets available online at, LOCUS Promotion and Terra Kulture on Tiamiyu Savage Street, Victoria Island.



Everyone loves a great show, and this is what MISTRESS OF WHOLESOME is!

What will you do if your husband’s mistress showed up at your door, to ask for an odd “favor” ?

In this play, Moji ‘the mistress’ surprises Adesuwa, ‘the wife’ of Lakunle in their home and holds her hostage. According to Moji, Lakunle has now fallen back in love with Adesuwa, as the couple has gotten closer in their efforts to adopt a baby.

Moji is naturally ‘very put out’ by this and wants Adesuwa to convince Lakunle to fall back in love with his mistress so that things can be the same as they were for the past few years.

Adesuwa, who is desperate for a baby sees Lakunle playing ‘the good and attentive husband’ as the only way that she will ever manage to adopt a child and naturally refuses.

Things get even more complicated in this comic stage play when a gentleman from the adoption agency arrives to interview Lakunle and Adesuwa and to screen them as potential parents. When it turns out that Lakunle is actually locked in the trunk of Moji’s car across town, the two women must act fast to salvage a situation that is going downhill at a rate of knots!
Dates: November 23 & 30, 2014.
Showtimes: 3:00pm and 6:00pm
Venue: Terra Kulture, Plot 1376 Tiamiyu Savage Street, Victoria Island, Lagos.

MISTRESS OF WHOLESOME is directed by veteran stage actor, Toyin Oshinaike, and will be starring media/entertainment heavyweights, Omoye ‘Brownie’ Uzamere, Evaezi Ogoro, and Toju Ejoh.

Brought to you by Thespian Muse, Gbagyichild Entertainment and Oxzygen Koncepts