A Review of Eziwho Emenike Azunwo’s play, IBI

Book Title: IBI

Genre: Drama

Author:  Eziwho Emenike Azunwo

Year of Publication: 2025

Publisher: Covenant Daystar Publishers, Port Harcourt. Nigeria

Pagination: (Number of pages) 87 pages

Reviewer: Ikenna-Obi Nneka Chigozie

Institution: Rivers State University, Port Harcourt, Department of Theatre and Film Studies

Introduction

African theatre has always been intertwined with socio-political activism, cultural tradition, and education, positioning it as a dynamic force for reflection and reform. Ngũgĩ wa Thiong’o (1986) affirms that theatre in Africa has served as a "tool for social change," and it is within this activist tradition that Eziwho Emenike Azunwo’s IBI: A Play finds its voice. The play provides a haunting examination of human trafficking and ritual sacrifice, focusing on how spiritual corruption and systemic failure intersect to endanger the most vulnerable members of society.

Set in contemporary Nigeria—a country plagued by insecurity, youth endangerment, and weak institutions—IBI speaks not only to individual stories but to a broader culture of silence and neglect. The ritual killings depicted in the play mirror real-world atrocities such as the notorious Ibadan forest case and the 1996 ritual murder that led to the Otokoto riots in Owerri (Wikipedia, 2024), anchoring the fiction in sobering reality.

Azunwo’s use of multilingual dialogue, ritual aesthetics, and emotional depth transforms the stage into a platform for activism. The play shares a mission with organizations like the IOM, which employs theatre to raise awareness about trafficking in Nigeria’s most affected regions (IOM, 2019). This article explores how IBI uses dramatic form to interrogate systemic injustice, advocate for reform, and restore dignity to the often-ignored victims of ritual violence, placing it firmly within the lineage of African protest theatre.

Plot Structure in IBI: A Play: A Progressive Unfolding of Horror and Truth

The plot structure of IBI by Eziwho Emenike Azunwo follows a classical linear progression moving from exposition through rising tension to a tragic climax and a reflective denouement. However, its conventional form is energized by emotionally charged scenes, stark juxtapositions of domestic life and ritual terror, and a tight, cinematic rhythm that deepens suspense and audience investment. Azunwo’s structure is meticulously crafted across six scenes, each operating not just to advance the plot but also to gradually uncover the thematic weight of the story—human commodification, betrayal, spiritual corruption, and systemic failure.

The opening scene sets the emotional and psychological tone of the play. We are introduced to Mrs. Adams, who anxiously awaits the return of her daughter, Folake. The dialogue between Mrs. Adams and her other daughter, Fumi, is filled with tension and reveals both maternal paranoia and generational misunderstanding:

Mrs. Adams: “How many hours does it take your sister to go to the market and get the things I asked for’’? 

Fumi: “The market? I didn’t know that’s where you sent her.” 

This scene accomplishes multiple functions: it introduces the central characters, exposes the mother-daughter dynamic, and sets the stage for the inciting incident—Folake’s disappearance. The ordinary setting of a worried mother quickly descends into dread, marking the turn from domestic to dystopic.

In the second scene, the dramatic tension escalates as the family begins to suspect foul play as Fumi’s boyfriend, Tunde, becomes the first target of suspicion, and Mrs. Adams confronts him bitterly: 

Mrs.Adams; “Hope you haven’t kidnapped my daughter?” 

Tunde God forbid. God forbid” 

Here, Azunwo explores the theme of class-based bias and suspicion, showing how fear can quickly lead to unjust accusations. The police are called in, setting the stage for the broader institutional intervention—and failure—that will unfold.

This pivotal scene marks a shift from suspicion to revelation. Two young men, Obi and Shola, are arrested when caught with Folake’s missing phone. Under the weight of police brutality, they begin to confess—but their confessions reveal not guilt, but entrapment in a deeper web of exploitation.

Obi: “Ebuka…abeg call my mother’’. 

Shola: “My eye oh!.” 

The police officers’ brutal interrogation is not only a plot device but a critique of Nigeria’s justice system. This scene functions as the structural midpoint of the play, where the truth begins to surface through violence, coercion, and fear. It introduces the hidden syndicate operating behind the scenes—hinting at ritual murder.

In IBI: A Play, the forced interrogation scene serves as a pivotal turning point, transitioning the narrative from suspicion to revelation. Through the brutal torture of Obi and Shola by law enforcement, the scene highlights state-sanctioned violence and the exploitation of vulnerable youth. It acts as a dramatic bridge between rising tension and the exposure of the ritual trafficking network, revealing the tragic truth about Folake’s fate under intense institutional pressure. 

SHOLA: “Me and my guys… kidnap the girl on her way to market when e enter our bus... We take her and other passengers to our baba wey dey deal on human part… and hand her over to the baba… I collected her phone.”(IBI, Scene IV, p. 69)  

This confession reveals the operation of a human trafficking network and confirms the darkest fears established from Scene One. Dramaturgically, this scene is where the plot threads converge, preparing the audience for the play’s tragic climax—the realization that Folake may already be dead.

Azunwo’s use of graphic realism in this scene is deliberate and confrontational. The pain inflicted upon Obi and Shola is presented not as background action but as the central spectacle of the scene. The physical and psychological torment they endure brings the audience into an uncomfortable but necessary proximity with the tools and techniques of torture:

“Officer 2 returns with a black case... revealing a hand drill... The officers grab Obi firmly as Man 1 turns on the drill and takes it to Obi’s leg.” (IBI, Scene IV, p. 63) 

The drill, a mundane object repurposed as a weapon of state-sanctioned torture, becomes a chilling symbol of the system’s readiness to destroy bodies in pursuit of justice. This scene echoes what Wole Soyinka calls the “ritual of the state,” where violence becomes normalized and even theatricalized under institutional authority (Soyinka, The Man Died, 1972).

This scene also deepens character complexity. Obi, previously defiant, collapses under the threat of physical mutilation:

OBI: “I go talk… I go talk… abeg… abeg…” (p. 63) 

SHOLA: “Oga... my name na Olamide… I swear, nor be me be Shola…” (p. 64)

Their breakdown under duress shows how powerlessness, pain, and fear can distort or delay truth. Shola’s temporary denial of identity (“my name na Olamide”) shows a desperate attempt at psychological escape—a survival instinct triggered by witnessing Obi’s suffering. This moment functions as both pathos and plot device: the audience simultaneously sympathizes with the boys and recognizes the urgency of unearthing the truth.

While the confession leads to a critical breakthrough in the investigation, it also raises disturbing questions about methods of law enforcement. Is truth valid when extracted under duress? Is justice still just when it is soaked in blood? 

MAN 1: “You want to go back to your family?” 

OBI: “Yes, sir… Ah! Mummy oh!” (p. 61)

Obi’s plea to see his mother again adds a layer of tragic irony—he is not a criminal mastermind, but a terrified boy clinging to life. The officers' responses, cold and mechanical, illustrate how police brutality becomes detached from morality. While their intervention ultimately disrupts the trafficking ring, the methods used blur the line between protectors and persecutors, echoing critiques of police excesses in Nigeria (CLEEN Foundation, 2021).

The full truth finally surfaces when Shola breaks:

SHOLA: “We dey sell each person for 300k…” (p. 69)

MAN 1: “So, the girl that owned this phone… is she still alive?

”
SHOLA: “I nor know… I swear…” (p. 69)

This confession is devastating. It confirms that Folake was trafficked, sold, and most likely killed. It also quantifies the value placed on human life—₦300,000—turning the horror of trafficking into an economic transaction. The dehumanization is complete, and the emotional and narrative peak of the play is reached. This scene is arguably the most powerful in IBI—not because of its physical brutality, but because of its emotional and narrative consequences. Through Obi and Shola, Azunwo forces the audience to grapple with questions of complicity, coercion, and conscience. The truth about Folake's disappearance is uncovered, but at a tragic cost to two boys whose guilt is entangled in poverty, manipulation, and desperation.

It is in this scene that Azunwo masterfully turns interrogation into indictment—not just of his characters, but of a society that allows its young to become both victims and perpetrators in a system that feeds on fear.

IBI: A Play represents a masterfully subtle yet morally disturbing shift in the narrative. It takes the audience away from the overt horror of torture and returns them to the deceptive comfort of polished offices, smooth music, and warm greetings. The setting—Mr. Kane’s well-furnished office, lit softly and accompanied by sweet background melody—masks the darkness about to unfold. This deliberate juxtaposition of elegance and evil underlines one of the central themes of the play: the normalization of atrocity in elite and everyday spaces.

The scene begins with a familiar tone: relaxed dialogue, old friends reconnecting, laughter, and banter. Kane and Tom’s exchange begins innocuously, offering the illusion of ordinary business camaraderie:

TOM: “Look how good you're looking.”

KANE: “You’re the one I should be saying that to! My brother, put me through—where una dey see this money?” (IBI, Scene Five, pp. 72–73)

The language here is warm and familiar—coded with brotherhood and economic aspiration. Yet, the dialogue quickly descends into something far more sinister. Tom reveals that his visit isn’t just social; he needs “items” for an “assignment” given to him by his baba (ritualist spiritual leader). The chilling transition happens almost imperceptibly, marking Azunwo’s genius in showing how horror operates within banal, well-dressed frameworks.

TOM: “Baba said he needs a female breast… and some other essential organs.”
KANE: “That shouldn’t be a problem. I have someone who can supply what you need.”
(IBI, Scene Five, p. 77)

This calm transactional exchange over human body parts is one of the most morally jarring moments in the entire play. The nonchalance with which Kane offers his connections—“As long as money is involved, you’ll get anything you want”—exposes the entrenched commercial networks behind human trafficking and ritual killings. This is not desperation in the slums; this is business in the boardroom.

Importantly, Kane emerges in this scene as a symbolic link between the surface respectability of society and the underground violence exposed in earlier scenes. He is not the one wielding the hand drill, but his connections and influence enable such horrors to occur. His office becomes a metaphoric middleman space—a bridge between elite privilege and ritual exploitation.

The scene also shifts the narrative into its pre-climax stage, preparing the audience for the final unraveling. Tom and Kane’s meeting confirms that Folake's disappearance is not an isolated incident but part of a broader network of organized ritual violence, involving individuals from different social classes. It reinforces the idea that evil does not operate in isolation but within systems—polished, professional, and deeply connected.

The decision to present this exchange in such a casual, almost jovial tone deepens the moral tension. The characters laugh, joke, and shake hands—even as they plan to traffic and mutilate a human being.

KANE: “What are friends for?”

TOM: “Honestly, I was worried sick… I kept wondering how I’d meet up with baba’s demands.” (IBI, Scene Five, pp. 76–77)

These lines echo with cruel irony. Friendship here becomes a vehicle for violence. Trust becomes a currency for trading lives.

From a structural standpoint, Scene Five slows the pacing of the play momentarily, allowing a breath between the traumatic intensity of Scene Four and the explosive confrontation in Scene Six. But beneath this calm surface, the scene raises the stakes. It confirms that the threats to Folake—and to society—are systemic, calculated, and organized. This kind of strategic slowdown is common in African drama. Wole Soyinka, for instance, used quiet, formal scenes to underscore the tragic weight of unfolding events in Death and the King’s Horseman. Similarly, Azunwo uses Kane’s office as a reflective space—one that mirrors the corruption of the soul beneath polished exteriors.

 IBI masterfully unveils the logistics of evil—the middlemen, the enablers, the professionals who make it possible for atrocities to be committed under the guise of business as usual. It is a crucial moment in the play, not because of overt violence, but because of the quiet, composed tone in which human destruction is negotiated. Through this scene, Azunwo forces the audience to confront not only the brutality of the streets but the refined, bureaucratic faces of evil that operate in silence behind closed doors. In many ways, the calm in this scene is more terrifying than the screams of Scene Four—because it reminds us that monsters often wear suits.

IBI: A Play is the most ritualistic, symbolic, and emotionally charged in the entire production. It serves as the climax of the plot, bringing the threads of earlier revelations—Folake’s disappearance, the confessions under torture, and the casual arrangement of human sacrifice in Scene Five—to a horrific yet redemptive confrontation at the heart of the trafficking network: the shrine.

The scene opens in a stylized, fear-filled atmosphere. The stage directions evoke a sacred yet grotesque visual: a blood-stained shrine, blindfolded captives, and the looming presence of a human skull surrounded by burning candles. The Oracle enters, accompanied by his apprentice, chanting and moving ritualistically around the captives:

“The flutist calls in the dreaded presence of the oracle… the shrine is littered with clothes from dead victims, while others, still in captivity, are tied to a corner of the stage.” (Scene Six)

This mise-en-scène immediately immerses the audience in the climactic spectacle of ritual violence, drawing upon the aesthetics of traditional African ritual drama, yet subverting them with a sense of dread. The Oracle’s language is richly poetic and symbol-laden:

ORACLE: “The color of light knows today is your day… farewell, little one. For the end renews the beginning…”

Here, Azunwo masterfully manipulates the language of spirituality to expose the grotesque distortion of ritualism for human exploitation. The Oracle’s chants veil murder in metaphysical justification, reflecting the thematic critique of blind tradition and the abuse of spiritual authority.

The arrival of Kane and Tom—respectable, middle-class figures—at the shrine to negotiate the purchase of human parts represents the fusion of elite corruption and grassroots violence. Their demeanor, at first nervous but eventually transactional, reveals the terrifying normalcy with which life and death are negotiated:

TOM: “I need a female breast and some other essential parts…”

ORACLE: “Do you have what it takes to pay the price?”(Scene Six)

Azunwo uses this exchange to underscore the commodification of human life—a core theme of the play. What began as a missing person case has now exploded into a systemic economy of ritual exploitation, implicating both spiritual leaders and urban professionals.

Just as the Apprentice raises his axe to execute the next victim, a sudden burst erupts on stage—the Apprentice falls dead, and the police storm the shrine:

“A loud burst erupts as the apprentice falls lifeless. Confusion and shock fill the stage. Police operatives storm the shrine.” (Scene Six)

This intervention functions as both literal salvation and metaphorical justice. It interrupts the cycle of violence, rescuing the remaining captives and beginning the process of institutional reckoning. However, the victory is bittersweet. When asked for Folake, a captive responds:

LADY: “I think she was the one they killed last night…”

This single line punctures the scene with profound tragedy. The character whose disappearance set the plot in motion—Folake—is confirmed dead. She becomes the invisible victim who never reclaims her voice, underscoring the reality that justice, even when served, can arrive too late.

The police officer known as Man 1, previously seen torturing Obi and Shola in Scene Four, now delivers a somber monologue directly to the audience:

MAN 1: “The world is not even safe anymore… Evil is growing fast… Know this—death has no consideration. And once it comes from the wrong direction, all you’ll do is leave your parents and family in deep trauma and disappointment.”

This monologue shifts the scene from dramatic action to didactic reflection, echoing the traditions of Brechtian and African epic theatre, where actors break the fourth wall to deliver social commentary. Azunwo uses this moment not only to mourn Folake, but to warn youth, condemn societal apathy, and urge moral accountability.

The final gesture of the scene—officers destroying the fetish items and dismantling the shrine—serves as both symbolic exorcism and restorative justice:

MAN 1: “Officers, I want this place brought down.”

OFFICER 3: “Yes, sir.” (Scene Six)

The shrine’s destruction signals an end to the cycle of sacrifice, a cleansing of the space tainted by death and secrecy. Yet, the tone remains heavy. There is no catharsis, only a sobering realization of the fragility of life and the depth of societal decay.

Scene Six is a powerful convergence of ritual spectacle, narrative closure, and moral indictment. Through a masterful combination of dramatic suspense, cultural symbolism, and emotional confrontation, Azunwo delivers a climactic sequence that not only completes the story’s arc but forces the audience into deep self-examination.

Folake's death, the unmasking of the Oracle, the arrest of Tom and Kane, and the liberation of the captives all occur in rapid succession. Yet the emotional aftermath lingers, reminding the viewer that while evil may be punished, its wounds remain.

Characters and Characterization in IBI: A Play

Eziwho Emenike Azunwo crafts the characters in IBI with a deliberate blend of emotional realism and symbolic resonance. Each figure represents not only a narrative function but a moral, social, or cultural standpoint within the broader Nigerian experience. Through the interplay of fear, power, innocence, and complicity, the characters become conduits for the play’s deeper messages on justice, exploitation, and systemic decay.

In IBI, Azunwo’s characters operate as both individuals and allegorical figures. Their stories do not just entertain; they illuminate the structures of fear, corruption, silence, and resistance that shape Nigerian society. The success of the play’s message lies in how deeply these characters resonate—not just as fictional entities, but as mirrors of real people, real struggles, and real consequences.

Folake – The Absent Presence and Voice of the Voiceless

Folake may have limited physical presence on stage, but she remains the emotional center of the play. Her disappearance propels the story, and her eventual death cements its tragic arc. As a symbol, Folake embodies the silenced and exploited young girl—a figure representing the thousands of missing girls in Nigeria whose stories go unheard. Her character is a haunting reminder of how youthful innocence is often the first casualty in corrupt systems.

LADY (captive): “I think she was the one they killed last night...”(Scene Six)

Her symbolic role is clear—Folake is not just one girl, but every girl in a society where being female is perilously tied to threat and sacrifice.

Mrs. Adams – Embodiment of Maternal Fear and Grief

Mrs. Adams portrays the psychological toll of motherhood in a society plagued by insecurity. Her reactions—ranging from suspicion to desperation—reflect the anxieties of many Nigerian parents who must navigate a world where their children’s safety is far from guaranteed. She becomes a symbol of maternal resilience, even as her grief underscores the emotional cost of societal failure.

Mrs. Adams: “You were the last to see her. What did you do to my daughter?”
(Scene Two)

Her characterization is both personal and representative—she embodies the countless Nigerian mothers whose children go missing without resolution or justice.

Fumi – A Sister Torn Between Loss and Accusation

Fumi serves as both a narrative and emotional bridge. Her strained relationship with her mother and her quiet guilt reflect the emotional complexity of familial bonds during crisis. Caught between mourning her sister and defending herself from suspicion, Fumi’s quiet suffering highlights how trauma ripples through family units.

Azunwo writes Fumi with emotional complexity—she is neither strong nor passive, but realistically adrift in grief and confusion.

Obi and Shola – Victims of Circumstance and Misplaced Judgment

These two young men, arrested with Folake’s phone, experience brutal police torture that eventually reveals the human trafficking network. Their confessions are not just plot revelations—they’re testimonies to how poverty, marginalization, and fear can distort truth and identity. Their portrayal critiques a justice system that too often condemns the powerless without full investigation.

OBI: “I go talk… I go talk… abeg… abeg…”

SHOLA: “We dey sell each person for 300k…”(Scene Four)

Their characterization is steeped in social realism—they represent the countless unemployed youth who fall through societal cracks and become entangled in criminal economies, often without full understanding of the consequences.

Mr. Kane – The Elite Enabler in a Suit

Kane is a chilling example of how systemic evil hides in respectability. Unlike the Oracle or the traffickers on the ground, Kane operates from a clean office, coordinating crimes without blood on his hands. His smooth demeanor and connections represent the middle-class complicity in violence, where influence and status become shields for criminal facilitation.

KANE: “Don’t stress yourself. This plug I’m talking about—he delivers. As long as money is involved, you’ll get anything you want.”(Scene Five)

Azunwo uses Kane to critique the corporate complicity in human trafficking—how wealth and class can sanitize evil and shield the perpetrators from direct accountability.

Tom – Ambition Corrupted by Ritual Desire

Tom is driven not by desperation but by ambition. He is willing to commit unspeakable acts to maintain his wealth and fulfill ritual obligations. His character is a critique of the increasingly normalized pursuit of power through spiritual manipulation. Though outwardly successful, he is spiritually bankrupt and morally hollow.

TOM: “I need a female breast and some other essential parts...”(Scene Six)

Tom’s character critiques the obsession with quick wealth and spiritual shortcuts, a phenomenon increasingly visible in Nigeria’s youth and entrepreneurial culture.

The Oracle – Tradition Twisted into Terror

The Oracle is the most overtly symbolic character in the play. He represents the corruption of spiritual authority, using chants, rituals, and mysticism to justify killing. Azunwo uses the Oracle to condemn how traditional belief systems can be weaponized to serve greed and control. The Oracle is not simply a villain; he is the personification of ritualistic evil posing as cultural heritage.

ORACLE: “The color of light knows today is your day… farewell, little one. For the end renews the beginning.”(Scene Six)

The Oracle does not just kill; he philosophizes death, making him the most dangerous type of villain: one who believes his own evil is divine work.

Man 1 – A Flawed Agent of Justice

Initially seen as a brutal interrogator, Man 1 later leads the police raid that brings down the shrine. This complex role presents him as a figure of contradiction—capable of both violence and heroism. His dual identity critiques the justice system’s capacity for both rescue and harm, illustrating that institutional power is never morally pure.

MAN 1: “Do you want a hole drilled in your toe?”(later)

MAN 1: “The world is not even safe anymore… Evil is growing fast.”
(Scenes Four & Six)

Through Man 1, Azunwo problematizes the notion of justice, showing how institutional violence may produce results, but not redemption.

The Captives – Silent Suffering, Collective Memory

Though unnamed, the captives—especially the blindfolded women—serve as a collective representation of the many who never escape or speak. They personify the overlooked, abused, and forgotten, giving silent testimony to the horrors that occur in society’s shadow. Their eventual rescue provides emotional release but not resolution, particularly after the confirmation of Folake’s death.

LADY: “God bless you, officer… I will never go out again at night…”
(Scene Six)

These figures complete the ensemble, giving weight to the stakes and reminding the audience that for every Folake, there are many unnamed others.

In IBI, Azunwo’s characters operate as both individuals and allegorical figures. Their stories do not just entertain; they illuminate the structures of fear, corruption, silence, and resistance that shape Nigerian society. The success of the play’s message lies in how deeply these characters resonate—not just as fictional entities, but as mirrors of real people, real struggles, and real consequences.

Thematic Exploration in IBI: A Play

Eziwho Emenike Azunwo’s IBI: A Play engages with a constellation of urgent societal issues rooted in contemporary Nigerian experience. The play serves as a literary intervention into the realities of ritual violence, spiritual corruption, institutional failure, and social apathy. Each theme is embodied through compelling characters and dramatic scenes that reveal both personal and collective tragedy. What emerges is a theatrical work rich in moral complexity and civic critique, confronting audiences with the cost of silence, greed, and complicity. The play is a powerful theatrical indictment of contemporary Nigerian realities. Its themes cut across social, spiritual, and institutional lines, challenging the audience to confront the roots of violence and injustice. Through its exploration of human trafficking, spiritual abuse, elite complicity, and youth vulnerability, the play becomes not just a story, but a mirror held up to a nation—urging accountability, empathy, and change.

Central to the narrative is the theme of ritual killing for profit, linked directly to human trafficking. Folake’s disappearance and the eventual confession of her sale into a ritual network make clear the commodification of the human body.

SHOLA: “We dey sell each person for 300k…”

This disturbing revelation draws attention to a dark economy where bodies are bought, sold, and butchered for spiritual gain—reflecting real-world trends of ritual killings in Nigeria and other parts of West Africa.

The discussion of human body parts as “items” to be traded deconstructs the value of human life, reducing it to a marketplace calculation.

KANE: “As long as money is involved, you’ll get anything you want.”

Here, Azunwo critiques both capitalism and cultural perversion, exposing how individuals and networks transform sacred life into currency—sanitized by money and clothed in tradition.

The graphic interrogation of Obi and Shola illustrates the theme of state violence and the ethical dilemmas surrounding law enforcement. The use of torture not only undermines justice but complicates the idea of truth itself.

MAN 1: “Do you want a hole drilled in your toe?”

Although the officers eventually help dismantle the shrine, their methods highlight the blurred lines between justice and cruelty, and the failure of due process in a system rife with aggression.

Azunwo highlights that the perpetrators of violence are not confined to dark corners of rural shrines. Figures like Kane and Tom, educated and financially comfortable, casually enable these crimes.

TOM: “My friend here needs some items…”

KANE: “I have someone who can supply what you need.”

This theme draws attention to elite complicity, showing that ritual violence is not just a grassroots issue but one nourished by wealth, ambition, and moral detachment at the top.

The Oracle symbolizes the manipulation of African spirituality for deadly purposes. With ritualistic chants and elaborate symbolism, he performs violence with religious gravity, masking evil in sacred language.

ORACLE: “Farewell, little one. For the end renews the beginning…”

Rather than reject tradition outright, Azunwo critiques its abuse—urging a re-examination of ritual practices that, left unchecked, become tools of domination and destruction.

A running undercurrent throughout the play is the failure of the community to act. The play challenges the audience to consider their own silence in the face of known injustice.

MAN 1 (to the audience): “Evil is growing fast… The world is not even safe anymore…”

This moment blurs the boundary between actor and observer, positioning the viewer as a participant in the cultural complacency that allows horror to flourish.

Through the character of Folake and the play’s closing monologue, Azunwo addresses the vulnerability of youth and the consequences of seemingly harmless disobedience. The scene suggests that in a broken society, even routine acts—like going to the market—can become fatal.

MAN 1: “To those who think the exciting life is out there… know this—death has no consideration.”

This theme serves as a cautionary tale, warning against youthful naivety while also implicating a society that fails to protect its future.

Although the police succeed in rescuing the captives and arresting the enablers, Folake’s death casts a shadow over any sense of victory. Justice, in IBI, is partial—tempered by loss and the trauma left behind.

The destruction of the shrine at the play’s end is a symbolic act of cleansing, but it also signals the depth of the rot that must still be rooted out.

MAN 1: “Officers, I want this place brought down.”

The final act is not triumph, but a solemn reckoning—a call to rebuild, reflect, and remain vigilant.

Dramatic Techniques, Style, and Language in IBI: A Play

Eziwho Emenike Azunwo’s IBI is a theatrically rich and socially potent work that employs a wide range of dramatic strategies, stylistic elements, and linguistic techniques to explore its core messages. The play draws on the traditions of African ritual performance and modern dramatic structure to create a work that is both emotionally gripping and intellectually provocative. Through his careful manipulation of form and language, Azunwo transforms IBI into a stage of revelation, resistance, and reflection.

The play’s six scenes are organized to reflect a steady rise in tension, moral conflict, and emotional intensity. Each scene is purposeful—advancing the story while deepening the audience’s understanding of the characters and themes. From the domestic anxieties in the opening scenes to the ritual horror and police raid at the shrine, the structure follows a deliberate arc leading to a climactic confrontation and a sobering resolution. The shifts in setting and pace mirror the fragmented and often contradictory experiences of justice, tradition, and grief in Nigeria.

Azunwo fuses theatrical realism with ritual expression, especially in scenes set within the shrine. Traditional instruments like drums and flutes, along with symbolic stage elements such as skulls, blindfolds, and ritual chants, contribute to a heightened, almost spiritual atmosphere.

“A human skull and a casket lie at upstage center, surrounded by burning candles…” (Scene Six)

These ritual features evoke traditional African performance styles, emphasizing communal engagement and spiritual tension, while also representing the sacrilegious distortion of culture for violent ends.

One of the play’s most notable stylistic strengths is its fluid use of language. Azunwo interweaves Standard English, Nigerian Pidgin, Yoruba, and Igbo, depending on the characters’ background, emotional state, or cultural role. This multilingualism enhances verisimilitude, distinguishing social status and situational tone.

OBI: “Officer, abeg… I be only child…”

ORACLE: “Farewell, little one. For the end renews the beginning…”

By using language both as a marker of identity and a carrier of emotion, Azunwo reflects Nigeria’s linguistic reality while reinforcing power dynamics and cultural significance.

The visual composition of the stage is laden with symbols that carry ideological weight. The drill used during interrogations becomes a metaphor for institutional violence, while the shrine littered with remnants of victims signifies the normalization of human sacrifice within spiritual systems that have been corrupted.

Similarly, the blindfolded captives, the use of colored candles, and the Apprentice’s ritual gestures all enhance the play’s mythic undertones, transforming space into a ritual site of trauma and revelation.

Azunwo contrasts poetic and symbolic language—mainly used by the Oracle and during ritual scenes—with raw, colloquial dialogue found in police interrogations or family disputes. This linguistic contrast highlights the hypocrisy of those who wrap evil in sacred language while speaking “truth” with brutality.

MAN 1: “Do you want a hole drilled in your toe?”

ORACLE: “The color of light knows today is your day…”

This sharp juxtaposition intensifies the play’s emotional impact and emphasizes the moral dissonance that drives much of the action.

A significant dramatic technique in IBI is the use of direct audience address, particularly at the end of the play. In Scene Six, Man 1 breaks the fourth wall to deliver a moral reflection on youth, death, and disobedience:

“To those who think the exciting life is out there… know this—death has no consideration.”

This Brechtian technique serves to remove the distance between stage and audience, transforming the audience into active witnesses and participants in the social dialogue. It situates the theatre as a space for communal reckoning, echoing traditions in African drama that center performance as a tool for education and mobilization.

Throughout the play, sound is used as a narrative and emotional device. Traditional drumming, flute melodies, and sudden audio bursts underscore changes in scene, mood, or character intent. In the shrine, the rhythm of the flutist and drummer creates an auditory metaphor for spiritual manipulation and dread.

These sonic choices evoke a sense of ritual urgency, blurring the line between sacred performance and horror spectacle, and grounding the play in a rich African performance aesthetic.

Azunwo inserts moments of irony and subtle satire to critique social hypocrisy. For example, the jovial banter between Tom and Kane in Scene Five—moments before they negotiate a human sacrifice—exposes how evil can wear the mask of friendship and business.

KANE: “What are friends for?”

TOM: “I was worried sick… Baba’s demands aren’t easy.”

This satirical tone, buried in otherwise serious dialogue, unearths the banality of evil, where monstrous decisions are made with smiles and handshakes.

Conclusion

In IBI: A Play, Eziwho Emenike Azunwo wields a diverse arsenal of dramatic tools, stylistic flourishes, and linguistic devices to construct a theatre of confrontation. His integration of ritual, realism, and poetic metaphor not only advances the plot but also immerses the audience in a layered, emotionally resonant experience. Language becomes a weapon, a mask, and a mirror. The stage becomes a shrine, a courtroom, and a battlefield. In this way, Azunwo elevates IBI from simple tragedy to theatre as social prophecy—a work that calls not just for applause, but for action.

References

Azunwo, E. E. (2025). IBI: A play. Port Harcourt: Covenant Daystar Publishers. Nigeria

CLEEN Foundation. (2021). Nigeria police and human rights. Retrieved from https://cleen.org

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