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Some of the characters in Ola Rotimi’s Our Husband Has Gone Mad Again are Lejoka-Brown, Liza, Mama Rashida, Sikira, and Okonkwo. Other characters in the play include Madam Ajanaku, Polycarp, and Alhaji Mustafa. In this section, we shall engage these characters in line with their roles and traits in the text.
Rahman Taslim Lejoka-Brown
Rahman Taslim Lejoka-Brown, alias “Di Major,” is the central protagonist of Ola Rotimi’s Our Husband Has Gone Mad Again. He is a former military major who has ventured into the Nigerian political arena, driven more by personal vanity than any genuine sense of patriotism. His chaotic attempts to manage both a multifaceted domestic life with three wives and a disastrous political campaign provide the primary comedic engine of the play.
Physically, Lejoka-Brown is an imposing figure. He is described as being “husky, broad-shouldered, barrel-chested and hirsute.” He bears the rugged physique of a seasoned soldier, which contrasts sharply with his diminutive lawyer friend, Okonkwo. Socially, he is a Muslim who invokes Allah and claims the right to have multiple wives.
Before entering politics, he fought alongside Belgian mercenaries in the Congo and later made money from his father’s failing cocoa farm. Even though he is wealthy, he proudly resides in his grandfather’s “antiquated, wattle and clay-walled home,” which he protects as a sacred family shrine.
Lejoka-Brown is portrayed as vain and opportunistic. He is entirely transparent about his corrupt political motivations. He admits to his friend Okonkwo that he entered politics not to serve, but to “chop a big slice of the National cake.” He even boasts that once he is elected, he and his cronies will stuff themselves with “huge mouthfuls of the National chin-chin.”
He is also autocratic. He is incapable of separating civilian life from military command. He barks orders at his steward, Polycarp (“As you were!”), and disastrously attempts to run his political campaign using the military tactic of “surprise and attack.”
Lejoka-Brown is equally depicted as deceitful but comically inept. He marries two additional women without telling his American-educated wife, Liza. He hopes to simply hide them in separate houses across Lagos. When his lies catch up with him, he scrambles in a panic, asking Okonkwo if he expects him to live unprotected and alone like an “IMPOTENT” man for months.
This character is the absolute catalyst for the play’s central conflicts. His secretive, politically motivated marriages set the domestic plot in motion. They create a powder keg that explodes when Liza arrives unexpectedly from America. Concurrently, his dictatorial refusal to run his National Liberation Party democratically triggers the political plot and ultimately leads his party’s executive members to mutiny and plot his removal.
Lejoka-Brown is profoundly myopic, chauvinistic, and politically ignorant. He assumes that women and civilians can be commanded like private soldiers, a fatal miscalculation that costs him both his household’s obedience and his political career. He is, in this regard, a satirical archetype of the “strongman” African politician. He perfectly embodies the theme of political corruption and opportunism in post-colonial Africa. He represents a class of leaders who view public office purely as a vehicle for personal enrichment.
Liza
Liza is the American-educated, legally wedded wife of Major Rahman Taslim Lejoka-Brown. Given her unexpected arrival in Lagos, she is the primary catalyst for the play’s domestic conflict. Liza introduces modern, progressive ideals into a traditional polygamous household, completely upending her husband’s patriarchal dominance and inspiring the other women around her.
Upon her first appearance, Liza is described as an “exquisite slice of feminine beauty” with a dress “tastefully chosen in colour, design and cut.” She carries herself with the “erect, self-assured bearing of a young banana plant.” She is originally a Kenyan girl working for the Red Cross during the conflict in the Congo. This is where she met and married Lejoka-Brown while preparing to move to America on a Kenyan Government scholarship. Socially, she embodies the highly educated, modern African woman, having earned an MD and an MSc in the United States. Because she married Lejoka-Brown under French law—which dictates “one man, one woman”—she is entirely unprepared for the traditional, multi-wife household she discovers in Nigeria.
Liza is depicted as intelligent and progressive. Her advanced education empowers her to think critically and strategically. This is evident in how she teaches Mama Rashida the modern economic principles of “Supply” and “Demand”. She successfully transforms a failing chicken trade into a highly lucrative egg business.
She is also assertive and independent. She refuses to be intimidated or treated as property. When Lejoka-Brown demands she change her modern clothing, she vehemently defends her “fundamental human rights—irrespective of race, sex or creed,” and boldly declares she will not lower herself to his “moral mud”.
Liza is unafraid to stand her ground. When Lejoka-Brown physically attacks her with a broom, she does not cower. Instead, she fights back in a comedic domestic brawl. Upon discovering her husband’s secret wives, she categorically refuses to share him. She states that she will “never surrender my person to be devoured in this… blatantly decadent, third-rate domestic circus!”
Her early arrival in Nigeria is the inciting incident for the domestic plot. Lejoka-Brown had intended to keep his three wives hidden from one another in separate houses until after his political elections, but Liza’s sudden presence shatters this scheme. Her presence acts as a catalyst for change. It inadvertently sparks a feminist awakening among the other wives that dismantles Lejoka-Brown’s domestic authority.
Her relationship with Lejoka-Brown is highly contentious. She easily sees through his condescending attempts at manipulation, such as the “Egg Treatment,” and constantly challenges his autocratic commands. She views him as hypocritical and exposes the glaring gap between his public political rhetoric about “freedom” and his tyrannical behaviour at home.
In the play, Liza inadvertently becomes an ideological mentor to Sikira. At first, she mistakes Sikira for a “housemaid,” which leads to verbal and near-physical altercations. However, her casual assertion that “men and women are created equal” will later become Sikira’s rallying cry. It directly inspires Sikira to abandon her husband and run for political office against him.
While Liza has formidable intellect, self-assurance, and liberating influence on others, she is not without her shortcomings; the most noticeable of which are her initial cultural rigidity and quick temper. She approaches her husband’s traditional household with Western sensibilities. She is quick to hurl insults like “bush pig” at him. She initially treats the other women with a degree of haughty disdain before understanding their shared predicament. On top of that, she is also impulsive, given that she is easily drawn into chaotic physical brawls when provoked.
Liza is thus a dynamic, modern woman who refuses to be subjugated by a hypocritical patriarchy. Her transformation from a shocked, betrayed wife into a vibrant catalyst for female liberation drives the thematic heart of Our Husband Has Gone Mad Again. Without her, Mama Rashida would remain a struggling trader, and Sikira would remain a voiceless political pawn.
Mama Rashida
Mama Rashida is Lejoka-Brown’s first and oldest wife in Our Husband Has Gone Mad Again. She initially appears as a quintessential, traditional African wife who is submissive to her husband. However, her character undergoes a quiet transformation in the course of the play. She becomes a symbol of practical female empowerment and economic independence within a patriarchal society.
Mama Rashida is rooted in traditional Muslim and Yoruba customs. She dresses conservatively. She makes sure her face and ears are properly shrouded in a veil, particularly in the presence of older men like Alhaji Mustafa. She is a widow who was “inherited” by Lejoka-Brown. She was originally married to his older brother, who died in a train accident. In line with Islamic injunctions regarding the care of widows, Lejoka-Brown’s father arranged for him to marry her out of duty and pity. As a traditional market woman, she earns her living by selling live chickens in the city.
She is a respectful traditional woman. She adheres strictly to traditional protocols, as evident in how she constantly refers to her husband as “my lord”. She also respects elders. At some point, she even reprimands the younger wife, Sikira, for her rudeness and impudence toward their elderly neighbour, Alhaji Mustafa.
Mama Rashida is remarkably open-minded regarding business. When Liza explains the modern economic concepts of “Supply” and “Demand” to her, Mama Rashida eagerly learns and applies them. She successfully transitions her failing chicken trade into a highly lucrative egg business.
She is also protective and fiery, even though she is generally patient and focused on maintaining a peaceful home. Take for example how she is quick to defend her dignity and the dignity of others. She physically pins Sikira’s arms behind her back for disrespecting Liza, and boldly steps between Lejoka-Brown and Liza during a domestic brawl to protect Liza from his physical assault.
Mama Rashida anchors the domestic sphere of the play. Her initial presence establishes the traditional polygamous household dynamics that Liza’s arrival inadvertently disrupts. Her evolution from a struggling trader to a thriving businesswoman is the clearest tangible evidence of the positive, empowering effect Liza has on the traditional women. Her decision to pack her things and leave Lejoka-Brown’s immediate household to expand her business on a village farm in Abule Oja marks the final collapse of Lejoka-Brown’s domestic authority.
Although she is portrayed as an obedient, dutiful wife who genuinely tries to make her household peaceful, her husband views her merely as a well-bred “African pigeon” and a familial obligation rather than an equal partner. Eventually, she outgrows her dependence on him and prioritises her trade over his patriarchal control. She is, in turn, a strict, maternal figure to the younger, rebellious Sikira. She frequently chastises Sikira for her lack of manners, laziness, and disrespect towards elders.
Mama Rashida is a vital counterpoint to both Lejoka-Brown’s autocratic chauvinism and Liza’s overt Western modernity. She represents the everyday Nigerian market woman. Rotimi uses her character to argue that true liberation for traditional African women does not necessarily require abandoning their cultural identity or religious faith. It requires access to practical education, economic self-sufficiency, and mutual respect.
Sikira
Sikira is Lejoka-Brown’s younger wife. Unlike his other wives, her marriage to the Major is a purely transactional and political arrangement. She represents the awakening of female political consciousness, given how she transforms from a marginalised, subservient pawn into a vocal and liberated political challenger.
Sikira is the daughter of Madam Bambina Ajanaku, the powerful President of the National Union of Nigerian Market Women. Lejoka-Brown married her as an “emergency” and “temporary measure” strictly to secure the votes of these market women for his upcoming election.
Physically, her appearance mirrors her internal transformation. She is first introduced wearing a traditional “buba and wrapper, with a veil fluffing loosely about her neck.” As she becomes radicalised by Western feminist ideals, she abandons this modest attire for a “tight-fitting, micro-mini snippet of a dress” with a “saucily low neckline,” much to her husband’s dismay.
Sikira entirely lacks the traditional deference to age and authority demonstrated by the older wife, Mama Rashida. When the elderly Alhaji Mustafa visits, Sikira mockingly calls him an “old witch,” and later spits in contempt after he leaves. She frequently mocks her husband’s political obsession. She jokingly mimics him singing his party’s theme song, “Freedom, Freedom,” and laughs about how he breathlessly mutters about politics in his sleep. She even adopts a fake, exaggerated American cinema accent (“my d-a-r-ling”) just to amuse herself and irritate Mama Rashida.
She is impressionable but bold. She is highly receptive to new ideas. Upon hearing Liza declare that “men and women are created equal,” she instantly seizes the phrase and loudly repeats it as her own personal mantra of liberation.
Sikira is the crucial link between Lejoka-Brown’s domestic chaos and his political ambitions. Her presence in the house as a secret wife is part of the powder keg that explodes when Liza arrives. More importantly, her eventual defection from the marriage directly triggers Lejoka-Brown’s political downfall. When she leaves him, her mother withdraws the market women’s support and successfully motions to have Lejoka-Brown voted out of his party leadership, nominating Sikira to take his place as the candidate.
Lejoka-Brown sees her as an “extra woman” to win him votes. Sikira initially plays the role of a dutiful wife. She addresses him as “my lord.” But she eventually realises he has no respect for her feelings, which is why she rebels against his commands. She proudly declares she is neither a slave nor a mere housewife before running out on him.
Similarly, she and Liza are not exactly on good terms in the beginning. Liza mistakenly mistakes the dowdily dressed Sikira for a “housemaid”. This leads to a bitter argument where Sikira vows to have Liza’s “proud feathers plucked.” However, Sikira quickly grows to admire Liza’s “strong, strong heart.”
Sikira’s character arc provides the most satisfying and ironic twist of the play. She is the foil to Lejoka-Brown’s hubris. The man who confidently believed he could exploit a woman solely for political gain ends up completely outmanoeuvred by her. By the play’s finale, Sikira is borne shoulder-high by the crowd. She replaces him as the political candidate and uses his own party’s song of “Freedom” against him.
Gideon Abednego Okonkwo
Gideon Abednego Okonkwo is a lawyer and the closest friend and confidant of Lejoka-Brown. He is a critical sounding board for Lejoka-Brown. He functions as the comedic “straight man” whose rationality contrasts with the major’s frantic and absurd schemes.
Okonkwo’s physical appearance is designed to be the exact opposite of his best friend’s. While Lejoka-Brown is a husky, barrel-chested brute, Okonkwo possesses a “frail, five-foot-five frame.” He is an educated professional, a lawyer who is typically “spruced up in a Western suit that lends some dignity” to his small stature. Okonkwo is also a former soldier who fought “shoulder to shoulder” with Lejoka-Brown in the Congo against Belgian mercenaries.
He is depicted as pragmatic, level-headed character. When faced with Lejoka-Brown’s impending domestic disaster, which is the unexpected arrival of Liza to a house already containing two wives, Okonkwo immediately tries to find a logical, practical solution. He suggests Lejoka-Brown move out and “rent yourself a room somewhere, and rent another separate flat for Liza” to keep the women from discovering each other.
Okonkwo is also excellent at reading the room, particularly when his friend cannot. When Lejoka-Brown clumsily tries to pacify an offended Liza using a condescending romantic tactic he calls the “Egg Treatment,” Okonkwo easily sees through Liza’s polite facade. He warns his friend, “Don’t be deceived, brother: she is boiling inside, never mind her ice-water calm.”
In the play, Okonkwo is the audience’s surrogate and a vehicle for exposition. Because Lejoka-Brown constantly confides in him, the audience learns crucial background information, such as how Lejoka-Brown met Liza in the Congo, how he inherited his first wife, Mama Rashida, and his corrupt motivations for entering politics. Furthermore, Okonkwo is the messenger who delivers the climax of the political plot. He bursts in to inform Lejoka-Brown that his party has ousted him and that “Women are taking over the world.”
His relationship with Lejoka-Brown is built on a deep, nostalgic bond from their days in the military. The two are often singing old marching songs together. Okonkwo acts as an enabler and a reluctant accomplice to Lejoka-Brown’s madness. He frequently points out the major’s foolishness such as failing to tell Liza about his other wives, but he still helps him try to escape the consequences.
From a dramaturgical perspective, Okonkwo is an indispensable character. Rotimi uses him to balance the extreme, manic energy of Lejoka-Brown. Without Okonkwo’s grounded presence, the protagonist’s actions might seem entirely untethered from reality. Okonkwo provides the necessary friction that makes Lejoka-Brown’s comedic “madness” visible and understandable to the audience.
Madam Bambina Ajanaku
Madam Bambina Ajanaku is a formidable political and social force in Our Husband Has Gone Mad Again. As the President of the National Union of Nigerian Market Women and the mother of Sikira, she represents the grassroots political power that the play’s protagonist desperately needs. While she appears only in the climax of the play, her presence looms large over the entire plot. She is the arbiter of Lejoka-Brown’s political fate.
When Madam Ajanaku finally appears on stage during the National Liberation Party’s emergency meeting, the stage directions describe her as a “physically grand mountain of a woman.” She is a self-made, street-smart leader. She proudly declares herself a “tru-born Owerri woman” who married a Yoruba man in the interest of promoting “national unity.” She is not formally educated and openly admits, “me I no sabi grammar o; me and book no be one-mama-one-papa,” but she compensates for this with profound practical wisdom, asserting, “I know how di worl’ dey turn and me too I sabi turn am.”
She is unapologetically authoritative. She speaks with absolute finality, frequently punctuating her statements with her signature catchphrase: “No more no less.” She is unintimidated by male politicians; when a male party member interrupts her speech, she aggressively shuts him down, thumping her chest and declaring, “Na me Bambina, talk so.” She commands the complete attention and respect of the party executives. She does not beg for their cooperation; instead, she issues ultimatums. She reminds them that there are plenty of other political parties (“Political Party dem bacoo for country”) waiting for the women’s votes. She uses colourful proverbs to effortlessly outmanoeuvre the educated men in the room. Here is an example: “Man wey carry Ogbono soup-pot for hand, and di man wey carry foo-foo for head, na who go fin’ who go?”
She fully understands the transactional nature of politics. She metaphorically compares the political party to a “person mouth” that is hungry for the women’s votes, but warns that because the party has a “bad teet’” (Lejoka-Brown), they will not get those votes until the rotten tooth is pulled out.
She is also fiercely protective. Her primary motivation for turning against Lejoka-Brown is his mistreatment of her daughter. She publicly calls him out as a hypocritical and deceitful man—a “mango-mango, manafiki man”—for taking Sikira as a wife under false pretences.
Madam Ajanaku is the architect of the play’s climax and resolution. Earlier in the plot, Lejoka-Brown reveals he married Sikira as an “emergency” measure simply to secure Madam Ajanaku’s bloc of market women votes. However, when Sikira rebels and leaves Lejoka-Brown, Madam Ajanaku weaponises her political leverage. She attends the party’s executive meeting, withdraws her union’s support for Lejoka-Brown, and demands he be replaced by her daughter.
Polycarp
Polycarp is the loyal steward and house-boy in the Lejoka-Brown household. He speaks predominantly in Nigerian Pidgin English. Physically, his appearance has been entirely shaped by Lejoka-Brown’s obsession with the military. He is introduced “clad in khaki shirt over a pair of shorts of the same fabric,” and his feet are encased in a pair of “worn-out army boots… like over seized hooves.” This militarised uniform visually underscores how deeply the major’s autocratic fantasies have permeated the mundane details of the household.
Polycarp has been trained to treat domestic service like military duty. He announces himself by barking “Major!” or saluting and saying, “Beg to report sah.” He takes his orders with absolute literalism. When guarding the door from a BBC correspondent, he proudly declares his unquestioning loyalty: “I always do whetin di Major tell me, Mister. If Major say jump, I jump! ‘e say stand, I tanda; butu, I butu; ‘e say run – na four-forty dat.”
However, he is cheeky. He occasionally mocks his master’s hubris. When Lejoka-Brown is paralysed with fear upon learning that Liza has arrived and seen the other wives, Polycarp innocently offers, “I dey go buy toilet paper sah,” cheekily implying that the major is about to soil himself in terror.
Polycarp is apparently a facilitator of the plot’s physical comedy. He delivers the initial cablegram that sets the conflict in motion; that announces Liza’s premature arrival. Later, he is the one who frantically bursts in to inform Lejoka-Brown that Liza has actually reached the house, which escalates the major’s panic. He also serves as the gatekeeper during the climax, during which he holds back the press until Lejoka-Brown is ready for them.
Polycarp is much more than a background servant. Theatrically, he is an essential comedic device. He fulfills the traditional role of the “clownish servant” or messenger who bridges the gap between different scenes and characters. His use of Pidgin English grounds the play in authentic Nigerian culture, contrasting with Liza’s American sophistication and the Major’s pompous political rhetoric. Without Polycarp, the sheer absurdity of Lejoka-Brown’s “military” household would not be nearly as visible or entertaining to the audience.
Alhaji Mustafa
Alhaji Mustafa is a minor character in Our Husband Has Gone Mad Again. He is introduced “a neighbour and a venerable old man” who represents the traditional, older generation of Nigerians. Mustafa is the picture of a fading patriarchal era. The stage directions describe him as a “tall slender man who could pass for a grandfather” wearing a “bedraggled jumper that barely covers the top of a skimpy pair of Yoruba pantaloons.” He is barefoot (“unshod”), wearing a “threadbare, turban swathing his head and chin,” which presents a “rather mangy contrast.”
He is a devout Muslim elder who strictly observes traditional religious etiquette. When he visits the Lejoka-Brown household, he inches his way into the room backwards, with his head bowed, to ensure the women have time to properly cover their bodies against “temptation”. He waits until Mama Rashida assures him that she and Sikira are covered before he turns around.
Mustafa is disoriented by the modern world. He is driven to distraction because “Government demons” accompanied by armed policemen are demolishing his grandfather’s house. In a state of helpless frustration, he borrows a barber’s rifle, thinking he could somehow “stop the devils.” He soon realises the rifle is of no use against “three and twenty devils in uniform armed with three and twenty guns.”
He is portrayed as community-minded and generous. Despite his own troubles, he looks out for his neighbours. He warns Lejoka-Brown (through the wives) not to accept less than three thousand pounds if the government comes for his house too. Later, he generously offers Mama Rashida a place on his village farm in Abule Oja to expand her business.
Alhaji Mustafa is a vital socio-historical anchor in Rotimi’s comedy. He injects a brief moment of tragic realism into an otherwise farcical play. The demolition of his home is a clear visual indication of the collateral damage caused by the “progress” overseen by self-serving politicians like Lejoka-Brown. His presence also provides a necessary benchmark to measure Sikira’s radical lack of traditional decorum.
Mallam Gaskiya & Musa Osagie
Mallam Gaskiya and Musa Osagie are executive members of the National Liberation Party (NLP). While they are distinct characters, they function dramatically as a unified front. Together, they represent the educated, democratic, and rational wing of the political party. They collectively stand in stark contrast to the play’s autocratic, militaristic protagonist.
Gaskiya and Osagie belong to the educated, post-colonial political elite. Their social background is defined by their high level of formal Western education, which makes them the target of Lejoka-Brown’s deep-seated insecurities. During a heated argument, Lejoka-Brown disparagingly refers to them as “Book-heads” who “went to Europe and America, studied book, came back, talk big talk.” Lejoka-Brown resents their education and believes they are trying to “order him around” simply because they went to Oxford. He tries to manipulate them publicly, grabbing Gaskiya’s arm to present a fake “struggle for power” for the press photographers, but behind closed doors, they view him as an “old-fashioned and autocratic” liability.
Both men value protocol and democratic strategy. When Lejoka-Brown outlines his ridiculous plan to run the political campaign using the military tactic of “surprise and attack,” they are the first to recognise the absurdity of the “mumbo-jumbo.” While Osagie initially attempts to be diplomatic, stating, “I regret to say that I… er… I have some doubts,” Gaskiya quickly abandons pleasantries in the face of foolishness. He forcefully interjects, “Protocol be hanged! Listen, fellow. Let’s stop fooling ourselves Please! This military Surprise and Attack nonsense just won’t work in a political campaign.”
They are powerful orators when pushed. After Lejoka-Brown’s disastrous behaviour with the press, Osagie delivers a scathing, articulate condemnation of the Major’s “outright contempt for, and gross callousness toward the feelings and dignity of members of our beloved Party!”
If Liza and Sikira orchestrate Lejoka-Brown’s domestic downfall, Gaskiya and Osagie are the architects of his political ruin. They are the catalyst for the political mutiny within the National Liberation Party. When they are fed up with his dictatorial leadership and embarrassing public antics, they convene an Emergency Committee meeting specifically to pass a vote of no confidence against him. They successfully remove him from his position as party leader. They then form a vital political alliance with Madam Ajanaku in recognition of the fact that she controls the grassroots votes necessary to save the party.
Mallam Gaskiya and Musa Osagie serve as the rational political counterweight to Major Lejoka-Brown’s comedic megalomania. They refuse to let their party be dragged down by the erratic whims of a military relic.
The Press
The Press functions less as individual characters and more as a collective entity representing public scrutiny, media power, and the outside world. It is a blend of local and international media typical of post-colonial African political landscapes. The group includes a Caucasian reporter, Phillip MacDonald, representing the British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC). The local contingent consists of Mallam Rotuman Zamberiberi of the Daily Brigade and Elim Bassey of the Sunday Spectator, along with an unnamed press photographer. They appear as standard newsmen of the era, carrying notebooks, pencils, and cameras, eager to document the National Liberation Party’s executive meeting. They arrive at the absolute climax of Lejoka-Brown’s dual lives colliding. Their presence on the porch forces the Major to frantically juggle the ongoing mutiny of his party executives and the escalating rebellion of his American wife, Liza.
The reporters are far from ignorant about Lejoka-Brown’s secret life. While waiting on the porch, they openly gossip about his domestic situation. They note that he has three wives, the youngest recently left him, and one is a “qualified medic, graduated from America.” This shows they are competent journalists who have done their research. They are willing to play along with political pageantry to get their story. When Lejoka-Brown stages a fake, chummy photo with Mallam Gaskiya to dispel rumours of a party rift, the “obliging photographer responds” without questioning the authenticity of the pose.
However, they are easily intimidated. They are entirely unequipped to handle Lejoka-Brown’s militaristic violence. When the Major draws a machete to prevent them from seeing his wife in a bathing suit, the journalists instantly drop their professional demeanour. They scuttle away and cower on the floor “like lizards.”
Lejoka-Brown views the Press as a tool for propaganda. He addresses them grandly as “Honourable Gentlemen of the World Press” and tries to charm them. Ironically, he tells them that “the truth is in your hands… the ball of facts is at your feet” before violently turning on them. He calls them “bloody busy-bodies” afterwards and forces them to the floor with a machete when they witness too much.
The Crowd
The Crowd is a heterogeneous mixture of the Nigerian political landscape: it is composed of “members of the Nigerian National Liberation Party, members of the National Union of Nigerian Market Women, blustering party supporters, fair-weather cheerleaders, [and] brawny party thugs.” They are a loud, mobile, and highly visible mass. They are seen in campaign processions engaging in “loud drumming and singing,” acting as “excited spectators” who converge “to applaud the banner-flaunting partisans.” They represent the everyday working-class citizens and hired political muscle whose votes and physical support politicians desperately need.
The Crowd is defined by its massive, uncontainable energy. They are constantly singing the party’s anthem, “Freedom, freedom / Everywhere there must be freedom.” Their enthusiasm is palpable. They are frequently “cheering” and dancing “uproariously”.
Many in the crowd are “fair-weather cheerleaders.” They are adaptable in their loyalties. At the beginning of the play, they enthusiastically cheer for Major Lejoka-Brown, to whom he responds with a “victory” sign. However, by the finale, they seamlessly transfer their uproarious cheers to his usurper and ex-wife, Sikira.
A subset of the crowd consists of “brawny party thugs” whose presence counterpoints the hopeful singing with “aggressively vociferous, coarse chanting,” as a revelation of the underlying threat of violence and intimidation present in the political campaigns.
Rotimi uses the Crowd effectively as a modern, localised version of a Greek Chorus. They dictate the atmosphere and enforce the consequences of the protagonist’s hubris. With his explicit inclusion of “thugs” and “fair-weather cheerleaders” alongside legitimate party members, Rotimi paints a realistic, slightly cynical, but triumphant picture of the Nigerian electorate. They ensure the play remains grounded in broad socio-political realities rather than just domestic farce.
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