Tragedy Propels Us to Find Answers In Kinship: A Review of Cheta Igbokwe’s Brother-Brother

By Uchenna Eze

A theorem of Aristotle’s Poetics which continues to gain scholarly attention today is the cathartic impulse of tragedy—the arousal of pity and fear, and the purgation of these emotions. As a form of literature that focuses on serious and sombre events, detailing, often, the misfortune and downfall of the protagonist(s) caused by external forces, an error of judgement, or even a combination of both, tragedy aims to evoke a potent depiction of the real, what Frye ascribes as “a flash of instantaneous comprehension”, providing insights into the complexities of human nature. From Sophocles’ Oedipus Rex to Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar, Soyinka’s Death and the King’s Horseman to Igbokwe’s Brother-Brother, the erroneous fatality of human image continues to resonate with Aristotle’s argument.

These depictions have inclined us to rethink the veracity of human judgement, of what it means to be human; the place of fate, and the extent to which it impacts on the human condition. Thus, a fusion of flaw and fate is evident in the culmination of tragedy, in the irredeemable crumbling of the hero, and its cathartic consequence on the audience. Hence, we look no further than Cheta Igbokwe’s unpublished play, Brother-Brother, as imbibing such twin elements of tragic necessity.

There is something Cheta Igbokwe does to his audience: he takes you to the centre of action and leaves you perpetually bound with interest. Amongst the multi-faceted interpretations replete in this immaculate work of literature, one that spearheads the chart is the playwright’s effortless ability to capture the cosmic order, the ethereal and the sombre. Igbokwe’s masterful handling of death and the human urge to thwart this ultimate end is one that assumes a distinct position throughout the play’s running time of ninety (90) minutes. In all its embellishment with comic dialogues and gestures, particularly from the mischievous Ndaa Okenta (Eneh Chukwuebuka), one cannot help but get immersed in the depth of tragic sequence that is masked behind the words and actions. Like in Awele, his last staged play at the same theatre, which I was a member of the audience, Cheta Igbokwe interrogates the notion of existence, riddles the uncertainty of the life after, and evokes the human need to be the decider of his fate. However, unlike Awele where the kernel of pre-occupation anchors on reincarnation, Brother-Brother treats holistically the notion of self-preservation, an erroneous audacity to stifle death in one’s pouch.

The story of Brother-Brother is concentrated on the pitiful tale of Ojemba (Chiedozialum Samsong), an ailing Professor of drama at Iowa, who has returned home to die after a cancerous growth overtakes his lungs and confines him to a wheel chair. His only surviving relative, and brother, Ndaa Okenta, a notorious villager who is famed for his diabolic machinations and serial marriages to much younger women, is adamant on reclaiming all that was once stolen from him by the now incapacitated Ojemba. And to quickly assume into such hallowed wealth and prominence, he prays to the gods to quicken the death of his brother. However, he, Ndaa Okenta, is immune to imminent death. His life is tied to his much younger wife’s life, Ifenkili (Ogbue Chidubem), which means death will only come to him if and when Ifenkili dies. To protect her from any form of harm, he casts a spell on her, and ties her hands and feet, keeping her bound to the room, an action which ultimately leads to his sudden end. Such depiction quickly brings to the mind of a swift observer the rhetoric of female subjugation. In a society like Ndaa’s where men can marry as many women as desirable, divorce them at will, and subject them to “the sacred scapegoat that carries the burden of long life,” female subjugation continues to be a veritable topic for scholarly discourse. What is more? Shouldn’t the ground Ifenkili walks on be hallowed by Okenta? Is she not deserving of the best form of care anyone can ask for? Shouldn’t her happiness be at the fore of Okenta’s concern? I will leave you to an answer which I hope is polarized from what Ndaa Okenta believes.
And while at the heart of female subjugation and subversion of human will—Ifenkili is unaware and non-consenting to the gimmicks of Okenta for a shared life—another woman, Oriaku (Ijeoma Orji), plots to subvert the wish of Ojemba, her husband, which is to immortalize his memory in art forms including songs, paintings, and literature.

This depiction, again, vilifies the female characters’ involvement in the grand scheme of events. This, however, is not without reason. One can infer that the density of the plot is essential to how these characters are portrayed. More so, since the story borders around two brothers from uniquely different worldviews, it is only pertinent that we see the disparity in the perception of women from the two worlds. I have not deviated from the plot. Oriaku is against Ojemba’s wish to will his wealth to charity. She believes it will best serve their only son who was left behind in America to continue with his studies, but Ojemba, being orthodox, thinks their son should make his own money. Meanwhile, Ndaa Okenta thinks his name is Charity, because he fits the mould of “the poor, the needy, and the motherless.” Such a laughable interpretation left the theatre agog with laugher. But a constant to Cheta Igbokwe’s stage performances would not be surprised at what has now become a signature element in his most concentrated tragedies. And for this, I must commend the comic inclinations of the playwright. It is indeed marvellous how subtly he injects laughter at the most saturated point of the plot, so that the audience does not so much feel the weight of adversity.

Brother-Brother premiered in Nigeria at the New Arts Theatre of University of Nigeria, Nsukka on the 6th of March, 2024, and was staged again on the 7th and 8th. It was technically directed by Richard Umezinwa, and artistically directed by Roland Odo and Ugochukwu Ugwu, three astute artisans that breathe the performance art. And I must tell you, the synergy of the lighting, set design, and team of chorus are testament to their attention to details. The scene of Ojemba’s parlour has the superfluous ambience of an American returnee: soft couches, walls adorned with large-sized portraits, with a signature painting of a seasoned craftsman. The lighting in no doubt adds a peculiarity to the worlds of both protagonists. The yellow hue of Ndaa Okenta’s bedroom at the beginning of the play is in polarity with the bright fluorescent of Ojemba’s parlour, thus making visible the exposure and material wealth of both individuals. At the base of the theatre, we encounter a fine ensemble of melodious voices, cutting through the evening’s haze with the beat and rhythm of the ancient chorus leaders. However, for all its artistic qualities, Brother-Brother follows the trope of tragic necessity, leaving one’s tongue sour with the tinge of probability, of what would have been, of man’s recklessness, and the overzealous nature of fate.

In spite of his mischievous mien, Ndaa Okenta—the man who killed the medicine man that taught him to tie his life to his wife’s, just so he does not dispel the charm without his consent—evolves as a man of empathy. Moved by his brother’s condition and Oriaku’s ploy to outwit him, he forgives Ojemba, puts aside his pronounced hate and animosity, and goes further to offer him the spell of long life. On the bright side, such gesture echoes something remarkably beautiful, as the two brothers will eventually bond and live out the rest of their lives in measured footsteps to their grave. As you have guessed, this offer involves tying Ojemba’s deteriorating life to Ifenkili’s, the sacred scapegoat that carries the burden of long life. However, choices have their consequences and Ojemba must have his fair share. This action marks the culmination of the play’s climax, unfurling a sequence of tragic events that churn the belly of the audience.

“When death knocks on this door, she will not find me ready,” at the fourth attempt and for the first time in the play, Ojemba feels unready after succumbing to the compelling argument of Okenta. It is unknown to him that the overzealous fist of fate has interfered with a blow on the face of men. And like their father, their death will be quickened. But unlike their father whose spell was disbanded without his consent, theirs is a tragedy caused by Okenta’s error of judgement, and to some degree, the interference of fate. In the minds of the audience, like the one behind me who echoed: “Maybe if he had not tied his wife’s hands, she would have escaped out of the fire,” we can only speculate. What if he had opened the door on the first knock when the villagers came trooping and shouting, “Fire, fire”? What if he was not overtaken by greed and selfishness to seize all that Ojemba owns and deny the hungry villagers any portions? What if he had compassion and embraced charity? What if…? What if…?

On the other hand, fate is not to be spared. For all his good deeds and charity, why was Ojemba not spared from the consequences of Okenta’s actions? Why didn’t the fire outbreak consume Ifenkili before he agreed to take the offer of long-life? Did fate not see that he, Ojemba, was innocent? Why would a man succumb to death the moment he finished confessing his unreadiness? These questions are not mine, but the murmurs of a sorrowful audience who felt the sting of tragedy. What this surmises is that in this world—of tragedy—we live in the bubble of our machinations; we find answers in the affinity of meaning deduced.

Of the many connotations such an ending evokes, one that has kept me suspended is the inherent human desire to be the driver of his destiny, while subverting the place of fate. Like in Awele, Mgbada and Ehi’s wish to overthrow Awele was a misuse of freewill, thus resulting in their return as goats. Here, the desire to live a prolonged life ironically leads to a shorter one. It begs the question: what is fate? What role does a man play in attaining destiny if fate cannot be evaded? In musing on these, like I have done over a month since witnessing this magnificent work of art, one cannot help but empathize with the innocence of Ojemba in this tragic conundrum.

Uchenna Edwin Eze is a playwright and Editor who writes from the sleepy town of Nsukka. He edited his University’s Journal: The Muse, No. 51, the oldest surviving student’s journal in West Africa founded by Chinua Achebe in 1963.