There are many objections one can raise to slave ships: that their cargo is too immobile to make great theatre isn't usually the first that springs to mind. Still, Tian Glasgow's play, set on a late eighteenth-century British slaver, demonstrates its truth.
It does less well at evoking more important flaws in the system of human bondage. Four slaves lie bound in the dark hold; one preaches his captors' religion, one sighs for his homeland and one pours scorn on the others. The fourth, Kayode, asks questions in a suspiciously plummy accent. He's actually an imposter, here to study the Igbo slaves.
This is a premise with a fair few flaws: why not just interview a slave back in Britain? Asking the men about their lives involves a tacit admission of their humanity that sits ill with Kayode's prurient curiosity in the face of their misery; he also treats them like idiots, sneaking off to write about them and expecting them not to notice (they do, of course, because to men immured in filth, freedom smells even stronger than soap and Kayode has both).
But in Glasgow's play they are idiotic, yelling vague, long-winded speeches. In this opaque mess, only Tapiwa Madovi, wonderfully sullen as the scornful warrior, shines out like liberty's torch.