The musical Kakadu, about Nigeria's tumultuous history, is going down well in Lagos, but can it spark a revival in Nigeria's run-down theatres, asks Sarah Rundell.
It is a pre-show ritual that reveals just how close the troupe have grown in the gruelling months rehearsing for Nigeria's first contemporary musical and how so many of their hopes rest on its success.
In a city with an estimated population of 12 million but no working theatre, Kakadu, The Musical promises the hint of a revival for Lagos's beleaguered arts scene.
The character Lugard is all largesse and swagger at first
When the show opened, it was standing room only in the 200-seat Recital Hall on Victoria Island, a well-to-do Lagos suburb.
The story of a group of young, trendy Lagosians imbued with hope after Nigeria's independence from British rule, but whose optimism is shattered first when it plunges into civil war, and then falls prey to cycles of corruption, has captured people's imagination.
And it is as timely now as it would have been back in the 1960s.
Kakadu opened in the week that President Goodluck Jonathan declared a state of emergency in three north-eastern states gripped by an Islamist-led insurgency.
The central character in the musical is Lugard de Rocha, the landlord of the popular Kakadu Bar, nicknamed Lord Lugard after the British governor-general of Nigeria responsible for amalgamating the north and south in 1914.
Lugard, played by 40-year-old Ben Ogbeiwi, is all largesse and swagger at first.
But his nightclub and the hope it symbolises lies in tatters around him by the end, when he pleads with piercing poignancy in writer and director Uche Nwokedi's main score: "How do we build a nation?"
'Telling our story'
Kakadu has been four years in the making and a labour of love for corporate lawyer Mr Nwokedi who dates his passion for musicals back to playing Joseph at school.
"Some people play golf or get involved in politics but this is what refreshes my soul. Besides I was tired of shows being brought in," he says, referring to foreign musicals like Fela!, the Broadway hit about Nigeria's best known singer Fela Kuti.
"I think Kakadu speaks well of Nigeria and it tells our story our way."
But the project has been fraught with challenge. None more so than Lagos's lack of theatres.
A recital hall is the best venue on offer. There is no curtain and set changes are impossible with the one, small stage.
Space is so cramped that the orchestra and choir hunker underneath a bridge, the only prop, and the team have had to rig their own lights and bring in all the sound equipment.
"The only thing we didn't have to provide were the chairs," says Mr Nwokedi, mopping his brow as he watches an afternoon rehearsal without air conditioning, which is strictly rationed to actual performances because of its punitive cost in a city that relies on diesel generators for its electricity.
The production has run into tens of thousands of dollars, shouldered by Mr Nwokedi and a few corporate sponsors, but also with "mattress money" from supportive family and friends.
"No one takes my calls any more," he laughs
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