Before piling four people into the back of a tiny taxi, I turned around to take a final look at Accra’s National Theatre, shaped like the stern of a large boat, atop a stone foundation.
We had just seen a play by the Ghanaian playwright Ebo Whyte, called “I Want Your Wife,” supposedly based on true events that took place in a small village in Ghana roughly 50 years ago. To be certain, the play is a comedy first and foremost, and perhaps a comment on religious fundamentalism and wealth disparity second. The promotional poster pays direct homage to the film posters of American romantic comedies: two men, one woman in the middle, all with the appearance of mischievous guilt entombed in their faces. It’s as if Ebo Whyte used the aesthetics of a Tyler Perry movie for a Ghanaian play.
The plot is simple: Ben and Abena have been happily married for ten years. However, everything changes when a woman from their church receives a message from God, who uses the women as a vessel for his wishes, telling her that Ben must give his wife to another man. This other man is a rich deacon, who uses his money and privilege to extend influence over the church and the people within. Much like the American rom-com, this somewhat absurd plot is used as a vehicle to explore issues of love, trust, and faith.
The religious aspects of the play are what separates it from American comparisons. According to the 2010 census, 71.2 percent of Ghana’s population is Christian. Nearly every person I’ve met at my internship, on public transit, or in an Uber, has said they attend church on Sunday mornings. It seems ingrained in the culture. So I shouldn’t have been surprised when the main conflict in “I Want Your Wife” could have been solved by a denunciation of God.
Aside from the messy conversations surrounding faith, which seem about as forced as a conversation relating Adam Sandler’s “50 First Dates” to the fair treatment of people with disabilities, the play was funny. Like really funny. I don’t think Ebo Whyte is as concerned with exploring heavy topics as he is with having fun.
Since arriving in Ghana, I’ve noticed that Ghanaians value humor more than I expected. Certainly more than Americans. My everyday interactions in this country are peppered with self-aware instances of absurdity. When I attempt to speak Twi, people laugh at me; when I nod my head people laugh and nod back. It’s never malicious. To me, it seems to be a moment-by-moment recognition that life is finite and unfair. A lot of the times it’s either laugh or cry. And the Ghanaians that I’ve interacted with laugh — a lot.
The crowd engagement at the play was unlike any I’d seen in America. The loud laughter often blended into the next piece of dialogue. By the end of the play, audience members were finishing predictable bits of dialogue. It’s the kind of engagement actors, writers and directors dream of.
This is the only Ghanaian play I’ve seen, but I imagine a culture of whimsy not unlike the one that floated through the majority of “I Want Your Wife.” It’s a worthy addition to a genre of film or play that’s meant to make you feel good, with increasingly low stakes.
