Theatre, DOSF’s Kashimawo and the Birth of Another Godson
Jerry Adesewo
Today, I made a discovery that struck me as both ordinary and extraordinary.
It began with the flyer of Kashimawo, a play about the late Bashorun MKO Abiola, written by Professor Bakare Ojo Rasaki for the Duke of Shomolu Foundation’s London production, scheduled for the Shaw Theatre, Easton, London, October 4 & 5. This was not just another theatre announcement. As I often do, I picked it up and forwarded it to my London/UK contacts with a message encouraging them to go and see the show with their friends and families, if they could.
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Somehow, that unsolicited gesture triggered an encounter I did not expect, but have come to cherish.
I had a number saved in my phone as “Tayo Sanmi London,” certain it belonged to someone living abroad, though I couldn’t recall when, where, or how we met. Around midnight, s/he was one of those I sent the flyer to. By morning, a reply came:
TSL: Hi, sorry who is this?
Om’Oba: My name is Jerry Adesewo, Chairman of NANTAP Abuja. I am a theatre maker.
TSL: Ok. What do you need?
Om’Oba: Nothing. I just shared information about our production coming to London with you and other Nigerian London contacts.
TSL: Interesting. I went to Abiola International School, MKO’s school in Opebi. I graduated in 2017.
Om’Oba: Wow! So you have a bit of connection. If you can, please try to go watch the play. You’ll enjoy it.
TSL: Where did you even get my number?
Om’Oba: Honestly, I can’t remember. I just had it saved as Tayo Sanmi London.
TSL: Oh! But my name is Onochie.
That was the first surprise — not in London, not even Tayo, but Onochie, right here in Nigeria. Then the conversation shifted into something deeper.
TSL: Are you a lecturer?
Om’Oba: In the official sense of it…no! But lecturing is a calling I’ll be happy to answer someday.
TSL: So can I ask a question?
Om’Oba: Fire on!
TSL: I am about to go to school and I don’t know whether to choose Theatre Arts or Art and Industrial Design. Which is better? I need your advice, sir.
Om’Oba: Which do you prefer or love better?
TSL: Art and Industrial Design.
Om’Oba: Then go for it. With that, you can still become a theatre artist in practise.
TSL: But my mum wants me to go for Theatre Arts.
That stopped me. In a family of a political scientist (mother) , a doctor (father), and a lawyer (brother), here was a mother urging her son to consider theatre. In a society where the stage is so often dismissed as “not a real profession,” this felt unusual, almost radical. What could she have seen? Probably she was denied the opportunity to study theatre arts and looked at realising that dream through her son, or she is a covert theatre lover.
Our conversation ended with a symbolic exchange:
Om’Oba: It’s rare that a parent wants their child to study theatre. You are lucky.
TSL: Hmmmm.
Om’Oba: I’ll stick to my suggestion that you go for arts and industrial design, if you can find a way to convince your mum.
In truth, a graduate of Art and Industrial Design can function powerfully in theatre practice. From set and stage design to props, costumes, and even theatre architecture, the skills of a designer breathe life into performance. They create the world the actors inhabit, shaping not only what is seen but how it is felt.
Theatre is never just about acting—it is a collaboration of arts. Where the performer carries the story in voice and movement, the designer frames it in form, space, and texture. A background in art and design equips one to innovate with materials, lighting, and structure, pushing the stage beyond convention. In many ways, theatre is the meeting ground of both worlds.
So, in theatre arts, you can achieve your dream of Arts and Industrial Design”, I told him. “And in Arts and Industrial Designs, you can achieve your mum’s desire of seeing you become a theatre artist.”
S/he went offline for a long time, and when he returns, he said:
TSL: I will save your name as Godfather, if you don’t mind. You’ll be advising me.
[9/19, 11:44 AM] Om’Oba: No problem, dear. In that case, I’ll edit and save you as Godson too, if you don’t mind.
S/he only laughed back, and it was then I concluded he must be a male, because I never asked him.
I laughed too, but I let it sink in. Perhaps this is what Kashimawo does: it births new relationships, reshapes identities, and places us in roles we never rehearsed.
In the end, I walked away not just with the joy of a chance connection, but with a renewed hope that theatre still inspires faith, and that there are parents brave enough to see its worth.
The request to be called a godfather made me pause.
In our culture, “godfather” is more than a title; it is a responsibility, a pledge to guide, protect, and stand in when needed. It reminded me of the role Bashorun MKO Abiola played for so many in his lifetime. He was more than a benefactor—he was a godfather to countless men and women, opening doors, offering counsel, and staking his influence so others could rise.
Though I already function in a fatherly role for many young people that I am not related with by blood. To be asked into that space, by a total stranger, even in a small way, is both humbling and daunting. It is a reminder that legacy is measured not just in personal success, but in how many lives are lifted because you chose to stand as their ‘godfather.’
Welcome to my world, Onochie.