We had a conversation with Ibi Kontein, a Nigerian playwright, director and founder of Sabi Arts, a theatre production company committed to telling bold, human-centered stories that reflect the lived realities of Nigerians, particularly young people and woman. Kontein created Dear Applicant, a satirical and emotional play about the harsh, often absurd journey of trying to find a job in the system.
Dear Applicant will be debuting for the first time in the UK at Theatre Peckham-Studio as a part of the 2025 Peckham Fringe. Tickets and details: https://www.theatrepeckham.co.uk/show/dearapplicant
Applicant” taps into the frustration of job-seeking in a broken system—how did your own experiences, or those around you, shape the emotional core of this play?
The emotional core of Dear Applicant comes from lived experiences; mine and that of so many brilliant, hard working people around me who have done everything “right,” only to meet closed doors. I’ve watched friends with first-class degrees struggle to find jobs. I’ve seen people rewrite their CVs a hundred times, borrow clothes to look “presentable,” wait for interviews that never happen, and still be told they’re not good enough. Sometimes without even being looked in the eye. I’ve been there too.
What broke me the most wasn’t just the rejections. It was how deeply normal the indignity had become. People being asked to sweep floors or run errands during interviews. People being told there’s no job, but if they “know someone,” maybe something can be arranged. Or worse, offered positions that completely strip them of dignity, value, or safety. I wrote Dear Applicant to hold a mirror to that madness, but also to laugh, because sometimes the only thing more ridiculous than the system is how familiar it all feels.
The play is satire, but it’s also a release. A way of saying, we see you. You’re not crazy. This is crazy. And we deserve better. It’s deeply Nigerian, yes, but this kind of struggle is not unique to Nigeria. I think anyone who’s ever felt unseen despite their effort can relate to what Dear Applicant is trying to say. I just wanted to make us laugh, reflect, and maybe breathe a little easier knowing we’re not alone.
You describe the play as both deeply Nigerian and universally relatable—what choices did you make in the writing or direction to ensure it resonates beyond its local context, especially now that it’s coming to a UK stage?
Dear Applicant is unapologetically Nigerian in its language, and references. But beneath all of that is a very human story about worth, rejection, and survival. And those feelings don’t need subtitles.
In writing the play, I was intentional about capturing the emotion behind the situations, not just the local details. Whether you’re in Nigeria or the UK, the feeling of being overqualified and undervalued is universal. The ache of chasing opportunity that keeps slipping through your fingers.
At the same time, I didn’t want to dilute the ‘Nigerianness.’ I didn’t want to over-explain or westernize the world of the play just to make it “palatable.” Instead, I trusted the audience. Context can be learned, but feelings? People recognize those instantly. What I did do, especially now that it’s coming to a UK stage, is pay close attention to body language, and character dynamics, because those help carry meaning even when the words are unfamiliar. I also worked with UK-based actors who bring their own cultural lens, and that fusion brings something fresh
to the story without losing its soul.
Ultimately, I believe specificity is what creates universality. The more honest we are about where the story is coming from, the more it connects. People everywhere know what it means to want more, to try, and to not be seen. Dear Applicant just gives that experience a name, a face, and a voice.
Satire can be tricky to balance, especially with such weighty themes like unemployment and class—how do you find that sweet spot between humour and heartbreak?
Satire, for me, is not about laughing at pain, but laughing through it. The goal is never to trivialize the hardship, but to expose the absurdity of the system that creates it. And when you come from a place like Nigeria, that absurdity is everywhere. You’re queuing for a job interview at 8am, and someone is asking you to sweep the office before the interview can begin. It’s tragic, but also ridiculous. That tension is where Dear Applicant lives.
I find the sweet spot by grounding everything in truth. The humour has to come from real, recognizable situations. Things that could happen, or have already happened. That’s what makes it land. If the audience is laughing, it’s not because they find unemployment funny, but because they’ve been there. They know that awkward pause. That forced smile. That moment when you question your whole life because someone just offered you a job that pays less than your daily
transport fare.
And then there’s heartbreak; but that, too, is layered. Because behind the humour is always someone who’s just trying to hold on to hope. The comedy makes it bearable. The pain makes it necessary. That’s the balance I try to maintain: never mocking the characters, never punching down, but always inviting the audience to see themselves, and maybe to feel seen.
Working with UK-based actors for the first time, how did you navigate the cultural nuances of the script in rehearsal, and what surprised you most about the collaboration?
Working with UK-based actors has been one of the most rewarding parts of bringing Dear Applicant to the UK stage. At first, I was nervous about how the script’s cultural nuances; its tone, phrasing, the very Nigerian sense of humour, would land. But from our very first rehearsal, it became clear that the cast was not only open, but genuinely curious and committed to understanding the world of the play.
We spent time unpacking the context; what “long leg” means, how a line might sound in a Nigerian office versus how it might be read in text. Sometimes I would act out a moment myself, not to show them how to perform it, but to give them a feel for the rhythm behind the words.
We’d pause often to talk about why a line mattered, or why something that seemed funny on the surface was actually layered with frustration.
What surprised me most was how quickly the actors got it. Not just intellectually, but emotionally. Once they connected to the heart of the characters; the longing, the shame, the absurdity, they began to make the text their own. They brought new textures I hadn’t considered, asked questions I hadn’t thought to ask. It became a true exchange, not a one-way teaching session.
That collaboration reminded me of why theatre works across cultures. Because even when the names and places change, the feelings don’t. It also reaffirmed that trust; trust in the actors, trust in the story, trust in the audience, can carry a play across borders without losing its soul.
Peckham Fringe is known for amplifying underrepresented voices—what does it mean for you and Sabi Arts to debut here, and what do you hope UK audiences take away from this story?
It feels like a meeting point between worlds. Peckham is a space where Black stories, migrant stories, working-class stories, and all the stories that often sit at the edges are not only welcomed but celebrated. That matters deeply to me as a Nigerian artist whose work has always centered the people and places that are rarely spotlighted.
This is Sabi Arts’ first UK production, and to have it debut in a space that values honesty, boldness, and cultural depth, feels like the right kind of beginning. We’re bringing a story that is very much born of Nigerian chaos, but it is also stitched with the quiet hopes and daily frustrations that so many people, especially immigrants and young professionals, will recognise. That sense of, “I’ve done everything I was told to do, so why isn’t it enough?”
What I hope UK audiences takeaway is not just a better understanding of the Nigerian job market or social structure. I hope they see themselves in Jaja. I hope they laugh and wince and pause. I hope they feel the dignity in the struggle. And maybe, just maybe, I hope they leave the theatre thinking more tenderly about the people around them who are still trying, still hoping, still showing up, even when the system keeps saying no.
That’s what this story is about. And that’s why it feels right to tell it at Peckham Fringe, and again later this year at Edinburgh Fringe in August 2025, where we’re excited to continue this journey and share Dear Applicant with an even wider audience.
Get your tickets to Dear Applicant now – https://www.theatrepeckham.co.uk/show/dearapplicant