Making a musical about one of the most shocking tragedies in South Africa's recent history seems like a dubious decision. After all, we usually associate musicals with camp, glitz and pantomime. But the idea that a musical is always an upbeat affair is actually a misnomer – they can also be tragedies.
If you watch the play, you'll realise that putting it into this form might be one of the only ways to tell the story – with struggle songs, lamentations, protest chants and traditional music, the play memorialises the event we know so well.
In terms of production and theatrical technique, "Marikana – The Musical"is superb, which is perhaps why it was nominated for 13 Naledi Theatre Awards in 2015, and won five of them. But there are some things that feel uncomfortable.
There's a certain amount of risk involved when creating a play funded by the department of arts and culture that is about a tragedy that was effectively perpetrated by the state.
I asked Sekhabi if he felt any pressure to make the production palatable.
"No. As a playwright, I wanted to write the story as I understand the book. I don't practise self-censorship."
It's something I kept thinking about during the staging of the actual shooting. In the play, the mowing down of the mine workers is shown, but the way they were subsequently chased into the koppies and shot, sometimes execution style, by the cops, was not included.
I thought it an omission, a choice that diluted the extent of the tragedy, and asked Sekhabi about it.
"In the original play, I did include that part. But the audience kept on laughing – it bothered me so much."
In the original, the actors would run into the audience as the police shot at them.
"The audience was laughing every time we experimented with that. I finally cut that scene and included the line: 'They shot him while he was unarmed.'"
Audience responses, especially on big opening nights, can be unpredictable.
At one point in the play, there's a scene where the mine workers turn their backs to the audience and strip down to apply muti to their bodies. As they take off their overalls, the crowd erupts into whistles and cheers, turning the solemn scene into a Full Monty pantomime.
