As is, of course, their desperate situation. Coverage of those terrible events in Borno State has been far more thorough and emotive elsewhere, so I will not rephrase here, only to say that the profound and vivid bleakness of their turmoil - forced to convert to Islam, and to marry members of Boko Haram - is at no point in the story shied away from. Quite the opposite, in fact. Ikoko goes to great lengths to ensure that we are aware of how scared the girls are, how real their actions seem, and how insignificant they feel they are. One of the girls suggests the West only views terrorism as terrorism when between two different skin colours; if Africans commit crimes against themselves, that's civil war or internal struggle. It is a damning indictment of the lacking response our international community so often feebly offers up.
In her play, Ikoko goes some way to bring those girls forefront in our minds again; she is right to insist that they have a story that we need to hear. Like the best plays, Girls makes you leave the theatre with a thirst to do something. It does not instruct its audience, and is never sermonising, but it clears the airways of their minds. Ikoko recounts how Dennis Kelly has said that art does not need to answer the questions it poses; her play is a shining example of how to achieve this.
The short version? GO AND SEE IT. Or read it, or write to the author and beg her to let you put this play on at your local theatre. It is a play that deserves the widest of audiences.