Inviting Everyone to the Party – An Interview with Playwright Jocelyn Bioh

Although Jocelyn Bioh appeared on Broadway in 2014 as part of the original cast of the Tony Award-winning play The Curious Incident of the Dog in the Night-Time, nearly a decade passed before one of her own plays, Jaja’s African Hair Braiding, reached The Great White Way.

Born and raised in NYC to Ghanaian immigrant parents, Ms. Bioh found early success with Nollywood Dreams, Happiness and Joe, and School Girls; Or, the African Mean Girls Play — the last of which was also produced by SpeakEasy. In this exclusive e-interview, Ms. Bioh shares her inspiration for Jaja’s African Hair Braiding, her unique perspective on the immigrant experience, and the importance of finding humor in life’s darker moments.

What was your inspiration for Jaja’s African Hair Braiding?

In many ways, it feels like I’ve been writing Jaja’s African Hair Braiding my entire life. I grew up in New York City and have been getting my hair braided since I was about four years old—these spaces are incredibly familiar to me. When I first had the idea for the play in 2019, I knew a hair braiding shop would be filled with stories and unforgettable characters. At the same time, there were (and still are) so many cultural and political conversations around immigration. I wanted to humanize the people behind the policy and show the truth and heart of so many who come to this country searching for a better life.

What makes a hair braiding salon such a unique and rich setting for a play?

The people! Everyone goes to get their hair done—cut, braided, dyed, twisted, wigged—so the salon naturally welcomes a variety of voices and personalities. And it takes a special kind of person to commit their life to serving others. Whether you’re a hairdresser, barber, nail tech, esthetician, or masseuse, you’re constantly meeting new people and holding conversations with strangers while providing an intimate, often vulnerable service. That kind of human connection makes for a deeply compelling setting.

The show requires several actors to learn to braid hair. Why was that important?

I don’t think people realize how much skill it takes to braid hair in a way that lasts for weeks. It’s not just hard on the hands—it’s taxing on the whole body. Most braiders stand for hours on end. During the pandemic, I started re-braiding my own hair, and it took me no less than eight hours to finish a style. That was humbling, especially knowing my braider could have done the same thing in a fraction of the time. So I wanted the actors to really understand both the artistry and the labor that goes into braiding.

What did you learn about the immigrant experience while writing this play?

As the child of Ghanaian immigrants, I have a unique perspective as a first-generation Ghanaian-American. I understand both the dreams that bring people to this country and the reality of what it takes to achieve those dreams. I poured that understanding into the play in hopes that audiences unfamiliar with the immigrant experience might walk away with a deeper empathy for these characters.

The play was written and set in 2019, but it feels incredibly timely. What goes through your mind when you watch it now?

That life is cyclical—and unfortunately, issues like these remain relevant. Prejudice against immigrant communities in America is a tale as old as the country itself. The irony, of course, is that America is a nation of immigrants. I long for the day when this play feels like a relic of a past we’ve moved beyond. But I don’t think that will happen in my lifetime, and that’s a sobering thought.

Would you have written a different version of this play if you were writing it today?

No. The women in this play—and what I’m trying to say through them—are evergreen.

You’ve described your genre as “African comedy.” What does that mean to you?

Just that—comedy centering people from or of the African continent. I think I coined the phrase because so many people can’t reconcile the idea that “Africa” and “comedy” can even go together. There’s been a dangerous, narrow narrative around African stories for so long that when I wrote comedic characters with African dialects, it genuinely confused some folks in the theater world. For years, it was hard to get produced because people couldn’t understand how these characters could be so joyful. So calling it “African comedy” became my own radical, funny way of pushing back.

How did you find humor in a theme as heavy as immigration?

There’s a quote I read in grad school that became a kind of thesis for me: “Comedy is just a funny way of being serious.” Comedy is rooted in truth. And the truth is, the world can be dark—but all of us find ways to laugh, to experience joy. That’s how we survive. So I don’t see immigration as a “dark” theme, because the people at the heart of those stories often carry incredible joy. It’s important to uplift that truth, which holds both sadness and humor.

What do you hope audiences take away from seeing Jaja’s African Hair Braiding?

I hope audiences leave with a renewed sense of empathy. People often make assumptions—about who an immigrant is, who a Black woman is, who the guy selling socks on the corner is. If this play shakes up even a few of those implicit biases, I’ll feel like it did something important.