Emmanuel Akwafo Talks Limp Wrist and The Iron Fist

Emmanuel Akwafo is a British Ghanaian actor, writer and producer whose work spans theatre, television and new writing.

Known for projects including As You Like It at Shakespeare’s Globe, the Olivier Award–nominated For Black Boys Who Have Considered Suicide When The Hue Gets Too Heavy, and roles in Sex Education, EastEnders and The Crown, Akwafo now returns with Limp Wrist and The Iron Fist, a bold and personal exploration of friendship, faith, sexuality and identity.

The play, rooted in moments drawn from his own life, offers an intimate portrait of Black queer resilience and the communities that shape it. His latest work sets the stage for a thoughtful exploration of the themes at its core.

Please introduce yourself …
My name is Emmanuel Akwafo. A proud Virgo born to Ghanaian parents and raised in south east London which shaped a lot of who I am creatively and personally.

Describe your life in one word or a sentence …
Metamorphose. Right now my life feels like a door opening that I finally feel brave enough to walk through.

Why are we here?
We’re here because of Limp Wrist & The Iron Fist a story that grew out of my lived experience, community, and a hunger to see Black queer men centred with honesty, humour, and heart.

What was the spark that pushed you to write this story?
The spark was recognising how many of us were walking around armoured up, performing versions of masculinity that didn’t fit, and carrying trauma we didn’t have words for. I wanted to write a story that allowed softness, conflict, desire, shame, joy all the contradictions to live in one space without apology.

The play takes place at an East London bus stop , why?
Because a bus stop is where everything and nothing happens. It’s ordinary but for a lot of us, ordinary places are where our real selves slip out. A bus stop is a threshold. You’re waiting to move, waiting to arrive, waiting for your life to start. That waiting became the perfect metaphor for the boys’ emotional journeys.

What does the ritual of “waiting” represent for Black queer men specifically?
Waiting represents the pause between who we’ve been told to be and who we actually are. For Black queer men, that pause is often loaded with fear, desire, memory, expectation. I wanted that waiting to feel like a cleansing, a moment where they confront what they’re carrying before stepping into a space (Soho) where they hope to feel seen.

Religion shows up in small but powerful ways. How did your experiences shape those moments?
I grew up surrounded by faith the beauty of it, and the weight of it. Religion taught me language for community and ritual, but also shame and restriction. When I wrote those moments, I tapped into that tension: the longing for spiritual grounding and the hurt of feeling judged by the very tradition that raised you.

How did you balance heavy themes with fully human characters?
I let them be messy. You can talk about colourism, misogyny, and toxic masculinity without turning characters into essays. Black queer men are not just topics we’re whole people. So I let them joke, flirt, fight, contradict themselves, make mistakes. Full humanity softens the heaviness without ignoring it.

How did you work with movement director Annie Lunnette Deakin-Foster to include movement as part of the storytelling?
Movement became the language beneath the language. Annie helped us express what the characters couldn’t say out loud the tension in their bodies, the softness they hide, the history they carry. The physicality added a spiritual layer, like the boys were praying with their bodies.

There’s a quote “We’re all carrying something” what pressures were you highlighting?
I wanted to speak to the pressure tot be strong, unbothered, hyper-masculine, successful, emotionally invincible. Black queer men are often carrying expectations from our families, our communities, and the wider world, while also carrying the fear of not being enough. That line is a reminder that none of us move through the world empty-handed.

How has your understanding of Black masculinity evolved through your roles and writing?
That Black masculinity is not one thing, it’s a spectrum. Every role, every story has shown me another possibility. Playing and writing for Black queer men has expanded my understanding of softness as strength, vulnerability as power, and masculinity as something we can shape rather than inherit.

GETTING TO KNOW YOU…

If not this, then what? I think I’d still be doing something rooted in healing maybe a therapist, youth worker, or filmmaker anywhere I could listen, make space for people, and help them feel seen.

Sad, mad & glad this week? Sad, Limp Wrist and the Iron Fist is closing this week. Mad, the state of London transport prices. Glad, doing this show and hearing how the show is healing our community is reminded me I’m on the right path.

What are you watching? Re-watching P-Valley and Greenleaf, Adolescence; Forever.

What are you reading? Open Water, All About Love, Small Worlds all by Caleb Azuma Nelson.

Last film you watched? Wicked: For Good.

Last play you saw? Othello.

Last live music event? Ninety One Living Room Jazz night.

What’s on your playlist? A mix of soul, alt-R&B, grime, Afrobeats, and gospel. Favourites – Anita Baker, Jazmine Sullivan, Sade Adu, Ella Fitzgerald.

Which podcast are you listening to? West End Frame, Avoiding My Anxiously Attached Boyfriend, Therapy for Black Girls.

What’s on your bucket list? Write and star in a feature film.

What’s currently on your playlist? Float – Janelle Monáe.

Where’s your happy place? The theatre is the place where my heart settles and my spirit lifts.

Celebrate someone else … Tristan Fynn-Aiduenu – They imagine theatre beyond the present a visionary shaping what comes next.

Celebrate yourself … I’m in the process of growing my production company, No Name Creatives, where we develop new work that champions unheard and overlooked voices spanning concerts, theatre, and musicals

Where can we find you? Instagram: Eman.akwafo | _nonamecreatives

Where can we watch you at work? Limp Wrist Iron Fist is currently running at Brixton House.