At first glance, the message that the creators of In the Continuum seem to want to impart is "blame the men."

There's no denying it: the AIDS pandemic, which has claimed over 40 million lives worldwide, disproportionately affects women-especially blacks-many of whom become infected from cheating husbands or partners. It is these women's voices that playwright–performers Danai Gurira and Nikkole Salter want to bring to our attention in this original collaborative work.

Their efforts pay off in this polished but modest production. As the sole actors and creators of the production, the two command their many characters with confidence and sincerity, transforming into their various personas simply by placing a scarf over their all-black clothing. The minimal use of props-a pair of eyeglasses, a framed certificate, a stool, a trunk-coupled with a set that distinguishes itself from the bare stage by only a string of light bulbs on the back wall, allows their performances to take full precedence.

The danger for plays dealing with heavy issues is to overwhelm the audience with weighty, fact-ridden dialogue. In the Continuum avoids falling into this trap by focusing on the stories of two women-one African (Abigail), one African-American (Nia)-through their discovery that they are HIV-positive, up to the point where they must tell this to their loved ones. In limiting their storytelling to only a small, highly personalized portion of the HIV/AIDS experience, Gurira and Salter also successfully prevent the play from becoming preachy.

In concentrating on women, the authors make the male characters in this play duly despicable. The family of Nia's long-term boyfriend immediately writes her off-and tries to pay her off-when she comes to them for support. They refuse to fault their son, who is NBA-bound, for transmitting the virus. Meanwhile, Abigail's husband is perpetually absent, leaving her to hope that her second pregnancy will be enough to convince him to stay in with her for awhile. The men in these women's lives completely jeopardize their physical and mental health, yet the women cannot cope with their situations because it is these men whom they must, but are afraid to, confront with their devastating news.

Though the writing is evenly solid, the differences in the authors' acting are quite clear. Salter's accents of assorted South Central Los Angeles–based characters consistently lack authenticity, to the point of abrasiveness. Unfortunately, her monologues are usually longer than Gurira's. If Gurira's were longer, though, no one would notice; her characters are easily differentiated from one another and are unceasingly engaging. This discrepancy, however, may be due less to Salter's acting than to the nature of her characters, most of whom fall within the same socioeconomic background. Gurira's, on the other hand, represent many different sides of Zimbabwean society.

The best example of her talents may be in the role of witch doctor, where she adopts a traditional routine that rich tourists want and expect, while she remains grounded in the reality of a society plagued by illness. This scene also illustrates a keen awareness of the multifaceted issues relating to AIDS in Africa on the part of both the authors and the characters. It factors in a lack of condoms, the importance of traditional healing methods, the stigma of being infected, and women's positions in society as contributors to the unjust cycle that Abigail enters into. For instance, the statement "We don't cure that" is the witch doctor's all-too-appropriate and chilling response. The presence of these elements, paralleled accurately in Nia's storyline, gives credit to the authors for not portraying AIDS sufferers as helpless, unaware victims.

Another strength of this play is the way in which it ties together the two women's stories. Their separate monologues frequently answer one another, and their scenes take place in the same time scheme. Furthermore, the parallel singing, game-playing, and physicality in the opening scene set a tone of interconnectedness for the rest of the play. Although there are few instances when both actors perform at the same time, aside from the beginning and final scenes, each remains onstage throughout the entire show, even if in the dark with her back facing the audience while the other takes over.

Ultimately, the play goes a different route from men-bashing or even empowering women to take their problems into their own hands. The former would be too easy to achieve, the latter too difficult in a play of this scope. Instead, it effectively uses its parallel structure to convey an equally worthy message, delivered succinctly by Gurira's witch doctor: "Don't be afraid. You are not alone."