MUHAMMAD ALI AND ME
Muhammad Ali and Me was created by the Ali Collective and premiered at the Oval House Theatre, London on 11 November 2008. This production was directed by Sheron Wray and performed by Mojisola Adebayo (Mojitola/Muhammad Ali), Charlie Folorunsho (The Corner Man) and Jacqui Beckford (British Sign Language Performer – The Referee).
Muhammed Ali and Me is a powerful semi-autobiographical story about a foster girl who overcomes abandonment, racism and abuse through an imaginary friendship with the Black Muslim legendary boxer Muhammad Ali. The play is set in the 1970s; lead character Mojitola, of dual heritage Nigerian-Danish descent, experiences a turbulent life from a young age. Before she is even five years old she witnesses her Nigerian father violently attacking her mother, which results in her mother leaving the family home. Soon after her fifth birthday, her father leaves to fight in the civil war in Nigeria. Abandoned by both parents, Mojitola is placed in foster care where she is sexually abused by her foster brother and renamed Susan. She finds solace and strength from the parallels between her and Muhammad’s life experiences, enabling her to fight against her oppressors, reclaim her real name and thus embrace her true identity.
Mojisola Adebayo integrates British sign language, movement, African singing, film as well as a 1970s-inspired set, song and costume to explore what has been described as a ‘physical storytelling performance’.
British-born Nigerian-Danish Mojisola Adebayo has worked as a writer, performer, director and teacher in London and internationally. After training extensively with theatre expert Augusto Boal she became a specialist facilitator in Theatre of the Oppressed. Adebayo’s work in theatre spans over two decades, initially working as an actor for the Royal Shakespeare Company and teacher at Goldsmiths, University of London and Rose Bruford College before focusing on a writing career in 2005. Adebayo travelled to the Antarctic to research her first play Moj of the Antarctic: An African Odyssey, produced by Lyric Hammersmith. She has produced over thirty plays, directing and performing in most of her own productions. Some of her plays include her second professionally produced play, Muhammad Ali and Me, Matt Henson, North Star, 48 Minutes For Palestine, The Listeners, Asara and the Sea-Montress and I Stand Corrected. In addition to writing several plays for theatre, Adebayo also co-founded VIDYA theatre company in India.
Other published plays by Mojisola Adebayo include I Stand Corrected, Desert Boy, Moj of the Antarctic and 48 minutes for Palestine.
Summary (Extract)
MOJITOLA, a black south Londoner of mixed Nigerian Yoruba and Danish origin, is now sixteen years of age. She has gathered the strength to visit the police station and report her experience of sexual abuse to a police officer.
This is nothing but the truth. It happened a long time ago. But I still dream about it, a lot, in the day. It plays… It makes me feel strange and a bit dirty, and angry. When I was less than five years old, my foster mother’s grown-up son, Jimmy, sexually abused me. He made me touch him, when Angie went down the Elephant, Elephant and Castle shopping centre. He held it in his hand. I thought it was a trick with his thumb… It’s like a tiny video that rewinds and plays again and again in my head. Everything else is blank. I don’t remember anything else. Except maybe the dark circles on the carpet, the being afraid. Time I guess has erased the rest. Sometimes I shake and I freeze. It’s like I’m on pause but everything else is still playing, moving forward. (Becoming distressed.) And I’m stuck in time. Frozen. I can’t speak I can’t move I can’t feel I can’t – it’s like my body is a prison and I want to, I want to move, I want to be released, I want to scream, I want to be happy and I don’t know how and I’m scared that I never will. (A pause for calm.) I know there’s not enough evidence. I am doing A’ Level Law at the moment so… But I just wanted you to know. And I wanted to tell… you. Because it’s a crime isn’t it? You’re not supposed to, to a child. (Beat.) And I’m gonna tell you something else. Cos I’m a witness, not a grass, and abuse is abuse: my dad used to hit my mum. Beat her up. Pound her like a punch bag. Or wrestle her. Slam her against the wall. Do you know how that sounds? Flesh on concrete block. Hearing her screams and me static, senseless, immobilised with shock. Yeah, body shots mostly, until the end. Cos left hooks, upper cut, jabs – they show up. People ask questions. But I remember, a straight right to her face, because it’s my first memory, the first time I froze. I was cuddled up next to her on the sofa watching the tele, then he came at her and it came through me. Smashing her glasses into her face. Blood running down her nose, dripping from her chin. It’s criminal isn’t it? Beyond reasonable doubt. I was two. She was, maybe twenty-two. I froze, for hours. She got away in the end. I understand. She’s safe, somewhere. But I wanted you to know. I wanted to tell you. I want you to write it down. (MOJITOLA points to POLICE OFFICER speaking forcefully, he could be her dad or…) It’s a crime! There are rules. (MOJITOLA goes to leave, then changes her mind.) And one more thing: you’re supposed to look after your kids, Dads. You’re not supposed to leave them. Forget them. Forget you had them. Not turn up when you’re supposed to, on time. Forget birthdays you bastards. You’re not supposed to leave them, to grow up Black, in Britain, alone with no one to show… (Small pause.) There’s 99 names for God, in Islam. Not one of them father. How was I supposed to learn to be? When I can’t even pronounce my own name.
MOJITOLA turns away.