Living in the margins with chronic pain

Responding to Transitions II: Moment in Isolation by Tobi Adebajo

Transitions II: Moment in Isolation is the stunning second feature in a series of movement pieces centring around the sensory, abstract, and literal experiences of existing as a marginalized identity. Tobi Adebajo pushes the boundaries of bold, rich and wistful storytelling with their message lying on the margins of human experience. In this piece we embark on a twisted, sometimes disorienting, and ultimately desperate journey into the daily realities of living with chronic pain. From the deeply personal dictations of minute-by-minute living, to the bleak contrasts between our ‘clap for the NHS’ and the realities of navigating a healthcare system as a Black person, we witness an eclectic collection of reflections leaving the viewer uneasy and impassioned.

‘Illness is a story that can never be told by its title page’ 

As we enter the space Adebajo has created, we encounter visually chaotic flashes and images; shadow, light, drums and an ethereal voiceover transport the viewer out of their mind and into the moment. ‘What? Why? When?’ the voice asks, using spoken word to explore human imagination, limitations and how our bodies interact with illness and pain. We are swept away in a philosophical monologue pondering the body’s capacity to feel, a human’s capacity for sympathy and, when whittled down, the expansive experience of being alive. Here we enter the next phase of the movement.

‘I have a home, I have the space I need, to thrive, to grow.’

The narrator explores the concept of home. The home’s importance in creating a place of sanctuary, of tranquility and of safety. Perhaps it is best summed up by a word spoken in the performance. Refuge. How has our relationship with ‘home’ changed throughout lockdown? Perhaps over this past year, this is a question we have been forced to think about in the frightening solitude of fear. For many people, home has been a safe haven - sometimes a prison - or had the overwhelming feeling of moving backwards. In the movement, the calming background noise, a medley of ringing melodies underlies the narrator, as they explore manifestation, stepping outside of their bodily experience and creating a positive space to prosper. The moment fades.

 ‘Clap harder to drown out all the ungrateful souls’ 

Perhaps the most powerful section of this movement comes in the middle of this performance. A Black person sits in the middle of our screen, playing out that tired, old phrase ‘clap for the NHS’. Exploring the layers of inequality and injustice festering in the curves of this phrase is a complex task. From petitions for healthcare workers to receive pay rises to the systematic underfunding of NHS services, there has been no shortage of criticism for this empty gesture. In Transitions, Adebajo platforms another vital perspective. The insidious discrimination of marginalised identities is not understated. The narrator bluntly catalogues their experiences of discrimination when encountering the healthcare system. Their pain is ignored, their concerns not taken seriously, and treatment not delivered. As supported by a report from the British Medical Association (BMA), structural racism is embedded into the makeup of our healthcare system.

 ‘Always trying to accommodate, rarely making your pain shown’

The final section of this movement attempts to translate the everyday realities of living with chronic illness: the way in which capitalism does not make allowance for human pain or endurance, how the expectations of our working and social environment are inherently ableist, whether the constant expectation to perform at maximum capacity or the punishment for taking rest and time for yourself. Alongside the narration dealing with these ideas of capitalism, stress, productivity and procrastination, the viewer is overwhelmed with visual and auditory stimulation. The section becomes more urgent. The increasing pace, background screams, red and purple colour scheme, pleading tone of voice. As the frantic energy reaches a crescendo, the sudden silence brings us back into the moment.

 ‘The body is the most honest thing, the body is the most dishonest thing’

As this movement comes to an end, the sound and visuals once more interchanging rapidly, we see a vivid moving shadow, writhing and twisting in distress. The use of movement is so powerful the viewer is instantly moved to understand the gravity of pain and discomfort the narrator is trying to portray. Adebajo does not hesitate in immersing us in a sensory and challenging piece of movement theatre, one that tackles the systematic, individual, and psychological experiences of living with chronic illness head-on.