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We Need New Stories is a series of 9 short new audio stories inspired by oral history interviews of Zimbabwean-born residents living in Nottingham.
Everyone featured in the oral histories were interviewed on camera in October 2022 by young people from the African diaspora. The resulting stories have been dramatised by playwright Zodwa Nyoni and recorded by actors.
You can view the original oral history interviews on each of the episode pages on Fifth Word's Website and in person at Nottingham Local Studies Library. The series also contains a bonus episode featuring an interview between playwright Zodwa Nyoni and director Anastasia Osei-Kuffour about the making of these audio stories.
All episodes are available for free on major listening platforms. Some stories contain sensitive subject matter including references to violence and racism.
This project has been supported by the National Lottery’s Heritage Fund, Nottingham Playhouse and The Space.
Welcome to Fifth Word's
We Need New Stories.
Episode Three, Thulani's
Story, The Quiet One Left
In the Loudest Way, written
by Zodwa Nyoni, and directed
by Anastasia Osei-Kuffour.
This episode contains
references to violence.
Sometimes I can see myself
as a young boy on the farm,
sitting high up on a tree,
observing life around me,
the warmth of the Zimbabwean
sun on my face, and roughness
of the branches against my
thighs feel like yesterday.
So it seems strange to
be talking about 30 plus
years in Nottingham.
I guess I'll start at
the beginning shall I?
Quiet children
are deep thinkers.
We watch and feel the
things that are unsaid.
Cradled in my mother Magline's
arms in the hospital, my
aunt knew this about me.
And so she gifted
me my name Thulani.
The quiet one.
I was always curious
about the world.
When I was three years
old, I followed my older
cousins to school to see
what they did every day.
The school was only a
mile from the house.
Teachers had taught
generations of my family.
I couldn't wait for my
first day of primary school
to come in three years.
The teachers were
impressed by this toddler
who'd walked in alone.
They let me stay until lunch.
I thought my cousins played
all day, but it turned
out they learnt a lot.
From that day, I became
a studious child.
It was a good thing too
because my mom was a nurse
and my dad was an engineer.
They had high expectations
for me to excel.
My mother left to further
her studies in England.
I am an only child, so leaving
me behind was not easy.
But necessary for us
to have a better life.
She left me with my
grandparents and said that
she would be back soon.
On my grandparents' farm,
we grew corn and cotton.
We raised cattle,
chickens, dogs and horses.
Nature understood
this quiet child.
It let me climb his
trees and pick its
fruits from the orchard.
The farm gave me and my
cousins discipline and
fertile ground to grow.
We respected life cycles.
We watched how resilient
every harvest was.
It was an idyllic
place to live
Away from the city, we
almost forgot that we lived
in Rhodesia during colonial
rule and a civil war.
Sometimes rebels would
come to the farm.
They thought farmers were
wealthy, but my grandfather
was a retired war veteran.
Rebels would raid our
grain, take animals,
and sometimes money.
When I was eight years
old, they came to the
farm late one night.
My grandfather had
nothing to give them.
They turned to me
and my cousins.
We were scared children,
huddled behind an old man.
They cocked their guns and
told my grandfather that
he would have to give up
one of his grandchildren.
He pleaded for the lives he'd
been entrusted to protect.
In a bid to save our lives
my grandfather offered
to trade his war medals.
The rebels were fighting
their battles, hoping
that history would
reward them as honorably.
They too wanted what
they hadn't earned.
As relieved as we all were,
my grandfather knew that
one day they would return
and we wouldn't be so lucky.
The next day I was
moved from the farm to
Salisbury, now Harare.
Not everyone had a mother
in England to escape to.
My grandfather called her
and told her that Zimbabwe
was no longer safe.
She couldn't come back, and
it was time for me to leave.
Within a week, she had
organized my visa and
I was on a flight as
an unaccompanied minor.
I had no time to process
what was happening.
I thought that I would go
back home once everything
was back to normal.
On the plane, I got to
sit in the front with
the other children also
heading to a foreign country
to join their families.
I was the only child fluent
in English, and so I helped
the others to translate
from Shona or Ndebele what
they wanted to eat or drink
to the flight attendants.
I knew all sorts about
England from TV, books and
phone calls from my mum.
When I arrived in Nottingham
in 1978, I thought I'd just
fit into the world, but
the bitter cold migrated
into how I was treated.
I was othered, the African
boy who journalists wrote
news articles about, they
were curious about how I
knew the Queen's English.
The Empire exported formality
far more often than stored it.
I struggled to
understand their local
accents and dialects.
I struggled with how
relaxed their schools were.
Unlike the teachers at
my cousin's school in
Zimbabwe, the ones at
Hayden Road didn't push me.
In fact, they brought
me down a year.
They couldn't believe that
I could engineer racing cars
from bottles and balloons.
They thought my knowledge
of the French astrologer
Nostradamus was plagiarized
from a white student.
When I was eligible to go to
high school, the headmaster
blocked my chances saying
that I hadn't been in
the country long enough.
There was a friend whose
bedroom I never saw because
his father never wanted my
kind inside their house.
And let's not forget
the skinheads that
roamed the streets.
I was born of people who
raised children as well
as they'd done their crop.
I was built to withstand
blistering heat and droughts.
I carried a briefcase to
school because I meant
business about my life.
You couldn't tell me
that I wasn't going to
be someone important.
The quiet child had
found a louder voice
in this new place.
When it was time to go to
college, I toyed with the idea
of being a vet or a doctor.
In the end, I followed what
was singing to my heart.
Growing up on the farm, we had
to make our own entertainment.
I loved learning crafts
from Malawian and farm
workers who'd pass through
for a season or two.
My cousins and I would do
shadow puppetry with our
grandmother's clean linens.
The biskop showed
international movies on
the big screen, and my
mom would take me to the
concerts in the city.
Naturally, an arts
degree seemed like
the right fit for me.
I couldn't afford to
go to London and do
a four year course.
I registered at ARTS near
York for an intensive year.
I studied film, theater and
radio seven days a week.
We had classes
and put on shows.
The only break I got was
two hours on a Saturday
to do my food shopping.
I learned how to be onstage,
backstage, in front of
the camera and behind it.
The course was preparing
us to work in the industry.
I did countless
professional plays and
theatre in the community.
My commitment eventually
led to me winning the
Scotsman Award for the most
outstanding play at the
Edinburgh Fringe in 1992.
I worked in London
for a little.
But I always had my family's
high expectations within me.
As much as I loved the
arts and wanted to succeed
in it, I questioned
the number of available
opportunities for black
directors in the industry.
This is something the sector
is still trying to combat.
In 2022, my mother had
left behind a country
and family so that I may
have choices in my life.
I wanted my life to be
something she could be proud.
I wanted my children
to have far greater
choices than I had.
It's not easy to step back
from a passion, but I made
the decision to pursue a
government job instead.
Over the next three decades,
I worked for charities,
schools, and private
companies in Nottingham.
I have won awards for
volunteering and working
as a school governor.
I found ways to stay
connected to the arts though.
I've been a part of
adult theater groups.
I currently sit on three
theater boards, including
Nottingham Playhouse.
Sometimes I'll sit just like
that little boy did in the
tree and think about how
things turn out in life.
There's been so much variety
and pivoting in my life.
I've never lived
in a straight line.
I've been able to do this
because in my quietness,
in my moments of solitude,
I find grounding.
I listen and trust myself to
make a big impact in my way.
Thank you for listening.
If you enjoyed this episode,
please share with others.
All episodes in this series
are available on major
listening platforms and
on Fifth Word's website.
The next episode in this
series is Vinnie's story.
It was in love, I was created.