Where is home for nomads?
H.O.M.E.
Presented by Figdet Feet and Tobi Omoteso
The Black Box Theatre, September 24
H.O.M.E. is a creative exploration of belonging. It interrogates what this means to nomadic peoples, capturing the complexity of relationships in these communities.
A diverse crowd chatters in a comfortably full house. Interesting faces, young and old, move beneath false fog that hangs perfectly still above the stands; a remnant of rehearsal.
The first part of the performance, a recital of song and spoken word, is part of the Irish Aerial Creation Centre’s Rethink Ireland-funded Sorcán & Circus Programme, led by award-winning Traveller rapper Willzee.
The stage, set with the circular panels depicting wagon-backs, collaged and colourful, is taken to by three young Traveller artists.
Francis Ward connects with the crowd through a mix of self-deprecation and light bravado: “If you see me shaking, that’s just you,” he tells us, and his voice is strong. PJ Mongan gives a lovely rendition of ‘Spancil Hill’ with a sweet, mellow guitar. TOH raps about mental health and violence, before his spoken word piece, Ireland Is – both “a prison without borders” and “my home, place of honor and pride.”
That thread is picked up smoothly by Willzee as the main performance begins. As a DJ station drops beats to projected graphics, he asks: “What do you consider to be home? A safe place? To be among your own race?”
Home, he tells us, is an illusion.
The performers play a game of musical chairs. It choreographs an allegory of xenophobia and the sense of scarcity much of it grows from.
The physicality of the performance is strikingly dynamic, as the performers respond to each others’ bodies, and Willzee’s narration. “Beyond each of these doors is a different side of life,” he says.
Behind the first, we encounter the violence of masculinity. “What does it take to be a man?” Willzee roars, refereeing a fight between two young men. Behind another, “people speak of inheritance,” a woman is caught in the web of history.
The hip-hop elements are well incorporated and executed. Some of the aerial apparatus, such as a cage made of slings, were unusual and creatively imagined.
Behind the next door, Willzee asks: “What is a god when stripped of his deity?” Behind the last, a witch works a farm, grinning with terrifying glee. The opera singer arrives.
Some of the narrative was a little unclear – a bit more hand-holding from Willzee in some scenes might have been appreciated, or some editing for length.
The opera influence was a bit perplexing. The mic peaked painfully a few times. In some scenes, however, particularly the last dance ensemble, the inclusion of it worked sonically.
In the last conflict scene, a young man dies. Willzee speaks soberly: “Out of the thousand images I could have brought here tonight, this is unfortunately the most common in my community.
“People spend more time in a grave than they will in their own home.”
Laser lights create a phantom grave beneath which the young man dances. The ensemble folds in, moving through the dark and light.
The diversity of the performers made the show feel like a genuine cross-community collaboration; but more than that, they brought their whole selves to that stage.
As they made their bows, it seemed that the audience was just as raw as these performers.
It was not difficult to detect a tangible pride running through the crowd that night, for the possibility of what people on the margins can become.
Misleór is run by the Galway Traveller Movement.
