Following a successful run at the Battersea Arts Centre with her new one-woman show, ‘Unplanned’, Malika Booker is exhausted but happy. With a Mills & Boon novel tucked under her arm on a wet and windy day in Brixton, south London, Marsha Blake discovers there are many sides to this talented writer and actress.

July 2007

Malika Booker

‘Unplanned’ has been a long time in the making. Why was it important to you to get this production out there?

I think it’s relevant because [fertility] is a taboo subject as a lot of women don’t talk about it. A lot of women came back to see the show with their mothers. It has opened up a lot of dialogue. I think it’s an important piece of work. One of my close friends argued that my work is therapeutic for me. I argued that it wasn’t, but after the first night of the show I went backstage and cried for six hours. Things that are personal to us, that really hurt, we try to bury them.

What inspired the idea for ‘Unplanned’?

It was inspired by my self; my story was the catalyst. I buried it and didn’t really think about it, but on another level I was searching for answers. At some point during the production I realised ‘Oh, this is me!’ But I had thought I was just telling other women’s stories. It was really a healing process. I feel that the end of the show, when you see a video testimony with my own story, is like a confessional. Most of my family and friends only found out about my experience when they saw the show.

What challenges have you faced seeing this project through from conception to being on stage?

It was hard for me to think about the show in terms of how to stage it. When you’ve finished writing something and it works on the page, what do you do next? Also, it was exploring fertility as a whole and that’s such a huge subject. The difficulty was in building it, layer by layer, brick by brick, constructing and reconstructing, deciding what stays and what doesn’t. The video was the missing piece of the jigsaw but initially I didn’t want to use it. Of course now I know it is important to the show.

What is the fundamental message you are trying to get across through ‘Unplanned’?

We all come to a crossroad where we have to make a decision. There’s no right or wrong decision. It’s a complicated show to sum up!

How does performing a one-woman show compare with performing poetry?

It’s really scary! The main difference is working with the director. As a writer, I had to put down the pen and make the work come alive. It really pushed me outside of my comfort zone and at some points I thought ‘Why the hell am I doing this?’ There’s nobody else, it’s just you and you use your energy. For an hour you need to hold that audience. You’re not allowed to have a bad night. With poetry, I know it. It’s two or three minutes. I stand up and know what to do.

What’s your take on motherhood?

Most of my life, I’ve not wanted children. I resent the attitude of a lot of my [black] brothers, that they can walk away from the responsibility and then there’s another generation struggling on their own, bringing up children. I resent the role of the strong black [single] woman, because bringing up a child on your own means you’re not allowed to be vulnerable. You have to be both mother and father. But when my aunt passed away a few years ago, I suddenly realised the importance of grandchildren. Seeing my aunt around her grandchildren before she left, I realised there is something amazing: to be leaving and seeing the future.

How do you come up with fresh new ideas and keep evolving your style?

I write about what burns me. My poetry is personal, an interrogation of the interior. My monologues are about issues I question in society. Art is voicing what other people want to voice, but can’t.

Do you feel in any way restricted by the labels others place on you, your style and your work?

I personally don’t like being called a performance poet. To me, this title serves to marginalise me because I’m much more than that. I‘ve come to realise that these ‘boxes’ are always going to be there. I will step into these boxes when I need to. Sometimes this annoys me and I just say ‘whatever – call me what you want’. I call myself a writer.

Do you see yourself as a British writer?

I travel as a British writer for the Arts Council, but I regard myself as a Caribbean woman through and through. My dad is in Guyana. My mum is in Grenada. My brothers are in New York and I live in Britain. My home is all those places!

You’ve cited Kwame Dawes, the acclaimed playwright and storyteller, as your ‘unofficial mentor’. How important a role do you feel mentoring plays in developing new talent?

It’s tremendously important to have people to guide you, who can show you the pitfalls and make your way easier. It’s very important to pass on to those who are coming up. It’s about building a community, a network. You cannot go forward as an individual. We have to go forward as a movement. I run ‘Malika’s Kitchen’, a writers’ collective, which is also a form of mentoring. We give honest, critical feedback to each other. Funnily enough mentoring also informs my own work.

So what’s next for Malika Booker?

Getting a collection of my poetry published. Also a national, then an international tour of ‘Unplanned’. One of the things I’d love to do is go to the Caribbean and show my work.

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