Chester Miggels | 8 March 2026
At first glance, Don’t Believe a Word I Say appears deceptively simple: a single performer, a bare stage, and a stream of memories about growing up. Yet within minutes of stepping into the intimate black-box space of Theatre Arts, it becomes clear that simplicity is precisely the production’s strength. Written and performed by Tankiso Mamabolo and directed by Faniswa Yisa, the one-woman show is a sharp, funny, and unexpectedly moving meditation on memory, identity, and the awkward business of growing up.
The play opens with a moment that neatly captures the tone of what follows. Mamabolo’s narrator hovers outside her Grade 7 farewell dance, imagining the cinematic transformation she hopes will stun classmates who have long underestimated her. In her mind she becomes the heroine of a classic makeover montage, shedding the awkwardness of adolescence in spectacular fashion. But the fantasy quickly collapses into something more chaotic and self-aware. Instead of a triumphant rom-com entrance, she conjures alternate scenarios of embarrassment and revenge, gleefully dismantling the tropes of teenage movies.
This oscillation between fantasy and reality becomes the engine of the show. Mamabolo structures the narrative as a series of recollections from her childhood and adolescence, narrated by an adult version of herself who looks back with humour and compassion. The storytelling is deliberately fluid rather than strictly chronological. Memories bleed into each other, jump across years, or spin off into imagined detours. In doing so, Mamabolo playfully questions the reliability of memory itself. The title, after all, suggests that even the narrator may be embellishing the past.
What anchors the performance is Mamabolo’s remarkable stage presence. With no set and no props, she conjures an entire cast of characters through physicality and voice alone. One moment she is the awkward younger version of herself; the next she morphs into school bullies, relatives, or teachers. Her transitions are swift but precise, often accompanied by subtle shifts in posture or tone. The effect is theatrical sleight-of-hand: the stage remains empty, yet it feels populated.
Comedy drives much of the show, and Mamabolo’s timing is impeccable. Her recollections of early-2000s adolescence, complete with pop-culture references, schoolyard hierarchies, and painfully earnest attempts to appear cool, land with familiar recognition. The humour is often physical, with Mamabolo throwing herself into exaggerated reenactments of childhood drama. But the jokes rarely feel throwaway. Instead they serve as a gateway into more complicated emotional territory.
That emotional depth emerges most clearly in the sections exploring her upbringing. Mamabolo recounts navigating a world shaped by loss, family dynamics, and the confusing social terrain of school. She reflects on moments that many people recognise from childhood: the sting of bullying, the desire to belong, and the quiet insecurities about appearance or popularity that adolescence amplifies.
Among the show’s most affecting threads is the relationship between Mamabolo and her uncle. While many coming-of-age stories focus on absent or flawed male figures, this one offers a refreshing alternative. Her uncle appears as both protector and unlikely mentor, someone who encourages her mischief while teaching her how to defend herself, literally. Through these scenes, Mamabolo explores the idea of unconventional role models and the ways family members shape our sense of resilience.
These moments are not framed with sentimentality. Instead, Mamabolo delivers them with the same mixture of humour and candour that characterises the rest of the piece. The play’s strength lies in its refusal to wallow in self-pity. Even when confronting difficult experiences, Mamabolo maintains a tone that is playful, reflective, and ultimately celebratory.
Director Faniswa Yisa’s influence is evident in the disciplined structure of the performance. The minimalist staging allows Mamabolo’s storytelling to remain the focal point, while careful pacing ensures the narrative moves briskly between comedic anecdotes and reflective pauses. Yisa’s direction also amplifies the physical theatre elements of the piece, encouraging Mamabolo to use movement and gesture as storytelling tools.
Thematically, Don’t Believe a Word I Say speaks to broader questions about identity and representation. Mamabolo gently interrogates the cultural scripts that shape young girls’ expectations about beauty, romance, and success. References to romantic comedies and idealised love stories highlight how such narratives rarely centre girls who look like her. Rather than delivering a heavy-handed critique, Mamabolo exposes these contradictions through humour and personal anecdotes.
The result is a performance that feels deeply personal while resonating beyond the autobiographical. Audience members may arrive expecting a lighthearted solo show, but they leave having encountered something richer: a reflection on the messy process of growing up and the stories we tell ourselves to make sense of it.
Ultimately, Don’t Believe a Word I Say succeeds because of its authenticity. Mamabolo invites the audience into an intimate conversation, one that is as confessional as it is comedic. By the time the story circles back to that imagined school dance, the stakes feel larger than a teenage glow-up. They are about self-acceptance, memory, and reclaiming the awkward moments that shape who we become.
For a production with almost no theatrical adornment, the impact is surprisingly expansive. Mamabolo proves that a single performer with a compelling story can fill a stage and an audience’s imagination entirely on her own.