Oskar Keogh | 10 March 2026
Mamabolo stars in a new gutsy one-woman show, Don’t Believe a Word I Say at Theatre Arts Observatory, which explores all the trials and tribulations of youth in heroically embarrassing detail.
For anyone who grew up during the early 2000s, this show is going to reverberate through your core. It will dredge up forgotten memories of a dark era filled with low-rise skinny jeans, unbearably stilted Mxit conversations, and, of course, the great South African cultural unifier, Dragon Ball Z.
Think Michaela Coel’s 2015 sensation Chewing Gum, but instead of reckoning with the uncertainties of one’s mid-twenties in a London council flat, we’re on home turf, which makes every comedic swing hit that much harder.
The show starts with a little uncertainty, Mamabolo follows a roving spotlight as fragments of her favourite song play, which well up and then fade away. The timing of it all is a little off, but something in this initial awkwardness really works in the production’s favour. Because as soon as Mamabolo begins speaking, you already feel endeared toward her. It’s as if she’s immediately let her guard down and allowed the entire audience in.
She begins her story at the precipice of entering her seventh-grade dance. As she waits outside the door, she begins to imagine an elaborate scene involving her entire class, including her relentless bullies, finally realising that she was absolutely stunning all along. She takes off the proverbial nerdy romcom glasses to reveal her own version of Mia Thermopolis, Princess of Genovia. Unfortunately she then begins to imagine the opposite scenario. In which everyone remains unaffected. Carnage ensues, which involves the ruination of every one of her grade school antagonists. She whips up utter chaos akin to the infamous prom scene in Carrie (all save for the bucket of pig’s blood).
When she finally snaps out of this entertaining delusion, she tells us the story of her entire life leading up to this moment. And so we begin to learn what kind of girl little Tankiso Mamabolo was while growing up. As an audience, we are given access to some of the core memories which shaped the adult woman standing before us. Mamabolo enacts these scenes with such commitment that one begins to forget we are in a black box theatre with absolutely no set or props to speak of.
There are surely many words that she would use to describe her childhood self: misunderstood, lonely, perhaps frustrated. But it’s clear her mother would only need one word, and that word is naughty. This show artfully sustains a childlike perspective. Most of the scenarios she recalls seem to speak to how little agency one is afforded as a child.
Within the bounds of childhood, things just happen, and you are forced to roll with the punches. Your father dies, and you are passed from one grieving relative to the next at the funeral; it feels unreal. You start attending a wealthy, almost all-white school, and now you begin to feel funny about the way you look. These are just some of the experiences Mamabolo reflects on with heartfelt sincerity, but never preciousness. Largely because her means of settling many of these issues was by fighting her way out. Literally. And she lets us know that we have her uncle to thank for that.
Whilst most of the supporting characters she evokes in the story remain fairly superficial, the degree to which she takes on the aspect of her uncle is uncanny. Her face drops, her body language shifts, her voice deepens. Obviously, none of us can attest to the likeness of this man, but her entire tonal transformation is fiercely convincing.
The relationship between Mamabolo and her uncle is incredibly moving; he seems to defy the expectation of a standard patriarchal figure at every turn. He dotes on her and indulges her. But most notably, he teaches her how to throw a punch. In doing so, he imparts sobering, practical and political advice. That sometimes resisting the brutal forces of this world requires a bit of violence. Some measure of self-defence against a flurry of quietly oppressive forces which often go unchecked.
The comedic timing of this show is sharp, much sharper than the cadences of men who profess to be stand-up comedians in this city. Mamabolo is able to build a world through her storytelling that is compelling and poignant, all the while engaging in some of the dorkiest physical comedy you’ve ever seen. No doubt with the directorial guidance of Faniswa Yisa in this department. Hopefully, this production gets picked up for an extended run as it’s the kind of thing that could act as a real springboard for Mamabolo’s career and should certainly be celebrated. I couldn’t help but believe every word she said.
Written and Performed by Tankiso MAMABOLO | Directed by Faniswa YISA | Produced by DMR PRODUCTIONS