A charpai on my roof in Afghanistan.
A dirty bunk in a hostel in Milan.
A sleeping bag in a tent going camping with my
Under a bridge in Liverpool Street on my first day in
A bed that wasn’t a bed.
This energetic company of performers with lived experience of forced migration explore the seam of kindness and care that lies within their experience of leaving their homelands to seek asylum.
From a flat in North London to the exercise yard of a Greek detention centre, beds anchor us to the various points of the journey. Supposed spaces of safety become transient; shelters are taken away
without notice; and the route from one place to the next is fraught with obstacles.
This play is a shout-out to all the real people who kept the actors moving forward. It explores the hidden moments of hospitality that change the course of a journey, and how to repay them. The
intimacy created between friends when family is absent, and how to stay hopeful in a scary world.