I much enjoyed Something Dark, the one man performance by Lemn Sissay at St James theatre-in-the-round. Totally articulate, he told us about his monsters and internal demons, with humour. Here is a child born to Ethiopian parents living in Britain. His mother, he was to find out after he had been fostered to Scottish parents, had been raped by an Ethiopian pilot. The rapist was not some ‘good-for-nothing’ hovering in a dark alley ready to pounce, as one tends to visualise rapists. He was a respectable pilot.

Lemn must have spent his life trying to fit in with the family of his foster parents and he seems to have succeeded, in his own way. When he was brave enough after the ‘show’ to invite the audience to ask him questions, someone asked him if he had gone through therapy – he said that he had ‘and how’. He doesn’t have any of the shame which so many who visit a psychiatrist or a psychotherapist, tend to have, especially here, where mental disorders are still taboo. Therapy must have helped him to get out of the abyss which a child who does not even know who its parents are, must be in.

On that Saturday evening, to an almost full theatre-in-the-round at St James, Lemn Sissay, unveiled a landscape that was not green and gentle. Far from it. It was rich with the chiaroscuro of hell and hope, terror and vivacity. The language he used, his own language and not written by someone else, came from the heart.

There’s a certain reassurance, a sense of relief, in having someone’s dark corners illuminated, and so publicly; reassurance that you’re not alone in your pains and fears. I found his performance inspiring. We were there sharing Lemn’s survival. And not only survival but success even. Something

Dark is now travelling the world. This was a very good example of how art can

frame and redeem the ugliness of life. He not only disturbed but delighted the audience. With poignant vitality in a monologue which remained interesting to the end, he gave us the story of his life, including the moment when he finally met his mother, a UN employee, now married and with a family. He traced her to The Gambia where

she was working. She told him not to

mention his association with her as no one in the office knew about his existence. How can he come through all that and end up smiling?

I think like so many people he came to realise in his journey through his short life, that you either save yourself or you remain unsaved. No one can really save you except yourself.

Lemn Sissay’s voice cut straight into the heart of things. He was able to blink his hurts, his trauma away. Here was vibrant honesty, no self-pity at all. He transcended it all, did not allow himself to become a victim and came out a winner. Blessed with a spirit to envy, he found ways of getting through his days and the energy to persist in tracking down his roots.

He has a feel for life’s mixup of bright things and dark. And the humour was an unexpected bonus.

When question time came I felt one had to be cautious. He had already revealed more than I had expected. Surely he must have corners of his being he didn’t want outed? It can’t be easy for anyone to talk to strangers about things so close to the bone. He was breathtakingly open and generous.

How unlike the husband of a friend abroad who was Scottish and born to a single mother. She, too, had him fostered by a Scottish couple in the same town, and eventually remarried and had another son but never saw her illegitimate one.

But he was lucky as an aunt paid for his education. He met my friend, at least ten years younger than him who came with a father who gave them an excellent dowry. But he never got over the fact that his mother had given him away and my friend spent her marriage trying to wean him off alcohol and taking him to the clinic. He finally succumbed of cirrhosis of the liver. His mantra was: “My mother did not love me enough to keep me, what am I worth then?” Yes he had an adoring wife and children who looked after him. He did not want to save himself so no one could save him.