Guest Blog: Playwright Zodwa Nyoni Talks About Autobiographical Influences In Her Upcoming Play THE DARKEST PART OF THE NIGHT

When I was growing up my dad had a record player embossed with his initials. It sat pride of place in the living room on a wooden display cabinet fitted from floor to ceiling. Four shelves of vinyl records surrounded it. My dad had started his collection in the 1970s.

It was always made clear that the record player was not a toy. But when our parents were out, my siblings and I would flip through the collection, open the windows; and blast out our favorite artists. Funk, disco, jazz, folk, reggae, chimurenga and high life music scores my memories.

Kenny G, "G-Bop" (single, 1992)

I'm a flower girl at my uncle's wedding. Of that day, I remember the song, "G-Bop". It's playing when I picture myself at four years old being propped in front of the newlyweds as we take pictures at Centenary Park in Bulawayo, Zimbabwe. For my older sisters and I, this song became the definition of love. 22 years later I would hire a saxophonist to play it at my sister Zanele's bridal shower.

Ne-Yo, "So Sick" (single) 2006

My teenage years are a flipbook of first loves, heartbreaks, pay slips, cherry lip-gloss, club nights, blue WKD, iPod minis, carnival at Potternewton Park, the smell of oiled afros being flat ironed, New York in the spring, poetry slams and my niece being born.

Where there are fragments of memories, photo albums have luckily captured moments. They are brought out when my siblings argue about who is misremembering our childhood. Growing up in the same family doesn't mean we'll perceive events and relationships in the same way.

One of my sisters is intellectually disabled and non-verbal. I wonder how she collects and organises memories within her body. Which songs, movies, conversations, clothing, perfumes, foods, and locations have been the foundations of connections and disconnection? Where does she go for joy in her mind? What questions do her memories raise of who we are as a family?

In The Darkest Part of the Night, when Dwight and Shirley's mother (Josephine) dies, they are thrown back to their childhood in Chapeltown, Leeds during the 1980s. The scent of their mother's Estee Lauder perfume and their father's (Leroy) music collection breaks open their memories. They begin exploring how their relationship was shaped by the events of their upbringing.

For Dwight, who is autistic, music has always been a form of communication and expression. Throughout the play we hear performance poetry, gospel, pop, soul, classical, dubstep, and reggae music. This soundtrack reminds him of dancing in the living room and playing an imaginary adventure game with Shirley.

It shows Josephine's diligent faith in God and how Leroy's navigation of black fatherhood still affects him. His black body will never let him forget the terrifying run-ins with the police, the rejection from the education system; and how his community viewed his neurodivergence. Shirley's memories have their own cracks and discrepancies. They push us towards the present day where she must find ways to reconcile and move forward with her brother.

Writing this play has given me the chance to explore how fragile and complex memories are. We step into a family's home and witness the vulnerable parts of who they are. We watch how hard they try over generations to survive and keep love singing in their hearts.

The Darkest Part of the Night runs at the Kiln Theatre from 14 July to 13 August

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