Fuelled by spoken word and banter, Lorraine Adeyefa’s lively performance blends the playful and the painful, exposing the open wounds of a young Black woman’s search for love.
In the intimate black box of Theatre Deli’s Studio Ten, cluttered with laundry and
empty wine bottles, a young woman’s inner world spills outward. Her and the Voice
in Her Head, written and performed by Lorraine Adeyefa, plunges into the emotional
comedown of a situationship, tracing the fragile terrain between heartbreak, self-
doubt, memories, and the beginnings of healing.
Through banter, spoken word, and a lively performance, the piece captures a mind in
flux: messy, funny, and emotionally vulnerable. Adeyefa vividly embodies “her” as we
witness an internal dialogue made external with a mysterious voice floating onto the
stage. Warm, teasing and commanding, the voice (by Effie Ansah) becomes both
companion and counterpoint, and its verbal exchange with Adeyefa feels at once
deeply personal and performatively dynamic.
The story takes us on a journey through love anecdotes, from teen puppy love to city
girl dating. Moments of carefree bliss in the highs are followed by deep struggle in
the lows, revealing a profound craving for acceptance and love.
Connection becomes one of the production’s strongest points. From early on,
Adeyefa acknowledges the audience with a deer-in-headlights look, surprised not to
be alone. But she quickly turns the crowd into confidants. Banter flows easily, oversharing her every thought, from bits of songs to romantic delusions, yet avoiding
what hunts her the most.
And the room responds in kind. Laughter, sighs, and even spontaneous call-outs
ripple through the space as she shares her story, creating a sense of connection.
Theatre that manages to build collective care on the spot like that is something to
praise.
The piece is unflinchingly honest and raw. In such close quarters, every shift in tone
lands with no filter. Joy travels as quickly as sorrow through voice and movement
(with Adeola Yemitan as movement director), and the air feels thick with both the
playful and the painful.
Spoken word gives the piece a beautiful texture, becoming its beating heart. The
words ripple in ways that feel soft yet cutting, crystallising as the most truthful vessel
of the young woman’s feelings.
Meanwhile, sound design by Immanuel Baptist and lighting design by Jahmiko
Marshall play a crucial role in shaping the inner world. Baptist’s soundscape comesas an echo, particularly the voice, blurring the lines between internal and external,
and drawing audiences into the inner rollercoaster.
And so, audiences follow a mind brimming with intrusive thoughts: from rap breaks
to rabbit holes about, say, Black love, power couples, and films. The stream of
consciousness is occasionally interrupted by phone calls, but more often pulled back
by the inner voice’s calling, which becomes an anchoring presence that urges “her” to
cut through the noise and let the deepest feelings surface.
As the work peels off its layers, it carefully handles the darkest moments with
honesty. It gestures towards a reflection of self-worth and solitude, without losing
sight of the need for connection. Healing emerges as a process, one that exists
between self-love and being held by something beyond, and perhaps stronger than,
romantic love.
In a world that preaches self-worth through likes, prince-charming tales, and
relationship goals, all while encountering loud dynamics of situationship culture, Her
and the Voice in Her Head counters with a beautifully vulnerable story of self-
discovery.
This show’s run is now concluded and ran at The Theatre Deli, London.