by Chrissy Iley
I have just watched Pompeii. It is a rollercoaster. Titanic but with volcanic ash and gorgeous men in skirts as gladiators. The amazing Adewale Akinnuoye-Agbaje is one such gladiator.
Imagine the extreme workouts that got him into that rough tough leather skirt and fighting with swords, ropes, knives, and a million other things.
Adewale is most known for his appearance in Lost and in Oz. He is a rapper, singer, trumpet player who speaks five languages and has a law degree. He is full of surprises.
Next up by total contrast he is in the film of the musical Annie, right hand man to Jamie Foxx. Adewale and Annie the orphan have more connections that you’d imagine.
He was born in Islington, North London and grew up in Essex. His parents were studying and at that time in the mid-sixties it was common for Nigerian parents to hand out their children to foster parents. The practise was called ‘farming’.
In 1967 when Adewale was six weeks old his student parents gave him to a white working class couple in Tilbury. Curiously a fiercely white domain. The Tilbury dockers led strikes in support of Enoch Powell.
Growing up he remembers not being able to get much private time, not much solace. He used to hide behind the couch.
‘My parents were both studying in the daytime and working at nights so we were fostered, myself and two siblings. At one point there were 12 Nigerian children in the house. There was a constant traffic. There was never any privacy or space. People would come or go. I ran into one of the children six or seven years ago. I had no recollection of who she was but she was fostered at that same house. ‘Myself and my siblings were probably there the longest. I was there for 16 years.
‘My father’s plan was to become educated and move back to Nigeria, but I was unaware of them until I was 9 or 10 years old. I thought for all intents and purposes my foster parents were my parents until one day I was taken to Nigeria by these…who I felt were strangers. I did not know them. They just turned up and said we are your parents, this is where you are from.’
He says it matter of factly. Obviously he’s come to terms with it now but he doesn’t hide the fact it was shocking. ‘It was traumatic. Suddenly these people coming and saying we are your parents, these people are not your parents, this is where you are from and we will take you there.
‘It was so shocking that I stopped talking for a year. I just withdrew into myself. I went mute for a whole year. In Nigeria they thought I was possessed or there was something wrong with me. They ended up sending me back to the family because they were so disturbed by my behaviour and could not communicate with me.
‘I was terrified. I was the only boy and I was under pressure. My parents wanted me to speak their language but it was new to me. I felt I was a British child. I remember the day I came back. It was Christmas. I saw snow fort he first time in a long time and I slowly started to speak and started to resume my normal state.’
Imagine the confusion of thinking literally black is white and white is black. Imagine such dysmorphia.
‘The shock remained with me and stayed until I was 16. My father was adamant that I would follow his profession. He had become a very successful barrister. My two siblings were both lawyers as well.’
‘I studied law but I absconded into the arts and I was perceived as…’ He searches for the words. The white sheep of the family, I offer. ‘Yes, I was the white sheep of the family. My father didn’t want my siblings to communicate with me in case I corrupted them. Going into the arts was perceived by my parents’ generation as an abomination that would result in nothing more than prostitution or drugs. That is all they knew of entertainment. I had no other means of earning a living. I had to make it a success.’
Perhaps that’s why Adewale is artistically prolific both as a musician and as an actor.
‘I did not speak or communicate with my family for a good decade, ironically until I became famous, and now every neighbour is knocking on my father’s door saying I just saw your son on TV.
‘They live now between Nigeria and London and when they realised that not only had I become famous but I was still respectful and not a drug addict or leading a life of debauchery (indeed he hardly drinks alcohol) I was still the same son, only in a different profession.’
‘It was my peers’ reaction to me that made them respect my profession. When I would visit him in his office in Nigeria there would be 20 clients waiting for my autograph. I guess it worked out in the end.’
The years that it took though were ones of uncertainty and it can’t have helped. ‘My father excluded me from his will based on the fact I had abandoned the family profession. As a man I was fine with that because I wanted to make my own path. I was never really rebellious. I just wanted to seek out who I was and what was my purpose in life.
‘I did a masters degree in law. I felt that was a sufficient degree in pleasing my parents. I knew that the arts was where my true happiness resided. I love creating. My mother always questioned where this tendency came from in me. Where did this alien tendency come from…yet Africans are very artistic. Even the language itself is very beautiful.
‘My mother is artistic in the way she dresses, the colours, the textures. My father was artistic in his use of language. He is passed now.’ He says this with sadness.
There must have been so much to unravel, to rework, to mend. It must have taken a lifetime.
His foster parents also both passed in 2006. ‘They died two days apart and that was my real understanding of what true love is. My father was stricken with lung cancer and given a short time to live. My mother was tending to him and the fear of losing him gave her a heart attack. She actually died before him. They were never actually married, just betrothed to one another. They never had biological children.’
‘I think it started when people heard that she took Nigerian children and word spread within the Nigerian couples or students with children. My mother was somewhat of a pioneer. They had never seen black children in the town of Tilbury before.’
He very much identified with Annie not because he’s an orphan but because ‘for me it was always that longing to belong and a search for love in my life. I’ve only just learnt how to love myself. It was a hard journey. One I began about ten years ago. It has helped me that I am really driven in my career, but you have to become happy in yourself and love yourself before you can support someone else.’
He admits it was difficult for him to have a relationship because he found it hard to trust. ‘There was only a certain level to where you could get to or if I did get there I would press the self destruct button and dissolve it.
‘It’s been an arduous process of self-evaluation, about confronting my own demons and fears. Buddhism has really helped me with that.’
When you look at Adewale you don’t see demons, you see calm and you also see drive. It certainly took a lot of drive to make Pompeii. To train to be a gladiator there were all day workouts and calorie counting. ‘It was brutal. I play the gladiator who becomes friends with Milo, who is played by Kit Harrington, the man he is supposed to destroy. It’s a relationship that starts with animosity and ends with ultimate respect.’
All that on almost no food. `It was gluten free, no sugar and no salt. I’d have eaten paper if they’d have given it to me. We had to achieve results so we had to be very extreme. We were allowed a cheat day on a Sunday where we could have sushi.’
They had to gain a lot of muscle and lose a lot of weight in a very short time. ‘The good thing is I’d never been in such good shape.’
Physically, mentally, emotionally, it’s been a gruelling road but this is the time where Adewale finally feels ready. It’s not just his fictitious enemies he’s been dealing with it’s his demons. All now put to rest.