By Ritta Saidi

Khalid Abdalla’s Nowhere is unlike any play I have encountered, and I do not say that lightly. For reference, I do not like plays, especially one-man acts, and this feels like neither. It does not feel like a ‘show’ at all, but rather a reflection of self unfolding on stage. Abdalla never seems to perform a character. Instead, he intuitively presents his own individuality and inner thoughts, shaped over the years, in a way that feels intimate and unguarded. At times, it feels less like sitting in compact theater seats and more like being in a quiet conversation with a lifelong friend.

During the 90-minute show, produced by Fuel and directed by Omar Elerian, Abdalla brings a strikingly original perspective to a tale as old as time: belonging. In particular, he explores what it means to belong as someone who is Arab, part of the Arab diaspora, and first-generation. Through stories of his upbringing and the gradual formation of his political and personal consciousness, Abdalla presents multiple versions of himself, each shaped by place, history, and experience. By the end of the show, it becomes clear that all these paths lead to the same destination: nowhere. “Nowhere”, in Abdalla’s telling, is not emptiness, but the understanding that a human being is a prism made up of every place they have lived and every moment of awareness they have gained. For him, that prism includes lineage and heritage, a call to revolution and justice, and, ultimately, family.

To move beyond the abstract, the emotional weight of this idea lands with force on stage. After leaving the audience in tears through his devastating reflections on the Egyptian revolution and the close friend he lost to cancer, whose life deeply shaped his understanding of what it means to truly live, Abdalla pivots with ease into moments of genuine humor. He cycles through his various “national” personas with sharp self-awareness. His Scottish persona, delivered through a thick, deliberately exaggerated accent, feels playful and disarming. He then questions whether he has the right to claim an American identity, given that his father was born there, embodying a bubbly, almost naïve version of himself. Later, his posh Cambridge accent emerges as he reflects on his education in the United Kingdom, drawing the audience in once again and complicating the question of where belonging truly begins or ends.

Needless to say, it is easy to see ourselves in Abdalla’s seamless performance. He invites us to question what it means to have an identity, and to reflect on the moments in our own lives that have shaped who we are today. Yet this play deserves even more credit than that. It is not only about his personal identity, but about collective Arab hardship and heartbreak. Within these spaces of “nowhere,” there are also the ever-present forces of colonial power. Spaces where George Bush’s War on Terror coexisted with Abdalla’s father’s imprisonment in Egypt. Spaces where Donald Trump was still merely a media figure, all while Abdalla and his friends were throwing a party in a hospital. These overlapping and translucent moments form a timeline that leads us to where we are now, to Gaza and its ongoing genocide. A contemporary story of devastating resistance that is not isolated, but the direct result of these conflicting spaces guiding us here.

I had the privilege of sitting with Abdalla the day before the performance for a discussion, during which I asked him questions alongside a small group of students. His authenticity is unmistakable, whether he is speaking to a full audience or to nine people in a classroom. We asked how he reconciles his many roles as an actor, activist, and father. In nearly every response, there was clear urgency in his words, all circling back to a single question: what is our duty to humanity, and how do our identities shape that responsibility? In this way, Nowhere feels like a direct rebuttal to Theresa May’s infamous words on citizenship, “If you believe you are a citizen of the world, you are a citizen of nowhere.” For Abdalla, nowhere is not a failure of belonging, but rather its most honest form that forms the very foundation of his work.

This play inspired new insights as to what my upbringing and sense of duty truly mean. Abdalla speaks about spaces as places where different energies coexist, and sitting in that theater, I felt that idea come alive. Whether it was the right place at the right time or simply chance that led me to the 2:30 p.m. showing is up to the reader to decide. What is certain, however, is the impact of the work itself. This play should be required viewing not only for its artistic power but for how it forces us to confront what it means to be humane. At a moment when the world feels fractured and indifferent, it reminds us that survival is not an individual act but a collective responsibility, and that turning away from that truth is no longer an option.