Zak of All Trades

I guess this is my introduction. To those that don’t know me (and/or still read blog posts), my name is Zakiyyah Deen and a lot of people call me Zak. Just to preface, I actually really like my name, but I’ve introduced myself as Zak every now and then and the name just kinda stuck. (Probably because people often mispronounce my actual name, but that's another blog post.) I am an actor, writer, and producer, amongst many other things. Basically, a roundabout way of saying a Zak of all trades. My play Why A Black Woman Will Never Be Prime Minister is headlining The State We’re In Festival, and I wanted to write this so you could get to know me a little more. 

I’ll start with Actor Zak: 

This is the creative Zak that has been alive the longest. A lover of storytelling from the womb when my mum used to read me books whilst I was in her stomach doing up foetal position. When I finally breathed life into this polluted world, story time became a bedtime ritual. 

My formative years meant I lived all over London. I won’t get into it, and I’ll save the trauma dump for my therapist (or a memoir), but just know it meant we couldn’t see our nearest and dearest as often as we would have liked. My grandmother (aka Gamin) used to record herself reading my favourite bedtime stories on cassette tapes and send them to me in the post. (This was before FaceTime and when you actually had to pay per minute for phone calls.) My favourites included So Much by Trish Cooke, Amazing Grace by Mary Hoffman, and The Gruffalo by Julia Donaldson. Straight bangers. 

To rewind a bit: I’m actually a BRIT Baby. Both my mum and dad met and went there. Long story short, they ain’t together anymore and I didn’t get into BRIT. But it’s cute for my lore. Fast forward, I’m a lil gap-toothed Zak that loves reading and acting out stories, so my mum and Gamin put me into every affordable Saturday drama class available. 

I then go to secondary school and get shoved into a music class to make new friends. Little did I know, this would be the beginning of my journey as a performer. I met Chris Storey, my secondary school steel pan teacher, unofficial mentor and founder of Pan Nation - a steel orchestra based in Tottenham. (Quick shout out to them!) He taught me about stage presence, precision, and to love the stories we tell through music and our bodies.

Years go by and I apply for Brit school. As you now know that trajectory wasn’t my destiny but that rejection was a blessing in disguise. I instead met two wonderful women by the name of Robbi Stevens and Kandice Morris. Now these women deserve more than a paragraph, but in order to keep it short and sweet, they are fundamental in my journey as an actor. Beautiful beings with a love for humanity and creativity. They showed me that I could be raw, passionate and this lil hobby of mine could turn into a career. 

Nuff love to RAaW London and all the teachers, mentors, and peers I have learnt from during my time there. Fun fact: One of my first showcases with RAaW London was at Camden Peoples’ Theatre. Back when it was a lil less fancy and the dressing room led right onto the stage. 

During my time at RAaW, I decided I wasn’t going to drama school and was going straight into the industry. That was definitely easier said than done, but half a decade, 3 agents, numerous auditions, umpteen rejections, several opportunities, and a number of failures later - I’m doing it. There were so many lessons I learned from RAaW, but one of the main ones being: “You have to be more than an actor.” I took that and ran with it, which leads me to my next trade… 

Writer Zak: 

Ironically, this section is going to be a lot shorter because the journey is a little simpler. (Also, I’m currently way over the word count.) I didn’t want to label myself as a writer because I thought that meant I couldn’t be a good actor. (Cue the ‘Jack of all trades master of none’ ideology.) But the reality was, I’d been writing poetry and stories since childhood. I fell in love with spoken word at RAaW, and we were encouraged to write our own scenes for industry showcases and our showreels. 

Unfortunately, I caught the common case of “If you aren’t getting the roles, create them yourself”. I wrote a short play called Just Trying a Ting that was meant to go on at the Vaults Festival. I cancelled it because of no money, little support, and lots of self-doubt. Then the world locked down, and instead of continuing to write, I laid around doing nish. 

Out of lockdown, I found out The Guardian and gal-dem magazine (rest in power) were doing a competition and looking for submissions. I submitted a piece called I Look Like an Uncle, a personal essay about telling my boyfriend I have alopecia. It was one of the winners and was published in print and online. I fell back in love with writing, started a blog, got some residencies and it kinda spiralled upward from there. 

Please note, this venture came with much more rejections, but connections too, leading me to be signed as an actor-writer. And now, showcasing my debut play Why A Black Woman Will Never Be Prime Minister, which I am also co-producing.

Lastly, Producer Zak 

Now, she is a baby, but technically I’ve been producing for a minute; this is just the first time officially. When you create your own work - curating a team, finding funds, organising venues, conflict resolution, and all the other fun things producers get to do, comes naturally. (Actually, forcefully because more time you’re doing it on your own and can’t afford to pay someone else to.) 

So yeah, I’m a producer now too. I am not even going to lie to you - it’s a lot. But the fact I can look back and say “I did that” is the light I am looking for at the end of this ever stretching tunnel. If Michaela Coel, Daniel Kaluuya, and Idris Elba taught me anything, it’s this: when you create something, make sure you own your ish so you can control where it goes. (Also, I would love that TV exec producer bag in the future, so better earn my stripes from now.) 

That’s a whistle-stop tour of me and my main creative trades. I hope you enjoyed, and if you made it this far - Big up you and your attention span. Hopefully, this means you’ll be just as engaged when you come and watch my show (wink, wink). 

See you there! 

Nuff love, 

Zak 

Why a Black Woman Will Never Be Prime Minister

Tue 22 Oct - Sat 9 Nov 2024

Tickets £5 - £15 (+ booking fee)