Recessland: When purpose met play at Black Britain’s Favourite Playground

Taken by Bea Dalley

The first time I attended recess, it was 2020 — and I was over the moon to finally experience one of the bespoke events everyone had been raving about. The hype? More than real. A re.cess event felt like stepping into a time warp that opened onto the hottest dancefloors of 2007 or 1996. In 2025, nostalgia is undeniably cool and attractive. And what’s better than a party that reflects the late '90s and early '00s? Bodies don’t stop moving. The DJs knew exactly what they were doing. After that event, my barometer for what a good party looked and felt like completely changed. This was a party — and re.cess had raised the bar. So when recess introduced recessland in 2023, it honestly sounded like perfection. This year was my first time attending the festival and as someone who usually avoids large, festival-style set-ups, I figured my love for re.cess — with their immaculate care for curation (and for people) — would override my uneasiness. I was right.

For others like me who find big spaces overwhelming: trust me, the chaos and excitement are worth it.

Taken by Bea Dalley , Tolu Elusade

COAG Comics - Taken by Tolu Elusade

Having a space to be free, to enjoy and to have fun, is a necessity. It humanises us — as individuals and as a community. Recessland is that space, curated precisely to our needs. From the African and Caribbean food vendors to the topicals-activated photo booth, every element felt intentional. That is what makes recessland such a priceless experience. For those still under a rock: re.cessland is a funfair takeover by party pioneers re.cess. Think: rides, bumper cars, your new favourite rappers (like Chy Cartier and YT), and legendary acts (such as Awilo Longomba). When you arrive, the fairground feels like a maze — until you’ve done your fourth or fifth lap. While most festivals use a "main stage" to indicate hierarchy, re.cess disperses talent across the grounds. Essentially, yes — re.cessland is worth the hype. This wasn’t your ordinary day at the seaside. This was the most prideful, Blackest day away at sea. For one weekend, Kent’s infamous Margate becomes a hub of Black British enjoyment. This year ourppls were granted the opportunity of working with re.cessland on two community activations. The first, hosting a pop-up exhibition raising awareness about important issues that heavily impact African and Caribbean communities such as sickle cell, whilst simultaneously driving sign ups to three organisations who are leading the change, featuring Akanji Studio, Kwanda, and COAG Comics.

Taken by Tolu Elusade

Our second community offering was tailored to those attending the festival solo, we moderated a whatsapp group on both days and commissioned a team of wellbeing professionals to roam the festival supporting those who just needed a friendly face!

The ourppls team was based in the Market House which hosted a range of other community activations such as free books campaign in collaboration with thebooksdem, and a re.cess merchandise section which featured a range of collaborations with the likes of GBEMI and TrendsbyAfeez. “The voice of a generation” might sound hyperbolic — but how else do you describe a space that pleases both Millennials and Gen Z? Where else could you catch Afro-jazz band Kokoroko and Afrobeats sensation Shallipopi on the same bill? Attendees of recessland are often the first generation born in the UK — or, for some Caribbean folks, second to third-generation. That’s significant because this hub of enjoyment is also about being seen. From the Edges Bar run by Treasure Tress (where guests received free hair products), to the roller rink soundtracked by DJs spinning everything from Soca to high-energy sets from Hackney collective brighterdaysfamily — everything was carefully curated.

Brighter Days Family - Taken by Tolu Elusade

Our role in the festival wasn’t just about keeping an eye on things. It was about creating a sense of safety and comfort. In a space as expansive as recessland, that presence is key. When you need help, where do you go if not to the community team? The engineers, photographers and DJs are deep in their zones — that’s where we stepped in. We were there to support well-being — whether that meant checking in with someone intoxicated or sharing information on how attendees could give back to the community. First, through Kwanda — a for-us-by-us funding initiative where supporters choose local projects in Africa or the Caribbean to back. Second, by encouraging people to become NHS blood donors — particularly important given how Sickle Cell disproportionately affects our community. That effort was in collaboration with Akanji Studio, an art and advocacy space that combines graphic design and AI technologies to amplify underrepresented voices and the emotional weight of their experiences.

Akanji Studios - Taken by Tolu Elusade

Having these conversations at recessland made one thing clear: our duty to our community is non-negotiable. As a marginalised group, we carry each other — here in the UK and across the diaspora. We need a space that allows us to disconnect from the heavy realities we live in but we also need a space where joy and responsibility can be held at once.

The question is how far does the stick of responsibility run? How much should we have to carry? In a space of enjoyment, should our reality and responsibility still be acknowledged? Or does enjoyment mean being free from duty? In a space of joy — should our realities still be addressed? Maybe it’s not either-or.

Maybe recessland teaches us that the two can — and must — coexist.