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Seven Years Later, The Reunion

December 2, 2010

The shoot in Avignon is over. From my desk in London, I remember one thing overall. Salah's dedication, his singular obsession with the Sahrawis, remaining within their orbit, trying to stay as close to their centre as possible. He is constantly connected to the news from the camps and Moroccan-controlled Western Sahara. He falls asleep listening to Sahrawi radio, people from around the world calling in to share their thoughts on the latest news, events, rumours. This is his universe, and he can't stand to be too far from it.

This film is not a traditional portrait, with archive pictures, histories, and disembodied narratives. This is not a historical reportage. This is a zoetrope. The perception of a full story is achieved only by peeking through thin slits as they spin quickly by. You see blinking movement, only brief glimpses. The images themselves are still but the cylinder, spinning around, gives the impression of motion.

Last night, I watched with Salah a video of him returning to Moroccan-controlled Western Sahara for the first time in 7 years. He hadn't seen his family for seven years. His mother, father, his brothers and sisters, his cousins, aunts and uncles. When he left seven years ago he was just a good athlete. When he returned he was a symbol of everything that gave the people hope. In the video, he is surrounded by cheering friends and family. Outside the tent, visible on the edges of the video, are rows of Moroccan police watching, taking pictures of everyone who attends.

You can see the joy on the faces of the crowds, clamouring to hug Salah and welcome him back. You can hear the excitement in their cheers. Salah, all the while, is overwhelmed. He occasionally spots a familiar face and breaks into a smile, but otherwise his eyes look around, searching for something familiar. He is not expecting this. There is very little familiar about it. There is a mixture of joy - the reunion - and loss. This would, after all, have to end.

On the train back to London, I can see the snow is thick on the ground. This is far from where I last saw Salah, in the Algerian Sahara. On Sunday, I'll fly to Athens to pitch the film for the last time this year.

Snow

 

Filed under  //   Documentary   human rights   morocco   the runner   tourist with a typewriter   western sahara  
Posted by Saeed Taji Farouky 

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The Only Thing Certain Is That Nothing Is Certain

December 1, 2010

Paris is freezing. My hands are in pain, trying to hold the metal of the camera. The sting of the cold is almost too much. I think of the men and women I saw last night sleeping in the waiting room of Gare de Lyon.

There's a mist of frost over the city. Mostapha is here for his asylum application interview. Last night, the friend we were staying with in Paris asked Mostapha "do you want to know the history of Western Sahara?" as preparation for his interview. They've been going through significant dates together, to make sure the timeline is accurate. They watch an online video of an interview with an Egyptian Sheikh explaining the history of Western Sahara, but Mostapha doesn't like some of his conclusions. He shakes his head and tuts when the Sheikh says Western Sahara was part of the Moroccan Kingdom. "He's lying."

The next morning, in a cafe near the ministry of refugee affairs, we sit waiting for the offices to open, trying to stay warm. Mostapha is still running through the details of his journey to France, and his reasons for applying for asylum, to get everything straight and clear in his head. He disappears for a few minutes, and we smile when he emerges from the bathroom wearing his Dra'a, long blue robe, with the folds of cloth wrapped around his arm. We're used to seeing him in jeans and a t-shirt, but he says it's important to wear the Dra'a for his interview. He takes pride in it, even though it means he'll suffer from the cold on the walk to his interview. We wish him luck and he leaves a little early to make his 9am appointment.

Mostapha_draa

An hour later, he returns to the cafe, a smile on his face. "It was fine," he says, calmly. "Their questions were simple. They asked how I got here to France and about my background and my family. I think it was fine. They say I'll get a decision in one month." We sit down for another coffee.

Later, back in Avignon, Hossam asks "what if they don't accept his application?" But I don't know the answer.

I'm reminded of certain arguments. They're not far from the arguments we always have about Palestine. There are differences of opinion about how to approach the Sahrawi cause - differences that are becoming clearer to me now. The recent protest camp, and all the violence that followed, has split the opinions of the Sahrawi down the middle. "We have the right to defend ourselves" one said. "No, those camps were a shame on us and all Sahrawi" another told me, "violence only breeds violence."

Some say Moroccan policemen were slaughtered like sheep. Others say it's not true, those videos were fake. We don't now the real number of dead and injured. We don't know the real timeline of events. Was anyone else there to witness? The only thing certain is that nothing is certain.

 

Filed under  //   Documentary   Human Right   human rights   morocco   the runner   tourist with a typewriter  
Posted by Saeed Taji Farouky 

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I Feel That Moment, A Rush In My Veins

September 29, 2010

I felt - for the first time - the exact moment when the endorphins kicked in. The rush through my veins when suddenly my pace, my breathing, my psychology changed. It was 2.5km into a run, off-road, 10pm, heavy rain. It was as I turned into the south-west corner of Hackney downs, where the road disappears behind rows of trees and the trail becomes a thin scratch of dirt. There was a wave of calm, a ripple that suddenly but carefully relaxed my legs and my rapidly beating heart. My feet suddenly felt lighter. My stride suddenly felt like it could go on forever. It was as if a giant hand was lifting me gently from the back of my shirt, saying, "take some of that weight off your feet."

And my psychology changed, my mood was lighter, my brain reacting to the sudden intake. There was a rush of excitement. I saw someone walking their dog on the path. The owner ignored me, but the dog looked up and followed me as I floated past. I waved at the dog, smiling.

I was able to forget, momentarily. The rain was warm.

I was thinking of the conversation I had had the day before with Abdelfattah, the man I followed for several weeks for my first documentary I See The Stars At Noon. I've stayed in touch with him since those days in 2004 when I filmed him as he tried to cross into Spain from Morocco's northern coast. I recently sent him a copy of the film, after six years. I wasn't ready to hear his opinion until then. Finally I gave in and sent it. He watched it almost immediately, and told me later, on the phone, "Saeed, this is a real documentary."  I took it as a compliment.

"But why is it so sad?" he asked "You made everything look worse than it was."
"There are some good moments," I replied, perhaps slightly defensive. "The conversations we had, the time we sang together. But honestly," I explained, "the film reflects the way I was feeling when I made it. It was very difficult spending so much time with you, it was depressing. Don't you remember?" Yes, he said, he remembered.

Yesterday, he asked why I made films. "There are so many problems in the world, and you want to solve them all. You can't solve them all." He didn't believe that films could change things. I said I didn't want to change things, I just wanted to make good films, tell good stories. If one person came out of a film of mine with a better understanding, that was an added extra, but that wasn't my goal. If one person watched his film and said "now I understand something more about what life is like in Morocco," I would be satisfied.

"I think you need to sit down, quietly on your own, and consider what you're doing. I think there's something else you could be doing."
"But this is the conclusion I've come to after years of trying to decide what to do. This is what I believe in."

He didn't seem entirely convinced.

 

 

Filed under  //   Documentary   film   human rights   morocco   the runner   tourist with a typewriter  
Posted by Saeed Taji Farouky 

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