They wear a veil but are not afraid to speak about their escape from Syria, the overfull refugee camps where anything may happen, haggling over human beings, especially women and girls, the permanent insecurity…
It is barely better in Jordan near the refugee camps: lack of food, identity papers that went missing during the flight, so it is impossible to prove one’s identity to the local authorities: Whose wife ? Whose mother ?
As if there had been no existence, no civil status beforehand, as if life was beginning now, from scratch. One girl married very young to a rich Saudi Arabian, then to another means a mouth less to feed for the family, a slave more in the world. Women’s bodies turn into an exchange currency; selling one’s daughter once, twice or even three times enriches the family father, while the life of the daughter gradually fades away. At each word of the young victim, her breath falters and then rushes on to the next word. Speed is needed to be able to express everything.
The ancestral patriarchal traditions go hand in hand with sexual abuse. In the distance, black smoke hovers over Syria. The bruised souls become one with it and tell their story with bewitching background music that holds us in its grip and moves us in turn.