is My own Visual Documentation for Being raised in Different Social Classes. Through this project, I’m trying to narrate different Memories of spaces, Identities, and Thoughts that shaped me. I tried to used Visuals to Fictionalize the Memories that I was never part of, but somehow, they’re still part of me. Even if I don’t care about Identifying my self Now as part of any social Classes, I’d still Love to Question the system that we’re all part of.

Between Now and then


 

To the World, or maybe to my false-self,

Isn’t it Beautiful, to experience life from more than one point of View? Not just in one Structured Body/Mind? I had a long time asking myself, why couldn’t we just normalize passing through different phases of shaping our Identity? Why isn’t it easy for me to be the person I want today, and just being another person the next day? Why isn’t it easy to accept  Liminality as a transitional phase of Knowing the self? So, through this project I tried to take break from asking myself (Why/How/am ….  I belong?) and Just Try to Story-tell Memories….

I’m a cactus Flower

Between the Nile and the desert, Father will pick the Nile, but when it came to me, I’d always see myself Walking into the Desert, it’s part of my Identity. It’s where I’ve grown up and shaped, and it’s where I saw how men are empowered, and how my father was soft, the same way the Nile was.

My Father Born In 1953, Nasr El-Noba, Aswan. He’s born in the old Nubian Village (Kalabsha), at the age of 10, he experienced the Nubian Displacement that happened after the construction of the High Dam.

After the Military Service, he moved to Aswan (The Governate) to start his Career in the meteorology field. 

In his 67th Birthday, we went through a conversation about Childhood Memories, the Place where he raised and wished to live…

00:00 / 02:41

I still remember the picture that my father described  when he left his old Nubian Village. He said "The Ship was waiting us, and it was filled with many people so you could barely find a space to move your shoulder. The time we’re leaving I found my dog was looking at us from the Island, he was sad that we couldn’t take him with us. But How could we take him! There was no enough space for people to tolerate each other, he would have never been welcomed to share the space"

 I Left the house when I was 17, and since then I’ve been moving between countries and cities. I’ve never crystalized the memory of leaving home , but I did when it came to the one my father shared with me. I still thinking about the reason behind it, but maybe because it was important for me to leave and see the world, but it wasn’t important for him.

00:00 / 02:02

Abdulnaser’s speech about the Nubian Displacement, and how that will reduce the isolation of my people, but it never happened.

It just reminded us of how we lived in a place that never meant to be ours.

Is This Me? 

Mama’s Voice is always inside my head. Not taking her words as a belief, and still holding her words as a reminder of where I came from, is a double whammy.. 


الإغتراب

عن التنشأة فى مكان لا يسعنا سوا التسليم بوحدانيته. كنت أرفض هذة الفكرة, فكرة التسليم المطلق, بأننا أشجار, مربوطين ومرسّخين بشئ واحد ورابطة واحدة.

لماذا نسلّم؟ّ!!

كنت أرى بأن ما يحمله والدى هو ذكرة لشئ أكبر من كونه مجرد تسليم بقدسيّة الأماكن. كنت أهرب من كونى جزء من سياق مكان لا أنتمى له, رغم أنى أحمل كل ذكرة ساهمت فى وجود هذا الترسيخ.

 يشغلنى كثيرا فهم ما انا عليه, فهم هذه الرابطة القوية التى تجمعنا كأفراد, والتى بدورها ساهمت فى بناء وحدة مألفة من الذكريات. ولكنّى أصبحت تائهة وسط جميع التعريفات, لأنى أرفضها وأمقتها.

وأصبحت أخيرا أسلّم, بأننى لست جزء من هذا كله, ربما أنا شئ عابر, شئ يغمره الإغتراب

© Farah Hallaba - Designed by Esraa & Farah

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