refugee

Sleepwalking Land

gwen — Thu, 03 Feb 2011 20:00:00 +0000

Based on the novel by Mia Couto, Sleepwalking Land showcases the bittersweet journey of an older man and a boy as they meander through the war-ravaged countryside of Mozambique. Initially, Muidinga and “Uncle” Tuahir are seeking the basics: food, shelter, and safety from traveling gangs. Tuahir had pretended to be Muidinga’s uncle when they were residing in the Xalala refugee camp. The boy was presumed dead until Tuahir noticed otherwise, and by claiming a familial bond, the man was able to take the boy under his wing. Now the two are seeking refuge from the refugee camp and are in a truly nomadic, transitory situation.

When Muidinga and Tuahir make a burned and looted bus into their temporary home, they find passengers’ belongings among the charred remains of the bodies. Muidinga finds and begins to read the diary of a young man named Kindzu to the illiterate Tuahir. This discovery transforms their day-to-day existence into a purpose-filled trip through the past and present, while helping them to develop a goal for the future.

The much-needed escape afforded by Kindzu’s stories reminds Muidinga and Tuahir that people will go to great lengths to find and create family despite the grips of a gruesome civil war. Along with the goat that Muidinga finds in the bushes, the pair decide to travel to the sea to find Kindzu’s love Farida, and complete the quest that Kindzu described in words but was unable to finish.

Along the way, Muidinga and Tuahir meet a variety of characters, both in reality and by way of Kindzu’s stories. All of these interactions help the two to create their own story, and to build their relationship to the point that Tuahir asks Muidinga to call him Father. At the beginning of the movie, Tuahir gruffly tells Muidinga that “In wartime, children are a burden.” His rough, realistic attitude is a testament to a life that has required him to harden himself to continual sadness. But the two clearly bring each other joy as well, as is apparent when Tuahir tells Muidinga to eat a piece of foraged fruit with care: “Eat slowly, so you can taste every color.” The old man gradually divulges information about Muidinga’s parents and past as their journey progresses, and it is easy to see the development of their dynamic from that of near-strangers to kin.

A few years ago, I reviewed the Cuban film, Alice in Wondertown. This film commented on the Cuban communist government through the lenses of psychological illusions and absurd humor. While Sleepwalking Land is not as explicitly political as Alice in Wondertown, both films vividly examine the mental processes of people who are coping with loss, oppression, and social alienation. They both focus in particular on how traumatized individuals create fantasies to handle desperate situations, and how these dreams begin to seamlessly weave their way into the fabric of reality.

Written by: Rachel Muzika Scheib, February 3rd 2011

My Sister Chaos

farhana — Thu, 13 Jan 2011 20:00:00 +0000

By Laura Fergus

Spinifex Press

A woman leaves her country at the last minute, as a refugee in a civil war. She and her sister leave together and seek asylum in a new country where they will continue their lives. Laura Fergus’s wonderful first novel takes up the story of this woman (I) and her sister (the sister). We do not learn the sisters’ names. We do learn that they are twins and that they are no longer very young. We do not learn the country from which they came nor the country in which they sought asylum. We do not learn the city in which they live. We do not learn the name of the war that scarred them.

The story begins in Chapter 1 with our main narrator, the cartographer—the sister identified with “I.” We eventually learn that she is a highly skilled cartographer, and was well-respected in her native country. In her new country, she works at a level well below that from which she came. Her detachment from her job and her isolation afford her a great deal of time for her pet project: she is creating a map of her house.

Her map is of a specific kind: she is not simply drawing her house and its contents to scale. She has designated her drafting table as her Point of Beginning and she draws from that point to create her map. This means that, from that point, she measures distances and angles which, when completed, must add up to the whole with nothing missing and nothing left over. This kind of measuring can take into account previous boundaries, as well as histories of change and movement. As the story progresses, we find our protagonist agonizing over how to do just this. Beginning in Chapter 1 (the reader’s point of beginning, of a sort), the cartographer must find a way to include her sister and her sister’s chaos into the map she is making.

We do not meet the sister herself until the second part of the book. The sister’s chapters are fractions. We meet her in Chapter 12.5. She is not a whole number. The sister’s story is only ever mediated to us via her sister or an unknown narrator. However, it is the sister who reveals the cartographer and her map to us and to the cartographer. The cartographer herself, we learn, is herself not a whole number. In Chapter 21.75, the cartographer has a flashback. Her past comes creeping in and exceeds the precision the cartographer seeks. As the story progresses, the chapter numbers become increasingly fractured as the maps and the house and the sisters are found to exceed the sum of their measures. The cartographer abandons her map and begins to cut apart her house so it can match the map; the sister takes up the map and paints a new one. At the end of the book, the sisters have taken up the common project of destroying and recreating the house from the inside.

I cannot do justice to this book in such small space. It is marvelous. I’m still not sure I fully understand it, but it kept me up all night the night I read it and I look forward to rereading it.

Written by: kristina grob, January 13th 2011

District 9

admin — Sat, 15 Aug 2009 17:01:00 +0000

By Neill Blomkamp

WingNut Films

In 1982 an alien spacecraft descends into the Earth’s stratosphere and hovers for months over Johannesburg, South Africa. Humans, alternately fearing that the aliens are hostile and hoping that they are harbingers of technological advances, board the ship. They are disappointed to discover that the aliens are neither, being nothing more than incredibly ill and malnourished refugees from a distant planet. Human governments around the world provide aid for the aliens while they bicker over what to do with them. Eventually tensions between humans and the aliens (derisively known as “prawns”) spill over and the aliens are herded into District 9, a trash strewn shanty town. The aliens are then restricted from entering certain parts of South Africa.

After nearly thirty years, the world’s governments turn over control to Multi-National United (MNU), a private contractor much more interested in the advanced weaponry of the aliens than their well-being. A bumbling field agent for MNU, Wikus van der Merwe (Sharlto Copley) is put in charge of relocating more than a million aliens further away from Johannesburg in a new camp. After being sprayed by an unknown substance during a raid, Wikus begins a frightening metamorphosis into an alien. Realizing that Wikus can operate the weaponry due to the fact that his DNA has begun to change (the aliens’ guns cannot operate without alien DNA), MNU plans to experiment on Wikus. Wikus, rightfully fearing for his life, escapes from custody and hides out in District 9 where he seeks help from an alien known as Christopher Johnson. Christopher, who is earlier seen disputing the legality of an eviction notice, has plans of his own.

Inspired by the forced removal of sixty-thousand residents from District 6 in Cape Town, District 9 functions as a metaphor for apartheid-era racial policies. The “prawns” are definitely meant to symbolize members of racial minority groups as they are bipedal, employ verbal communication that is easily understood by humans, and even engage in inter-species sexual relations. The (mostly white) humans put in charge of policing them unthinkingly utilize colonialist arguments to justify their oppressive tactics; “prawns” are stereotyped as uncivilized, aggressive, lacking in initiative, none too bright, and lacking the same concept of land ownership that humans have. And Wikus’ transformation from human to alien mirrors the fates of scores of South African whites who lost their legal standing as whites once the government discovered their “non-white” ancestry.

Despite its interesting premise and inventive storytelling, this movie is eventually undone by its flaws. First, there are a lot of plot holes. For instance, MNU’s decision to kill Wikus and harvest his organs doesn’t make much sense. Isn’t he much more useful to them alive than dead?

Second, racial stereotypes of Africans abound. While always unacceptable, racial stereotypes definitely don’t belong in a movie with an anti-xenophobia message. However, that did not deter the filmmakers from presenting extremely negative images of sub-Saharan Africans. Every black person in District 9 was either: 1) an unthinking toady of white authority figures (Mandla Gaduka), 2) a violent criminal, 3) a believer in witchcraft and superstition, or 4) some combination of 1-3.

I found it very telling that the Nigerian warlords don’t live much better than the “prawns” they regularly exploit. (Even though quite a few Nigerians do live in South Africa, the filmmakers should not have assumed that an international audience would know that, which is yet another flaw in this movie.) I also thought it was odd that none of the South African blacks featured in the film seemed to see any parallels between the aliens’ predicament and their own recent history.

Finally, the third act quickly disintegrates into a standard Hollywood shoot-em-up, and District 9 relies too heavily on gore. Once the audience became aware that the aliens’ military hardware can literally blow its targets to bits, the filmmakers should have kept much of the violence off-screen. I covered my eyes numerous times, and I am not exactly squeamish.

Despite its imperfections, the mockumentary District 9 does make you think while managing to be entertaining, a feat few of the movies released this year have managed to pull off. In fact, District 9 is likely to find a wide audience and make more than a few “Best of 2009” lists.

Written by: Ebony Edwards-Ellis, August 15th 2009

I Have Before Me a Remarkable Document Given to Me By a Young Lady From Rwanda (4/13/2008)

admin — Thu, 24 Apr 2008 03:18:00 +0000

Phoenix Theatre Ensemble

New York, New York

I Have Before Me a Remarkable Document Given to Me By a Young Lady From Rwanda is an amazing two-person play set in London, England in the modern day. It chronicles one Rwandan refugee’s struggle to write about what happened to her in 1994, and the Englishman who helps her.

While living in England, Juliette (Susan Hayward) meets an aging poet, Simon (Joseph J. Menino), who works at the refugee center part-time. She comes to him for help in getting her book about the Rwandan genocide published. After reading her work, Simon notes that the book is completely—and only—historical and factual, so much so that he asks, “Where are you in all of this, Juliette? Where is your story?”

The rest of the play follows Simon and Juliette as they create a much more personal account—Juliette’s account—of the genocide. They are the only two characters we ever see, but Simon’s wife and Juliette’s younger brother are important off-stage recurring characters. The theater itself is set very sparsely; only a small table and two straight-backed chairs adorn the stage while most other props are brought to life through the actors’ movements.

I found two things especially interesting about the way the play is performed. First, Simon and Juliette tell the audience their thoughts. At one point, Simon “reads” his poetry for a group of people, but instead of the poem, the audience hears an inner monologue—what Simon is thinking while he’s reading aloud to the imaginary audience. He and Juliette both speak as though directly to the (real) audience throughout the play, whether or not the other character is present. Hayward and Menino, however, do a great job clarifying the separation between personal thoughts meant only for their characters (and the audience) and dialogue with one another.

Secondly, even when Juliette and Simon face each other, they also face the audience. For example, when Simon is reading his poetry to an imaginary audience, he faces the actual audience. Juliette, who is part of the imaginary audience, sits near him, but is also facing the real audience. The effect is notable; though they are not looking at one another (or even facing each other), the actors did a great job making the connection between the two characters clear.

Running for ninety minutes without an intermission, I Have Before Me a Remarkable Document Given to Me By a Young Lady From Rwanda is a beautiful tribute to the humanity within the inhumanity in the Rwandan genocide. I don’t want to spoil the play for those who would like to see it, but let me say it’s certainly worth the watch. I was brought to tears more than once. The play ends with Juliette and Simon reading her the beginning of her book to an imaginary (and the real) audience: “Once upon a time…” belays their hope for a good and humane future. I congratulate the Phoenix Theatre Enemble, Sonja Linden (the playwright), Joseph J. Menino, and especially Susan Hayward for putting together a truly remarkable performance.

Written by: Viannah Duncan, April 23rd 2008