Every story about music and migration is told the same way: the young leave the village, find the city, invent something new, and never look back. The village stays behind as scenery — history, customs, teachings, pride — beautiful, faceless, and abandoned. When I made the film for "Darb El Ghubar", I wanted to walk that story in the other direction.
In my film, it is the elders who leave the village. They do not stay home guarding the traditions and cursing what the children became in the city. They pick up the gasba and the oud — the culture itself, carried in two hands — and they walk the road of dust into the medina, into the neon, into the noise. Poor, faceless, nameless — and carrying everything that matters.
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