The Solidarity Committees of Galiza present
Asahra alhurratun Free Sahara!
If some day you arrive at a flat and white land
with huge black statues
and you see the bedouins and camels walk passively,
remember there is a land with no master nor owner,
mirror and soul of every innocent being.
In the name of the authorities of the daira
and its population
she welcomes you.
She appreciates your journey from a faraway land
in order to know about our situation and our problems.
She wishes you a happy stay
and now she'll introduce the council of this daira.
...secondly, the number was bigger than the capacity.
It's the same with flights: they want to bring everybody
and then nobody feels comfortable.
Thirdly, many blunders have been made...
History repeats itself spontaneously.
Everyone's waiting expectantly for our fragile future
while the old melody awakens our instincts.
A man promises to give us back our hope lost
in the imaginary gardens of the past,
but our captive steps stumble
among the crowd that watches us in the distance.
As for our returning to the occupied territories,
as long as the the Moroccan army and settlers keep occupying our land,
we can't return.
As for the referendum,
the refugees here must return to the areas liberated by the Frente Polisario.
The adobe walls reflect themselves in the endless desert.
They cover and protect, for a long time,
the repressed desires of the dead and the living.
They are erected on the memories of the forgotten ones
that proceed towards reason
on life's train.
They passionately smell the scent of the last glass of water.
They look for the beginning and end of every hope
in the sparkle of every star.
...secondly, families should feel at ease...
There's nothing left, just ruins after the devastation.
There's nothing left, just wailing and tears after your cruel arrival.
There's nothing left, neither before nor after
nor now when you are, as always, the refuge of power.
"Holidays in peace" must have two clear goals:
First, allowing the child to see the world, as part of their education.
Second, children should be ambassadors of their cause.
Most people see this as a way of having a new income.
Women can carry out any programme in the refugee camps perfectly well.
The Saharan woman is a teacher, a doctor, an engineer...
She works in all the fields here in the camps.
It is the human factor we lack most.
The human factor is more important than resources.
We need somebody capable of managing difficult cases, etc.
We lack psychologists and people trained on special education.
...sheer snobbery. Everybody has a child, so I must have one too, as a fad.
Hygienic conditions are not controlled, and we are having problems.
The noble passions triumph over the enigmatic monster
to open way to children and mothers who search for love.
Coming from faraway, in you I look for kindness,
knowing that every kindness is yours, mother.
In you I look for the unrealizable goals
knowing the summit of my realization is in you, mother.
And the desire of loving you rises in me,
sublime and perfect in an earthly world,
sailing towards a harbour illuminated with your light,
and that day I'll become the star you bore.
Immortality belongs to God,
premonition to prophets,
kindness to the poor,
greed to the rich,
boldness to the clever,
love to everyone.
But death is the ultimate embrace,
it is the unacceptable song
of the poor, the rich, the greedy, the clever and prophets.
...it's a non-written dialect. There's no dictionary of hasania yet.
We learn it by talking to our parents, in the haimas...
It's like old Arabic with a different intonation.
I'll talk to life about you, not to people.
I'll be very quiet, fearing I don't know what.
You'll watch me, they'll watch me, so intently.
Everybody will speak, but each of them is different.
I don't know whether there is fate, whether history repeats itself.
But I'm sure of something, my friend:
our looks won't change,
because they are passion, desire, understanding.
Look at me forever, try to understand me,
and to see my destiny as your own.
Never stop watching me; if you do, we'll have disappeared.
Poems (read by the author)
Voices
Music