When I Saw the Sea is a political gesture, denouncing the kafala system in Lebanon. Could you tell us more about this exploitative system akin to slavery?
The kafala system governs the living conditions of migrant workers, and particularly domestic workers, subjecting them to a set of restrictive rules. In essence, they sign a contract that makes them dependent on a “kafil”, that is, a person responsible for them, who is often their employer. In reality, this system enables a form of modern-day slavery. The contract forbids them from using a phone, having romantic or friendly relationships, having a sexual life, or taking a day off, and their passports are confiscated. This system isn’t overseen by the Ministry of Labour, so there is no protection for workers’ rights. The majority of the people affected are women who come to Lebanon in hopes of supporting their families back home. They often find themselves in nightmarish situations of violence and oppression. They have to face racism, discrimination, and violent abuse, including rape and murder. Crimes committed against migrant workers are rarely investigated or punished by judges or the Lebanese government.
How did the idea for this project come about?
When I Saw the Sea is a project I’ve had in mind for almost ten years. In September 2024, when war broke out in Lebanon, I felt it was the right moment to do it, as the conflict has made this system even more catastrophic. Whenever I see a migrant worker in the street, I always wonder what she is going through. On a personal level, I feel particularly affected because my brother, my sister, and many members of my family are in Europe as migrant workers. Like these women, they left to earn money, survive, and support our family in Lebanon. I often wonder how I would feel if they were experiencing such situations.
On stage, you work with three women who fled this system and who relay the story of an entire community.
The performance is based on their stories and all the materials we collected. These three women carry with them the voices of many others. It is a journey through their resilience. Alongside them, two musicians from Syria and Lebanon perform songs dedicated to the sea and the land. There are Arabic and Ethiopian songs. Through their words and their singing, the women demand justice. For them, being on stage is a first: rehearsals, preparing for the tour abroad… Everything is new to them. One of them is still working as a housekeeper in a private home. We are doing our best to organise their departure. Having their voices be heard was a matter of urgency. These women are so far from home. Their loved ones have remained behind.
How did you get in touch with them, given that Lebanon has been ravaged by war since the fall of 2024?
In the midst of war, many domestic workers from countries like Sierra Leone, Cameroon, Senegal, and Ethiopia were abandoned by their Lebanese employers who fled to Europe or Dubai. They were left on the streets, facing the sea along the Beirut corniche, or locked inside homes without passports, money, or food. Some of them died during the bombings. There are still bodies waiting in hospitals for a donation so they can be buried or sent back to their families. We don’t know much, we never hear the stories of these people. That’s why we went to meet these women, to hear their stories and see how we could help and support them. Despite the many interruptions caused by the bombings, my team and I agreed that the only tool we had to resist was our art: dance, music, and theatre. We didn’t want to stay home watching the news while our houses were being bombed. Thanks to many NGOs and mutual aid networks for migrant workers, we were able to gather information, testimonies, and personal accounts. We wanted to work with a large group, but there were many logistical challenges and unexpected difficulties: some didn’t have the documentation necessary to travel, others were able to find their way back home, and some decided to stay in Lebanon to fight the kafala system from within, because they had family there and had become activists.
How did the rehearsals go?
The rehearsal process was very organic. We listened to their stories, but also to their bodies, the way they move and the quality of their movement. The personal stories of the three participants come together through their fight against the kafala system and the fact that they managed to escape it. While they were once victims, today they are heroines. They escaped from the kafil’s home and created their own lives. They support and help their community. Their stories are intense and inspiring. In the performance, we use everything possible to support these narratives. We did not establish strict distinction between dance, music, and theatre. If narration is needed, they speak. If live music is needed, there is music and singing. The power is above all given to the bodies, sounds, and the voices. In my choreographic approach, I believe that a simple movement can summarise or tell a lot.
There is a link between When I Saw the Sea and your previous shows, which were often about personal stories…
Yes, I always start from something personal, something I carry within me, be it emotions, a reasoning, or a point of view on ethics. To be honest, when you live in Lebanon, you can’t make long-term plans for the future. I don’t dream two years ahead. I create based on what I feel in the moment. I can’t work or adapt to a predefined production system. For me, making art, theatre, or dance is an act of freedom. And that cannot be limited in any way. That’s also why most of the performances I’ve created are based on my family, or the people around me, or on the context in which I live. That’s what makes it political. I like to tell the small hidden stories one can find in the houses and streets of Beirut. We are able to question the political and social context through these intimate stories of families, mothers, and working women. You have to give time to these hidden stories, and through them, we can create the new heroic figures of contemporary society. For me, it’s the story of Leïla who sings about her dead in Leïla se meurt (presented in Avignon in 2016), it’s the love and labour of the mother in Du temps où ma mère racontait (in Avignon in 2022), it’s the story of these workers telling the nightmare of thousands of women.
Why this title, When I Saw the Sea?
The independent press platform Megaphone made a video during that period, interviewing a group of women abandoned on the Beirut corniche, facing the sea, without papers, without money, without anything. One of these women, from Sierra Leone, was still smiling. “It’s the first time I’ve seen the sea here in Lebanon, and its horizon,” she said. I was deeply moved by this woman, and I wanted to dedicate the title to her.
Interview conducted by Moïra Dalant in January 2025.