Pisces

Who told our story?

Where did nosotros get stuck?

FLAMES | SUSU ABDULMAJID

Kelly McMiller

"Sunday STREAM: FLAMES"

is a radio broadcast with me, Susu AbdulMajid, based on classic radio play. Sleepless in Seattle meets true law-breaking made in Berlin. The concept is simple: My voice, waiting for yours, because I want to talk to you lot because I may even demand it more than y'all do. Tune in, tell me what moves you or just listen and heed. I want to go rid of something, you know. Stories that haven't institute a place. Stories that take up space and are not that sexy either, correct now. But they are honest. I promise to you.

A utopia / dystopia

Who told our story?

Where did we become stuck?

They said I'm going to be a cliché. But today in that location are pictures of me with my face and name.

"Flames" are voices, materials, encounters. Degree of authenticity, existing on the area of ​​Germany and Co.

Flames, that's me and I'm part of a choir

Aggressively misunderstood, mythically read and phenomenalized. Nosotros became. Nosotros are the depraved offspring Penelopes and Odysseus is long expressionless. They loved us, and then they hunted us, and so they burned us. Today they still don't cry for us. Our voices, rough and tart, crystal clear and silky. Voices from ashes that tin at present be heard again. We are detonators, intellectuals and whores. We're the all-time you've ever seen burning, the all-time ignition material for yous and your homies. When they took land from us, they believed united states of america penniless and fabricated u.s.a. women on the outskirts of the city. From at that place we were merely ane point, burning, blazing. Now we smoothen into your room, every bit a small, round spot of light, directly into your role. Penelope never cried, just as no ane cried for her. Nosotros are players and we ignite in blue. Always looking for detonators, we burn down your longings, inflame the beauty of the body, throw our ashes at you. A pleasure that is lived. A nervus that gets hit. Our singing is your new lullaby. You thought information technology was lamentation. It was singing. And you lot followed us like the sirens - since 1586. Since 1478. Since 800 Bc. Since 2001. Since 2020.

And I'm office of the choir. A choir is looking for answers to German language questions - called past homeland ancestors and donated to those who are in exile. Well hither we are. This is not an exile, but an exit. You called, we are at present speaking. We tell you about our childhood, our playmates, the lost of childhood, being lost in adolescence, the blood between our legs, the longing for physical pleasures, the failure of individual existences, the fear of exclusion, the love for one another. Of longing.

Aye, I think I want to tell you something nearly longing. I desire to try - not just considering it sounds nice, I promise.

The choir helps me with this. Possibly we will find synonyms for longing, maybe you can also say "Özlem". It all happened here and all the same it is not entirely from here. I don't desire to be transparent, merely I don't want to expect for a new identity either. Of class, the stories are shaped past our mothers and fathers from countries with snow-capped mountains and rivers who swallow laundry made from sheep's wool. Yes, I am shaped by women whose stories we denied. This Frg is a small reservoir, with many female strangers. A territory that grows beyond the border of good-naturedness. A stain that constantly exaggerates and assigns our voice to the wrong annotation. A burning pile of woods, hair, and physical. The choir speaks of me, considering I've joined them at present - and of those who have stayed here for centuries. From their starting points that were not told and from their terminate points that were celebrated.

The choir speaks

Nosotros have often failed because of the expectations of this country, far too often we fell victim to a cliché, be it that of the city and its pulling power - or the utopia of a mod woman "of today" who is fabulously integrated into the conservation system and herself accept long since freed from oppression. Or is information technology the ash that surrounds us that made the states darken? Is it our nature that led to disempowerment? Our time has come to tell you lot nigh real encounters. From u.s.a., considering we are afraid of not existence heard anymore. For united states of america it is no longer merely about participation, only about co-conclusion.

Susana AbdulMajid

Susana AbdulMajid is an actress who was born in Berlin to Iraqi parents. After school, Susana studied acting in Berlin and New York. After graduating, she founded several collectives and played street theater, where she pitched tents and performed original plays. She also worked in various asylum centers, where she performed choirs in Arabic and German with women from Syrian arab republic and Iraq.

Since 2014 she has worked all over Europe at renowned theaters with well-known directors. In 2019 she was role of the ensemble for the play "Orestes in Mosul" past Swiss managing director Milo Rau, with whom she opened the world's leading theater festivals. In 2018 she played in the movie "JIBRIL" (Berlinale Panorama) by Henrika Kull, for which she received several nominations for the German Acting Laurels for best leading actress.

Susana is co-founder of the cultural format "Poetry Nights Berlin" and "I Am Not Your Exotic Girl", where she presents Middle Eastern poetry with live music. She writes brusk texts and poems and has recorded several songs for German films together with the composer Dascha Dauenhauer - the song "Yella Hayat" was nominated for Best Song in Pic 2018.

She as well studied cultural studies at the Free University of Berlin with a focus on Arabic literature and theater.

Instagram @susu_majid

Special thanks for the teaser images and videos to Dana Tomos @dntomos, Canan Samadi @canan_samadi, Rana Faharani @ranafarahani_, Murat Dekinci @muratdikenci, Rebecca Pokua Korang @ beccy.korang, Ričardas Myka @mykaric, Neslihan Aydin @nesxcoop.