http://homecoming91.com/2015/10/18/film-review-hagereseb-2015/
The Film “Hagereseb” Portrays Urban Life in the Eritrean Diaspora
Posted on 10/18/201510/20/2015 by Ariam Alula
I sat in silence as I waited to watch a short film that I heard would
remind me of home. I arrived in a dark room when the first of a series
of short films featured at New York’s Independent Film Festival this
past week was in session. The solitude of going alone coupled with an
extra twenty minutes to viewing gave me time to observe the scene. I
occupied the first seat in the second aisle on the left side of the
room; my ears and hair caped in black cloth.
Hagereseb is a 38-minute window into the lives of first and
second-generation immigrants who live in Yesler Terrace. The film’s
protagonists 10-year-old Abai and, his sidekick, Mahari has one goal:
to buy a new pair of batteries so that Abai could get one last music
session with his older brother, Sam before the day’s end. Viewers
don’t ever see Sam in the movie, but they sense his complex nature and
status around town through the characters his brother encounters in
their neighborhood.
When Abai finds that Eyobe, a neighborhood bully, hustles him out of
his change for a firecracker that costed him ‘a buck fifty,’ Abai
yells “Sam is going to f–k you up!” But his brother is nowhere around.
He’s on his way to Eritrea in Northeast Africa, the country where his
family originates. Abai doesn’t know when Sam will return.
In the opening scene, we hear the clamor of Hadas, an older relative
of Abai, trying to explain the seriousness of Sam’s departure as she
tidies up the kitchen. Hadas begs Abai to give his undivided attention
in Tigrinya – one of the main languages spoken in their native land.
Her plea falls on deaf ears, and Abai doesn’t bother to break contact
with his piano keyboard while attempting to jam batteries into its
slot. He is unemotional, detached, cool, and gives off the vibe as if
the words to Kendrick Lamar’s “B—h Don’t Kill My Vibe,” come forth to
his thoughts.
“Are you trying to get sent home too?” she says with both hands
stretched out on the dinner table. Now that she has broken her accent
and is speaking plain English, Abai seems more inclined to listen.
In truth, Hagereseb does remind me of home. Not the place where I’ve
lived for the past 23 years but the place where my ancestors have
worked, fought, played, and buried some of their loved ones for
generations. The vigor of the Eritrean people, notably the Tigrinya
tribe (one of nine in the country), is aflame in this short drama
which viewers of the Eritrean diaspora recognize in the mannerisms of
Yesler’s amiable community. Mahari’s mom is short and has a routine
look embossed in her demeanor. Her werqi or heavy round gold earrings
are covered in a white cotton shawl known to Eritreans as the ntsela
while her friend brews traditional coffee. I immediately notice a
familiar fog, also known as itan in their living room. The incense is
believed to deliver peace and love in the home of its coffee drinkers.
When Mahari’s mom scolds her son for his disrespect and rascal habits
of not doing the ‘dishes’ or the ‘laundry’, peppering her rant with
English words, her friend pulls out a “Bes’maam Beli” – a saying
Tigrinya speakers use when they’re faced with a hardship and try to
soothe the troubled thoughts of their children and neighbors.
When the lights cut off unexpectedly in an aunt’s one-bedroom
apartment in Sembel, Asmara, last summer, my cousin cursed whoever she
felt was responsible. Her mother responded with a “Bes’maam Beli”
conveying to her daughter that the Lord could ease her worries if it
were possible for her to stay positive.
When Mahari’s mom asked how Sam was doing, Abai sunk his head low. As
a typical Eritrean of Christian faith, Mahari’s mom told him not to
worry and that when she sent her son home, he returned with a new
attitude, by learning his language and being embraced by his family,
his people.
Shiwanesh Hadgu plays Mahari’s mom in the short drama “Hagereseb”.
Source: Hagereseb Facebook page
Many scenes from “Hagereseb” could happen in New York City, the place
where my father arrived in the summer of 1983 through a refugee
resettlement program. My mother would join him a year later. As a
result of their sacrifices and bold attempt at starting a new life in
the West, I am a product of a mass exodus and call New York home. In
the Eritrean diaspora, we sometimes don’t use Tigrinya as the language
to communicate our wants and needs but to mock our parents’ and know
we’ll be scolded in return because we think it’s funny. We sometimes
respond in English when spoken to in our mother language; we sometimes
say “Africa” when we refer to our native land even though we mean to
say “Eritrea” because Africa is NOT a country. As any adolescent like
Abai would understand, we sometimes feel more connected with our
American or European or (insert your preferred nationality here) peers
and think we are better off without our parents. There’s a well-hidden
disconnect in not knowing where exactly we come from, or what being
Eritrean even means, when the country that we’re in tells us that we
don’t appear to fit the [Black] prototype.
Eyobe, an acquaintance of Sam, shows us how we may disassociate
ourselves from our ancestry while being black in America. “[They]
gonna have his a– hunting,” he says, once Abai breaks the news that
his family is sending Sam home. After I heard Eyobe support a common
misconception about life in Africa, I thought back to the memories of
hurtful jokes in a predominantly Black American schoolyard: “Ariam is
an African booty-scratcher!”
All things considered, [we] assimilate quicker than our parents and
older relatives do, and we learn that with a new identity we, too,
shape the fabric of the communities we settle in.
“The f–k? You don’t hear me dwag.” – Eyobe
It’s 1997 in Seattle, Washington’s largest city, and the
neighborhood’s aesthetics radiate remnants of an urban past nearing
the end of a century. Parts of Yesler Terrace may not look the same
today as the film depicts, and we don’t see all of it, but everything
about the first racially integrated housing development built in the
1940s fits the profile of many diverse cities in America. Foremost,
the streets are wide and that might be more of a West Coast attribute.
People are gathered outside on their porches. Mahari’s shirt is loose
and reaches his knees. Hip-hop music is blasting outside of an old
convertible car. The infamous keyboard that takes viewers on a journey
through Yesler Terrace hangs out of an unzipped red Jansport backpack.
And the one scene understood the most is the one where Abai and Mahari
fake an age-appropriate game of Rock, Paper, Scissors when they notice
a cop car pull up and drive down the street. Although their home
cultures don’t match that of their neighbors, they realize that the
world views them as they would any other Black child and we all know
Black men and their sons in America face a greater risk of deadly
force than their White counterparts.
Although “Hagereseb” is not a foreign film, it is best understood
without English subtitles.
It is not a foreign film though it recognizes and cherishes a
community that is still foreign to many. Hager meaning “country” and
seb with a literal translation of “people” is a short drama that
conveys the strength and pride among “people of the country” or the
village from one of the world’s youngest diaspora groups. Abai’s
one-liner affirms the title; “I am home”.
For Abai, home is Yesler Terrace. For me, it’s New York City. But in
the hearts of Eritreans anywhere, our nationality is not defined by
the number of years we spend at home or abroad but the esteem and
regard we have for our native land and its people.
Director: Zia Mohajerjasbi
Click here to view the trailer:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_vgmeHDLX_s
Received on Tue Oct 20 2015 - 22:34:54 EDT