'Look Laïla, these are the women of your hometown.' The dizzying descent from the word 'hometown' to the recesses of my mind plunges me into a state of contemplation. This text message brings back all sorts of stories about my country of origin. I anchor my gaze in the eye of the camera. These women are Houariyates and their music resonates in the blood running through my veins. Solemnly, I present them to you and they dance. They dance between my hands and then my hands respond. They dance in a spruce forest and then the river responds. They dance in a sea of hyperlinks and then the Web surfers respond.
My own dance has irregular rhythms and strange postures. It exists somewhere between Chicoutimi and Tiznit and doesn't know how to define itself. My song is that of accumulated materials and colliding images. In this short video, in which each element unveils another, what keeps me most entertained is to endlessly question who I am.