Dust from home, 2024

Dust from Home is a journey of time, land and family. Starting in Brasil and ending in Syria, it illustrates the immigrational journey my great grandparents did 100 years ago. Once they left their village, neither them or anyone came back, until now.

Through the intricate streets of my story, Dust from Home is a journey of time, land and family. Starting from the family archive, the series is the imagistic representation of one’s search for reclaiming what has been lost, stolen, broken, taken and destroyed. The journey, which started in Brasil and finished in Syria, is the opposite immigrational journey my great grandparents Nayef and Maria did 100 years ago. Once they left their village Sednayah, they never could afford to come back home and died with this dream. Neither their kids or any descendants had ever gone back, until now.

The death of my grandma Luci, their daughter, happened ten years ago and was the catalyst of the crumbling of my family, as what was left was deep sorrow and separation. Her kids, my father and uncle, haven’t spoken since.  I haven’t seen the rest of the family since her funeral. Everything changed on 9 of March 2024, when we all reconnected due to this project. Upon my request, the family gathered to pose for my camera and to rejoice and reconnect by sharing our favourite Syrian dishes and playing backgammon. The one moment I had alone during the day, I felt the spirit of my grandma smiling at me.

The Brazilian part of the family lost contact with the Syrian around twenty years ago. Taking in consideration the Syrian Civil war and the huge amount of displaced and refuges around the world, they all believed we wouldn’t have anyone left there to tell stories.

My first two weeks in Syria were marked by a road trip around the country. I was privileged enough to see parts of the country many won’t see, from the south ruins of Busra, to the ones in north by Palmyra. What started as a very personal journey, transformed into an immersive experience and understanding of a wider Syrian identity and cultural heritage, which suffered a systematically attempted to be erased during the war. As I was searching through the ruins of my family and our story, I was faced with the ruins of a country trying to rebuild itself in the aftermath of a devastating and traumatic conflict that had civilians and culture in the front line of death. Syria showed me the highest contrasts of human capability: of creating breathtaking beauty and destruction at the same time.

One of the few objects left from my great grandparents is a medal they brought in the ship with them from the church. This was one of the few leads I had in my search of alive relatives, besides our names. Upon arriving in Sednayah, I felt the embrace of their spirit, each holding my hand. A great granddaughter their never met, returned home for them. I was not only in search of clues of our family, but also for a new medal from the church, as I told the year before by a friend that they still make the same. After I managed to find one in the monastery, I was informed by the head nun to try the Catholic church across the street.

After meeting the priest, who warmly welcomed me to my country and celebrated my journey, I was informed I indeed still had family in town. As I look around the room, phone calls were being made and in less than an hour, I was sitting with my family drinking tea and eating biscuits. Relatives abandoned work mid-shift, my nun cousin left her monastery immediately to meet this familiar stranger who came from very far away in their search. We had never seen each other before, but we looked so much alike.  What happened next is now history, as I spent weeks with them, recognising myself and my relatives in Brasil in their gaze, the sparkle in their eyes and the loving embrace. What started as a search for family, became also the discovery of identity.