Interviews & Reviews
Chilli Power, Product and Publications Manager at Magnum Photos, picks up a copy of Salih Basheer's photobook, The Return, a personal exploration of loss and displacement in Sudan Let’s take a closer look at Salih Basheer’s The Return, an exploration of displacement and loss in the midst of war. In April 2023, Sudanese photographer Salih Basheer was visiting his family in Khartoum when Sudan plunged into civil war following a vicious struggle for power between its army and a powerful paramilitary group, the Rapid Support Forces. That moment marked the beginning of an ongoing war that has, so far, displaced almost 12 million people and killed close to 150,000. From this comes The Return, an exploration of what the United Nations calls the world’s largest humanitarian crisis. The Return is a chance for Salih to speak out about what is happening in Sudan by combining the photographer’s own story with the voices of those forced to flee. Salih travelled to surrounding countries to gather portraits and testimonies of those living in exile, making it a personal project, but also a public one. Though text is central to the book, the images remain predominantly uninterrupted. The landscapes and portraits are accompanied by collages, drawings, and Tippexed images, and end with an essay and the testimonies. The book aims to go beyond minimal Western coverage of Sudan, sometimes referred to as the “forgotten war,” by focusing on the human experience. It’s about the people who are living it, those who are “rebuilding their lives, their communities, and their identities in the face of a war that is not of their making.” And, as Salih’s dedication reads, “to the people of Sudan — I hope you find peace.”
Written by: Alba Chan for Fotografiskcenter
In his short film The Wind on My Back , Salih Basheer takes us through his memories of Sudan and the various homes he has lived throughout his life. Currently living in Denmark, he reflects on the experiences that have shaped him as a person and artist, offering a glimpse into what it's like to escape one's own country in search of survival and opportunities. While war and the struggles of countries and their people are frequently in the headlines of newspapers, the Western press often overlooks issues affecting the African continent. This highlights the importance of artists like Salih Basheer and projects like his film, which shed light on our limited knowledge and awareness of the challenges faced by other countries and cultures. This film gives us a glimpse of your personal story and that of your country. Can you tell me about how those experiences and your personal journey have impacted your filmmaking and photographic career? Do you think that your memories have an impact on your storytelling perspective? Absolutely. Generally, I am new to filmmaking and still have a lot to learn on this road, but my experiences and personal journey have profoundly shaped my approach to filmmaking and photography. Growing up in Sudan and then moving to Cairo at the age of 18 was a significant turning point for me. Cairo was the first place where I started to explore my passion for photography, and it became a medium through which I could express my emotions and experiences. My memories, both joyful and painful, are deeply embedded in my storytelling perspective. Projects like 22 Days in Between and The Home Seekers stem from my personal experiences, memories, and observations. I believe that my work becomes more powerful when it is rooted in personal connection. Through my films and photographs, I aim to communicate my own story and, in turn, shed light on the broader issues affecting my country and its people. The cinematography of this film mixes different aesthetics, resolutions and color palettes. What was the creative process of it? Was it influenced by any of your own memories? The creative process for the cinematography in The Wind on My Back was more influenced by the narrative of the story and my complex feelings, I usually write when I am in this state of mind, and after coming back to Denmark from Sudan last year May 1st, 2023 after the war has started, I have overwhelmed by so many feeling and hard memories and the only way for me to overcome the hard emotion was by writing and afterwards I decided to turn the text into moving image. I aimed to create a layered narrative that mirrors the complexity of my own story. This project is incredibly personal and addresses really difficult experiences which I guess is really delicate to work with. Did you go through any challenges during the process of making the film? If the answer is yes, how did you overcome them? I faced many technical challenges while working on the film, as I am new to filmmaking, so there was a lot to learn and to know. but watching a lot of online tutorials and reaching out to friends who are more experienced with filmmaking helped me to overcome some of the challenges. Furthermore, delving into painful memories is often difficult. To overcome these challenges I always write first, it helps me a lot to put my feelings out on paper, and then it becomes easier to deal with them. In a fragment of the film, you mention that the West is usually ignorant of the conflicts taking place in the African continent. What do you hope the audience will take from your project? What do you think they will feel? I hope that the audience will come away from the film with a deeper understanding of the experiences of people in Sudan. I want to challenge the often one-dimensional stereotyping narratives presented in Western media. I hope viewers will feel a connection to my personal journey. Ultimately, I want the film to spark conversations and encourage people to learn more about the issues affecting Sudan right now. It is not just another war in an African country, it's a much more complex and deeper issue. In the credits we can see that there are different filming locations. Did you travel while filming or are you using archival materials? If it's an archive, how was the process of selecting the clips and adjusting them to your own recordings? The film incorporates both new footage and archival materials. I sometimes capture fresh visuals that represent my current reflections and experiences. Additionally, I used archival materials to provide a personal context to the narrative. The process of selecting archival clips was meticulous; I sifted through countless minutes of footage to find pieces that resonated with my story. Integrating these clips with new recordings involved careful editing to ensure a seamless blend with the narrative.
By Emi Eleode for BJP1854
Whether he is documenting personal loss, people fleeing persecution, or youth protests, Sudanese photographer Salih Basheer’s work is poignant in both its outcome and approach Salih Basheer’s dreamlike images have an air of nostalgia and melancholy. “I live in the past and in my memories… sometimes it is exhausting,” says the Sudanese photographer. “When I am in a melancholic state of mind, it’s a big source of inspiration for me.” In Basheer’s work, the meaning of home and belonging are recurring themes. He lost both his parents at the age of three and moved in with his grandmother. He recalls this time as painful, feeling like he didn’t belong “here or there”. After finishing high school in Khartoum, he moved to Egypt to study geography at Cairo University. The feeling of loneliness not only lingered but grew more profound. “There is a quote by James Baldwin that says, ‘You don’t have a home until you leave it and then, when you have left it, you never can go back.’ This is it,” explains Basheer. During his studies in the Egyptian capital, Basheer taught himself photography. He had been fascinated by the medium since looking at his uncle’s old photographs, and began taking photos on his phone. After he graduated, he studied photojournalism at the Danish School of Media and Journalism, finishing in 2021. “At the start of my photography career, most of my work was street photography,” he recalls. “At some point, I felt a need to express myself more through the medium and that is when I started my first long-term project, Sweet Taste of Sugarcane [2017–ongoing]. It explores my memory of brotherhood and the time I spent studying in the Quranic school when I was a kid.” In 2018, Basheer started his series The Home Seekers. The work reflects on discrimination in Cairo, and tells the story of ‘Ali’ and ‘Essam’ – two Sudanese men who emigrated to Egypt, fleeing persecution in their home country for a better life only to be faced with hardships once again. The photographer Tasneem Alsultan, who nominated Basheer, says: “During the protests in Sudan, Salih went back to his home country [in 2019] and covered the capital city of Khartoum differently to the other photographers. His images were evocative, without the need of a headline.” Alsultan describes the work as “poignant, serene, quiet and, at times, uncomfortable”. “Salih wants us viewers to feel the awkwardness and discomfort of the spaces he’s in. He quietly moves in and out of spaces that are moody and heavy with emotion.” The Home Seekers is ongoing, and Basheer is working on a new chapter, Is This Home, following Essam’s story to Sweden. Essam’s grandmother offered him safety and security in her Sudanese home when he was rejected from society for being gay, but after her death, he was expelled from his family. “He thought he would find a tolerant society in Cairo but that was not the case. He thought of returning to Sudan, but finally his request to resettle in Sweden was accepted,” says Basheer. The photographer is also working on two new projects: 22 Days In Between and Blue: Children of January. The former ruminates on memory and loss, and won Basheer the W Eugene Smith Student Grant in 2021. “I wanted to make a body of work that would allow me to learn more about my family and serve as a way to heal from the trauma of losing parents,” he says. Blue: Children of January is about the ongoing Sudan revolution that began in December 2018, with a focus on the youth. It questions the country’s history with military coups and how they affect Sudan today and in the future.
By Kenneth Dickerman for WashingtonPost
Photographer Salih Basheer’s parents passed away when he was only 3 years old. Because of this, any memory he has of them is fractured, a wisp of smoke that quickly fades away. Bashir’s newly published book, “22 Days in Between” (Disko Bay, 2023) is a project he embarked on trying to collect as many memories of his mother and father as he could. It is a highly charged, emotional, journey to flip through the book’s pages. What you’ll see in Basheer’s compilation of memories are, understandably, fragments. Along with photographs, we are presented with children’s drawings and the collected memories of his brothers and sisters. The sense of loss and yearning in the book is palpable. Fractured and fragmented memories can lead to a struggle with identity. Memories are our anchor to our formative past. Misplacing them can lead to anguish as we try to form ourselves as we get older. At least that’s the way I think about it. The memories we keep with us from childhood, especially, provide links to who we are and who we were — who our parents are and who they were. They can trigger thoughts of calm, the safety of a mother’s hug, the memory of a father’s whiskers rubbing against your face while getting a reassuring hug. Basheer has few of these linkages. As he says in the preface to “22 Days in Between”: “I have only a few memories of my parents. I remember I was once with my mother in our house yard, and I was horrified by the noise of an airplane flying low spraying insecticide. I was trying to hide in my mother’s arms. I also remember I was once with my father as he was driving us in his white Fiat to the mosque for the Tarawih prayer. It was Ramadan and I went with my mother to the women’s section on the second floor to enjoy watching the prayers from above.” “22 Days in Between” is a small book. It reminds me of a keepsake, something left over from a different life that connects you to the past. Its smallness gives it a feeling of intimacy that is only reinforced by the words and images inside. This is a remarkable book that plumbs the depths of memory and the building blocks of identity. It is a gem. It’ll suck you in and is a profound excavation of what it means to be human, pitfalls, elation, misery and sadness combined. Basheer is a Sudanese documentary photographer who started his photographic studies in Cairo but then ended up studying photojournalism in Denmark. His work has been exhibited globally.
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Salih Basheer gathers memories from before his parents’ death
By Alexander Durie for BJP1854
In his debut photobook – the first-ever publication by a Sudanese photographer – Basheer revisits memories of his parents, who died when he was three years old Picture a small red book that could fit in your back pocket. You open it and find an eclectic mix of images and writing: some family archive photos, some childlike drawings, and a personal log written both in English and Arabic. The text records details of the author’s grandmother’s Grewia tenax tree, or the few memories he has of his parents, who died when he was only three years old. This pocket-sized book may at first appear to be little more than a personal diary. But in reality, it is the first photo book of the young and talented Sudanese photographer Salih Basheer – one of BJP’s Ones to Watch in 2022 – titled 22 Days in Between and printed by Danish independent publisher Disko Bay. The title is the first photo book to ever be published by a Sudanese photographer – a fact that saddened Basheer when he learned it’s taken this long for it to happen. “I hope this will be the start of more books to come in the future,” he says. But why has it taken so long for a Sudanese photographer to publish a book on the international scene? Ala Kheir, one of Sudan’s most prominent photographers, and one of the founders of the Sudanese Photographers Group in Khartoum in 2009, said that the almost 30-year-rule of Omar al-Bashir from 1993 to 2019 stifled much of the arts industry and creative aspirations of many Sudanese people. But things are starting to change, and opportunities are broadening for the younger generation, particularly since al-Bashir’s ousting in 2019 during the Sudanese revolution. “Photography is one of the fields to suffer a lot during modern history in Sudan, and although there are a few photography books about Sudan, this is so far the first photo book to be published by a Sudanese photographer,” says Kheir. A book of such importance couldn’t have come from a more personal project. Basheer specifically chose this small pocket-sized format for it to feel like his own notebook. “The book has a double meaning,” he explained, “it’s personal in the content and in the form.” Basheer, a 28-year-old self-taught photographer, has been dreaming about publishing a photo book since he first picked up a camera six years ago. His eye for poignant and dreamlike images as well as his gritty visual style – often shot in black-and-white – has earned him international acclaim. Among his accolades, he’s exhibited in major cities across Europe, Africa and the Middle East, and received grants from the Arab Fund for Arts and Culture, Everyday Projects. Most recently, he received the prestigious W. Eugene Smith Memorial Fund student grant for this project that is now a photobook. 22 Days in Between refers to the number of days that separate the deaths of Basheer’s mum and dad, when he was only three in Sudan. His mum died of an unknown illness, and a few weeks later his dad was trying to break off a street fight and got hit on the head by a large wooden stick. He died in hospital five days later. Basheer is the youngest of five children, so mostly learned about his parents through his siblings and grandparents. He was so young when his parents died that he isn’t sure if the memories he has of them are even real. “All my memories are without faces,” he says. This photo book is ultimately Basheer’s attempt to remember his past, to recollect the few memories he has of his parents. This introspective narrative is explored through various formats: personal writing, self-portraits, archive images, and drawings that Basheer drew recently but from the perspective of a child – to uphold the idea that he is still a kid longing to bond with his parents. But although this diary-like photo book may initially appear from a childlike perspective, it is far beyond its nascent stage. Instead, this book resonates through the author’s raw images and the powerful ownership of his vulnerability. Even as Basheer speaks today, it remains difficult for him to discuss the loss of his parents. Some scars will never heal. But Basheer said that “this project helps a little bit, because three years ago I couldn’t have this conversation at all. It’s a constant healing process.”