Hussein
Oud scales for Belgium…
It’s a damp, rainy night outside, yet a small crowd is gathering at the entrance of Ciney’s cultural centre, a provincial town in French-speaking Wallonia — Belgium-, to attend “Les Inouis.2”, a play, literally “The unheard of”. As the door of the big multipurpose hall is pushed open, people start to hear the recorded murmurs of a harbour, and discover an imposing yurt lying in discreet blue light. The atmosphere and tone are set: expect to travel far from Belgium and back in time.
The show starts off with Hussein, 30, playing the Oud, an Iraqi string instrument, interpreting his own role next to Belgian actor and artistic director Patrick Masset. Their personal stories get interwoven as the play unfolds and eventually converge on themes of migration, exile and the fragile balance they seek between building new lives in new territories and the memories of homes left behind.
Hussein was only just a kid when, for the first time, he saw his mother frightened by the sounds of war: “Your mother is the strongest to your eyes. And when you see the strongest person on the planet weak and scared, it’s not easy.” Hussein clearly grew up with this fear, revived with greater intensity in 2003, when the US bombed the country. By then, he had already lost both his parents.
People were leaving Iraq all the time. Early on, Hussein knew that he didn’t belong in Iraq any longer. So when we caught sight on the news of masses of refugees fleeing their countries, the idea just expanded. Working at that time for a security company, he nurtured the dream of going to Finland, maybe Belgium. An American co-worker warned him: “If you’re hesitating between Belgium and Finland, you better go to Belgium. Brussels is really going to fit you.” It struck a chord in him, the decision was taken.
Hussein knew he might have to run on the way to Belgium, so he left his Oud behind and set off in August 2015. He took a plane from Iraq to Turkey, then the boat to Chios, a Greek island. There was little time, the situation was evolving quickly, he had heard of troubles in Idomeni, in Greece, “they were hurting people”, and countries were starting to close down borders. From there, on to the Balkans, he walked through the frontier between Serbia and Hungary. The journey was long and dangerous, sometimes he slept outside, sometimes he had to make sure he wouldn’t get caught by police, like that night when they were a group of ten with children, advancing in silence through a Hungarian forest.
“When you live in Iraq, you’re not afraid anymore. There’s nothing worse that can happen. I was not really afraid.” Finally, spending quite a lot of money, “exactly 5500$”, he arrived, after 12 days, luckily safely, in Belgium.
First stop was the police station, where he gave his fingerprints, after four days of waiting, sleeping outside, then he was sent to Rondu, and then finally to Natoye — a fifteen minute ride away from Ciney. Hussein had to wait four months before he could do the defining interview to access refugee status. It was a tedious yet swift procedure compared to the one many of his friends had to go through.
After an initial, purely administrative interview, Hussein could finally tell his story and the outcome was positive. “Many people keep waiting for an answer and it takes their energy. It’s not the correct way. I think you should just live your life and that’s what I tried to do. I recorded a cd, I played music and I start meeting people and friends and making a big network. But most of the people actually they are waiting. And you can see that they are really in a negative situation.” Hussein was also helped on the way. Through a journalist, an online campaign was successfully organised to buy him an Oud.
His artistic projects are now moving ahead, among others with his French wife with whom he just had a daughter. His documentary currently in production, for which he composed most of the music, tells his journey back through Hungry, and eventually back to Greece.
Hussein clearly embraces his story and doesn’t seem to regret his choices. Things are moving as smoothly as his tone of voice and apparent character, in a mellow mode that he also expresses through his scale runs, which seem to capture the imaginations and attention of the young crowd that came for an earlier performance that day. During the Q and A after the show, he answers in a humorist and relaxed way to teenagers.
However, while he interprets his own role in the play “The Unheard of”, he outspokenly dislikes being perceived as the “refugee-artist”. “Sometimes it’s not so cool to put refugee behind the name. This guy — Hussein — the refugee artist. I’m an artist and a refugee of course, but we cannot link this together. You cannot say the refugee-doctor, it’s not so cool.” As if Hussein’s next challenge lies in language. Maybe there’s something there to ponder about: language and the way it depicts a person or status can reflect a higher or lower level of integration. Essentially, maybe do you become truly integrated the moment you’re not tagged a “refugee”. Not the most popular notion to spread around these days, but it’s nevertheless good to be reminded between two Oud performances.
One flew into a new home is a blog page promoted by the S&D Group in the European Parliament. In the lead up to UN World Refugee Day it will tell the stories of people who have arrived in Europe as refugees and made new lives here. It aims to tell the stories of every day integration — of people who have been given a chance for a new life in Europe and how they are contributing to their new adopted homes. The S&D Group is fighting for more funds to help the integration of refugees into their new host societies and has been at the forefront of the push for reform of the EU asylum system. The Group wants to see a fairer sharing of responsibilities between all EU member states and wants to push back against the demonisation of refugees and asylum seekers that has become common from right wing media and politicians in many EU countries.
