Tell us a bit about yourself.

Growing up in Tunisia in a household that valued critical thinking and intellect, where stories were taken seriously, and silence was never empty. My mother being a trailblazing documentary filmmaker, got me exposed early on to the kind of work that observes more than it explains. Surely, that shaped me more than I realized at the time. It takes me time to connect, but once I do, I care deeply. I’m drawn to people who resist, who endure, who surprise you. Film became a way to stay close to those people and to places that matter to me. It’s not just a career. It’s a way of listening, holding on, and sometimes pushing back.

How did you become interested in film?

My interest in film was sparked at a young age, thanks to my mother. She used to take me along on shoots with her documentary crew. We filmed everything, from national parks to historical sites to quiet observational pieces. But the moment that really hooked me was about 20 years ago, when we were filming a short documentary called “A Woman from Kyrannis”. It followed an extraordinary woman in her seventies, the only fisherwoman and boat captain in the Tunisian island of Kerkennah (Kyrannis), in the south of Tunisia. On her days off, she was taking literacy classes, determined to learn how to read and write. Being able to discover such incredible people, and to tell their stories, giving them a window into the world & vice versa, was one of the reasons I chose this path.

How did you arrive at the subject of your Close Up project?

It was a matter of the story finding me more than me going out to look for it. I’ve known this region for years. It’s a place that is meaningful to me. But one site visit was different: The waste had piled up to the point where it was no longer just pollution; it felt like a form of violence. A space once full of life now looked like a dumping ground for both garbage and human dignity. I couldn’t unsee it. So I kept going back. What started as a shock turned into a long-term commitment. I got to know the people living there—not just as subjects, but as friends. We’ve built real trust, and that’s changed the way I see everything, including my role as a filmmaker. This project isn’t just about showing injustice. It’s about sharing the voices and lives of people who continue to stand tall in it.

If you weren’t a filmmaker, what might you be? What did you want to do or be growing up?

I think I would’ve been a pianist, which I used to play as a kid—or an artist, a thinker of some sort, someone who needs solitude to create, then finds a way to share those thoughts with the world through their craft. Art cuts through the noise, speaking straight to something deeper. It touches us, moves us, no matter our upbringing or differences. It connects us through what we have in common. As the saying goes, “a picture is worth a thousand words”—but so is a sound, so is a scene.