Another student interviews her and asks who the letter is for.
Munira: 'It's a letter for my grandmother.'
Classmate: 'What does it say?'
Munira: 'I love you dear grandma. I miss you.'
Classmate: 'Why your grandmother?'
Munira: 'That's my grandmother, that's my heart.'
It is an excerpt from the film 'I am here' made by fifteen students from the 'ISK' (the international transition classes in Utrecht). For twenty weeks, they worked with filmmakers Femke Stroomer and Sanne Sprenger on their own material and their own stories. The result is an impressive, moving film that is not only about the pupils themselves, but also about language. Language in the broadest sense of the word. The language of being in a class together and having fun, the Dutch language, which, at least at the start of the project, none of them mastered. But also the languages of the countries of origin, Somalia, Iraq, Afghanistan, Chile, Morocco, Nepal, Sudan and Eritrea. All this flows together in 'I am here'. A film about telling and sharing, about togetherness and survival.
Twenty weeks ago, students in mentor Rob Bekker's class began learning filming, directing, interviewing and editing alongside regular lessons. Young people between 15 and 20 years old, in the Netherlands for an average of eighteen months. In possession of a residence permit or awaiting a ruling on it. Their backgrounds vary, but without exception they have left loved ones behind in their country of origin and some could barely read and write on arrival, not even in their own language.
Among themselves, there was not much talk about the past. These are sometimes painful memories after all, young people prefer to talk about the 'now'.
Each week, Femke Stroomer and Sanne Sprenger taught the youngsters a little more about camera technique, interview methods and, for example, making photo strips using photos they had taken themselves. Meanwhile, mentor Bekker's lessons continued as usual. He went on an excursion into the forest with his pupils, - which resulted in a lot of pine cones, leaves and tree bark in the classroom - verbs were learned, sentences were practised. Those fragments also ended up in the film.
This class is close-knit now, but at the end of the year, the end of the switching years awaits. The group breaks up, each going their own path. Sometimes to the ROC, sometimes out of the country, sometimes to work.
The beginning was the most difficult say the students without exception. The standing in front of the camera and talking, the camera technique too, that you had to hold the camera still when filming, for example. The easiest part was the fun. Playing with the technique - once they got the hang of it.
The varied editing brings out those contrasts nicely. Also the wry moments. Like the story of the boy who is only in class for a few months because he is already being transferred again to another asylum seekers' centre. He says he has had enough, of moving all the time, of making friends and leaving again. Also poignant: the interview with the Moroccan boy about his family.
'It's hard to live without a mother. '
Classmate: 'But your father and sister are here, aren't they?'
'That is not enough. A mother is important.'
These are the moments when stark reality breaks through the cheerfulness. This class is close now, but at the end of the year, the end of the switching years awaits. The group breaks up, each going their own way. Sometimes to the ROC, sometimes out of the country, sometimes to work.
Mentor Rob says of the process: 'What struck me: the children are in the film, but the film also got into the children.' It seems like a cryptic remark, but anyone who sees the pupils receiving the applause afterwards understands what he means. It is the wider smile, the pride in their eyes. Their lives have become visible, not least to themselves: brave young people, making the best of it.
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