By Javier de Blas in Tindouf, Algeria
Between February and March 2015 I spent a month living with a Sahrawi family in their "haima" in the refugee camps of Tindouf. Every Tuesday, I'm posting here the notes and sketches I made about daily life in the camps.
If there is any local word you don´t understand, please check in Local terminology post.
18th to 23.03.2015
When I arrive at Mohamed's house the surrounding adobe wall attracts me like a magnet. While I go about drawing it one of Mohamed's daughters who is about six years old comes up to me. I admire their open affection that these children portray. Across the street is the grandmother's house, which can be seen through a half broken wall. They are currently doing it up.
The next morning I draw the inner courtyard from the two opposite corners. Muhammad Ali's haima (his home) is the traditional one. The gaitun and Daar face each other in a square courtyard on one side of the wall, where the door is. On the opposite side are the utilities: kitchen, bathroom, storeroom.
Mohamed's plot is also magnificent. At the moment he has nothing growing there, but this little wall and its small size are the most evocative.
Our host takes us to the nearest dunes. Fine sand and without stones. The sunset highlights the colour of the sand and the goat pens form a mysterious scenery.
On another occasion I draw a portrait of him and another one of his daughters. Like many of the men here, he has little work and he takes time out in taking us here and there. He is a clear headed man and gives pleasant conversation, we talked about many subjects.
Between February and March 2015 I spent a month living with a Sahrawi family in their "haima" in the refugee camps of Tindouf. Every Tuesday, I'm posting here the notes and sketches I made about daily life in the camps.
If there is any local word you don´t understand, please check in Local terminology post.
18th to 23.03.2015
When I arrive at Mohamed's house the surrounding adobe wall attracts me like a magnet. While I go about drawing it one of Mohamed's daughters who is about six years old comes up to me. I admire their open affection that these children portray. Across the street is the grandmother's house, which can be seen through a half broken wall. They are currently doing it up.
The next morning I draw the inner courtyard from the two opposite corners. Muhammad Ali's haima (his home) is the traditional one. The gaitun and Daar face each other in a square courtyard on one side of the wall, where the door is. On the opposite side are the utilities: kitchen, bathroom, storeroom.
Mohamed's plot is also magnificent. At the moment he has nothing growing there, but this little wall and its small size are the most evocative.
Our host takes us to the nearest dunes. Fine sand and without stones. The sunset highlights the colour of the sand and the goat pens form a mysterious scenery.
On another occasion I draw a portrait of him and another one of his daughters. Like many of the men here, he has little work and he takes time out in taking us here and there. He is a clear headed man and gives pleasant conversation, we talked about many subjects.