Mauricia sits just inside her house by an open door, stroking her grandson's face, resting her hand on his, perhaps to feel closer to the world beyond her darkness. They sit together in silence bound to one another by her blindness. Her blindness is central to their relationship; Mauricia depends on Violin to help her navigate through the house, which also doubles up as a tiny village shop. When something needs to be fixed, Violin has to repair it. When a customer needs to be served, Violin attends.

Mauricia describes how she became blind, feeling an intense pain in her eyes and immediately losing her vision. She tells us that the only thing that has kept her going since is her love for her children. But she misses her sight to cut sugar cane - a job she's done all her life. The back door has fallen off its hinges so Violin finds a way to repair it, taking a machete to shorten it and ease its way. The house feels extremely fragile, a flimsy wooden structure built on stilts that could collapse at any moment. Their house is also weak and vulnerable to age. Sitting in their chairs by the front door once more, time seems suspended. A customer waits patiently by the counter to be served before Violin finally and reluctantly peels himself off his seat to assist.

We search Mauricia's skin and eyes for clues to how she imagines the world. The camera penetrates her, revealing the visual dimension missing from her world. Suddenly we hear footsteps and a child screaming. Could it be that Violin is not the perfect grandchild? Like Mauricia, we must use our imaginations and ears to reach our own conclusions. Violin might well have a violent side, one that we don't see. In Choco children know violence and are beaten by their parents. The cycle repeats. On hot dry days, Dona Mauricia likes to lie in a hammock in front of the house to find a breeze. It's Violin's job to hang the hammock and take her there. After a time he takes her back indoors. She needs the toilet and sits in darkness whilst Violin waits patiently outside. He guides her back but the door collapses from its hinges. The cycle repeats.

The metaphors are simple: Life, like this house, is fragile. People are blind in many ways, and domestic violence repeats itself from one generation to another. What seems like the perfect child may not be. The poverty and lack of basic medical facilities means it takes years for a woman like Mauricia to have a simple operation to restore her sight. Funds are stolen or diverted elsewhere - Colombia's war costs more than lives and trickles down to a simple operation that she cannot afford. African-Colombians and the indigenous in Colombia tend to suffer the most.

Choco, Colombia
In 2007 I returned to live in Colombia after almost twenty years of being based in London.  Rather than move to a city or my family’s mountain town, I decided to live among an isolated group of Afro-Colombians and Indigenous in the department of Choco on Colombia’s Pacific coast - a dense rainforest next to the Pacific.

I had visited this region over the past twelve years, working for an eco-tourist magazine taking photos of the area’s biodiversity and communities, then later to make a film called ‘ORISA’ about the displacement of people from a village north of Nuqui.  In 2006/07 with the help pf the Prince Claus Fund, I helped to set up a cultural centre called ‘CASA CHOCO-LATE’ for young people in the town. 

In 2007 I went to live on the small piece of land I had bought in Choco, to plant food to live from and eat fish from the rivers and sea.  I also wanted to film the lives of the extraordinary people around me - I could only do this because I had gained their confidence, based on years of contact.

Self-sufficiency and cutting trees
In order to realise my goal of living from the land, I asked the indigenous to clear an area of trees behind my cabin.  This request and act caused me considerable distress as it went against everything I felt was right – despite the clearance being accepted by the people around me.   I watched and filmed as the trees I loved were felled by this group of indigenous men and boys.  With each tree falling I felt pain in my stomach and a heavy sadness.  I questioned my right to follow through this action, my own interaction with the earth and the scars it left on the landscape.

However, as time moved on and I worked on the land, planting over forty varieties of foods, the hillside quickly became a productive farm.  I fed myself and exchanged vegetables for fish and other items with my neighbours.  I fell in love with the process of planting and eating the fruits of my labour. 

‘Enjoy Your Meal’
I never planned to make a film of the separate actions which now compose ‘Enjoy Your Meal’.  I recorded the events during those months of cutting trees, planting food, making a canoe and following the prawn fishermen.  But the more time I spent talking to local people, the more I realised the links between each action - and how they related to living sustainably from the land and sea.  Most importantly I had a more global perspective on food production and consumption than my neighbours.  Locally, I could see the changes taking place to fishing patterns as a result of trawlers ploughing the ocean beds each day.  I also realised how people in wealthy countries expect to be able to eat whatever they want, whenever they want.  This could not be further from the approach to living and eating shared by my new neighbours in Choco.

Underlying the film I want people to share the pace of life in Choco and the arduousness of a task such as making a canoe from which to fish.

The film begins with several men marching into a silent town. 'Fear? I feel fear of suddenly being expelled from the place I live...' says an unconfident voice, an extract from an interview with Ayda.

The shadow of a world globe appears and a hand spins it like a roulette wheel, a game of chance and fate. Where is the next place this girl will be forced to go? Where will violence and turmoil hit next? As a recurrent image throughout the video, the globe places the story in no specific geographical location. Displacement’s impacts are local and global.

Played by non-actors the video begins when Ayda's body is found washed up on a beach. Her spirit threatens the town's adults but not the children who are the only ones who can see her while her wooden house is carried from place-to-place round the town. The house moves physically but also reverberates with a metaphorical and poetic vision of sadness and the rejection displaced people encounter in their search for security.

The sadness of the procession through the town turns into colourful dances, chants of liberation and the representation of war as human madness. This 'parade' acts as a vertebrae through which real interviews of violently displaced people and stunning images of nature are integrated to represent different types of loss as a result of this human tragedy.

ORISA reflects the story of millions of people in a melancholic, dramatic and beautiful way and shows not only the feeling of abandoning loved ones and the land, but also the shock and stigma of being displaced.

Supported by the Prince Claus Foundation