Leïla Anis

Born in 1983, in Marseille, France, where he lives and works.

I write my words in single file, no hour no word counts more than the others, the words are like days, they roar then drown themselves in the surf”.

Some people, like Leïla Anis, do not let themselves get carried away by the wave and it is good for them. Because Leïla Anis has in her head a flow of words to be spread. Even during her adolescence, in a intimate way, without ever intending to share them ; later, on stage when she learns to become an actress. What enabled this ? When she meet on her road – between Djibouti where she grew up, Toulouse where she lived, Marseille where she currently resides – le Théatre du Grabuge in Lyon which guides her towards writing and accompanies her: she participates in Pose ta valise, a show of songs and writings by women in which she speaks of her family history and her departure from east Africa with its amount of problems. This is how her first short story Fille de takes shape. It joins “by accident ” three writing styles in a very personnal way. The prose introduces perfectly the italics after which, succeeds a story bathed by laughter : “I needed to write in a chronological way, like a newspaper. My departure from Djibouti was a rough moment, it is the beginning of the story I shall write and a point of no return “. Everything started with the need to tell scrupulously her sensations, the events, her feelings reappeared to her memory in fl ashes. Between memories that were for a long time contained (from 1999 till 2010!), and questions on the sense of her exile as woman.

“My voluntary exile goes together with so many contradictions that I’ve always preferred to keep it to myself. Why speak about it? Why tell everyone that I’m a foreigner everywhere? Belonging neither here nor there, who would pay any attention to an inbetween girl? Nevertheless, today I have decided to talk about it. I’m speaking out ten years later, at a moment in time when my memory erases every ounce of me. I choose to speak now because I am afraid to forget. I choose to speak about it in order to find a purpose in being torn apart and to find a meaning in everything crazy and unbelievable about my exile… my own meaning, my way, my path.”

This entry was published on August 24, 2012 at 2:31 pm and is filed under Artist, Literature. Bookmark the permalink. Follow any comments here with the RSS feed for this post.

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