Original subtitles

The early 2000s were marked by the rise of a French rapper: DIAM'S

Over 3 albums, she became a social phenomenon.

She sold millions of records.

Hundreds of thousands attended her concerts.

But in 2010, at the height of her fame,

Diam's made a life choice that shocked France.

She bowed out of public life.

For the first time, she tells her story.

By running in all directions,

my life now had none.

Run,

keep running.

But running after what?

It seems we all run after happiness.

But what is happiness really?

Who is it?

How is it? Where is it? When is it?

They said I'd find it in wealth.

I had wealth.

But happiness?

I didn't find it.

They said: "It's because you don't have love, Melanie!"

So I looked for people's love,

and millions of them loved me.

I loved them too.

But happiness?

It still wasn't there.

So I continued.

Running, looking.

Always higher, always further, always more dangerously.

Even if it cost me my life.

Exhausted,

I even thought that it didn't exist

and that it was better to die

because

I needed something else.

But what?

I didn't know.

I had become my own greatest mystery.

This amazing story raises many questions about the place of women,

especially Muslim women in our society.

One of them is iconic in many ways: Diam's,

a rebellious singer who had huge success

before marrying and shunning fame in favour of religious tradition.

Diam's is amazing tonight!

We might ask ourselves why such a controversy,

or why a controversy of such magnitude.

Is the former model for inner-city girls

destroying her image?

She hasn't changed. Whether Muslim or not,

we love her talent and her lyrics.

Diam's isn't rap, Diam's is life.

A blanket...

Enough! Everyone in their pyjamas now!

No!

What's the horse doing in the house?

Maryam, did you bring a horse into the house?

No, it wasn't me!

Is he your pet? Look, he's watching TV with you!

Is that how you watch TV?

I'm Dominique,

and I'm Melanie's mum.

That's it.

Can you tell us

what kind of a little girl Melanie was?

- What kind of... - What she was like as a child.

Funny,

she had a lot of repartee.

She was really funny.

A strong personality.

She knew what she wanted.

But still quite easy...

She was good company.

I was glad to have a daughter like her.

And as a teenager?

That was a bit different, more difficult.

That's normal.

She'd already fallen into the rap cauldron,

so it was a little more difficult.

I first got to know Melanie

before the explosion,

before the glory if you like.

I saw her move from the shadows into the spotlight

and become famous

after the album Brut de femme, DJ,

and then Dans ma bulle, which was a huge success.

I saw her become

France's top celebrity, especially among young people.

I saw the whirlwind.

Dans ma bulle was a huge success,

and she took me on tour with her,

we sang Confessions Nocturnes together.

I saw Melanie Diam's

the boss, the producer, the writer,

the self-taught woman

and the leader: she led her team and created her show from A to Z,

built her performance, her album, she drove people.

When she entered a studio, no-one would say:

"Sing it like this, tell it like this."

She had all that weight on her shoulders.

Her career was all about her ideas.

It was a meticulous process.

Every word, every gesture,

every move on stage

was incredibly, insanely precise,

and I almost wanted to say that even the emotion arrived

at exactly the same minute.

So...

So that was the appearance.

But then there was the return backstage,

where it was often more difficult.

Because too much love, too many emotions,

too much energy meant that she often cracked up afterwards.

How long is it since you've been here, Melanie?

12 years... nearly.

11 years.

But...

right now I feel like I'm returning to a country that I'd left.

I mean...

it's really strange.

It's a place you know very well, but to which you've never returned

and that you watch from afar.

I loved being on stage because it was my relationship with people.

When you're an artist who sells a lot of records,

they only tell you about numbers.

They say: "You're number one,

"you've sold 100,000, 200,000, 300,000,

"it's incredible, you sold a million!"

But when you go on stage, you think:

"There are 10,000 people tonight, 10,000 tomorrow, 50,000 yesterday.

"In Cameroon there are 100,000, in Senegal 20,000."

They're people,

they're not records sold.

With your name on it.

They'd engraved my name and put diamonds there.

It's very kitsch because no-one saw it.

I'd never seen it before.

Can you see it or not?

It sparkles in the light.

- It's all old. - Right.

It's always been at my mother's and I see it every time I come here.

So these trophies,

I found them wrapped up in the basement.

To keep the dust off.

No...

I didn't even know where they were.

I knew you had the Victoires. I'd given them to you.

I knew you had my diamond disc, but not the others.

And there are plenty more

that are in storage.

I found out one day

that everything she'd had in France, she also had in Belgium, in Switzerland

or in French-speaking countries, they were everywhere.

I had a lot.

What's that one?

The double gold disc for Brut de femme.

It's funny because seeing them here now,

it's like the parallel of my previous life.

It's like an image, a thing.

That's how it is.

It's symbolic, in reality, but...

They're not real diamonds.

But it's as lovely as if they were.

Melanie wasn't random.

As I said,

Melanie is 15 people.

On her tour, how she makes her album,

how she writes and makes records,

everything's thought out.

It wasn't freestyle.

Melanie's not freestyle.

That's how I experienced it.

She's a one-woman record company, a label.

She has an entire label in her head,

so...

it wasn't exactly restful.

It says: "Poetry made up by Melanie for Vincent."

That's my uncle, my mother's little brother.

There's The Star, the first one,

Sport...

And IT.

And IT.

"IT is mighty..."

It's crap!

"It knows everything, does everything, sees everything.

"It's the hero of our story."

There's no rhyme.

"IT is nothing ordinary.

"You might even think it's imaginary.

"Melanie."

- How old were you then? - I don't know.

I must've been in Year 2.

Very young.

You shared a lot of your pain and experiences in your lyrics.

Was writing an outlet for you?

Ever since I was little,

I was carrying a sadness I couldn't explain,

and the older I got, the bigger it became,

until my first suicide attempt at 14.

Soon after that, I found in writing

a kind of outlet, of release even.

It was a place where I felt good,

where I said everything that was in my heart,

all my pain and everything.

And the fact that I fell into rap at a very young age,

it...

it became a reason to live, so...

I was writing, people started to like my lyrics.

I started to become a so-called recognised author.

It gave meaning to my life

to see my lyrics resonate in so many hearts.

People kept telling me that it made them feel good,

that they identified with what I wrote.

The problem

is that people couldn't see that when writing,

I drew inspiration from suffering.

I remember a discussion we had during that period,

where she said that she could no longer write,

and...

the question of creation, the fear of the blank page,

we talked about all that.

I remember that very well because she said:

"I need to feel bad to write."

I remember it struck me, because for me it's the opposite.

I can't write a line if I don't feel right.

We talked about that and it seemed

painful to me, I thought: "It's sad to have to feel bad

"and almost to put yourself in a bad state

"to be able to do something that makes us feel good."

So I was trying to understand, we had a discussion about that.

I saw her seek happiness in this artist's life,

and I always had the feeling that...

she was stroking the surface of it

and skimming over happiness

without ever attaining it.

And very quickly, I saw a facet of Melanie that left me speechless

because I've toured with her,

and seen her go from euphoria to moments of great sadness

without really understanding why.

I remember she left the stage after an amazing concert,

and I found her alone in a dressing room, in tears.

And I was there in front of her, helpless.

I asked her: "What's going on? What's wrong?"

She couldn't put into words what was happening to her.

Pretty soon, she actually showed me her dark side.

I discovered it one day,

we were having lunch together with other people,

and she...

rolled up her sleeves like that.

And there...

She did it on purpose to show...

And I saw horrible things on her arms, you see?

Throughout lunch I didn't dare say anything, because...

But she wanted to show them to me.

And later I said: "Melanie, what is that?"

She said: "I had a crisis yesterday

"and I cut myself."

"Why are you doing this?"

She said: "I hurt myself

"to exorcise my pain."

And I realised that here was someone

who had a lot of worries, which I hadn't realised before.

And it got worse and worse.

She cut her face

so that it was visible to all. You see?

Basically, she had to show

that her success was not all happiness

and that on the inside,

she was extremely unhappy.

Having given my whole life to rap

and my career,

it took me to the top.

The problem is that at the top, it's cold, you're alone,

there are a lot of wolves around you

and in the end,

you're unhappy.

And the problem is that existential questions were something

I'd had since childhood.

Can you tell me more about that?

From a very young age, I'd been fully aware of death.

I was tortured by the idea that my mother was going to die.

It was like I couldn't accept it.

I'd ask people: "So we live and we'll die."

And they said: "Yeah, that's it, that's life."

"That's how it is, that's life."

I said: "But that can't be life."

"That's not it."

"Like: we live, we suffer, we die."

"We work, we have children, all for that."

And...

later, when I was famous,

when I told people I was unhappy, what did they say?

"Yeah, you're rich, you're famous, what are you complaining about?"

And I always felt as if I were drowning.

Like I was saying to people:

"Help me, please."

"Help!"

And people, by their answer, pushed my head underwater.

And today, that's the advice I always give to people.

If your child or your friend is unhappy,

at least tell them you understand.

That you want to help,

you're going to help, you'll get through it together.

We need that. We need it at times like those.

What were you most afraid of for her as a friend?

It's weird, it upsets me.

I was worried about her getting too lost.

That's what I was worried about. I felt like...

Especially at those times, you feel totally helpless.

I wasn't up to the task.

I felt like I was trying

to bring her back somewhere else, but the current was too strong.

It was the psychiatrist who called me saying:

"We have to intern her."

"She's at her wits' end. We really have to intern her,

"because there's a risk of disaster."

"Apparently you're important to her,

"and she asked me to call you."

"OK, doctor, but what do I do?"

So in January 2008, I was interned

in a psychiatric clinic in the suburbs of Paris.

That was the start of the nightmare.

A few months before, on stage in front of 50,000 people at festivals,

you're...

You're Diam's!

And you find yourself in a small room, a small hospital room.

Everything is taken from you: your phone,

they cut you off from the world, you're not allowed many visitors.

And they leave you alone in the room.

You wonder: "OK, so when are you going to come and help me?"

And sometimes machines are stuck to your head,

trying to see how your brain is doing.

They want you to talk. It was important that I speak.

Except that

you quickly realise that talking to a shrink for 20 minutes

is not going to save you.

And if even

the brain specialists couldn't do anything for me,

I think that in my head, I gave up a little

and I remember that after the clinic, I started hurting myself again.

And when the nurses saw that, they said: "No, that's it, stop."

And so they turned me off.

They turned me off,

by which I mean they gave me lots of pills.

Lots of pills, from morning to night.

I fell into what I call the hell of drugs.

It's an infernal spiral.

Why are you crying?

Why are you crying?

Because it was a very difficult period, very...

It was very hard because...

the two times I went to see her,

her behaviour changed,

even in just one hour,

when she went from laughing to crying,

from hope...

to sadness.

And I had trouble recognising her, even physically.

Her eyes were empty,

as if she didn't want to live anymore.

I came out of the psychiatric hospital with a diagnosis that I was bipolar.

I had to take nine pills a day,

and I'd be on medication for the rest of my life.

I actually hated seeing myself like that so much,

and realising that Diam's was over.

I mean, I wasn't going to continue making music being like that.

I gave up everything and said: "Well that's it, it's useless."

And I attempted suicide.

It was...

"Here I am at the height of my glory, and people think everything's fine."

I looked happy, at any rate.

There's no denying. That's my little brother.

You wonder how you can switch to being so sad.

When you see me like that, I'm so happy, everything's fine.

You really think the adult world is cruel.

I think of my children, too.

I see them, they're carefree,

they're all cute, then...

What's going to happen next?

Only God knows.

I hope it will go well for them.

It's not easy being a young person now. It's not easy being a parent.

It's not easy.

With every passing day, I sank further.

Like the feeling of getting bogged down

and of falling endlessly.

People were singing and taking pictures of me.

The music was loud, so loud.

It stifled the cry of my soul which was screaming "Help".

Everyone was dancing, singing.

The room was full, yet for me,

everything was empty.

Empty like this life I was leading.

Meaningless, surrounded by people hungry

for money, girls, stupid debates.

I was empty but I was pretending,

pretending to be fine.

But I was losing my mind more and more.

I took more and more pills.

I hurt myself more and more,

and then I thought about death more and more but I said nothing.

I kept pretending.

Sometimes I wondered

how many of us were pretending?

They told me: "Melanie, that's life!"

"Rap or shut up!"

"Stop thinking, write and then forget!"

"Melanie, that's life!"

Yeah, but...

the pain, here in my heart, what do I do with that?

And the madness in my head?

Am I crazy, or is everyone crazy?

I was one of those who had a heart, yeah.

And we were not the strong ones.

To be on the side of the winners, you must rejoice in those who fail.

I was not like that.

I'd rather die than be like that.

Better to die than be like them.

Dying is better.

I was told: "Raise your hands to the sky."

"Ask."

So I prayed.

I prayed that everything would end,

that I could finally find peace.

Because in reality,

that's all I wanted.

I wanted peace.

From August on,

I saw someone,

a shrink who came to my house, a psychiatrist I believe,

who came to my house once or twice a week

and who helped me to reduce my medication.

And that's important

because I think that, unconsciously,

I became myself again.

The meds numbed me so much.

I was in a bad place,

I hung out with the wrong people, did bad things, made bad choices,

so that all of a sudden...

I think that subconsciously, having fewer drugs in my body,

maybe that's what made me want to pass my driving test,

have fun with Charlotte, do things that I no longer did.

I laughed a lot with Charlotte. I really liked Charlotte because

she took me out of my world a bit, because she had so many problems

that we didn't talk about me.

And it suited me because I had nothing to say,

I was numb, my life was...

empty,

and Charlotte's stories...

were something else.

So it did me a lot of good to be with Charlotte.

And so one day we had a visit from her friend Soussou,

whom I knew well.

She came often, she was Charlotte's best friend.

And then very...

really naturally while we were eating, she said: "I'm going to pray."

And really, it was crazy because it...

She said a word that I think I really needed at that time.

It's like you want to get closer to God, but you don't know how.

And the word "prayer", at that point in my life, didn't exist.

It didn't exist. The Muslims I knew only did Ramadan.

I never knew anyone who prayed.

And then she said: "I'm going to pray."

And I told her: "I'd like to pray with you."

I remember it like it was yesterday.

And yet, I hadn't yet read the Holy Qurân.

And it was...

It was my place. It was where I needed to be.

This was where I needed to be.

And I remember there was only time for a short prayer,

because she was going about her life afterwards.

But in that place, with my forehead resting on the ground,

I wanted to relive it immediately.

It was like: "I need to learn to pray, I need to pray."

I was baptised by my parents.

I did my communion alone. I asked to be confirmed.

I went to catechism at school,

I took lessons, etc, but...

I didn't find clear answers to my existential questions.

Because it wasn't just a spiritual quest, it was existential.

As I told you, I see faith as this flame

that, as the years pass, goes out,

and a lot of people I meet

say: "When I was younger, I was more religious than I am now."

At some point in the transition to adult life, you lose yourself...

Well, it's my career!

- It ate up your life. - I didn't have time.

I didn't have time to think about all that.

And ten days later we were due to go to Mauritius,

and I remember I thought:

"I kind of learned Christianity and so on

"in the past, I'd taken classes,

"but I don't know anything about the Muslim religion."

"I pray

"like Muslims, you bow down."

"I'm going to Mauritius

"and I'm going to find books on religion, to learn about Islam."

And that's how I went to buy...

I went with my grandmother in the north.

We always come back to those who raised us.

And I went with her,

she was a Christian and she let me buy the books.

And I said: "What do you think I should get?"

And I got one on Ramadan,

a book about the pilgrimage, which we'd talked about.

- You had lots of books and... - A book on faith.

And... Well, yeah...

The Qurân, but...

I only remember you with the Qurân over there.

Actually the Qurân,

it's strange to say it, but I took it,

but I didn't think it was the one I wanted to read.

I wanted to find out first.

We arrived in Mauritius, we were so happy to be there.

We were Tic and Tac, those were our nicknames.

- It was our holiday. - Our dream holiday.

So the first few days, I read about Ramadan, the pilgrimage.

I remember you were fascinated, and you said: "I'd like to go."

And a book on faith.

And in each of those books,

there were verses from the Qurân.

- So I thought... - Everything led back...

I thought: "I'm going to have to open the book

"that seems central

"to Muslims and read it, what is this book?"

Can you tell me about the first time you opened the Qurân?

There was a little light, I remember.

There was a little light.

It was dark, the same skyline.

The stars,

the beach.

A boom-boom-boom over there, there was a party going on.

I sat there, Charlotte...

"I'm here, I'm not here,"

doing her own thing.

I went to sit down, I read.

I opened the book

without any knowledge, without anything. I opened it.

And I read.

I started reading.

"In the name of Allah, the Entirely Merciful, the Especially Merciful."

"All praise is due to Allah, Lord of the Worlds,

"the Entirely Merciful, the Especially Merciful."

I read that, I found it very beautiful, I continued.

But very naturally.

I continued.

I read.

And...

very early...

in the book,

I read

about Adam.

I read about...

Satan.

I read about heaven.

I read about the children of Israel.

I read about Moses.

And...

I thought: "Wait."

There were words that were familiar to me.

Heaven was familiar.

Mercy...

It spoke to me. I think Christians often talked about it,

so it rang a bell.

But...

reading about Moses and the children of Israel,

I didn't understand.

Judaism, Christianity and Islam,

these were the three religions I heard about all the time,

and I don't know why, for me, they were

in opposition, you see?

I didn't imagine for a moment

that the Muslims believed in Jesus and in Moses.

I could never have believed that.

I wouldn't say that I was obsessed with it,

but I think that naturally, since my brain never stops,

at that moment, I wanted to understand

why there are all these prophets.

As I kept reading...

And above all, I found it beautiful.

Because I understood that they are all united.

That in fact

they all delivered the same message.

You understand that very quickly when you read it.

And then their lives are detailed.

And I enjoyed reading about them, so that drew me in.

I thought it was beautiful.

All of a sudden, it's as if...

there's no-one else on Earth

who had a more beautiful story than the one about Moses.

And so I think the first night I read maybe not a hundred pages,

but quite a lot.

I came in, and I didn't realise it, but it did me good.

The next evening,

I couldn't wait to go and read.

I wanted to continue, I wanted to understand.

And so I did that for two or three nights.

And read, I think,

almost a hundred pages a night.

And there were a lot of verses that mentioned creation.

I say "verses" but back then I said: "I read things about..."

And that's when,

for the first time in my life,

I started to contemplate what was around me,

and no longer wondering why it was there.

I was just observing, actually.

And I was there,

looking at the sky

and by the grace of Allah, I was in Mauritius, can you imagine?

So everything I was reading about...

the sea was in front of me.

The heavens... I mean...

the stars, the planets, the Moon,

it was in front of me.

The mountains were just behind me.

The fish were there.

The boats were passing by.

It was a tsunami in my heart, in my body, in my head.

It was inexplicable.

The last few nights, I even slept there, on the lounger.

Why? Because I thought:

"If God really exists, as I'm feeling it,

"everything will change."

And I remember waking up with a start,

looking at the Moon

and thinking:

"He's the creator of the Moon."

It's like someone who marvels at a painting

and then marvels at its painter, because...

Well, I suddenly marvelled at creation,

and I marvelled at its creator.

And so I thought: "I have to finish,

"and above all I have to admit that it's doing me good

"and that I'm better for reading it."

I was finding the answers to all my questions.

Suddenly I understood that nothing exists by chance,

that there is a creator in everything.

I read that

to be a believer is to do good,

to be a good person,

to give alms, to help orphans,

to be good to your mother, to your father.

It's being grateful, being patient, having endurance.

It was only things that spoke to me. I thought: "Yes,

"it must be wonderful to be pious."

And suddenly,

it was as if my life, which had no meaning,

took on

an immense meaning.

I'll have so many things to do, I who had nothing left to do.

I was going to have a lot to do.

And the first thing I was going to do

was convert to Islam.

And so I went out.

I remember, I went to the beach.

It wasn't nighttime, it was light.

And I remember that very naively

or very normally,

I looked up to the sky

and I spoke to God.

And I said: "O Allah,

"there are no witnesses,

"but You are The Witness

"and I only need You in the end."

"And I will say the attestation of faith and I will become a Muslim."

I looked naturally to the sky and said...

And then I said it in French.

I said in French:

"I bear witness that there is nothing worthy of being worshipped except Allah,

"and I bear witness that Muhammad is the messenger of Allah."

And I was very happy.

I was really happy.

I was really happy.

And I've never stopped being happy

since that day.

I've experienced hardships, I've experienced things,

and life is not always easy.

But I was no longer alone.

And I remember that the very next day,

I actually wrote a plan.

I sat down and I wrote.

I wrote: "Call my mother,

"change number,

"notify my loved ones,

"write my last album."

It was very clear to me that I had to leave that environment.

"No more talking to journalists and the media,"

because I'd have been unable to explain what had happened to me.

It was so crazy, so...

It had happened so suddenly.

"Open an association or foundation that I'll call Big Up Project

"and which will help orphans."

I remember I wrote that I wanted to read a lot.

I really wanted to learn more and more.

And travel a lot.

I wanted to see the world,

I wanted to contemplate creation.

And do only good.

I had written: "Do only good,

"good, good, good."

But above all,

I wanted to do all that

without ever saying publicly

that I had converted to Islam.

That was my secret.

And I was summoned.

And she told me everything at the same time.

And...

I was happy.

When you had a daughter who almost killed herself multiple times,

who was tired of life

when she had everything: she was pretty, rich,

she was successful, she was adored, she was...

What more could you want? And she was unhappy.

So if she had found a way to achieve serenity, peace

and to feel good about herself, so much the better.

The moment when Melanie converted to Islam and called me,

on her return from her stay in Mauritius,

I remember it very well.

And I cried on the phone. I was really moved.

I was immediately overjoyed because I thought...

she'd found the answers.

That was very clear.

When she told me on the phone

that she'd just converted, she was really enthusiastic, really...

We met very soon,

the same day in fact,

and I suggested taking her to see my mum.

I told my mum: "I'm overjoyed." And my mother,

who loves Melanie, said: "Bring her home, we'll welcome her."

So she came with me to see my mother.

And my mother gave her some dates and a glass of milk,

and said: "Welcome to Islam", as if Islam was our little flat!

But it was a really friendly moment, really warm.

We hugged her,

it was beautiful, very moving.

In this shock photo, rapper Diam's is wearing a veil.

She's going to answer by rapping...

A Paris-Match photographer...

Diam's wearing a veil,

it's like a betrayal...

It's not voluntary

I don't understand her choice...

In a surprise development,

she was photographed leaving a mosque.

It seems Diam's has converted to Islam.

And then it all kicked off.

It was war.

That is to say that...

I think that I was called by all the media

in France,

Belgium, Switzerland, Canada, Africa...

everywhere.

My phone never stopped.

"We want to talk to her, what's going on?"

And I didn't answer!

It was terrible. I said: "She has nothing to say to you!"

That's all.

Obviously we sued Paris-Match, because...

it was a stolen photo and it was private,

she was coming out of a mosque.

"Stop calling me, she won't talk!"

- "But will you talk?" - "No, I won't."

There was an explosion

in the community and in the media, because...

there were some people for whom

it was a sign of madness.

Why does it suddenly...

become a sign of madness to have faith

and find peace in a place of worship?

Because Melanie - in fact,

artists in general, but Melanie in particular -

was a barometer of society.

She spoke about what her generation were going through.

And so it raises questions in France.

Because...

I think...

with the veil,

she also represents a lot of people

who don't speak or are not seen.

So she continued to be the barometer of society

and to ask France questions.

"If I wear the veil and I am a Muslim, what happens?"

An incredible controversy.

She went from France's favourite personality

to the most criticised artist.

It was very hard for me to see that because she didn't deserve it.

And I think she had a lot of trouble getting her head above water

and accepting the situation. It was very hard.

I feel guilty.

But of what in the end?

Guilty of choosing life over death?

Guilty of being alive, right?

What if I had picked up a gun?

If I had emptied the syringe?

Would I have become a hero?

I'm wondering.

Who should I follow?

They love me when I tell them that dying inspires me,

I would have to die to write better.

But I prefer to live, too bad.

Who are the heroes? Who?

Their idols dead from heroin?

Or the pseudo leaders

who panic the algorithms on the day of their suicide?

No, thanks! I want the real, not the illusory!

I'm done with these false hopes, these false victories!

The pit is black with people, but the heart is also black.

What gossip.

What headlines, what big stories.

And then there's me in all of this. And then there's you.

You do not recognise yourself in any of this.

You who dream of being stable, not of being a star.

You who dream of being wise,

but who are laughed at for being...

different.

Too bad.

If we never become heroes

while we're alive.

Too bad.

Different.

Different.

As long as we're alive.

We "like" each other but do we really love each other?

We "like" each other but do we really love each other?

How did it feel seeing that photo in Paris-Match?

It was a shock because it was a really private moment in my life.

It was like you're on a journey,

you're a work in progress

and these are things you don't want to show.

You're unsure, you're groping.

"Am I ready to veil up or not?"

"Am I able to pray, am I not able?"

You're looking for yourself, but people categorise you

and say: "She's veiled!"

You really have to experience it to believe it.

People who smile at you in the morning,

and in the evening they don't even know if they should talk to you.

They no longer pick up the phone.

Brands, overnight, say: "Yes, we're sorry,

"the partnership we were meant to have may be..."

And you say: "Is it because of Paris-Match?"

It's crazy that I could be accused of...

showing myself veiled

when it was they who stole that photo.

You understand? It's crazy because I was being judged in the public arena.

I really felt I was being thrown to the lions.

That's what happened. It was very violent.

And so...

today, I think: "Did you forget the story?"

That's why I'm happy to be able to tell the story.

And what made me sad...

Because there's anger...

because someone stole something from my private life, that's clear.

But that's manageable.

It doesn't matter if you're a little upset.

But more than that,

it was really about the people who loved me.

I knew they were going

to destroy the love that there was between me and the public.

That's what really hurt me.

But at the same time, as I said...

it was necessary.

It was necessary, because for the first time in my life,

I was able to accept that I was Muslim.

Yes, I wanted to wear a veil.

I wanted to stop making music.

I was tired of it.

I wanted nothing more to do with that scene.

I'm not judging who's in it, but I wanted out.

And I think what hurt me the most

was seeing...

the gauges...

emptying a bit.

Because that's kind of what happened.

You sell fewer records,

so there are fewer people at the concerts.

But there is a group that is there.

And those...

I will be forever grateful to them.

And I swear that I don't hate those who no longer loved me at that time.

Many people write to me saying: "I was angry with you for stopping."

"I thought you were a traitor, you were indoctrinated."

People were very hard, you know?

But I don't blame them.

I even understand them.

I understand them and I have forgiven everyone.

But...

it was very hard.

However, my faith soared.

After the scandal, I really needed to leave.

I needed to get away from it all, to travel, far away.

And I felt good.

I gazed at the expanse of the Earth

and thought again of the narrow-mindedness of some.

To leave one world is meeting other different ones

with different visions of life that are enriching.

The world is wide, but our hearts are wider.

And if at the start I needed that immense spectacle,

those large expanses,

with the years I learned, even in the city,

to raise my eyes to the sky, to gaze at the Moon.

I knew it was time to put down the mic and move towards this new life,

to build myself, enrich myself with my loved ones.

Take time for them.

Go to meet the orphans.

Try to realise the dream of seeing the Big Up Project grow.

Even if I had to do it alone.

And even if I was aware that it would not be easy

to turn my back on all those privileges,

on all that glory, on that money,

I felt that I was ready, and that

even for millions, I wouldn't have given up on this peace that I'd found.

And since God was protecting me, I wasn't afraid, no.

I was ready.

As Salam'Alaykum, Mum.

I love hyenas so much. Hyenas are so beautiful.

Some people don't like them, but I like them.

My baby,

my daughter.

Love you!

I forgot to ask how you are.

When you're platinum, gold, diamond,

and have Victoires de la Musique or whatever,

I don't know what the trophies she won are,

it's powerful

to make that decision. No-one does it.

It takes courage.

It's a choice that was, in my opinion, very tricky for her,

very difficult to go through.

And the fact of choosing to help her and her charity,

maybe at that time she still had doubts.

Because it's easy to say: "I'm going to quit", but to do so is difficult.

CHILDREN FIRST

Oh, look that's it, they did it!

I'm overwhelmed.

Thank God!

Thank God, thank God, thank God!

I have one finger for everyone.

You take a finger, you take a finger.

Take this one! You take this one.

Another take another. You took two!

And another one. One more. There's one finger left.

Who wants to take this one? You?

Ah that's it, it's behind me!

Look: that's it, good, five!

When I converted to Islam,

I discovered the importance of orphans

in the Holy Book,

and I realised

that I didn't know any orphans,

that I never really paid attention

to orphans,

and at that time in my life, I really wanted to meet them.

So naturally,

I turned to the countries that I already knew,

as I went there regularly for the music.

So I went to almost all the countries

where I'd done big concerts

to bring back the money I'd taken from those concerts.

And, strange as it may seem to say it,

Mali was not a country

to which I'd come to sing,

but since it was next to Senegal and that I'd always heard about it,

I thought: "Hey, let's go to Mali."

I landed among people of a certain age

who have become heroes in my eyes.

When you're with a lady like Fatoumata

or other people I've met, you're a little ashamed

to be known for what you do.

You think: "What am I doing to be known?"

I hold a microphone, I sing, I write lyrics,

while they are unknown, but what they do

is so much more honourable!

You start putting things into perspective.

This is for Auntie.

It's for Auntie.

Yes, it's for you! Oh, yes!

Thank you, thank you!

I didn't serve you first, I'm sorry.

No, no. The children come first.

That's enough for me.

- Who's kindest to the donkey? - The goat!

The goat's there!

That's the goat.

The goat's there. The hens are there.

The cat's there.

And who's kindest to the hens?

If you're nice to the donkey and the goat, you can have two!

I'm grown up now.

Even after a hundred years, I'll still recognise you.

I was young before!

- You were very young. - Yes.

You're taller than me.

I'm old. Your life is starting.

Watermelon, look!

I'm so happy.

Seeing everything that has been done. It's amazing.

There was nothing before. Nothing at all.

Fatoumata used to say: "Here we'll do this!

"There we'll do that."

And I was like:

"OK."

Now look at this huge orphanage. A lovely house.

You have a lovely house. How many bedrooms is it?

Too many.

That's great! A lot.

And you don't get lost?

Too many is better. In Kalaban Coura, was it?

Yes.

In Kalaban Coura there was one room.

For all of you.

- Everyone in one room. - Yes.

And now you say there are too many rooms!

Too big.

Hold on!

For me, meeting an orphan,

I'm honoured to meet them, I think,

"What an amazing story yours is."

"What an amazing story yours is."

I find it very moving.

Even if I'm on the other side of the world, I'll think of you.

I will always try

to look after the orphanage and try to find people.

In sha Allah, we'll do lots of things.

Tell Fatoumata to ask me if there are things the orphanage needs.

Can you go into town for things?

You can?

When you're older, if you travel,

you can come and see me.

Shall we see the school?

Is it far?

It's nearby? We can take the moped.

I'll come with you on the moped.

Yeah. Let's go.

Come on.

This infant,

who was abandoned,

needs to be looked after until they're 18.

Sometimes longer, if they don't want to leave the nest.

That's 18 years,

365 days when they need to eat, be dressed,

sleep properly,

go to school,

be looked after, cared for,

and blossom.

You can't just turn up once and fix the problem! No!

One word I've learned from my contact with orphanages

is the word "durability". It's not a word I knew before

visiting certain countries.

I thought you came once, gave some money

and sorted the problem.

It's not like that.

We've been working with Fatoumata for 10 years,

hand in hand, trying to make sure

they have what they need to run the orphanage every month.

As Salam'Alaykum.

Al Hamdoulillah.

We'd like to buy some bikes.

- This one's for a four-year-old. - Is it new?

That's great.

It's difficult when you ask for donations,

when you explain what it means to support an orphanage.

People think that building a football pitch,

or buying bicycles

doesn't constitute a necessity.

They won't give money for that.

But you soon realise that making children blossom,

their... how shall I put it...

That's what brings children joy.

We consider it essential that our own children

do sport and activities,

but don't see it as necessary for orphanages.

For me, that's...

If people won't support Big Up, I'll finance it myself.

I think we're going wrong by only thinking big.

And dismissing the small,

small actions.

You might not achieve your dream

of opening an orphanage and looking after 50 children.

You didn't have the courage,

or maybe you had children and couldn't do it.

That dream isn't achievable.

But there are others, which are smaller.

And I think

what maybe saved me when I came here,

what made me continue,

was that I understood

that even a little was good.

Even a little. I was caught unawares

when I saw the reality on the ground.

I thought: "I don't have the money, I can't build a hospital."

"I can't, I can't."

I can't, so I don't do anything?

I can dig a well.

I can bring, I don't know,

someone who can be a link between here and me in France,

and tell them to visit Fatoumata

and see if she needs anything.

You can do that.

We were able to do more, Al Hamdoulillah,

but that's what I said to myself.

It might not be a large NGO,

but it will be great, In Sha Allah.

Aziz!

You've got a tricycle?

Al Hamdoulillah.

It's brand-new. I have the documents.

He's happy.

One huge lesson I've learnt from meeting orphans

is that I'd look at them and think,

"They've never had a mum,

"they've never had a dad who loved them, looked after them."

And I suddenly realised

that having a father and mother was an honour.

I had a father

whom I didn't see, with whom I'd fallen out,

over nothing really.

I really wanted to get in touch with my father.

To start with a clean slate and move on.

To live in the moment.

Blaming him for the past meant not enjoying the present.

Meeting my father again was a great moment in my life.

Seeing him with my children, he's a wonderful grandfather

and a great father.

I'm lucky to have him.

When you took the pushchair, you took Maryam.

Then you took to the road. You went to see the horses.

Yes, all the time.

- Do you remember? - Every morning...

Every morning, I was out

with Maryam for two hours.

Then you went to see the Smurfs' houses.

Oh, yes. And the forest.

We liked going to the forest.

And you told her stories.

Yes.

It was an adventure.

Like Robin Hood.

Happy memories.

You want me to speak French?

Because it makes you laugh.

It makes me laugh when you talk in French.

It's very cute, you know.

You speak French very well.

Really?

Yes.

You're the only one who says that.

It's only Maryam who says Papou can't speak French.

I know.

Because you tell Maryam:

"Everything misses me."

Yes!

She says

I speak Anglo-French and Greek.

"Anglo-French-Greek".

I hope we'll see each other this summer

and we'll spend a lot of time together.

Like last summer, it was nice.

Yes, we had a very good time.

Beautiful.

In Morocco.

Yes.

The house was very, very nice.

The people in Morocco were so nice.

Yes, so nice.

My name is Melanie Mary.

My mother is called Dominique Mary.

It's her first name.

And I... my daughter...

I wanted to call her Maryam, Mary.

One day, we lived in the country,

I lived in the country, near Paris.

It was funny because my daughter loves horses.

We were in our street, there were...

There was an equestrian centre, lots of horses.

A lady who was riding came to say hello. I was in the car.

My daughter was excited to see this lady on horseback.

She said: "What's your daughter's name?"

I said: "Her name is Maryam."

And Maryam said: "You can call me Mary."

The lady said: "Aren't you Muslim?" I was wearing the veil.

I said: "Yes, we're Muslim. But we believe in Mary."

"We believe Mary is the mother of Jesus."

She said: "Really?"

She was so surprised.

It was really funny.

I thought: "We don't know each other."

We know nothing about each other.

You have to behave at the park,

OK?

Abraham, Maryam, OK?

Listen to mum.

Who will be first into the park on their scooter?

Luqman, listen to dad.

Come on.

Out we get.

Careful.

I'm very proud of you.

Everything you did,

you did it on your own.

Nobody helped you.

You have three beautiful children

that I love very much.

Faouzi is a very nice husband.

I'm very happy for you.

Thank you, daddy.

I'd like to say that

when we knew...

She's my friend, I've seen her go from dark to peace,

darkness to light.

When you love someone you want them to be happy,

and I just wanted to understand what happened to her,

and hoped it would happen to me.

The truth is all that was just a mirage.

It was the big tragedy of my life.

I wrote because I was unhappy.

I thought that writing about my pain, and singing about it,

I'd get help, that I'd be understood.

But I was singing to people who were as damaged as I was.

We were all suffering the same pain.

When I got to the end of my quest,

it wasn't that I had nothing to say

but I needed

to rebuild myself.

I needed to...

If music had been the answer, I'd have continued.

But it was as if...

There's a saying I like. People say

that you need to turn the page.

Well, I closed the book

and wrote a new book.

A new book about something else.

I hope that

this film does some good.

That's why it's called Salam.

What does salam mean, Melanie?

Salam means peace in Arabic.

That's what I found,

and what I try to spread.

Peace.

In memory of Fatoumata, who passed a few days after filming

May the Most High have mercy on her.

Look.

Look, children.

Mum's with the dolphins.

Look! Look! There's loads of them.

I so wish you were here.

We'll come back.

You put the camera on me and then say I talk too much!

I'm going to go off for ten years and I won't talk anymore.

ORPHANS' GARDEN Melanie Diam's, the light

It's Diam's, but they wrote James!

But I don't care.