All language subtitles for Nicolas Klotz - (2004) The Wound

Yes?

Yes it's me Papi.

Blandine?

Blandine where are you?

You went to Roissy [Parisian Airport]?

Where?

Are you OK?

Oh, why?

Blandine?

Yes, I'll come and get you.

Blandine's here.

She's just arrived.

The plane arrived from Brazzaville at 9PM,

I'm waiting for my little brother,
his name is Célestin Kamanga.

I'm here for my wife,
she's arrived from Brazzaville,

it's the UY070 flight,
her name is Blandine.

My brother's here too.

Write down the names of your relatives,
as well as the flight number,

I'm going to ask the post.

There's nobody with this name.

She's here, I've talked to her,

She called me on my
cellphone from the airport.

There's no need to wait here,

For the moment,
there's a decision of non-admission

to the territory,
for everybody on the list.

For my brother it's an asylum application.

I'm telling you what I've been said.

Excuse me,

my wife is here in the airport,
I'm sure, I'm his husband,

can you tell her Papi is here.

Enough, it's over.
Come back tomorrow.

We told you, she's not on the list.

It's impossible, I've just talked to her.

I've been waiting two hours to go out.

I know.
A colleague is on his way.

You keep repeating that.

And there's nobody.

We're not animals,
at least we have the right to piss.

Why do you close the door?

Mister Faustin?

Follow me and get your stuff.

Mauricette?

Brigitte?

Where are you bringing us?
Follow me, it's a control.

I've already been to the control.

They took my ID, they even took my
passport, I'm doing an asylum application.

Let me out it's unbearable!

Stop! Stay still!

Can I go?

No, stay here!

Undress yourself!

You're Mauricette, born
in February 1976 in Kinshasa,

Democratic Republic of the Congo?

Open your mouth.

Arms raised.

You pregnant?

Yes. Five months.

Your skirt.

Drop your panties.

Cough.

Hey, I'm talking to you!

Yes. It's the name on the passport.

It enabled me to flee.

My real name is Blandine.

I'm born the 12th of May in 1978.

I gave my wedding
papers to the soldiers.

Why did the police keep it?

That's not my problem, I've told you.

Undress yourself.

Open your mouth.

Your arms. Higher.

Put your hands in your hair.

More.

Bend down.

Cough.

Calculator.

Cough again.

Take this. Sign here.

No need to read, just sign.

Come on, sign.

I can't sign if I don't read.

You're going to take the
plane at 5AM, you're going home.

I'm seeking asylum,
I'm not signing this.

I'm not going back.

Enough! Come on, Sign!

I'm stuck here in the airport.

I can feel it.

I can see the planes around me.

The plane is here.

They're going to take me.

I'll be in Kinshasa
and then it's death.

There, it's the death penalty.

I will be caught again,
and sentenced to death.

Stop! We're not
going home, wake up!

Shut up! You're going too.

Everybody.

I'll go to Matadi or Boma.

The provinces.

I will go to Kongo Central.

I'll do some business there.

Deep down the forest,
the Mayombe forest.

Mauricette.

Brigitte.

Anderson.

Gaston.

Where are we going?

How come our asylum
applications are refused?

We don't want to go back.

No need to discuss,
we're here to transfer you.

It's too much!

It's appalling! appalling!

I've got problems in my country!

A refusal of admission
has been notified to you.

Is it clear? You all have
to quit the French territory.

Our mission is to bring
you back to the plane.

Women on this side.

Men against the wall. Arms raised.

Everybody against the wall!

No! I don't want to go back!

I seek asylum!

Come on, you piece of shit!

Come on you fucking monkey!

You! where are you going?

Sit down!

I don't want to go back to Kinshasa.

One who leaves doesn't come back.

I've got serious problems in my country.

Stop it, shut up.

You're going back
to your shitty sticks! Understood?

I can't.

They assassinated my brother,
they're going to assassinate me.

Here you don't talk,
you shut your gob!

No, I am not going back.

My parents are dead too.

Stop. I also lost my mother.

If you don't shut your mouth and
make me think of my mother I'll kill you.

Kill me.

Kill me here, my corpse can go back,
but I'm not going back alive.

You're asking for it!

We prefer you being
out there, is it clear?

You're going. You die
home, not here.

You won't stay here and stir shit.

You copy? Yes.

Departure of the load.

Hurry up!

I copy.

Everybody in the plane?

You're kidding?
We've not finished.

There's still eight to come.

The passenger bus is coming,
deal with your shit.

Guys! Come back!

The bus is coming!

Hurry up! Bring them here!

Hurry up for god sake!

Come on we're going back!

Open the door!
Open the door!

Open the door!
She's suffering!

Watch out the stairs,
hurry up!

Are you OK?

What happened?

I am an agent from the
ministry of Foreign Affairs [MAE].

You've been taken back
to the plane isn't it?

Don't be afraid.

Did you see a doctor?

Have you been looked after?

No, I didn't see any doctor.

They wanted to
put us in the plane.

But I seek asylum.

We all do.

Did you clearly express it?

Of course.

They won't listen.

You too, you sign here.

Do you know about
the wounded person?

What happened?

I don't know.

Follow me.

What happened over there?
There's a person lying, she's wounded.

Well, there's been
a conveyance back.

But it's nothing.

The fireman cleaned it.

He put some antiseptic and all that.

It looks serious. Did you
ask for medical assistance?

Yes. A demand has been made.

Go and get the paper.

As soon as a car is free
we're taking her to the hospital.

Could I have a copy?

No, no copy, we don't do that.

We're going to be
brought back to the plane.

What can we do?

You won't be sent back.

They have to register and
consider your asylum application.

I'm going to fax your names to the
chiefs of police at the customs department

and also to the Minister of the Interior.

I will have the acknowledgments
of receipt, it will be a proof.

We're taking you to the hospital,

can you stand up?

So?

Again, a refusal of admission.

A second expulsion is
planned for tomorrow morning.

It's not normal,
we can't let them do that.

No.

Yes, it is very unfortunate,
very delicate.

And it is a good
thing you came here to me.

You are going to write something
down, and we'll talk about it again.

Yes that's it.
A blank note, no header,

and we will talk about it
Tuesday at the ministry.

Well, you want to do more?

Let me remind you that the
role of the agents from the MAE

is limited to interviews at Roissy.

As for the rest, I don't
think it's your business.

To make your work easier,
I'm going to send you

the asylum applications
of these persons... OK.

If they ask you the list,

give it to an officer,

and he will do
what he has to do.

As for the rest...

Sending a report to
the prosecutor: clearly no.

I don't think it's necessary.

You don't want to let
these things happen, huh?

You want consequences, an inquiry,
you want the Justice involved...

So you came to
ask me my opinion.

No really, I don't think you
are the one who should do that.

I've talked with Mr. Lacroix
about this article 40,

from the Code of penal procedure...

It's not your prerogative.

This article says that it is
only during your service...

That's not what happened.

Here, it's incidentally that you
saw it, not during your service.

You were in facilities
external to your office.

By the way, you had nothing
to do in this police office.

Nothing, theoretically.
You'll agree.

It's important. You shouldn't
have seen these persons.

Nor the rest.

I brought some toys,
there's nothing for kids in here.

I will still send a
report to the prosecutor.

I'll say what I saw.

Do as you like, but I
will take no responsibility.

See you on Tuesday at the ministry.

Thank you.

Célestin called me, he was crying.

There was an expulsion last night,

the policemen were forcing
them to take the plane.

And Blandine?
No, Blandine is here.

I've been told she's here, I'm sure.
Three were embarked, they weren't lucky.

Yes that's it.

A Congolese group.

Yes. I'm Célestin's sister.

Please, can you and get him?

He has the room 42.

Thank you.

Célestin? Yes.

How are we going to do?

There's a big road?

Wire fences behind the road?

A big building?

And a road behind, OK.

What?

Yes Blandine!

We're walking towards the hotel.

Can you see the hotel from the window?

Yes we're about to arrive.

Listen Blandine,

Come near the
window so we can see you.

We're in front,
just under the trees.

This way.
I can see her.

Oh yes look, Célestin!

Visits are over!
No need to stay here.

Come back at 2PM.

Please go out.

We thought: coming
back to Paris was useless,

so we wandered
at the airport...

We didn't have enough
money to even buy a coffee.

We just walked around
and tried to kill time.

People who arrived, that
was a bit of a distraction.

Afterwards, we went back.

He saw his wife.

He cried.

He cried a lot.

It's the emotion.
I didn't know anything.

I had no news for a year.

And all of a sudden: she's here.

Then I stepped outside
and let them together.

We only had five minutes to talk.

She was crying.

She was full of joy and sadness.

She was wandering whether
they would let her stay or not.

"Are they going to
send me back again?"

I know.
She can't be sent back.

When I applied for asylum,
I declared she was my wife.

They must let her through.

She's been harmed.

I saw the plasters on her leg.

She was frightened.

She looked sick, as if
a snake had bitten her.

We didn't manage to talk.

Five minutes,
it's not enough to talk.

What are they doing?

I don't know, it's their business.

I am tired.

I have to go to the toilets,
but I can see them.

They're taking ages.
Besides there are no toilets.

I'm tired, I'm hungry.

I'm hungry too.

John just leaves us here.
We don't even know if he's coming back.

I'm tired of it.

Where is he?
I don't know.

Today, I don't have a clue.

I wasn't in Kinshasa.

I had my little business,
I would buy goods in Pointe-Noire,

some cassava, and
would sell it in Kinshasha.

I wasn't there.

I didn't know whether my
husband was safe or arrested.

I came back to Kinshasa in
January the 30th: he wasn't there.

It's a friend, another
soldier's wife, who told me:

Listen my dear, don't
come back to the camp.

Your husband is wanted;

policemen came and
asked a lot of questions.

She showed me the traces
of the punches on her arms,

like little hollows on her skin.

Her hands were swollen.

She couldn't eat
by herself anymore.

She couldn't do
anything with her hands.

She told me: there's no
need for you to go there.

The soldiers and the
policemen are looking for him.

Your husband is very
probably hiding somewhere.

Don't look for him.

You mustn't know anything,

otherwise they will hit you
again and again until you speak.

But where can I go?

That's it, it calmed down.

Mommy is in Kinshasa.

I went to hers,
I stayed there,

Then I went to the Beach [port in
Brazzaville] to see the merchandise.

I can't figure how people
knew I was in Kinshasa.

They started to look
for me, everywhere.

At my father's, my mother's,
but I was at the Beach.

They asked questions.

They searched the house.

They came three times to get me,
I couldn't stay anymore.

My mother was shocked.

In the bus I
was really afraid.

In Kinshasa, every time I
saw a soldier I had to hide.

I was thinking: does
this one know me?

Is he looking for me?

Here, it's the same
thing with the policemen.

One day, I saw
soldiers coming to me.

I dropped everything.

I left the merchandise
and I ran so fast!

I was hardly touching the ground.

In the evening, I crossed
the river with the merchant.

In Brazzaville, I found a
lorry going to Pointe-Noire.

Three days after I
was at my sister's.

She also sells things: she buys bread
in Kinshasa and sells it in Pointe-Noire.

It's much appreciated there.

I stayed a whole
month at my sister's.

But the policemen were
still looking for me in Kinshasa.

They went to my father's.

They searched the house.
Everything.

They wrecked everything.

They even left notifications for me,
telling I had to go to the police station.

I knew nothing.

I came back to
Kinshasa at my father's.

This day he sacked me.

Really, he just sacked me.

"You're an officer's daughter,

and you want to marry a sub-officer,
someone with no grade!

And then you and your husband,
it's just a ton of problems!

Piss off!"

This day I cried a lot.

It's my sister who helped
me with the passport.

With a fake identity but my
real face, and a ticket for France.

I don't know where's my husband.

I don't know whether
he's dead or alive.

Whether the policemen are
continuing to persecute my parents.

My husband doesn't know I'm
pregnant, I haven't seen him again.

Miss Mauricette Macongo?

No sir, my real name
is Blandine Bambessa.

Miss Brigitte Bocobon?

On my passport yes, but my name is Bibiche.

Hurry up, take your
stuff, we're going.

One cannot just
go back like this.

It's full of pus.

The nurse told
me to come back.

I must see her today.

Letting you go in this
state, it won't look good.

How is that possible...

I'll put you a
very clean plaster.

Don't worry it will
stay until you arrive.

The man from the ministry
took our asylum applications.

He told us that we
can't be put in the plane.

Look it's perfect,
we can't see anything.

Come on.

You don't have the
right to take them!

Wait a sec, the flight for Brazzaville,
there's a group which is not meant to go,

what's this shit about?

This fax arrived
yesterday at 11AM,

nobody received it? Nobody knows
about these applications?

Besides, a copy has been
sent to the ministry of the Interior.

What's that? We weren't
given anything by our services.

Fuck the Foreign Affairs!
They should mind their business.

The eight from the
UY070 flight are not going.

Put them on the side
and take their handcuffs off.

Take the handcuffs off.

Two persons from the group have left.

You must stop the van.

The air is rotten in there.

The air was rotten there too.

I didn't know where to go.

I didn't know anybody.

It was cold.

I entered a booth.
I slept there.

It saw snow for the first time.

Early, I came by a group.

I asked them if
they could help me.

They said they
couldn't do anything,

that they were
also in the shit.

When I came back to the booth,

my stuff had disappeared.

I lost everything.

I stayed there, with nothing.

With just my passport in my pocket.

I met a young guy.

He drove me to a bakery.

We arrived at 11PM, it was closed.

I knocked, they opened.

I explained my problem,
my application and everything.

They had nothing for me to eat.

They only gave me a
place where I hardly slept.

At 5AM, they got us out.

I explained my problem in Cameroonian.

He told that's how it is.

He started to wander with me.

It was raining.
Fucking rain, we were soaked.

We slept in Italie square,
in the shopping mall.

There's an underground.

There were cardboards, we slept in it.

I dialled 115 [emergency
number], several times.

For hours.

They even have my name.

They couldn't do anything.

There's too much people.

Maybe they didn't predict that.

Honestly, I called everyday.

One night, I was sick.

I called. They said no.

To try again tomorrow morning.

I did. They said no, no place left.

I insisted.

They said they couldn't do anything.

I never solved my problem. Never.

And afterward, there's been the barge.

Disgusting.

I slept with maniacs.

They were spitting and drinking.

Smoke everywhere.

I also ate with maniacs at the bakery.

And sick people.
Sharing the same table.

I got sick several times.

I ate with sick
people and all that.

On the barge,
I bumped into Steve.

He's the one who
found the squat.

He said: come and
sleep there if you want.

I went there.

At the moment we're waiting.

The policemen
came several times.

Now they're going to destroy it.

We don't know what we'll do.

I try to find myself.

I can't think about anything.

I ask you the minimum:
somewhere I could live and wash.

Just to be a bit like everybody.

During the day I'm just
wandering, I don't know anybody.

I'm vulnerable.

When I get up in the morning,
I first go and get some water.

At the fountain, in the cemetery.

I wash in the courtyard.

Sometimes I go a whole day
without eating. Two, three days.

Also, I haven't earned
a penny in eight months.

Steve helps me sometimes
with his unemployment assurance.

But currently he's broke too.

Everyday... I lose something.

A part of myself.

I lose a lot.

Where are you?
I'm tired of pushing this thing.

Where are you?

Come and help me, I'm sick and tired!

I can't stand this place.

Do you have news from your kids?

No, I have to send the money,
so they can call me.

I have nothing,
I don't even know where to sleep.

Are they small?

Yes they are.

My brother keeps them with his kids.

That's a lot of kids to feed.

I don't know how they manage to eat.

You see, it's difficult.

What about you?

No news. Nobody calls me from Kinshasa.

We always have to call them.

They always need us to send
some money for the phone.

We only have problems
but they think everything is fine for us.

If you explain the reality,
they don't believe you.

And if you tell them not to come to
France, they won't listen.

A friend of mine mentioned another squat.

How are we going to move?

Someone promised me a truck.

Tomorrow I'll go to the platform.

Are you coming or not?

Do you have a cigarette?

Can you give me one?

Tomorrow I'm going.

They're looking for guys.

There are jobs, Papi told me.

Hi.

How you doing?

This way.

It's stuffy in here.

Hi girls, are we lying down?

I've got clothes for you.

Take what you want.

You're smashing!

John's waiting for us.

We're going to the restaurant.

You coming with me?

I've no water anymore!

I'm drying out!

Is there some coffee left?

Bring me a glass of coffee!

Go and get some water. A lot.

And clean up for me.

I feel like little
stones in my legs.

I can't get up.

I can't carry all this.

It's not the little stones.

You know what it is?

Stop! Go and get some water.

Outside, thousands
of little white people.

That's what's
stopping you to get up.

You're afraid!

You never saw that much.

You're afraid.

Go away!

It's disgusting!

Can't you wash elsewhere?

You're making a mess! I'll tell John.

He's going to throw you out.

Try to stand up, to walk.

I'll bring the meat.

You'll do the meal.

What would you like?

My children stayed.

I fled. I saved my skin.

I left the children with mommy.

Is she able to feed them?

I don't know.

Will the soldiers go as far as the village?

You like it?

This one is good.

Are you OK?

We have to work. You can't go home.

I don't like this job.

We work a lot and we earn nothing.

That's how it is. We have to be patient.

I you don't want to do this job, forget it.

I'll help you with your rent.

Hi girls.

You want some cherries?

For me, school
was the peaceful times.

You would have normal days.

I sleep, I get up, I wash,

I take breakfast,
and up to school.

I would come back at 12.

I would eat, rest, and
go to school again.

At 5PM I would
come back home,

walk around with friends.

We would swim in the river...

Or chase birds...

Or we would play football.

Then I would learn my lessons,

and the day after
I go back to school.

I know a good spot.

Lots of people.

I'm sure everything is
sold in less than an hour.

I can try, you could come with me.

You won't find a good spot.

There's no such thing.

Just eat your cherries.

If they catch you, you're done.

I got caught like a rat
just for a couple of lighters.

I went through two months of detention.

I used to sell them one euro.

I would walk for kilometers all day long.

I had to sell these lighters,

so I could pay for a dinner in the evening.

From time to time,
a shitty room to sleep in.

To wash.

I hadn't stolen anything.

They have an eye on you,
they know all the spots.

You're here but you're not allowed to work.

You have papers, you have to wait
two, three years...

Be as discreet as possible,

and dig yourself a hole,
as dark as possible.

Where rats are big as babies.

And you do
your shitty business in the shit.

There, they won't look for you.

They know that you'll soon be dead.

You're bothering no one.

Why won't you go out?

Answer me.

Why won't you talk to me?

Put your dress on.

You must go out!

You must go outside.

The machines will
demolish everything.

Where will you go?

What will you do?

Bring me a beer please!

The nurse asked
me what happened.

The policeman didn't say anything.

I didn't show the wound
at the court in Bobigny.

I had to show my wound.

But I was still afraid.

In the room, there were
policemen everywhere.

I couldn't say anything.

There was a lot.

They still frightened me.

At the hospital, the lady
asked me to undress.

I did, and she saw it.

I had marks
everywhere on my body.

After they took care of my leg...

I was convoked,

and the mister from the
ministry of the Interior said:

there's no evidence.

I was at the hospital, but
they didn't see the wound.

Why have I been to the
hospital if I hadn't any wound?

Why have I been to the
hospital if I was in good health?

Why have the others
been taken care of on site?

But me, I was brought
to a big hospital. Why?

The doctor I saw there,
he says he saw nothing.

A policeman took care of me.

He brought me to the
toilets to wash the wound.

That was before the second
time we were embarked.

Is this policeman going to talk?

Because we are black people,
it's difficult, I don't know.

But I know they
wounded me. I had wounds.

The doctor said he saw nothing.

I was in good health, and I've
been brought to the hospital.

Mister Antoine really helped us.

He said what he saw.

He didn't invent.

He said what he saw.

They brought me to the
hospital because I was wounded.

It was young guys.

There were several.

Three, or four.

They hit me.

"Wake up! Wake up!"

"You monkeys!"

"Macaques!"

"You're dirty."

"You stink."

"Bitch!"

"Get up! Fucking black people!"

One grasped my
hair, and pulled me.

He dragged me
on the cement.

My head was
banging on the ground.

I could see their black boots.

They hit me.

It was like in Africa.

I didn't know where I was anymore.

The same thing happened.

I said to myself maybe they were

the soldiers who where
looking for me in Africa.

Racists.

They kept pulling me by my hair.

When you want to talk to a policeman,

it's always: no! no! no! it's
not me, I didn't see anything.

You can't talk, you'll
always be black.

Even if a sue them,
I'll always be wrong.

Because I'm black.

I said: "They know
what they did"...

but I can't make a
complaint against them.

I can't.

I'll always be wrong.

The doctor said he saw nothing.

The policemen
won't be investigated,

quite the opposite, they were
proud, because they did well,

they did some good job.

But they know
they've hurt that girl.

The tallest, athletic,
he hit me, he knows it.

He crushed my leg.

Then he gave me
a kick in the knee,

to close the bus door.

They were in a hurry.

Travelers mustn't see that.

Who am I going to tell it?

It's useless to make
a complaint about it.

Who am I going to sue?

He won't come!
Moctar is light-headed.

How much are the cherries?

Two euros for the crate.

There's 500g?

I'll take two.

I got the job!

You go there, you stop
at the Danube station.

In front there's a
big road with trees.

You walk till the boulevard,
behind the bus shelter.

There's a little door and a wire fence.

Understood?

The guys a picked this morning
at the platform, you can go up.

Calm down!

You in orange! Go in.

You, stay here.

OK done.

Let's go.

He threw all his papers.

All the papers, all the traces.

Poor guy, that's bad luck.

He stayed nearly eight years
and got no news from his parents.

I swear.

Then he tells me his parents cursed him.

And I said: "No, it's impossible!"

He's going mad!

He's already mad.

Yeah, here if you're not resistant...

Changing job,
changing house, changing boss...

Friends, behaviours...

I used every means on earth:

boat, trucks, carts in Africa.

I travelled with a pirogue.

And in Europe:
I traveled by train, by bus.

But it was long and tough.

And once in Marseille,

there, it didn't work.

I was in a Spanish fishing boat.

It was very cold.

If, for example,
you're on a fishing boat,

if it's not cold,
you'll still be cold.

Because you hide in the holds.

Deep in the holds,
there's the frozen fish.

You can imagine.

You sleep beside the fish.

Tons of fish.

Your head on the fish.

You hear the noise
of the machines,

which are banging in your head.

You're constantly afraid
of being thrown away.

You're between life and death.

But you say to
yourself: I have drive.

I's been worse.

You'll try to find an exit.

Your dream is to leave
everything behind you.

Yeah. The journey
lasted 15, 20 days.

It was very difficult.

Between Morocco and Spain.

We would make some attempts.

It was in Morocco I took
this boat, in Rabat.

Then in Morocco, it was hard.

But I was halfway.

The hardest was in Africa.

Because we had to hide.

From one country to another.

I left Sierra Leone,
I was born there,

I had to flee.

The country was torn apart.

I had to go through Guinea.

Sometimes, the whole village fled.

And in Guinea either we weren't safe.

We had to hide.

To leave Guinea.

We had to cross Upper Guinea,

and try to reach Middle Guinea,

and then try to reach
the Guinea-Bissau frontier.

Once there, you think:
the journey has started.

And most importantly,
it's a night-time journey.

You can't do it during the day.

You stay hidden in holes for days.

You don't have the choice.

And you're afraid of everybody.

You're even afraid of
the people you travel with.

You have nothing left,
you spend days without eating.

You don't sleep.

Sometimes you stay attached
to a tree, all night long.

You hold your
breath, like a diver.

Your attached like a black
leaf, on the black tree.

I mean: the fear of treason.

For instance, you cross a
shepherd in the mountains,

he sees you,
he grasses you up.

He grasses you up
to the border guards.

And then the soldiers
come and get you.

And then you go to prison.

Wrapped in the noiseless
night, you cry.

You hang on with
all your might.

You hang on with
all your weight.

You can give a try to the forest.

You can try.

But there's a chance
you run into patrols.

Without any papers,
nothing, it can be a bullet.

Classified.

God saved us.

We crossed all this
part of the country.

By bus, I reached Senegal.

Once there, it really starts.

You try to do your
best to reach Mauritania.

Your objective? Europe.

Getting out of Africa.

You're threatened,
you feel threatened.

You're afraid of being shot.

I left Africa with
people I never saw again.

I saw people dying.

I saw people dying between
Mauritania and Morocco.

I've seen tipped over boats.

You start the journey with
people you'll never see again.

You can start the journey,
but you can never know the end.

You flee, with no destination.

You can wind up anywhere.

When I fled,
I had a bit of money.

I also had a bit of gold.

Sometimes you bump
into border guards:

If you want to pass,
they take you what you have.

You're forced to give everything.

If you have a little golden ring,

you don't dare
putting it, that's certain.

You try to hide what you have.

But in fact it helps you
to cross the frontiers.

The little money you have...
It's useful for negotiation.

And sometimes
you have nothing.

Sometimes even, money
has no importance for you.

Money doesn't have
any value anymore. For you.

You don't even want to keep it.

It's useless.

Because sometimes you're
forced to throw everything you have.

Everything you have in yourself.

You're forced to throw everything.

No traces.

Because that only means problems.

If you have something with
you, sometimes it can save you,

but sometimes it can put you in real shit.

If you have money
for example, CFA francs,

automatically it tells
where you come from.

You only use it in town.