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Welcome to Sousse, Tunisia.

In the 70s large numbers of European tourists flew over the Mediterranean

to embrace the heat.

Among them were a lot of women. My mom was one of them.

They came for the sun, but also for the disco and the souk.

They walked hand in hand with beznessa.

Guys who knew the way of the world.

Tourists still come, but less than before.

Cheap price. Only for you.

Beznessa are still around as well,

but they have less business.

No, these are not beznessa. At least not anymore.

The one on the left was quite good at it.

That's my dad. He's called Mohsen Ben Hassen.

Jasmin is my half-sister from Switzerland.

She looks a bit uncomfortable, as she and her boyfriend arrived two days ago.

That's when she met her father, also my father, for the first time in 22 years.

I convinced Jasmin to come here.

Her story resembles my story.

Both our mothers met Mohsen in Sousse.

Don't you like it? -Yes, I do.

How much? -Three dinars per gram.

We have relatives in Sweden as well.

I know it's a souvenir.

Normally it's more than fives per gram. -It's 130.

No, it's too expensive.

I will not pay more than 90.

I asked you for a family price.

You have to cut the price.

I'll give you a hundred. God will pay you the difference.

It's her first time in Tunisia.

The cameraman is Mohsen's son from Holland.

I know. -He's a film director.

He's making a film

about his sister's visit and about life in Tunisia.

I gave them a good deal.

Next time I'll bring our German relatives and Salem's children.

They will all become your clients.

Thanks a lot. -Bye-bye.

Hey Jasmin, want to buy a scarf?

I'm Alex, by the way.

But my father still calls me Karim.

In 2005 I travelled to Tunisia for the first time.

I was extremely nervous.

I was going to meet my father.

I hadn't seen him for 21 years.

He'd become like a Darth Vader to me, an Al Qaeda fighter.

That's how I imagined him, in his mud hut in the desert

with a beard, a camel and an AK-47.

There I was, sitting next to the man who was my father.

I said: This is unreal.

I broke down and started to cry.

"It's normal", my father said.

We drove to his house in a suburb of Tunis.

My new-found sister Rahma went to sleep.

Her mother Leila brought me to the living room.

There was a photo.

I looked at it and again felt like that little kid I was back then.

I don't remember a lot about him. Four, maybe five memories.

He taught me how to ride a bike. And he played soccer with me.

He was able to kick the ball very high.

He swept the dishes out of the cupboard in one go.

My mother lay crying on the couch and I cuddled up with her to comfort her.

I was playing in the hallway when he came by.

He was already living in Amsterdam. "Anneke, Anneke", he shouted.

But my mother refused to let him in, so he kicked in the glass of the front door.

Of course he was coming to my fifth birthday!

I was waiting outside all day to see when he'd arrive.

But he didn't come.

And he never did again.

Later on, I heard he was in jail.

And after that he was deported from the Netherlands.

Good morning. -Good morning.

Oh boy. -What is it?

Looks good.

What looks good? -All this.

It's just normal.

Thanks. Hi, Anneke.

Keep your eyes on the road.

I'm Schumacher.

To spare my mother, I stopped mentioning my father.

When she talked about him, she would repeat the same phrases.

"He never contributed a penny to your upbringing."

"He went out with his friends and left you behind in your vomit."

No one could tell by my looks that I was half Tunisian.

But that would change.

They said: "You're not 100 percent Dutch, are you?"

A little red-haired girl took the biscuit.

"Go back to your own country", she yelled when I walked off the soccer field.

I went to the locker room to get changed, cycled home

and slammed my fist into the wall.

"Fuck him!" That's what I said about my father.

"He doesn't deserve me to carry his name."

Fuck off with that camera.

Fuck off, man!

I officially changed my name from Ben Hassen to Pitstra, my mother's name.

Oh my gosh.

Of course I couldn't erase my father.

How could I ever know myself if I didn't know my father?

There was only one thing to do: go to Tunisia.

Soon after I realized this, I received a letter.

Written by my father.

It wasn't addressed to me or my mother, but to her former employer

asking for our address.

He wanted to contact us.

He was looking for me.

MY SON

Hello, Anneke.

This is my little sweetheart.

Look, that's mom Bejia.

She's my mother.

What was your mom's response to me? -It made her recall things

that she hadn't recalled for a long time. -Why did she get rid of me?

Why did she get rid of you?

Why did she want to get rid of me when I became ill?

And I was unemployed. And she-

You were up to all sorts of things back then.

Like what? -Well, just things.

Name an example. -I don't know. You're the one that knows.

Nothing at all? You didn't do anything naughty?

Huh? -You didn't do anything naughty?

Back then.

Me? -Yeah.

Nothing? -No.

Not at all. -Nothing at all?

You weren't a scoundrel? -Where?

In the Netherlands? -Yeah.

When I'd left her? Yes, of course.

She didn't want you anywhere near us. -Of course. That's normal.

I was unemployed and had no money. What could I do?

You say it's normal, but of course it isn't.

I lived in Amsterdam for years.

And I smoked hashish. Normal.

Everyone does in the Netherlands, and everyone drinks.

Everyone� When you live in Amsterdam, you are crazy.

Sorry.

All that's in the past, thank God.

I now have�

I have to thank God for being a good person.

You know? Thank you.

I kept going back, sometimes twice a year.

He always took me to the city where he was born.

And where it all began. Sousse.

I was swamped by cousins, second cousins, uncles, great-uncles, aunts.

How different from my family in Holland. There it was always my mom and me.

We rarely visited my grandparents in Friesland.

My two brothers from my mother's first marriage

lived with their father in Dordrecht.

After we'd moved to Groningen we stopped seeing them.

We only saw them at birthdays, Saint Nicholas and Christmas.

I couldn't arrive there empty-handed. That was a bit of a problem.

What was I supposed to give everyone?

With my father I hit bull's eye. And with my aunt Samira too.

I gave my uncle Imed a Sopranos DVD box set.

He looked at it and said:

We had long conversations.

Usually they ended with an attempt to convert me to Islam.

Not an apple? -An apple, yes.

I thought we were going grocery shopping.

Come closer, Dad.

Are you angry? -No, I'm not.

You need to zoom out more. -I can't.

Come closer, Dad.

Smile, smile.

You never want to be in pictures with us.

The happy family.

My father isn't happy until his family is complete.

And it is not.

He still misses one child.

Jasmin. Jasmin!

She lives in Basel. He saw it on Facebook.

It's Jasmin.

Is this in Tunisia? -It's in a zoo in Switzerland.

He was married three times.

Each marriage gave him one child.

I came first, then Jasmin.

I have a lot of photos of Jasmin, but she has none of me.

I've always known she existed.

I was eight when my father called us.

"I have a daughter", he said.

"Good for you", I thought.

Hello, Alex.

I know our father asked you to write to me

and it isn't easy to find the right words.

I've asked myself many questions about you and our father.

I know he wants to see me, but I don't trust him.

When I was about four years old, he threatened my mother he'd kidnap me.

He's been a big threat in my life ever since.

How can I be sure he's changed?

Jasmin studies medicine and is ambitious.

A feminist, vegan and animal activist.

She would like to meet me, but Mohsen�?

For her, he's a demon from the past.

The man who went on a hajj and returned as a deeply religious Muslim

and traumatized her mother for the rest of her life.

First she wants to graduate. Then she will see.

Two years later I'm invited to her graduation party.

LET ME PASS I'M A DOCTOR

Now she's ready, I think.

Now she will come with me to Tunisia.

My father has started preparations.

But Jasmin still has her doubts.

Hi, Alex. Basically I'm prepared to go to Tunisia

to visit our father and the family.

I just don't know how to tell my family here in Switzerland.

Even the thought of going to Tunisia makes me feel like a traitor.

Another 200.

I asked for that big ottoman, didn't I? -Wait a minute.

Throw out that plastic.

No, keep it. -Are you kidding?

When I arrived, he'd painted the walls blue.

Now his daughter is coming, they're pink.

Nice. Nice colour, right?

Nice furniture. May it bring us good luck.

Clean up over there.

Rahma, come here.

My mother has never managed to come to terms with the past

and I'm really worried I might hurt her.

We never talked about my father a lot.

And I can still see the pain in her eyes.

Leila?

Tell Rachid to fix the door.

Where is Rachid?

Ask him to fix the balcony door upstairs.

You ask him, I am busy.

He'll do it if you ask him. You're from the same village.

He'll do it too if you ask him.

Why is this on the floor?

Add a nice white rose.

A nice white rose.

We'll have two female visitors. One bouquet each.

Rosan and Jasmin. We don't want them to be jealous.

Call Rahma. Tell her to come home. -Blessings to the prophet Muhammad.

Where are you?

Hurry up, hurry up!

Two days ago I wrote to our father,

telling him I need time and he should accept this fact.

I was worried how he might respond,

but he wrote me a very nice letter.

Now I'm really considering visiting him.

Jasmin. -This is Leila.

How are you, Karim? -I'm fine, thank you.

Yes.

First he greets my girlfriend, Rosan.

Only then does he welcome his daughter whom he hasn't seen for 22 years.

Orange juice? Coffee?

How are you feeling?

Fine. A bit strange. -Why?

It's been a long time. A lot has happened.

I'm a grown-up. -I know you're a grown-up.

How's your mom doing?

Fine. -Do you�

Do you see her frequently? -Yes.

It's wonderful.

Nice colour.

Nice sofa, Mohsen. -Thank you.

Are we going to sleep on it? -Of course. What do you think?

It's Rahma's choice. She picked it. -The colour?

Thanks, Leila. -You're welcome.

Thanks very much. -Do you want coffee?

Something else? -No, thank you.

I think Jasmin wants something. -Coffee?

Thank you. -You're welcome, Jasmin.

It's your house. The house of your father.

How do you feel things are going between you and Jasmin?

She seems a little reserved.

Ah, thank you. Please.

And then she suddenly said: "No."

But�

I've always asked Allah, God, that you might come and see me here in Tunisia.

You see?

And the same thing for him.

The stories of Karim and Jasmin are the same.

He understands me now, and you will too.

You're an adult, a grown-up child. You know everything.

I hear what you're saying,

but it doesn't feel the same for me.

It's difficult.

The fact that I never heard from you.

I wanted to make contact, but your mother wouldn't let me.

She was scared you'd take me away to Tunisia.

That's nonsense. -That was her feeling.

If you're scared that someone will take away your child,

you would try to protect her, right?

Yes, I understand. -That's the problem.

I understand. She took it very seriously.

The fact that she was threatened.

Right?

Do you know what they said about me in court?

That I would become a terrorist. -A tourist?

Terrorist. -Ah, a terrorist.

The court ordered me to leave the country at once.

They were all against me.

Because I was a Tunisian, a foreigner, an African and so on.

It's racism.

There's discrimination in Switzerland, racism against foreigners.

This is your aunt Nabila's son.

She looks like us.

Her face has the same shape.

Aziz, come and say hello.

She looks just like Bejia.

You look like your grandmother.

This is Salem in Denmark.

He looks like me.

With his big dog.

Salem is my father's eldest brother.

His role model.

He also has two children in Europe.

Imed is his youngest brother. He has a son in Sweden.

He's 22 now.

He hasn't seen him in twenty years, but he's still hoping he will come.

My uncle Bouraoui is the only one who was never into European women.

He's a carpenter. One of the best in Sousse, according to the family.

If you count Imed's son, 21.

How many what? -Twenty grandchildren.

No, there are five hundred!

We only counted the ones we know about.

Have a good trip. -Thanks a lot for everything.

Wave goodbye.

Yes, where did things go wrong?

The first shock I got, came three weeks before you were born.

We were going to go shopping in Rotterdam.

When we got off the train in Rotterdam he proudly showed me two wallets.

"What's this", I said.

"They were lying on the seat."

I said: "What do you mean? They were just lying there on the seat?"

He'd been picking pockets. Honestly, I thought I'd die.

My heart just sank. "Oh no", I thought.

This man will soon be the father of my child. My God!

This will never work. And it didn't. It became intolerable.

He started stealing and fencing stuff.

I told him it was over. I'd always warned him.

No dealings with the law. Stay away from the wrong people.

Look, chestnuts. It's autumn. Oh, it hit me on the head!

One day I got a letter from Switzerland.

Sent by his wife Susanne.

I looked at it: Susanne Ben Hassen. I thought: "What's this?"

She apologized for bothering me.

Because she felt that I had had my share of trouble too.

But she couldn't cope anymore.

She couldn't listen to the radio or leave the house.

He had to eat alone. She had to wait for him to finish.

She was terrified of him. He beat her, he beat the child.

I said: "Hit him back!"

But she was afraid to. It was easy for me to say, of course.

I hit him back once.

Then he held me so I couldn't move and he threatened to call the police

to protect him from me.

God, it's a shame. He was such a nice man.

We were so in love.

It had been the same for Susanne.

I had a long talk with her and I asked: "What can I do for you?"

I said: "All I can do, is give you advice."

She wanted to know how I had managed to end the relationship.

I said: "First you go to the police and report him."

"Is that what you did?" I said: "Yes."

"After that he calmed down. They're scared of the police if nothing else."

"Then you go and get a good lawyer."

"A real shark. And you see it through."

"Meanwhile you look over your shoulder."

Everything that had happened to me, happened to her, but worse.

But she had no defence.

I also find it hard to know how exactly to deal with him.

On the one hand I think we can play happy family.

But how?

You could say: "You know what you've got." But I don't think it's enough.

I found my dad. That should be enough.

And I gained two half-sisters.

And a very sweet stepmother and a huge family in Sousse.

But the family extends beyond Tunisia, all the way to Lapland.

That's where my cousin Monia lives.

When my dad says I should bring the family together,

she's the one I think of first.

She's never met her father.

Who's that? -My mom's daddy.

Your mom's daddy?

Her father is Salem, the uncle I only know from photographs.

He fathered her in Sousse, but his role as a father ended there too.

I met Monia once before, at the home of my aunt in Sousse.

She was there to meet Salem, but he never showed up.

She hopes he will show up this time.

The family are doing their best.

They're trying hard to get Salem to meet her.

Hi, brother.

Monia is here, at Bouraoui's place.

Mommy� -Where are your shoes?

Here comes Salem, your father.

How are you?

Let me kiss you.

Elin, this is granddad.

Careful, Elin.

Where's that girl? -Come along.

For you. -Come. Thank you.

Thank you.

Have you got some money for me?

How much? -Some pocket money.

Pocket money? What are you, my son?

I'm your father. -Yes.

But you give pocket money to your son.

Yes? -Yes, pocket money�

It fits. -It fits?

Do me a favour and shave off that beard.

I'm a very good friend of your father's. -From Amsterdam.

I live in Tunisia, with five children.

So how old are you? -I'm eight years old.

And your wife is Dutch? -That's right.

Five children with a Dutch woman.

So that's been going well for twenty years?

It has, up till now.

Look, you marry someone for life.

Your wife is not your abeed. -What do you mean?

Abeed means slave.

You shouldn't do that. You should respect women too.

I've never smoked a cigarette in my life.

I've never drunk alcohol or used drugs.

Her kids are my kids, my kids are her kids.

But we've fucked many women.

That was in the past, I don't remember. -No� How do you say?

In the past. Of course.

We shared three or four girls.

One in Marhaba, one in Tour Khalef� Together.

Sure, but this was 35 years ago.

35? 40. -Yes, 40 years ago.

But now I'm almost 55 years old.

"Hey, old bezness, " I once said to my father.

He startled, like he thought: "Who told you that?"

Regina was only 19.

She went back to Germany pregnant and had Andreas there, Salem's oldest child.

When she came to show Salem his child, he had moved on to the next girl.

Regina then married a German, and had a son with him too.

She kept coming back to Sousse on holidays with her family.

Now that her sons have their own families, she comes on her own.

How are you? -Well. And you?

Very well.

Here you go.

How are you? -Fine.

How are Andreas and Matthias? -Good.

How is Andreas?

Good? -Yes, very good.

Is the family proud of him being a playboy?

I can't quite decide.

And what do my aunts think about it?

I've never been able to ask them, as they only speak Arabic.

I take along an interpreter.

They were doing fine. They were good-looking.

We lived downstairs in the old house.

Every day Mohsen and Salem brought home no less than two or three tourists.

I was happy to see all those ladies.

They brought gifts. I was the youngest, so I was spoiled.

It was a matter of pride to bring a young European lady to your house.

My brothers were handsome.

They were the first to do bezness in Sousse.

Salem and Mohsen planted the roots. They started it, we followed them.

I tried to do the same as my brothers.

I quit school and went downtown.

To make money.

I learned to adapt to life, to tourism.

I learned languages.

We lived with them.

They married into our family. Their kids are our descendants.

So how can we not love them?

Listen, Karim, I hope my sons will marry tourists.

I will encourage them to do that.

Tourists were happy here. They loved us. They knew our hard situation.

I've had great experiences in tourism.

But tourism is no longer the same in Tunisia.

They've cordoned it off.

In between the people, right here in front of the hotel,

someone just blew himself up.

I think it's a body.

He was a young man of 19.

He tried to enter our hotel, guards saw him and sent him away.

Look at this, Samira.

This is the oldest hotel in Sousse.

It used to house thousands of tourists, it was always full.

And now? -It's empty.

You can see Sousse's good era and bad era.

But we had great times with the tourists.

You worked here, didn't you? -No.

But you did meet my mother here? In this hotel?

She had problems with her husband. She was divorced.

So I had to cheer her up a little.

I said: "Put it behind you, start a new life."

"Life goes on." That's what I said.

We fell in love, you know.

She was in love with me.

She fell in love with you, but you weren't in love with her. You wanted to have fun.

Why would I want to have a child with her

if I didn't want to live with her?

Maybe you saw a chance to go to Europe.

Not straightaway.

I wanted to live with her, but she didn't give me enough time.

I had a really bad time in Holland.

But I don't think about it anymore.

My dad wants to start some kind of trade with Europe.

My cousin Abdallah in Tunis told me that. He thinks I should help him.

Abdallah said you had an idea you wanted to discuss with me.

In three months I will be pensioned off. -You will be sixty.

Yes, the retirement age.

I would like to see you and Jasmin, go back and forth, to keep in touch with you.

I want nothing from you. I just want to see you both.

You come to me, I come to you.

But between us there is a� What's the word� like that:

There's a wall between us. A wall.

I've got my own family, I've got you.

I want to do some business, buying and selling cars.

Just normal business. Legal.

You know what I mean? Legal.

Because I've got family in Europe.

So that's the idea.

Maybe he just wants to be close to his son.

No, he wants to trade with Europe. And that's where I come in.

I told him- -Maybe he also wants to be close to you.

Then he should say so.

Do you think he will pull it off? -No way.

No, I don't think he'll be able to�

I've invested several times in businesses for my dad.

Cars and shops and things.

I once paid a lot of money for him to fix up a pick-up truck.

None of it has come off.

From what I remember and from what he and my mom and others have told me,

all the businesses he tried to set up have failed.

It just never seems to work.

I would love for him to set up a successful business,

but I can't see it happening.

I don't see why I should be the one to enable him to come to Holland.

It makes me feel like a European bank account.

A way for him to get a visa.

Can you imagine the feeling I sometimes get of being a bank account

that you opened in Holland in 1979?

That I'm like a bank account you opened in Holland in 1979?

That this is a part of what I am to you.

I'm not saying it's all I am to you, but it's an aspect.

Sure. -Do you know what I'm saying?

Yes. You opened a bank account for me in Holland. Or did you?

No. I'm saying I am the bank account you opened in Holland in 1979.

No.

But do you understand it's important for me to get the feeling

that it's not about that?

About being some kind of emergency fund for you?

Of course.

I want to find out first who you are and what we mean to each other.

Who can you ask? You can't ask other people. You ask your own child.

So I was your only option? -Of course.

You support me, I support you.

We stand up for each other in good times and bad.

That's how it is.

Yeah, right.

That's how it is.

He didn't ask for any more money? -No, he's stopped asking altogether.

Did you send him any? -No.

And if you did send him money, would you tell me?

I think so.

I did send him some money a while ago, without him asking for it.

See?

Why did you lie about it? -I don't know.

Why did you keep denying�

I can tell from the word go that you're lying.

Why do you do this?

The pressure from over there was huge.

Orders for an extra floor on the house, for a motorbike for Bouraoui

so he didn't have to take the bus to work.

And whatnot. Things you just can't make up.

After a while I found this large brown envelope in the dresser.

I opened it and it contained 600 guilders.

He'd saved the money. "How", I asked. "From the shopping money."

He was caught between two fires.

He couldn't get it from me. I didn't have it. I was already working double shifts.

But they were harassing him: he was living in gilt-edged Europe, he could send money.

When considering if I wanted to continue our relationship,

I thought: "His family is 2000 miles away."

But it wasn't. His family lay between us in our bed.

What did you think of me going to Tunisia in 2005?

I was excited.

And I was happy the two of you got on so well.

But I knew you would be facing big disappointments.

And unfortunately I was right.

How did you see me over the past ten years?

I've hardly seen you at all over the past ten years.

No, but how?

What did you see when you saw me?

A selfish bastard.

A heartless person.

You'd do anything for your friends, but your own mother can go to hell.

And I don't know how that came about.

At some point you went to Tunisia and then it was over.

My mom and I used to be thick as thieves.

My friends were her friends.

But somehow I find it easier to visit my half-sister in Basel now than I do her.

Even though we're near neighbours.

A lot has changed in Jasmin's life since the last time I visited.

Can I have the hammer?

Scalpel.

Incision.

She lives on her own, having left the squat.

And she's ended her ten-year relationship with Luca.

She has a friend over for dinner, who has to listen to our stories.

It's hot in Tunis.

Hotter than I'm used to.

The heat has given me a sleepless night and a bad headache.

My dad isn't feeling well either.

Yes?

You're coughing? -I'm coughing.

Jasmin supports the family in her own way. No perfumes, no gifts.

She treats the whole family to dinner.

We've reserved a table for the whole family in the Port El Kantaoui marina.

They're all there. Aunt Laila, my dad's eldest sister,

Bouraoui and his wife Dalila, Nabila, Samira, Imed, everyone.

Except my aunt Monia, who is too ill to come.

Ben Hassen.

Atini khobz.

Atini flus.

Atini flus.

Enjoy your meal.

Poor Dalila, praised for her cooking, has to polish off a tourist spaghetti dish.

The money spent by Jasmin here would enable her to provide the whole family

with great couscous, rouz djerba, grilled chicken and fish for a month.

So so?

How are you feeling, honey?

I'm fine.

How do you feel about the whole thing?

I'm confused.

Confused about what? -Everything. Nothing.

I just wonder: "What do I think about my family, about myself?"

"Who am I? What do I want?"

My dad who's just�

I just wonder who he really is.

Jasmin left without really saying goodbye to Mohsen.

While he's here in Sousse. It's pretty harsh,

but it does show how she feels about it.

They didn't tell me. I thought they would leave together.

What about the presents everybody bought her?

Give them to Karim.

Alex, let's face it. With my silly, naive, romantic little Dutch head

I landed in a situation I knew nothing about.

In the Sousse slums.

How did you end up there, in the Sousse slums?

I was going through a nasty divorce with my first husband.

I left that stranded marriage after five years of hesitation,

because I was 36 and I thought: "Was that it?"

"If I don't leave now and I live to be 80, I'll never forgive myself."

But he always said: "You pay for your freedom with your children."

So I had to leave my children to him.

Then at some point I collapsed and I lost the plot a little.

I was dropped off at the psychiatric ward of the Catholic Hospital.

There a nice psychiatrist came to see me, who listened to my story.

He told me: "Get on a plane and go on holiday."

That's how I ended up in Tunisia.

How old was he at the time?

He probably lied about his age. -He was 23?

And you were? -Take that smirk off your face. I was 36.

But the other way around is OK, right? Old goats and young cupcakes.

No, just to get- -I've always had younger men.

How did you feel in Tunisia, fresh from all that misery?

I was pretty suicidal. They kept an eye on me every night.

And Mohsen was there too? -He came to visit.

He took care of me really well.

I have to say he was wonderful to me.

He put up with everything, he comforted me.

He seemed to love me, also when he came to Holland.

And I believe he still does today.

Did you feel you were taken for a ride?

No, it started to dawn on me, but I didn't mind. I wanted him to come with me.

Why did you leave Groningen?

I began to feel that if I wanted to restart my life,

to feel alive again, I had to leave.

And it also had to do with you.

That son of mine lives nearby, but it's like I no longer exist.

I mustn't interfere in his life and I can't take this anymore, so I'm leaving.

I tried not to impose myself on you,

but I felt like a passer-by, or not even that.

Despised, ignored�

It's not that I don't want to know you or don't love you.

It's about discovering myself and my position towards my father

who now wants me to help him.

I went to Tunisia to find the father I never had.

I get there and I find a man

who is very nice to me, tries his best, but who also wants things from me

and manipulates me.

I have to deal with that too. And I'm trying

to deal with this feeling I sometimes get from you.

You're someone who has things under control

and puts herself in the centre.

While you may feel it was always about me, and I understand that.

I mean, you always gave me everything I needed.

No, above all I gave you love, but you don't seem to realize that.

Love too, but love�

I do realize that. -I protected you too much.

The thing is that I was always worried about you.

You're dealing with things you shouldn't have to deal with as a child.

All I wanted was for my mother to be happy.

I realize that, looking back.

And my own stuff, my feelings towards my father,

the fact that I missed him, I put all that aside to be there for you.

So when you blame me for not being there for you, for despising you,

for not being grateful for the love you gave me.

Do you realize the sacrifices I made for you?

Yes. Do you think I don't know that? -You know, but do you realize-

That you were a model adolescent not to add to my troubles?

I had lost two children, your dad was gone,

I had to work hard, I gave you so much. -So I played a good part.

We had to do it together and we managed. -Yes, we did. That's what I mean.

My dad sends me a video. The message is clear.

See this?

This needs to be fixed.

It's nearly gone.

I've sent him money for dental work before, but he used it for other holes.

He knows how I feel about it.

Can you imagine the unpleasant feeling I sometimes get of being a bank account

that you opened in Holland in 1979?

Of course. You support me, I support you.

We stand up for each other in good times and bad times.

That's how it is.

That's how love works.

That's how love works.

Cut.

I don't understand.

I told him the truth, nothing but the truth.

He got his own back with Hamdi, the production assistant.

I only now know what he said.

It's shameful. -Why?

They think it's shameful

to ask someone you've known for such a long time for money.

I said: "Who put you into this world? It was me, your father."

"Sure, I've made mistakes. Are you going to hold this against me forever?"

He makes money by making a film about me.

He makes money off me, you see.

He's going to sell this film.

Run, run, run.

Good, Alex. Important.

Move off the ball, Alex.

Substitution?

I'm starting to understand my dad.

You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours. Isn't that what he's saying?

Isn't that how every relationship works?

I cook a meal, you do the dishes.

I buy the drinks, you make the jokes.

I let you shine, you get me a residence permit.

I help you with your film, you pay for a buttermilk machine.

Here's the machine, look.

This is the machine.

Here, this is buttermilk.

Has it improved your business?

The economic situation in Tunisia is not that good. Sorry.

But with time I might add a small restaurant,

serving pizza's and kebabs and stuff. In the future.

Thank God.

For my parents, whom I thank for their courageous frankness in this film.

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