Belgian author, screenwriter, director, and actor of Lebanese origin, Roda Fawaz, draws his inspiration from his experiences. From his meticulous observations, his cultural experiences, and his self-deprecation, comes his work On the road… A, published by Maison d’édition de théâtre belge francophone. Signaling a return to his roots, he recently attended a book signing at Librairie Antoine in Beirut.
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On the road… A is written and performed by Roda Fawaz and directed by Éric De Staercke. This project allowed Fawaz to win several awards in Belgium: the Critics’ Awards for Theatre “Best Discovery” 2016, the Label of Public Use awarded by COCOF in 2017, as well as the SACD Prize in 2021.
Who can forget the voice of Roda Fawaz? The artist, of Lebanese origin and Belgian nationality, responded from afar to the echo of Beirut in ruins and tears. “Being Lebanese is to keep hope despite the anger and injustice. Being Lebanese is to make oneself the words of Brel and to remember that “there are burnt lands giving more wheat than a better April,” to keep hope and to get up. Hayda Lebnen. This is Lebanon.” He proclaimed these words on a radio program which was widely shared on social networks. A year later, he commemorated the atrocious day of August 4th by addressing a letter to a little Lebanese boy, George, born during the explosion, like a miracle of life facing death.
Fawaz, who was born in Morocco and grew up in Guinea, then became Belgian, claims to have felt nothing during his first visit to Lebanon, specifically in his southern village Jwahiah. He claims: “I feel nothing. I could be in a village in the depths of Portugal and it would not change anything for me. I have no memories attached to it, no history. Neither my parents nor my grandparents lived there. A week in Lebanon was enough for me.” And yet, he does not contradict himself as he loudly proclaimed: “Being Lebanese is a neurotic profession. For some, it is loving Lebanon but being unable to live there. For others, it is cursing Lebanon but being unable to leave it.” He also states: “In Annecy, in the apartment of a stranger, I drown my sadness to the sound of Fairuz’s voice. I close my eyes and I see myself in Lebanon. It’s beautiful. I walk along the sea. Around me, the fishermen, the joggers, the cyclists, the old men in a circle, smoking a hookah. Shouting. Laughing. A little further on, traffic jams and honking. Hayda Lebnen. This is Lebanon. I sit on a bench and I think of Khalil Gibran…”
Roda is the kind of person who has chosen who and how to be from his tender childhood, starting with his first name. “No more being the star! Dancing like Michael Jackson is not enough. I became “the other”,” he states. The journey has been hard for this “other” who has gone from Mhamed, Mohamed, to Mimo, to finally arrive at Roda. This difficult journey was shaped by an identity crisis, always accompanied by Slinky, his imaginary friend. He then attended the theater course during which, in a corner of the room, he started observing, then finally accepted himself and his multiculturalism. This marks the time when he had the courage to move forward. “The older Slinky gets, the less genuine he is. Still, I stay there. I come back to all the classes. Always in my corner, I observe and listen. […] I stay because the words of Cyrano are stronger than those of Slinky.”
Roda writes and performs to put heart in a world devoid of emotion and to verbalize all of the unspoken on stage. Religion, belonging, culture, the experience of a child facing taboos… everything is openly divulged in a vivid, authentic, and sharp testimony, which is also amusing.
“The first time I saw Racine on a book, I remember thinking that it’s more the name of a hair salon than that of a Greek tragedy author,” he writes. In the style of contemporary theatre, with a rhythm of short and staccato sentences, and an accessible vocabulary, Roda succeeds in winning the approval of his readers. By reading his words or listening to him, we acquire a different view of the world, beyond cultural, political, or religious borders. We almost hear him through his pages. We listen to the voice of a child who took a courageous leap and made his way to the red curtains of the stage. From where we stand, in the audience or at the other side of the world, we applaud him.
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