A love song from Sudan

The Friday market in Ventimiglia, an Italian town on the border with France, is alive with the bustle of French tourists who come weekly to buy goods. The sounds of music, bargaining and laughter fill the air, but there's also an oblivious tension. The Italian police move through the crowd, routinely stopping people — particularly racialized individuals — to ask for documents. 

"Permesso di soggiorno, ce l'hai?" ("Do you have a residence permit?") echoes sharply as two Tunisian minors are questioned. In the background, the mechanical tune of a police radio punctuates the scene as the police have a quick casual conversation on Ecuadorians, these voices blend uneasily with the market's lively hum. 

Here, the ordinary rhythms of commerce coexist with the heavy presence of surveillance at the border, where every passing moment is marked by an invisible line. You can also here my voice in the background, a light-hearted exchange unfolds—me chatting with a French lady and a sellers from Guinea and Italy, who try to guess where I am originally from.

Recorded by Masha Hassan.