The protagonist, Delphine, a woman from Cameroon stranded in Belgium in the search of a better life, who has come to bear a striking resemblance to the one she ran away from, only prays once during the film, and when she does, her chant turns into a anthem of women who, just like her, carry wherever they go the burden of their threefold stigma: that of sex, poverty, and race. The association between patriarchy, social violence, and racism, in fluctuating proportions depending on the context she found herself in, laid the traps in which Delphine fell and erected the walls against which she crashed; the hunted animal look in her eyes suggests the existence of more traumas than her impressive verbal flow can tell us about. Lying on a bed for most of the duration of the film, looking as if she suffers from a secular disease we could call oppression, Delphine doesn’t lack glamour: her dizzying discourse is accompanied by a physiognomy, a mobility, and an expressivity which are nothing short of impressive, by ample gestures, and alternating tragic, comforting, and exulted tonalities. She is an actress in the noble sense of the term, who relives at an extreme intensity all the real events she recounts and, eventually, those she makes up. The filmmaker, who, as we come to learn, shared the protagonist’s difficulties as a refugee freshly arrived in Europe, has the necessary flair to realize that her friend’s monologues need no aestheticization, which is why the camera only rarely pulls away from Delphine’s face in order to film the walls, or the ceiling, and to allow us to catch our breath. (Liri Alienor Chapelan)