The film features many images created by Ibi herself; we edited them following a direction guided not only by an understanding of what happened to Ibi (or rather, what is happening in the present tense of her footage), but also by the compelling nature of the ethical and aesthetic stance she embodied.

We want the viewer to follow Ibi’s own narrative voice—to stay with her rather than viewing her merely as an object, a third party bearing witness to injustice and suffering. Ibi suffered, certainly, but above all, she told her story, fought, and smiled. The viewer can stand alongside her, rather than looking at her from the outside.

Even though she is no longer here.

It is Ibi’s absence that our images speak of.

Salami’s daily life in the now-empty home. The world of Castel Volturno surrounding that house—the place where she lived and filmed. The silence of prayers and sorrow. Memories that do not aim to be a didactic narrative, but rather moments where Ibi’s absence takes tangible form.

Ibi is gone; she did not live to see her prayers answered, to reunite with her children and mother, or to have her right to redemption and freedom of movement recognized. Her passing lends a tragic weight to her stories, yet it diminishes none of their value. Her stance still endures—thanks to what she left behind, to Salami’s love, and to the message she

sought to convey to her loved ones, to herself, and to the world.

Ibi is gone, but the world she had to struggle against and yet longed to live in—the world she clashed with and yet sought to connect with—remains. That world must now find the courage to pause and understand the lessons Ibi taught us.

Andrea Segre