There’s a Somali proverb “Libaaxa ka ciyo iyo kan aamusan, keebaa daran?”. This translates to “Which is worse, the lion that roars or the silent one?”. This proverb perfectly captures the insidious nature of slow, quiet violence. There may be no physical difference between the lions, but the important distinction is that you can hear when a roaring lion is coming, your fight or flight response is activated, and you seek a way to survive the danger. The question then, how do you fight against a silent lion? How do you protect yourself (and others) against slow, quiet violence? How do you know when it arrives… and what if it already has? 

It’s this slow violence of environmental degradation and its cinematic portrayal that I will be focusing on. Specifically, I’ll be writing about two Somali short films that deal with sea pollution and its lasting impacts. Abdulkadir Ahmed Said’s Sea Shell/Aleel (1992) predicts the devastating effects illegal toxic waste dumping by foreign vessels would have. Decades later, Mo Harawe’s Life on the Horn (2020) depicts the minute details of village life where locals are forced to live with the aftermath of the tsunami earthquake in 2004 which damaged poisoned containers and led to the spread of diseases. I’m interested in this connection between Somali Cinema and the environment, and through these films I want to highlight the intricate nature of slow violence.

‘’This film is dedicated to all the victims of humanity’s lack of conscience: Hiroshima, Nagasaki, Bohpal, Chernobyl…”

This quote at the start of Sea Shell/ Aleel situates the film in a wider, global context. Activism was central to post-colonial African filmmakers and here, Said emphasises climate activism. His opening quote reflects a global solidarity, recognising climate injustices as interlinked whilst also presenting cinema as a powerful tool for education and liberation. 

Both films beautifully and tragically portray the connection between people and their environment. We see this in Sea Shell/Aleel through the use of magical realism. A woman is sketching by the sea, she then picks up a sea shell and hears the voice of a young girl, Sophia. Sophia lives in a coastal village in Somalia and we see her peaceful day-to-day life, and the moment she reunites with her father as he returns home from fishing. That night, a foreign ship arrives and we see white hands push barrels into the sea. Sophia (despite being far away) wakes up when this happens, and time pauses for a moment as if the locals can feel the disturbance. When her father and another fisherman head to work the next day, we know that everything is not what it seems. This is important as slow violence is typically unseen. Despite the sea being poisoned, it appears as normal. Sophia, asleep on her bed, wakes up the moment the other fisherman dies from diving into the sea. It’s implied that Sophia can sense this has happened, despite the physical distance. She runs to the beach, the sand now covered in dead fish. She cries “Maya / No”, and this sound reaches her village. All the locals rush to the beach. A year later, a grave is being dug and we see that Sophia is now unwell. She asks “Hooyo, maxaa dhacay? / Mama, what happened?”. Her mother is silent. 

Where Sea Shell/Aleel depicts how Sophia became unwell, in Life on the Horn the father is already ill. There is no before of village life - just the aftermath. 

Harawe’s black-and-white short tells the story of a son taking care of his dying father. The film begins indoors, with the men facing opposite directions. Despite being physically close, their body language communicates an emotional distance between the characters. The father carefully swallows a white pill and his son informs him it’s the last one. He mentions visiting the city tomorrow to buy more medicine for his father. There is a feeling of time running out, of death approaching, but no real sense of urgency. It seems nothing can be done about the situation and this helplessness is palpable. The film’s slow pace mimics the slow violence. Harawe heightens this through the use of long takes, where we are forced to sit with the characters in the uncomfortable silences. There is also a sense of stillness, as if time is suspended. This stillness also appears in the humdrum of his daily routine. In Life on the Horn, we see a moment when the son driving around the village stops to straighten the toxic warning signs.

The sequence is subtle, yet rich. It’s the moment where the film clearly communicates, through visual language, the invisible toxicity. The first triangular sign features a toxic biohazard symbol and the second, a danger poison symbol with a skull and crossbones mark. As the protagonist brings these signs into view, the unseen danger is made visible. It is not only passersby who are warned about the toxicity, the audience too is made aware of the slow violence. As the film progresses, we witness the slow demise of the father. When the environment is poisoned, so too are the people. 

Sea Shell/Aleel and Life on the Horn both feature subtle, natural soundscapes. The sound of the waves blends with the sound of the wind, immersing the viewer in the environments presented on screen. The minimal dialogue allows us to focus on nature and its slow decline. The natural soundscape therefore heightens the sense of slow violence, as there is a deceptive softness to the sound. We know the truth - that the gentle sounds carry diseases spread by air and water. 

Harawe’s black-and-white cinematography conveys an atmosphere of grief. We are grieving not just the dead, but the ones who have left and the climate itself. The neighbours and the construction workers have all left, and ultimately our protagonist leaves too. He follows his late father’s advice, “If you don’t leave, you will get sick.” The film’s title is therefore ironic, as Life on the Horn shows how unlivable the Horn of Africa has become as a result of environmental degradation. It’s important to note that Somalia has the longest coastline in Africa, but this once-thriving natural resource is falling victim to relentless sea pollution. 

Both films metaphorically tell us to be careful of the silent lion (libaaxa aamusan iska ilaali). The slow violence of sea pollution is made visible through sound, visual language, and narrative storytelling. The films don’t just raise awareness, more importantly, they build consciousness around climate injustice. Countries in the global South, such as Somalia, feel the effects of climate change most while they contribute the least. These existing inequalities have been shaped by colonial power structures of the past, and remain present through the enduring legacies of ongoing harm. The very essence of slow violence is this gradual, generational harm encroaching towards us, slowly and silently degrading our health and the environment for decades. These films are powerful reminders of this and the need to remain vigilant. 

Further Reading:

Diawara, M. (1992) African Cinema: Politics & Culture. US: Indiana University Press.

Folkes, S. D. (2021) ‘Magical Realism in African Cinema’ We Are Parable. Available at: https://www.weareparable.com/read/magical-realism-in-african-cinema 

Gadjigo, S. (2010) Ousmane Sembène: The Making of a Militant Artist. US: Indiana University Press.

Nixon, R. (2011) Slow Violence and the Environmentalism of the Poor. US: Harvard University Press.