It's the story of a son who wants his father to talk.
A son born in 1980 in the suburbs of Paris, a father born in Iraq, in Fallujah, in 1943. From his country which he had fled to find refuge in France, this father had transmitted to his son only one thing, such as an enigmatic talisman, his first name, Euphrates, in homage to the river on the banks of which he himself had grown up.
But of his past, Rami didn't want to say anything.
"Too complicated",
he answered tirelessly to the child who pressed him with questions: “Who are we?
Where do we come from?"
However, one day, this touchy father, who had improvised selling postcards on the square of Notre-Dame to meet the needs of his family, had confided in his son.
He had told her that identity is an invisible suitcase that one carries throughout one's life, in which one must sort to make it as light as possible and not be weighed down by it during the tribulations of the world. 'existence.
Except Rami hadn't sorted it out.
He had…
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