2024
Thil | Inside the Belly of the Beast
Micro-residency and culinary performance,
supported by Durjoy Bangladesh Foundation, (2025).
Even when they cut down my flowers or trees, my children, my men, my women, I will grow back in threes… “
Two of my works, I Sit Under Your Shade (2022) and Thil (2024), were installed in the space, deepening the ways audiences could engage and interact with the work.
For Inside the Belly of the Beast, I embarked on a culinary residency, imagining what the insides of Thil would taste like. The resulting hybrid foods traced their origins to pivotal moments in Bangladesh’s history—famine, partition, and liberation—while also reflecting my homeland, Jordan, which has been bearing witness to Gaza’s genocide and famine. This culinary performance honored wild and indigenous plants from both regions, creating dishes that straddled trauma and joy, grief and celebration.
In Arabic, we say: يا رب تنشق الأرض وتبلعكم—“May God open up the earth and swallow us whole.” I conceived Thil as a force capable of swallowing colonialism, imperialism, capitalism, and oppression. This performance invited the audience to experience the biblical and metaphorical sensation of being swallowed by a beast, navigating through a symbolic anatomy built from historical and culinary elements.
Bangladesh, my motherland, has long been a beacon of resilience, demonstrating time and time again the strength of collective resistance. This performance wove together personal narratives and research I conducted in Bangladesh, tracing parallels between histories of struggle and survival. My research took place during a micro-residency at DBF, guided and supported by Mishak Ahmed and his team at Secrets Bangladesh.
Through my time with Mishak, I learned about narratives that are so disturbing to Bangladesh’s culinary history that I cannot unsee. Human imposed famines, spearheaded by British colonialism led to health issues still haunting the Bengali body today. Our bodies indeed inherit the trauma of our ancestors, and the injustices caused, can still ripple. On the other hand, I learned what innovation in food could look like when ingredients are scarce, and other foods taxed so highly, and yet the makers of these foods don’t just want to survive, they want to celebrate life through these dishes.
*Directly served on the table, as a way to mimic the installation itself
Herding the Sun
Marigold and Pumpkin Flower Tempura with Dukkah
Wailing Maw
Spiced Ghee Candles
The Hide is a Shroud
Shraak Bread
Damm
Beetroot and Kishkeh (dried yogurt and burghul wheat) Dip
The Skin of Thyme
Zaatar (thyme, sumac, and sesame seeds) and Kishkeh Paratha
Grove Stones
Spiced Olives and Kat Badam with Kashundi
Lament
Roasted Vine Leaves, Helencha Shak, Kalme Shak, Kotu Pata
Mishti Doi with Hazelnut Praline, Ovaltine,
and Kataifi noodles Phool
Hand-sculpted Gur Sondesh Mishti
The final course, a three-part dessert, centered around the beloved Mishti Doi, is alchemy to me. The very process of milk, yogurt, and fermentation—its ability to transmute and continue to serve us—reminds me of what I have come to understand about resilience. Zionism refers to Hamas and Gaza as a pest, a weed that must be destroyed from the root- nipped in the bud. And yet, they continue to survive, to populate. They continue to all embody Hamas—because, as Zionism soon realized, Hamas is not a single person but an ideology, a collective one.
In my seeking for truth, I turned to imagination, folklore, and myth. I became drawn to the Greek myth of Hydra—the serpent who, once beheaded, would grow back in threes. As I looked to nature for answers, I saw the profoundness of weeds and their parallels with Hamas—symbols of total determination and strength. And in this process, I found a reflection in Mishti Doi. The fermentation, the transformation, the way it continues to thrive and nourish—it is, to me, a quiet echo of that same resilience.
Bhetki ceviche with Hibiscus, Oranges, and Tokma under a Chitha Pitha Net
The first course, Ceviche, traced its origins to Mesopotamia under the name Sakbaj—a method of curing meat in vinegar. The flesh of a fish, stripped and suddenly cured, embodies both violence and transformation—cooked without fire, yet changed through acid. The bhetki fish in this performance was cured with lemons, oranges, hibiscus, and saffron, paying homage to both my regions. Its appearance under a Chitha Pithia ‘fishing net’ turned so pink, it began to resemble the flesh of Thil.
Ilish Pulao stuffed Vine Leaves, Chicken Paan with Pomegranate Molasses, Kitchree Arancini with Dhaka Cheese
As I delved deeper into the intersections of memory and rage, I abandoned the need for self-censorship, to behave, to be docile, comfortable, palatable to the Western idea of us. I embraced the sacredness of anger and the necessity of confronting inherited colonial legacies and dismantling them once and for all. But in order for this to happen, I felt we needed to face our darkest shadows and everything we have been vilified for, our Thil. When we could finally see this shadow, I believed we must then embrace it, holding it warmly and softly, ultimately, mothering it. Mother, a trio of comfort foods, represented nurturing and protection—each dish wrapped in an outer layer, embracing its core just as one must embrace their shadow.
Stinging Nettle, Khubaizeh, Helencha Shak, Kalme Shak soup with Aloo Bhorta Gnocchi
Last spring, as a way to reconnect with my land, after living away for almost a decade, the first intention I set was for my body and soul to lean into all the seasons and liminality in the weather and the environment. Hiking across the land seeking enlightenment in nature, when enlightenment could no longer come from humans, what I found quite enraging was that last spring was one of the most vividly stunning springs we had. I was insulted because I couldn’t understand how flowers could bloom with such indifference when there was so much death and despair in our air. As I came back to depict these experiences through intuitive drawing prompts, I began to depict landscapes where trees and rocks bore witness—each imbued with watchful eyes. During a studio visit, I was reminded of the Quranic verse stating that, on the Day of Judgment, trees and rocks will speak to God, and that shaking realisation reinforced this vision. The soup I presented, paired with Aloo Bhorta (a potato dish produced during the Bengal Famine) stones, incorporated wild leafy greens abundant in both Jordan and Bangladesh, sourced and foraged specifically for this gathering.