Latest news with #SceneNowSaudi
CairoScene
2 days ago
- CairoScene
Saudi's First Female Skydiver Took One Jump & Never Looked Back
Some days, freedom is five uninterrupted minutes away from the glaring blue light of a screen. Other days, it's finishing a shift and walking home with nothing but the sound of your own feet. Sometimes it's that rare moment between obligations when the world stops tugging at your sleeve, and you remember what it feels like to just exist - unobserved, unmeasured, unbothered. The split second before you do something reckless just because it's yours to do. Now imagine that that feeling in its highest possible form. Not metaphorically. Literally. Between land and sky, in freefall, 15,000 feet in the air. That's where you'll find Razan Al Ajmi, the founder of the Saudi Skydive Agency, a judge for the Saudi Federation for Hiking and Climbing, a licensed skydiving instructor, and Saudi Arabia's first female skydiver. But before all that, she was a girl staring at a photo on Instagram thinking, "How do I do this?" Right now, Al Ajmi is building a new generation of Saudi women flyers. And yes, she's doing it at the age of 27. But for now, let's rewind to when she first took flight. Before Al Ajmi ever considered taking off to the skies, she was forced to rest at home after a climbing accident sidelined her for months. Unable to relax, she was doomscrolling on social media until she came across a photo. 'I didn't plan to be a skydiver,' Al Ajmi tells SceneNowSaudi. 'One day I saw a picture of someone skydiving in Saudi and I messaged the photographer asking, 'What is this? Can I try?'' That text led to a link, which led to a camp hosted by the Ministry of Sports, where Al Ajmi made her first jump. It was visceral. Wind tearing at her cheeks. Organs floating. The ground rushing up. On landing, dirt crunching under her boots, she rushed to her instructor with a certainty: 'I want to continue.' 'From the first jump, I felt freedom,' Al Ajmi says. 'Not in the parachute. Not in the plane. Just my own body, flying. Then I continued practicing until I found that skydiving is not just a sport. It's a life for me' Before skydiving, Al Ajmi tried everything - gym, hiking, climbing - but none of it gave her what she was chasing. It gave her something that lit up the next part of her life. A sense of self, a sense of purpose, a kind of clarity most people don't stumble into until much later, if ever. The confidence it sparked didn't fade. Instead, it transformed into a mission. 'I want to show people how amazing this sport is. Especially women. We grow up with all these fears - we're taught not to take the first step. But skydiving taught me how to decide. How to act strong. It changed my personality, my way of thinking. And I want other women to feel that.' Al Ajmi started skydiving in 2021, in the chaotic afterglow of COVID lockdowns. 'That time changed a lot of people,' she says. 'When you jump, you feel freedom. But when you can't practice it, you really feel like you lost it.' Looking to become a licensed skydiver, Al Ajmi had to travel to train due to the lack of facilities in Saudi Arabia at the time. But, travelling needed funding, so she leaned in and worked to fund her training. Comfortable family? Yes. Handouts? Never. 'My choices? My responsibility. I will not make excuses for not pursuing my dream.' Al Ajmi worked wherever she could - one of her first jobs was at a furniture store. It wasn't just about funding her training. It was about resisting the quiet cultural pressure women often face when pursuing something so physically and publicly bold. The comments came often: 'Why work? Just stay home.' But Al Ajmi had a goal. She saved what she earned, paid her own way, and kept showing up, training across the GCC, Spain, France, and Russia. In just two years, she completed nearly 500 jumps. Along the way, Al Ajmi competed in several skydiving competitions, but the most recent, in Bahrain, felt especially charged. The room was heavy with male scepticism. She jumped. She landed. She won first place. And the silence that followed? That said everything. It was never just about the jump. It was about making it possible for others to jump too. "I was working and training at the same time. But I don't want other people to face the same challenges," Al Ajmi says. "That's why I became an instructor. So I can be the source I never had.' Al Ajmi now trains skydivers across Saudi Arabia. She says the passion is palpable - especially among girls and kids. 'They want to fly. They want to prove they can do something hard. I see it in their eyes. And it makes me feel like, okay, they need me. I need to do my best for them.' Skydiving, she insists, isn't about being physically strong. It's mental. 'A small movement in the air changes everything. Just moving your fingers slightly left or right, you feel it. Before I jump, I stretch, I breathe, I plan. In the sky, there's no music, no phones, no noise. Just focus.' Al Ajmi sends her 'I'm jumping today' texts early. Then it's coffee, parachute check, warm-up. 'I avoid anything that could bother me. I don't need to know about problems before I fly. When I land, then I go back to life. But during the jump - it's just sky.' One of Al Ajmi's proudest moments came in 2023, when she jumped in carrying a massive Saudi flag weighing nearly 20 kilos. 'It wasn't easy. But I said, no, I will do it. And I did. Two weeks later, I was still saying it to myself: 'I did it.'' Al Ajmi is training future instructors now. And dreaming of blooming Saudi drop zones, international events on home turf, and a national women's team that lives beyond her. 'It's not just about us,' she says. 'It's about the concept. About showing the world that Saudi women can fly.' When asked what advice she'd give to girls like her - girls with dreams that scare their families, their teachers, their inner critic- Al Ajmi doesn't hesitate. 'Always try before making any decision. And always do more than you think.'
CairoScene
22-06-2025
- Entertainment
- CairoScene
Chinese Animated Blockbuster 'Ne Zha 2' to Screen in Saudi Cinemas
After breaking USD 2 billion globally, Chinese animation blockbuster 'Ne Zha 2' is landing in Saudi cinemas starting June 23rd — distributed by CineWaves Films in Chinese, English, and Arabic. Animated blockbuster 'Ne Zha 2' is hitting Saudi cinemas on June 23rd, bringing one of China's biggest box office phenomena to the region. The film smashed records earlier this year, crossing USD 2 billion globally to become the highest-grossing Chinese animation of all time - and the first non-Hollywood film to reach that milestone. Directed by Yu Yang, 'Ne Zha 2' continues the story of the rebellious demon child from Chinese mythology, this time following him on a quest to save a lightning-struck friend by seeking out a powerful elixir. The film is packed with martial arts action, humour, and mythological world-building - just make sure to control the kids when they do pretend-kung fu out of the theatres. The film will be released across the Middle East and North Africa in Mandarin Chinese, English, and Arabic. The Arabic dub was overseen by Saudi animator Malik Nejer, best known for his work on 'Masameer County'. 'This film reflects our commitment to meaningful cultural exchange,' Faisal Baltyuor, chairman of CineWaves Films, tells SceneNowSaudi. 'After bringing Saudi films to China through events like Saudi Film Nights, we're proud to now introduce one of China's most successful films to Arab audiences. 'Ne Zha 2' is a visually rich adventure that we believe will resonate across the region.' The film is being brought to cinemas by CineWaves Films, the Saudi distributor that opened the first Arab cultural office in China and holds the largest library of Saudi films.
CairoScene
07-06-2025
- Entertainment
- CairoScene
WATCH: Saudi's First Pro Boxer Knows How to Take a Jab
'I always knew I'd be more than a boxer,' Ziyad Elmaayouf tells SceneNowSaudi. Ziyad Almaayouf is breaking down opponents and barriers. The first international Saudi professional boxer, nicknamed Zizo, fights with purpose, persistence, and a jab that sends shockwaves from Jeddah to the O2 Arena. 'I always knew I'd be more than a boxer,' he says. And he is. Ziyad isn't here to just win titles. From getting thrashed in LA sparring rings to making history in Riyadh, Ziyad's journey is soaked in blood, sweat, and self-belief. He left family, comfort, and familiarity behind, trading them for 5 a.m. tears and punches that almost broke him. But he kept showing up. That was the secret. That's what caught the attention of Hall of Fame legend Buddy McGirt, who trained him not for talent, but for two things: 'Heart, and that jab.' And oh, that jab. Triple-shot, precise, relentless. It's become his signature, his passport to rings around the world. As the saying goes, 'A good right hand takes you around the corner. A good jab takes you around the world.' Ziyad's jab has taken him from a knockout debut in Jeddah to roaring crowds in Diriyah to toppling drug-fueled opponents in Los Angeles. He's gone toe-to-toe with decorated champions, stared defeat in the face, hit the canvas, and got up again. Every time. He's not just the first Saudi pro boxer. He's a walking comeback story, a cultural shift in motion, and living proof that when the world expects you to stay down, you rise. Ziyad Al Maayouf doesn't just know how to take a jab. He knows how to turn it into history.
CairoScene
04-06-2025
- Lifestyle
- CairoScene
How Arwa Al Neami Paved the Way for Saudi Women in Contemporary Art
What role can art play in a country undergoing rapid transformation? For Saudi artist Arwa Al Neami, it has long been a way to spark dialogue about social change. Through installations, films, and photography, the Abha-hailing 40-year old artist often uses humour and at times irony to explore the restrictions placed on women and the complex dynamics of life in a changing Saudi Arabia. Al Neami's career began long before Saudi Arabia's art scene gained the visibility and acceptance it enjoys today. When she entered the field in the early 2000s, art was not widely embraced in the country, and spaces for contemporary artistic expression were extremely limited. Despite these barriers, Al Neami's work pushed against social boundaries, laying the groundwork for the more open discourse now emerging within the Saudi art community. Born in a military compound at King Khalid Military Airbase, Al Neami grew up in a unique environment that shaped her worldview. 'It was a military city, quite different from the outside world. My schoolmates and neighbours were from various nationalities. I was a social girl with many Egyptian and Sudanese friends,' Al Neami tells SceneNowSaudi. Her childhood, although spent in the disciplined setting of a military compound, was filled with art and creativity from a young age. "Art has been part of my life since I was four. I started drawing at that age. My artistic spirit had nothing to do with tools or mediums—it was always there.' However, her adolescent years brought about a stark cultural shift when her family relocated to Abha. 'It was a complete culture shock,' Al Neami recalls. The freedoms she once enjoyed were suddenly restricted. She started wearing an abaya and gloves, and her school offered no art classes. "Everything was haram," she says. Even her Minnie Mouse backpack had its head removed after being deemed inappropriate. But these changes didn't stifle her creativity. Instead, they fueled a deeper sense of questioning and rebellion within her—a spirit that would later be channelled into her artistic work. After graduating high school, Arwa Al Neami faced a challenge—there were no formal art programs available for her to pursue. Undeterred, she took matters into her own hands. She would visit stationery stores, gather canvases and paper, and lay them out on the floor over a white sheet, creating without a structured starting point or formal techniques. 'I would just take out my pencils and colours and start creating,' Al Neami tells SceneNowSaudi. With no art major to choose from, she instead studied IT at King Khalid University, where she discovered Photoshop. This tool - new at the time - opened doors for her creativity. Hearing about an art competition at Al Muftaha Village, she instinctively created a large multimedia piece, letting the work flow naturally. 'I didn't know the medium or how I started or finished; it just happened,' she says. Her piece won a distinguished prize, one that wasn't awarded every year, and that was the moment she truly identified as an artist. 'I felt like a billionaire,' Al Neami recalls, after winning SAR 5,000. The first thing she did was purchase her own computer and Photoshop software, quickly mastering the program to the point where even her professors asked for her techniques. Al Muftaha Village was predominantly a male-dominated space, and she could only visit her artwork on family days, which limited her connection with the community. However, her artistic journey continued in Jeddah, where she began working more with canvas. Her first contemporary project, titled 'Ya Taybah', involved collecting dolls from Makkah. 'There was a belief that dolls were haram – you couldn't play with them at night or sleep next to them,' Al Neami explains. But one doll, which played the spiritual song 'Ya Taybah', sparked something within her. She recalls witnessing a father, initially reluctant to buy the doll for his daughter, change his mind when he heard the song. "That moment changed his perspective on the doll and, by extension, on art." The project was a video, featuring three of these dolls, all playing 'Ya Taybah' at varying speeds. This contrast between the dolls and the spiritual songs enticed Al Neami; a contradicting duality, and in essence, commentary on a culture that is neither here nor there. Al Neami's exploration of contradictions and complex societal norms comes through strongly in 'Red Lipstick', a nine-minute video installation that examines her relationship with the niqab. Initially, she viewed the niqab as something that sharpened her ability to recognise people by their eyes. Wearing it heightened her observational skills and sense of connection, as everyone dressed similarly in abayas. However, after she stopped wearing the niqab, she noticed an unexpected change: men seemed more intrigued by her when she was veiled, drawing attention to how societal rules create allure around what is deemed "forbidden." In 'Red Lipstick', Al Neami used a Christian Lebanese friend as the model, someone who had never worn the niqab before. The video shows the niqab flying around, alternating between revealing either the model's eyes or her lips, which are adorned with striking red lipstick. This visual contrast encapsulates the tension between modesty and attention, between what is hidden and what is seen. The project, exhibited underground in Jeddah, explores not only the niqab's layered meanings but also how societal perceptions are shaped by what remains covered. "It was an experience for her as well," Al Neami tells SceneNowSaudi, reflecting on how the project challenged both herself and her model to think about cultural symbols and their shifting significance. 'Red Lipstick' became one of her most pivotal works, capturing the contradictions she would continue to explore in future projects. The niqab remains a pivotal element in Al Neami's artistic journey, and her series 'Never Never Land' offers a striking example of how she draws from personal experiences to explore the complexities of societal norms. Showcased at the City Gallery Wellington in New Zealand in 2018, 'Never Never Land' depicts fully veiled Saudi women playing bumper cars at a carnival. While the scene appears playful, the signs surrounding them call for modesty and restraint, even in moments of leisure. Through this subtle satire, Al Neami comments on the tension between personal freedom and societal rules, especially in a country where direct criticism of authority is often suppressed. 'Never Never Land' also reflects the changing dynamics within Al Neami's home region of Asir, where, historically, women had greater freedom and were seen as equals to men. She tells SceneNowSaudi how the region's traditions have evolved: 'Women in Asir didn't cover themselves in the past, but over time, that changed.' Her visits to local amusement parks in 2010 revealed a stark contrast between the present and the past. At first, boys and girls rode the same rides together, but gradually, segregation became the norm, and extra sheets and coverings were put up to shield women from view while they played. By 2017, the restrictions had grown even more severe, with black curtains placed around the bumper cars, making it impossible for anyone outside to see the women having fun. Al Neami's work captures this societal shift, where women are sometimes treated as if their very presence could cause disruption or chaos, even in spaces meant for joy and play. Through 'Never Never Land', she questions these evolving norms with quiet but powerful critique. Her installations and films don't just observe these changes—they participate in them. In 'Art is Not a Race', exhibited at Doha's Fire Station in Qatar in 2022 and 2023, a child model collapses on a long walking mat with the phrase 'Art is not a race' inscribed in Arabic. The installation critiques the pressures and competitive nature of the contemporary art scene, questioning whether the pursuit of recognition is undermining artistic integrity. It's a reminder that both life and art require patience and thought, and perhaps…waiting things out even when 'better days' seem impossible. One of Al Neami's most defining projects took place in 2014 within the Kingdom itself. 'A Piece of Paradise' saw her become the first woman ever granted permission to photograph the Prophet's Mosque in Madinah, capturing the intricate centuries-old calligraphy and the grandeur of the mosque's 177 domes. But this series is more than an architectural study; it reflects her contemplation on faith, beauty, and the desire to preserve cultural heritage across generations. For Al Neami, the project embodied both the physical and the spiritual aspects of her work, preserving not only the mosque's magnificent design but also the deep reverence it inspires in those who visit. Al Neami recalls the moment that inspired the project. 'When I entered the Haram for the first time, I looked up and saw the domes, each one so beautiful and unique. I asked, 'What is this? Who made them?' but there was no information.' Determined to document the mosque's overlooked architectural details, she took her phone and began photographing the domes, eventually presenting her idea to Prince Faisal. Her proposal was bold—to photograph each of the 177 domes of the Prophet's Mosque, a feat no one had attempted before. Despite challenges in securing permits and initial skepticism, Al Neami persisted. Officers expressed surprise at the sight of a camera inside the mosque, as such access had been unheard of. But her determination paid off, and the result was not just a remarkable visual archive but a historic milestone. 'A Piece of Paradise' disrupted traditional norms around access, opening doors not only for Al Neami but for other women in Saudi Arabia, making it a pivotal moment in both her career and the cultural landscape of the Kingdom. Al Neami's early success came despite the conservative social climate at the time, where being a Saudi woman pursuing contemporary art was met with skepticism, if not outright resistance. Her art isn't about offering easy answers—it's about sparking thought and reflection. As Saudi Arabia continues to undergo significant change, her work pushes viewers to question, laugh, and engage with the world around them. Through her social commentary, she has become an essential voice in Saudi contemporary art, well before the country began to embrace the arts as it does today. As Saudi Arabia continues to undergo significant cultural shifts, Al Neami is optimistic about the future of art in the Kingdom. "I'm so happy with where art is now in Saudi Arabia. It's a new chapter, and there is so much support. Art is the future," she says. Her upcoming projects will explore the Kingdom's relationship with the land, sea, and sky, focusing on the spiritual and human evolution happening within the country. "We are witnessing remarkable progress, and my current work is more philosophical and meditative," she explains. Her work continues to reflect the questions she's been asking since her youth—questions that are finally being answered as Saudi Arabia's artistic community grows and evolves.
CairoScene
23-05-2025
- Entertainment
- CairoScene
The Saudi Novelist Reimagining Regional History Through Sci-Fi
In the MENA region, as across the globe, 2025 feels like a defining juncture; an uncertain void where the lines between past, present, and future blur. As we navigate the complexities of the digital age, we find ourselves not only existing within this void but desperately seeking to make sense of it. The once fantastical elements of science fiction are no longer distant imaginings but have become interwoven with our reality as human voices and those generated by algorithms are becoming increasingly indistinguishable. What does this juncture mean for the Arabic science fiction genre? With the once unimaginable now woven into the fabric of everyday life, does sci-fi and speculative fiction lose its relevance, or does it take on a new significance? In regions like the Gulf, where AI breakthroughs dominate headlines and futurism is deeply embedded in societal discourse, science fiction is no longer a mere genre, it's an integral lens through which we understand our history and the possibilities that stand before us. Ashraf Fagih, a Saudi academic and novelist, has spent his life living between Saudi, North America and China and has spent much of his career exploring the intersection of science, history, and speculative fiction. Fagih holds a PhD in Computer Science and is one of very few prominent voices in Arabic science fiction. Fagih's literary journey began at the age of 20 with the publication of his first science fiction short story collection, 'The Ghosts' Hunter' (1997). He continued to explore speculative themes in subsequent collections like 'Longing to the Stars' (2000) and 'Over Twenty Lives' (2006). He then shifted from sci-fi to historical fiction. 'The Impaler' (2012) delves into the Eastern origins of the Dracula legend, focusing on Count Vlad Dracula's 15th-century struggle against the Ottomans. His most recent novel, 'The Portrait of the Void', explores the life of 13th-century Pisan mathematician Leonardo Fibonacci and the introduction of the Arabic numeral system to Europe. Fagih spoke to SceneNowSaudi about the evolving meaning of sci-fi and speculative fiction and its growing importance in the age of AI for the MENA region. Can you tell me about your background and how you found your way into writing Arabic Sci-Fi and speculative fiction? Fagih: Writing has always been a natural aspiration for me, as I was surrounded by books from a very young age. Both of my grandparents had extensive libraries, and they came from families deeply invested in education and learning. The act of writing has always fascinated me. I grew up in a time when ideological currents were strong. There was constant talk about the Islamic Ummah and the lost glory of our civilisation. We were encouraged to revive this past greatness. In some sense, this led me to think about what it meant to contribute to a kind of intellectual revival, and in a way, it steered my mind, like a processor, to the genre of science fiction. I was drawn to writing something different. Science fiction in Arabic was practically unheard of. I was inspired by films and, certainly, I was influenced by Nabil Farouk and Ra'ouf Wasfi's works. I started writing at 17 and had my first collection of short sci-fi stories published at age 20. For me, being interested in history and science come together. I studied computer science at university and also became interested in history because I thought that this would be the way to contribute to the nahda of my nation. Now, 30 years later, my passion for science fiction remains strong. I write not only out of personal interest but out of a sense of duty. The genre is still underdeveloped in Arabic literature - there are no Arabic masterpieces in science fiction yet, and this is something we need to address. Arabic science fiction has historically been far less prominent than its English-language counterpart. Why is that, and how is it changing in the digital age? What does it mean to write science fiction in Arabic? Fagih: Science fiction as a genre emerged in direct response to the Industrial Revolution in the West. It grappled with the upheavals that came with that era: class division, capitalism, Marxism. Even the word robot comes from the Czech robota, meaning forced labour. At that same historical moment, the Arab world was focused on something very different: fighting for independence from colonial powers. So while science fiction gained momentum in the West, it didn't take root in our region. Later, the two World Wars, essentially technological wars, strengthened the bond between humanity and machines, giving sci-fi another major boost. But again, the Arab world was focused on something different: fighting for independence from colonial powers. Then came the atomic age, the space race, and the philosophical shift away from religion towards science. These cultural and historical currents didn't affect our societies in the same way, or at the same scale. There's also the issue of language. The vocabulary of science fiction, words like microchip, warp drive, intergalactic empire, simply didn't exist as eloquently in Arabic. It made engaging with the genre more difficult, both as readers and writers. That challenge remains today, a lot of Arabic science fiction tends to mimic Western models, it hasn't quite found its own voice yet. Linguistically, Arabic hasn't always adapted easily to the demands of science fiction. And beyond that, there's a lack of clarity about what science fiction actually is. Some people even clumsily claim 'One Thousand and One Nights' is science fiction. I would love to see a great science fiction novel being nominated for Al-ja'iza al-arabiyya one day. In a world increasingly futuristic by virtue of AI, the realisation of things we used to see in dystopian movies and science fiction are now becoming our reality. Because of this, how does the genre differ and how does it become more important? Fagih: 30 years ago, science fiction was developing and defining itself, now it's more… factual, real. The big existential and philosophical questions traditionally explored through science fiction are becoming intertwined with our lived reality, particularly in countries like Saudi Arabia. Now, there's an urgent need to address these questions, and science fiction, with its rich metaphorical potential, is a perfect medium. From the works of Bradbury, Heinlein, and Shelley, science fiction has always served as a lens to explore life's complexities. The world grows more uncertain every year. Take 2020, for instance; the pandemic turned everything upside down. It was a vivid illustration of science fiction becoming reality. AI is making the genre more immediate, more tangible, as the line between fiction and reality blurs. As an art, science fiction has always been a celebration of the unimaginable and the unrealistic. The gap between imagination and reality is becoming narrower. As a result, current science fiction feels more relevant to our world, while the next wave will undoubtedly push the boundaries of imagination even further. This shift means the genre will only become more engaging, electrifying. A key theme spanning your works is the notion of 'void' and the questions that accompany it. In 2025, with the rise of AI and increasing geopolitical uncertainty, the notion of the 'void' seems even more urgent. How does science fiction enable you to explore this void, whether historical or futuristic? If we define the void as feelings of uncertainty related to ourselves and the world around us, then I believe that AI is there to expand that void, it will not fill it. We are befriending and falling in love with mere algorithms. I see my children interacting with AI accounts in a way that is both vivid and unsettling. In my latest novel 'The Portrait of the Void', I use the concept of the zero as a symbol of the void. It represents not only the history of the number zero but also the inner emptiness of someone like Leonardo Fibonacci. I questioned whether he belonged more to the Arab world or to 13th century Italy - was he more connected to Christians or Muslims? I used the void metaphorically to explore his mental state as he grappled with his identity and culture. As for science fiction in the age of AI, I don't think it will close the gap or fill the void. If anything, it will only remind us of how disconnected we've become due to technology. We may be alive, but we're not truly living unless we actively think. We don't engage in deep discussions anymore, we don't argue, we simply ask AI and accept its answers. If we don't like the response, we just train it to speak in the style we prefer. What will be the consequence of this? I think we'll end up with an emotionless generation. This would make for an intriguing character in any fictional plot. Science fiction allows us to explore this void, this moment in time, and imagine various scenarios, picking and choosing the paths that could unfold. Ultimately, science fiction is the art of speculating about the future, but it's also about reflecting on the present and the histories that have been forgotten. We need to speculate about what lies ahead. Science fiction serves as a warning, offering us an opportunity to prepare and to stay vigilant. There's a common misconception that science fiction is solely restricted to imagining future scenarios. However, your works often explore gaps and voids in history, blending fantasy with scientific elements and imagination. Can you talk a bit about the connection between history, imagination, and sci-fi? Fagih: I write both science fiction and historical fantasy, genres that often intersect and are, in many ways, interdependent. They allow me to engage with history, to record it and explore it from a speculative angle. Both genres serve not only as a form of education but as an invitation to think critically. They offer the opportunity to immerse oneself in a particular time period, whether real or imagined, and ponder what life could have been like at that moment in history. At the core of my novels is the act of filling gaps, the voids of forgotten histories that were never recorded, marginally addressed or that remain lost to time. What about the events that might have happened but were never written down? The endless possibilities of "What could have been"? As a writer, my role is to sift through these possibilities, follow the threads of these untold stories, and build a human experience around them. Science fiction and historical fiction hinge on speculation, on imagining the "could haves" and the "would bes." Imagination is the key that fills these gaps. As Arabs, we live in a unique contradiction. We have a profound connection to our past, yet the future is a space of intense focus, especially when it comes to 'futurism'. We are deeply tied to history, yet we yearn to look forward, with heavily uncertain presents. This tension shapes much of my work. At the end of the day, history is man-made. It's a narrative that has been written, shaped, and adopted by someone, often for specific political or ideological reasons. Speculation, whether through science fiction or historical fiction, allows us to dissect the common narrative, to pull it apart and question the dominant narrative voice. It's about highlighting the overlooked characters, the anti-heroes who have been neglected in favor of the champions. Personally, I find the champions less interesting. Contrary to the common view that history is a series of scattered, disconnected events, everything is interconnected. This is the foundation of science fiction: exploring the missing links, the things that were never fully understood or recognised. That's what excites me about the genre, its potential to open doors to new possibilities. Take my latest novel 'The Portrait of the Void', for instance. It revolves around the concept of zero, its philosophical origins and mathematical interpretation. The question of who first discovered zero has always intrigued me. Was it the Indians, the Arabs, or someone else entirely? It struck me one day that it was Fibonacci who brought it to Europe's attention. He was a mathematician who became quite established in the later discipline of computer science. I used to give lectures about algorithms attributed to him. Finding out that this man spent time in Northern Africa and learned Arabic assured me that he was responsible almost solely for introducing the notion of the Arabic numeral zero to Europe. These are the types of "missing links" that fascinate me. I love to explore them, to speculate on the untold stories that could reshape our understanding of history, science, and culture. Similarly, my previous novel, 'The Impaler', was driven by a similar fascination. Everyone knows the myth of Vlad Dracula, but I was intrigued by the fact that he was raised alongside Mohammed the Conqueror, another towering historical figure. The idea that these two arch-enemies once shared a space, that they clashed in such dramatic circumstances, this was another "wow" moment for me. I'm always searching for these unusual intersections in history, where two extraordinary figures might have crossed paths in unexpected ways. It's those twists that I'm eager to unravel and explore. In a society increasingly obsessed with the future and propelling itself towards it at full speed, what is the importance of looking back to the voids in history and filling in silences for the future? How is looking back key to the way we look forward? Fagih: Before we race ahead, full steam, it's crucial to realise that we aren't discovering anything fundamentally new in ourselves; we're simply echoing the lessons of the past. Our predecessors have likely already tried and done everything. We need to learn the importance of learning from the past rather than simply inventing. History, speculation, and science fiction are essential in humbling us. Before marching into the future and attempting the unprecedented, we must first look back. Yes, people didn't reach the moon before 1969, but let's not confuse technological advancement which is, by definition, new, with the human experience on this Earth. It's vital to preserve our humanity and remember, and learn from, our predecessors. The blunt notion of black and white just doesn't exist. History is grey all over. It's science fiction and imagination that help us grapple with this greyness. They make us pause, look back, and reflect before we move ahead at full speed. Imagination is often perceived as being under threat in the digital age, particularly with AI automating creativity. There's this growing belief that we no longer need imagination when AI can think for us. How do you see the role of imagination evolving today, and what role do you think AI will play in this shift? Fagih: Since the genre emerged, sci-fi writers have become the philosophers of the new age. We're pushing the boundaries between imagination and reality. Certain ideas are so unsettling that they almost become unbearable to write about, and confronting the questions they provoke can feel impossible. Consider the idea of a loved one who has passed away - imagine that their entire consciousness could be digitised and preserved. What happens when we plant AI, when we inject digital imagination into a human brain? Each word in that sentence triggers profound questions about consciousness, thought, and what it means to be alive. The very notion of life is shifting. Our understanding of consciousness is being redefined. Death, too, seems to be losing its finality, and the concept of humanity itself is dissolving. In this new world, all living creatures, as we know them, may be rendered obsolete. But these new creations, AI, may outlast us, provided their batteries keep running. Our existence is becoming increasingly digitised. This is why imagination, and by extension, science fiction, are more vital than ever. These genres force us to confront the big questions that technology often tries to suppress. They are essential in restoring consciousness, even as it becomes increasingly muffled. Imagination and sci-fi provoke difficult questions and continually generate different possible answers. They equip us with the tools to navigate and understand our rapidly changing reality. As we begin to accept AI's answers without question, there will come a point when our own minds become disabled by this convenience. It's the role of imagination and science fiction to sound the alarm.
