Al Jazeera World

Filmmaker: Bashar Ghannam

Weddings are a cause for celebration everywhere in the world. For Palestinians, they can be a way of keeping their valuable traditions alive and helping to deal with life under Israeli occupation. But for the women in this film, that day may never come because their fiances are serving life sentences in Israeli jails.

"The positive side of being in prison is that it helped us become closer," says Ahlam Ahmed al-Tamimi, a former prisoner who was engaged to her cousin Nizar al-Tamimi in 2005 while they were both serving life sentences. They eventually married after being released during the Gilad Shalit prisoner exchange in 2011. But at the time, Ahlam describes how their very relationship was a symbol of resistance.

"I resisted the occupation with my love and my engagement to this prisoner. Through the engagement, the prisoner tells the occupier that his life continues," says Ahlam.

Ahlam al-Tamimi served eight years of a life sentence for her role in a bombing in 2001 that killed 15 people and wounded 130. She got engaged to her cousin, Nizar, while he too was serving a life sentence, for killing an Israeli settler in the occupied West Bank. The US now wants to extradite Ahlam from Jordan, where she now lives, because US citizens were killed in the 2001 bombing; and she is on an FBI 'most-wanted' list.

The two other women, Ghufran al-Zamal and Amna al-Jayousi, have more complex stories - and little chance of a similar outcome, yet they remain hopeful.

Amna was already legally married to Ahmed al-Jayoussi who was arrested for helping manufacture suicide belts, a week before their planned wedding ceremony in 2002. But despite pressure from her extended family to abandon Ahmed in prison, Amna's commitment to him is unwavering, even after 17 years.

"I booked an 'afterlife husband', a husband for life and for afterlife....Ahmed and I are not just a couple. We are one soul in two bodies," she says.

Ghufran, on the other hand, had never even met Hassan Salameh when she proposed marriage to him. He was in prison, serving 48 life sentences for his part in fatal attacks in Jerusalem in 1996. But inspired by Ahlam and Nizar's experience, she initiated the connection with Hassan through Ahlam. "It was difficult for me as a woman to take the first step, to discuss this subject and break social taboos by proposing to a man," she explains.

Ghufran was familiar with Hassan's case and in her letters she says, "As he considered his sentence part of a sacrifice, I said I wanted to share it with him and asked him not to deny me this happiness...I wrote that I would share his suffering, his pain and his life."

Initially, Hassan refused to allow Ghufran to get mixed up in his life and imprisonment - but he later agreed when Ahlam convinced him that "engagement would be a beam of light in a dark place."

While sometimes letters can take up to a year to arrive, Ghufran and Hassan have created their own world which she says transcends time and space: "We challenged our circumstances and, for us, prison didn't exit...we planned for our future life and thought about everything. We defied this reality," contends Ghufran.

"The prison management make fun of prisoners' engagement," explains Ahlam...or "prevent the detainee from getting the letter...Sometimes the security agent would tell me, 'your fiance fainted while in hunger strike' or that they beat him until bleeding, and it's all fake news."

"The purpose is to keep us under constant stress," she adds.

According to the Jerusalem-based human rights organisation B'tselem, in February 2019, there were over 5,000 Palestinians languishing in Israeli prisons. The idea of women committing to men in prison with long sentences is a little-known aspect of the Palestinian-Israeli conflict, as well as an intensely personal and complex one.

Regardless of what the men may have done to be handed their multiple life sentences, Ahlam, Ghofran and Amna's unrelenting loyalty to them is inseparable from their desire for a Palestinian homeland, the personal and the political completely intertwined.

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Morocco, like much of North Africa, has often been portrayed in the West as mysterious and exotic, a land of belly dancers, enticement and Arab enchantment. This outmoded stereotype is firmly laid to rest by the country's burgeoning combat sports scene.

In Casablanca Fight Club, the regional qualifying stage of the Moroccan amateur boxing championships is just weeks away and the young boxers at the Bateha club are training for the biggest fights of their lives. It's here that a 75-year-old parking attendant and former Moroccan featherweight champion, Saleh Rouman, mentors fresh young boxing talent.

"There are kids without any education or trade," explains Saleh, Bateha boxing club's head coach. "I save them from the street and encourage them to be productive. I point them in the right direction, but in the end it's up to them. I do my best with them."

Saleh founded Bateha in 1979 and his honours board boasts national champions. He gets a government subsidy for rent and electricity but has to fund the rest from his day job, devoting all his free time to nurturing young boxers in the modest Derb Ghallef area of town.

His club was the first in Casablanca to admit female fighters and Sanaa Akeel was a four-time national champion.

While Saleh's always on the lookout for talent from the outside, most of his members are from Derb Ghallef and nearby areas. Morocco has produced several combat sport champions, including kick-boxer Badar Hari and boxer Mohammed Rabii. Rabii won world super-welterweight gold in Doha and Olympic bronze in Rio.

Weight is as important to a boxer as for a jockey in horse racing. And with the qualifying stages for the national championships around the corner, everyone at Bateha needs to be the right weight for their class. That's a problem for 19-year-old Omaima Haji who currently weighs 71.6 but needs to be under 69 kilos to qualify as a welterweight. She doesn't want to fight heavier, middleweight girls, fearing she may be outclassed.

"I gained four kilos from January to April," explains Oumaima. "I registered in the 69 kilo class, but my weight now is 75. Uncle Saleh advised me to register as a middleweight but I refused."

Fifteen-year-old Marwan Keroual has the opposite problem. He's never yet had a competitive fight but time is running out and he's still too light to compete as a junior pinweight. He's also performing poorly at school, putting extra parental pressure on him to balance study with training.

"All my attention is on this fight. I have to win," says Marwan, who's determined to prove himself. "I want to improve my life through boxing and be a champion like Rabii."

Will Marwan win his first fight? And will Oumaima Haji even make the weight? Casablanca Fight Club follows the trials and tribulations of the build up to the big day, and the blood, sweat and tears in the ring, in this compelling "life-in-the-raw" story of passionate young fighters and their inspiring, gnarled old coach.

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Morocco, like much of North Africa, has often been portrayed in the West as mysterious and exotic, a land of belly dancers, enticement and Arab enchantment. This outmoded stereotype is firmly laid to rest by the country's burgeoning combat sports scene.

In Casablanca Fight Club, the regional qualifying stage of the Moroccan amateur boxing championships is just weeks away and the young boxers at the Bateha club are training for the biggest fights of their lives. It's here that a 75-year-old parking attendant and former Moroccan featherweight champion, Saleh Rouman, mentors fresh young boxing talent.

"There are kids without any education or trade," explains Saleh, Bateha boxing club's head coach. "I save them from the street and encourage them to be productive. I point them in the right direction, but in the end it's up to them. I do my best with them."

Saleh founded Bateha in 1979 and his honours board boasts national champions. He gets a government subsidy for rent and electricity but has to fund the rest from his day job, devoting all his free time to nurturing young boxers in the modest Derb Ghallef area of town.

His club was the first in Casablanca to admit female fighters and Sanaa Akeel was a four-time national champion.

While Saleh's always on the lookout for talent from the outside, most of his members are from Derb Ghallef and nearby areas. Morocco has produced several combat sport champions, including kick-boxer Badar Hari and boxer Mohammed Rabii. Rabii won world super-welterweight gold in Doha and Olympic bronze in Rio.

Weight is as important to a boxer as for a jockey in horse racing. And with the qualifying stages for the national championships around the corner, everyone at Bateha needs to be the right weight for their class. That's a problem for 19-year-old Omaima Haji who currently weighs 71.6 but needs to be under 69 kilos to qualify as a welterweight. She doesn't want to fight heavier, middleweight girls, fearing she may be outclassed.

"I gained four kilos from January to April," explains Oumaima. "I registered in the 69 kilo class, but my weight now is 75. Uncle Saleh advised me to register as a middleweight but I refused."

Fifteen-year-old Marwan Keroual has the opposite problem. He's never yet had a competitive fight but time is running out and he's still too light to compete as a junior pinweight. He's also performing poorly at school, putting extra parental pressure on him to balance study with training.

"All my attention is on this fight. I have to win," says Marwan, who's determined to prove himself. "I want to improve my life through boxing and be a champion like Rabii."

Will Marwan win his first fight? And will Oumaima Haji even make the weight? Casablanca Fight Club follows the trials and tribulations of the build up to the big day, and the blood, sweat and tears in the ring, in this compelling "life-in-the-raw" story of passionate young fighters and their inspiring, gnarled old coach.

- Subscribe to our channel: http://aje.io/AJSubscribe

- Follow us on Twitter: https://twitter.com/AJEnglish

- Find us on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/aljazeera

- Check our website: https://www.aljazeera.com/

Morocco, like much of North Africa, has often been portrayed in the West as mysterious and exotic, a land of belly dancers, enticement and Arab enchantment. This outmoded stereotype is firmly laid to rest by the country's burgeoning combat sports scene.

In Casablanca Fight Club, the regional qualifying stage of the Moroccan amateur boxing championships is just weeks away and the young boxers at the Bateha club are training for the biggest fights of their lives. It's here that a 75-year-old parking attendant and former Moroccan featherweight champion, Saleh Rouman, mentors fresh young boxing talent.

"There are kids without any education or trade," explains Saleh, Bateha boxing club's head coach. "I save them from the street and encourage them to be productive. I point them in the right direction, but in the end it's up to them. I do my best with them."

Saleh founded Bateha in 1979 and his honours board boasts national champions. He gets a government subsidy for rent and electricity but has to fund the rest from his day job, devoting all his free time to nurturing young boxers in the modest Derb Ghallef area of town.

His club was the first in Casablanca to admit female fighters and Sanaa Akeel was a four-time national champion.

While Saleh's always on the lookout for talent from the outside, most of his members are from Derb Ghallef and nearby areas. Morocco has produced several combat sport champions, including kick-boxer Badar Hari and boxer Mohammed Rabii. Rabii won world super-welterweight gold in Doha and Olympic bronze in Rio.

Weight is as important to a boxer as for a jockey in horse racing. And with the qualifying stages for the national championships around the corner, everyone at Bateha needs to be the right weight for their class. That's a problem for 19-year-old Omaima Haji who currently weighs 71.6 but needs to be under 69 kilos to qualify as a welterweight. She doesn't want to fight heavier, middleweight girls, fearing she may be outclassed.

"I gained four kilos from January to April," explains Oumaima. "I registered in the 69 kilo class, but my weight now is 75. Uncle Saleh advised me to register as a middleweight but I refused."

Fifteen-year-old Marwan Keroual has the opposite problem. He's never yet had a competitive fight but time is running out and he's still too light to compete as a junior pinweight. He's also performing poorly at school, putting extra parental pressure on him to balance study with training.

"All my attention is on this fight. I have to win," says Marwan, who's determined to prove himself. "I want to improve my life through boxing and be a champion like Rabii."

Will Marwan win his first fight? And will Oumaima Haji even make the weight? Casablanca Fight Club follows the trials and tribulations of the build up to the big day, and the blood, sweat and tears in the ring, in this compelling "life-in-the-raw" story of passionate young fighters and their inspiring, gnarled old coach.

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- Follow us on Twitter: https://twitter.com/AJEnglish

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Filmmaker: Mohamed Kenawi

As long as there is war, poverty and insecurity in Africa and the Middle East, migrants and refugees will try and seek a better life in Europe. For many years now, Italy has been one of the principal destinations for many and that has included the dangerous sea crossing over the Mediterranean.

Egyptian refugee Mostafa Hassan was lucky to arrive in Rome at all in 2015, as one of only 27 survivors of the biggest Mediterranean disasters since World War II. He recalls one frightful day on an overloaded boat, its sinking and subsequent drowning - a regular occurrence in the Mediterranean in recent years.

"At night, we all went to sleep. When I woke up in the morning the boat was unstable. Everyone was scared. Then it started to lean to one side. There were a lot of us and it was overloaded," he says.

"People started to fall into the water. I saw bodies floating on the water before I jumped in ... I pushed the bodies away so I could swim. The boat sank. I swam until help arrived. They rescued survivors but the dead remained in the water. I don't know what happened to them."

According to UN figures, immigration to Europe is falling year-on-year. But by the first week of April 2019, there had still been 12,350 arrivals into Europe by sea, with 289 fatalities.

One in six refugees arriving in Italy is now aged under 18. Under-aged migrants - or minors - like Mostafa who was 17 at the time, are taken to reception centres where they're looked after by people like Eraldo Andi.

Andi runs a primary reception centre for minors and provides support, education and shelter.

"I don't just feel responsible for them at the centre. I usually help them after they leave. So I study teenage immigration. I contact experts in minors' issues hoping to know more about the dangers and problems they face and the best solutions," says Andi, who's become a guardian angel for refugees.

Unfortunately, state support ends when these young people turn 18 and are left to fend for themselves on the street.

"When I turned 18, I only had my bag and didn't know where to go. I didn't have a job, home, money or anything. I took my papers from the centre, packed my clothes and called a friend," says Mostafa.

Only 10 percent of young people like Mostafa eventually settle legally in Italy. The authorities lose track of the rest, as they move on to northern Europe or disappear into the margins of society where a world of illegal activity can await them.

"The big problem is that the economic situation here is constantly deteriorating," says Andi. "Unemployment is high and many Italian families live in poverty. If Italians don't have jobs, foreigners won't either."

In addition to the financial, language, housing and social challenges migrants face, they also struggle with isolation which can lead to psychological distress.

"I think their poor social status causes them psychological problems," explains psychotherapist Carmela Palazzo. "Instead of being happy to turn 18 they get desperate because they know they'll end up on the streets."

That can result in a mental breakdown, such as the one Mostafa witnessed with his twin brother Mahmoud.

"He used to think a lot, not sleep enough and this made him unstable. I'd talk to him about something but he'd talk about something else," says Mostafa. "He'd get nervous and scream. He was in hospital for six months. He still has treatment but has left hospital now. The Italian government will pay for his treatment until he's 21. They always follow up with him."

Despite his hardships, he remains hopeful about the future, "I wish I could work, make some money and buy a house in Egypt for me and my brother. I want him to get married and secure his future. I want to build my future as well."

More from Al Jazeera World on:

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- Check our website: https://www.aljazeera.com/

Filmmaker: Mohamed Kenawi

As long as there is war, poverty and insecurity in Africa and the Middle East, migrants and refugees will try and seek a better life in Europe. For many years now, Italy has been one of the principal destinations for many and that has included the dangerous sea crossing over the Mediterranean.

Egyptian refugee Mostafa Hassan was lucky to arrive in Rome at all in 2015, as one of only 27 survivors of the biggest Mediterranean disasters since World War II. He recalls one frightful day on an overloaded boat, its sinking and subsequent drowning - a regular occurrence in the Mediterranean in recent years.

"At night, we all went to sleep. When I woke up in the morning the boat was unstable. Everyone was scared. Then it started to lean to one side. There were a lot of us and it was overloaded," he says.

"People started to fall into the water. I saw bodies floating on the water before I jumped in ... I pushed the bodies away so I could swim. The boat sank. I swam until help arrived. They rescued survivors but the dead remained in the water. I don't know what happened to them."

According to UN figures, immigration to Europe is falling year-on-year. But by the first week of April 2019, there had still been 12,350 arrivals into Europe by sea, with 289 fatalities.

One in six refugees arriving in Italy is now aged under 18. Under-aged migrants - or minors - like Mostafa who was 17 at the time, are taken to reception centres where they're looked after by people like Eraldo Andi.

Andi runs a primary reception centre for minors and provides support, education and shelter.

"I don't just feel responsible for them at the centre. I usually help them after they leave. So I study teenage immigration. I contact experts in minors' issues hoping to know more about the dangers and problems they face and the best solutions," says Andi, who's become a guardian angel for refugees.

Unfortunately, state support ends when these young people turn 18 and are left to fend for themselves on the street.

"When I turned 18, I only had my bag and didn't know where to go. I didn't have a job, home, money or anything. I took my papers from the centre, packed my clothes and called a friend," says Mostafa.

Only 10 percent of young people like Mostafa eventually settle legally in Italy. The authorities lose track of the rest, as they move on to northern Europe or disappear into the margins of society where a world of illegal activity can await them.

"The big problem is that the economic situation here is constantly deteriorating," says Andi. "Unemployment is high and many Italian families live in poverty. If Italians don't have jobs, foreigners won't either."

In addition to the financial, language, housing and social challenges migrants face, they also struggle with isolation which can lead to psychological distress.

"I think their poor social status causes them psychological problems," explains psychotherapist Carmela Palazzo. "Instead of being happy to turn 18 they get desperate because they know they'll end up on the streets."

That can result in a mental breakdown, such as the one Mostafa witnessed with his twin brother Mahmoud.

"He used to think a lot, not sleep enough and this made him unstable. I'd talk to him about something but he'd talk about something else," says Mostafa. "He'd get nervous and scream. He was in hospital for six months. He still has treatment but has left hospital now. The Italian government will pay for his treatment until he's 21. They always follow up with him."

Despite his hardships, he remains hopeful about the future, "I wish I could work, make some money and buy a house in Egypt for me and my brother. I want him to get married and secure his future. I want to build my future as well."

More from Al Jazeera World on:

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Twitter - https://twitter.com/AlJazeera_World

Visit our website - http://www.aljazeera.com/aljazeeraworld

Subscribe to AJE on YouTube - http://aje.io/YTsubscribe

- Subscribe to our channel: http://aje.io/AJSubscribe

- Follow us on Twitter: https://twitter.com/AJEnglish

- Find us on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/aljazeera

- Check our website: https://www.aljazeera.com/

Filmmaker: Mohamed Kenawi

As long as there is war, poverty and insecurity in Africa and the Middle East, migrants and refugees will try and seek a better life in Europe. For many years now, Italy has been one of the principal destinations for many and that has included the dangerous sea crossing over the Mediterranean.

Egyptian refugee Mostafa Hassan was lucky to arrive in Rome at all in 2015, as one of only 27 survivors of the biggest Mediterranean disasters since World War II. He recalls one frightful day on an overloaded boat, its sinking and subsequent drowning - a regular occurrence in the Mediterranean in recent years.

"At night, we all went to sleep. When I woke up in the morning the boat was unstable. Everyone was scared. Then it started to lean to one side. There were a lot of us and it was overloaded," he says.

"People started to fall into the water. I saw bodies floating on the water before I jumped in ... I pushed the bodies away so I could swim. The boat sank. I swam until help arrived. They rescued survivors but the dead remained in the water. I don't know what happened to them."

According to UN figures, immigration to Europe is falling year-on-year. But by the first week of April 2019, there had still been 12,350 arrivals into Europe by sea, with 289 fatalities.

One in six refugees arriving in Italy is now aged under 18. Under-aged migrants - or minors - like Mostafa who was 17 at the time, are taken to reception centres where they're looked after by people like Eraldo Andi.

Andi runs a primary reception centre for minors and provides support, education and shelter.

"I don't just feel responsible for them at the centre. I usually help them after they leave. So I study teenage immigration. I contact experts in minors' issues hoping to know more about the dangers and problems they face and the best solutions," says Andi, who's become a guardian angel for refugees.

Unfortunately, state support ends when these young people turn 18 and are left to fend for themselves on the street.

"When I turned 18, I only had my bag and didn't know where to go. I didn't have a job, home, money or anything. I took my papers from the centre, packed my clothes and called a friend," says Mostafa.

Only 10 percent of young people like Mostafa eventually settle legally in Italy. The authorities lose track of the rest, as they move on to northern Europe or disappear into the margins of society where a world of illegal activity can await them.

"The big problem is that the economic situation here is constantly deteriorating," says Andi. "Unemployment is high and many Italian families live in poverty. If Italians don't have jobs, foreigners won't either."

In addition to the financial, language, housing and social challenges migrants face, they also struggle with isolation which can lead to psychological distress.

"I think their poor social status causes them psychological problems," explains psychotherapist Carmela Palazzo. "Instead of being happy to turn 18 they get desperate because they know they'll end up on the streets."

That can result in a mental breakdown, such as the one Mostafa witnessed with his twin brother Mahmoud.

"He used to think a lot, not sleep enough and this made him unstable. I'd talk to him about something but he'd talk about something else," says Mostafa. "He'd get nervous and scream. He was in hospital for six months. He still has treatment but has left hospital now. The Italian government will pay for his treatment until he's 21. They always follow up with him."

Despite his hardships, he remains hopeful about the future, "I wish I could work, make some money and buy a house in Egypt for me and my brother. I want him to get married and secure his future. I want to build my future as well."

More from Al Jazeera World on:

YouTube - http://aje.io/aljazeeraworldYT

Facebook - https://www.facebook.com/AlJazeeraWorld

Twitter - https://twitter.com/AlJazeera_World

Visit our website - http://www.aljazeera.com/aljazeeraworld

Subscribe to AJE on YouTube - http://aje.io/YTsubscribe

- Subscribe to our channel: http://aje.io/AJSubscribe

- Follow us on Twitter: https://twitter.com/AJEnglish

- Find us on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/aljazeera

- Check our website: https://www.aljazeera.com/

Alphonse Etienne Dinet was a French artist from a wealthy background in 19th-century Paris who painted in what was called the Orientalist style, normally a Western view of the Middle East and North Africa which stereotyped its people as "wild" and "exotic".

Edward Said's 1978 book, Orientalism, caused critics and historians to re-appraise their view of this style, as Said argued it represented a patronising, colonial attitude towards the life, culture and people of the Middle East.

But unlike most Orientalist painters, Dinet travelled frequently to North Africa, and his work, far from being colonial in outlook, came to be seen as a true and sympathetic depiction of life in the Arab world.

Since Dinet's death nine decades ago, his distinctive paintings have graced museums, art galleries and collections all over the world.

Alphonse Etienne Dinet was a French artist from a wealthy background in 19th-century Paris who painted in what was called the Orientalist style, normally a Western view of the Middle East and North Africa which stereotyped its people as "wild" and "exotic".

Edward Said's 1978 book, Orientalism, caused critics and historians to re-appraise their view of this style, as Said argued it represented a patronising, colonial attitude towards the life, culture and people of the Middle East.

But unlike most Orientalist painters, Dinet travelled frequently to North Africa, and his work, far from being colonial in outlook, came to be seen as a true and sympathetic depiction of life in the Arab world.

Since Dinet's death nine decades ago, his distinctive paintings have graced museums, art galleries and collections all over the world.

Alphonse Etienne Dinet was a French artist from a wealthy background in 19th-century Paris who painted in what was called the Orientalist style, normally a Western view of the Middle East and North Africa which stereotyped its people as "wild" and "exotic".

Edward Said's 1978 book, Orientalism, caused critics and historians to re-appraise their view of this style, as Said argued it represented a patronising, colonial attitude towards the life, culture and people of the Middle East.

But unlike most Orientalist painters, Dinet travelled frequently to North Africa, and his work, far from being colonial in outlook, came to be seen as a true and sympathetic depiction of life in the Arab world.

Since Dinet's death nine decades ago, his distinctive paintings have graced museums, art galleries and collections all over the world.