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Nadia Amin as Wahab with Ghalia Benali, Dima Orsho and Bernadeta Astari | Credit: Bart Grietens

Oum was a moment to ask what Eastern traditions could bring to the world of opera. To experience Bushra El Turk and Kenza Koutchoukali’s opera Oum: A Son’s Quest for his Mother was to open up to something different. In a collaboration with the Amsterdam Andalusisch Orkest, and Meervaart, the sound was immediately a different sense of pitch, rhythm and atmosphere. The creatives smoked the boundaries between voice and story, using English spoken word and Arabic song. The opera holds the music and artistry of Egyptian singer Oum Kalthoum at its core, with her music embodying much of his memories of home.

Actress Nadia Amin played the role of 19-year-old Wahab – a young boy searching for his identity and coming to terms with his complex relationship with his mother. In the script by Wajdi Mouawad, raw reflections and visions of the mother-son relationship stood out, masterfully acted by Amin. Strong moments in the libretto cried out to those of us who have experienced complexity in our relationships, such as ‘when I cried, I held my breath so she wouldn’t know’ and ‘you are no longer the mistress of my life’.

The monologue is spectated by three singers, who move periodically – sometimes on moving blocks, and other times to interact with Wahab physically. Whether they represent the ghost of his mother, the singer Oum Kalthoum or maternal memories of childhood isn’t entirely clear. The singing from the three is moving, through sometimes feel unconnected to the drama. Ghalia Benali, dressed in orange satin, held the stage with her hypnotic voice. Dima Orsho, and Bernadeta Astari brought beautiful texture, though were rarely allowed to shine.

Ghalia Benali, Dima Orsho and Bernadeta Astari | Credit: Bart Grietens

As the story unfolded, the pace of the drama increased with Wahab moving from bus to hospital to see his dying mother. It felt important to keep the Amsterdam Andalusisch Orkest on stage alongside the proceedings, though it did somewhat limit the variation of set. Still, the use of moveable waiting room chairs and a small table gave greater focus to Amin’s story. The back of the stage saw a hung drape, which opened out as the story progressed. Traumatic memories of war are explored, with troubling smoke, sounds of crackling fire and eery use of lighting colour.

El Turk’s score was a cinematic masterpiece, perfectly weaving its way through Wahab’s complex emotions. The orchestration’s colour, including the nagging drone of an accordion and distinct twang of the Qanun transported us into the shades of Wahab’s world. El Turk interpreted the libretto using the accordian for moments of tension, the Duduk and flute instruments for space and reflection.

There was a distinctive absense in the heirarchy of instruments and singers – and it was often magically blurry as to who was singing when. A tape recorded voice of Oum Kaltoum also appeared amongst the action, forcing us to scan each of the singers’ faces to assess whether the voice was in the room. Amin’s acting had a musical quality that I often wondered if she would spontaneously burst into song.

The opera’s end saw Benali take centre stage with an outpouring of song that felt strangely jarring after the poignant storytelling, but nonetheless forced us to consider the musical icon of Oum Kaltoum and her impact on memory, love and connection for so many in the Arabic world.