is a multinational and multifaceted director and storyteller of Palestinian descent, whose work explores themes such as memory, identity, and the sense of belonging.
Based in Washington, DC, she has worked with the Associated Press and as a Goldman Sachs Film and Video Fellow at the Smithsonian’s National Museum of American History. She has also led the Regional Training Department at the Royal Film Commission in Jordan, and currently heads the programming department at the (AIFF).
Recently, Areeb celebrated the world premieres of two new works almost simultaneously: , a short fiction featured in the short competition at the , which follows a female protagonist embarking on a long journey to reunite with her ill grandmother; and her debut documentary feature, , which explores Gaza’s devastated landscape by showcasing both parkour sites and symbols of the Palestinian spirit, offering a final glimpse of pre-October 7th Gaza.
Zooming in on Yalla Parkour, the protagonist of the documentary, , longs to break free from his beloved but claustrophobic homeland of Gaza, where there are no promises for the future, while Areeb, born in the West Bank’s city of Nablus and currently observing from afar, yearns to return — mirroring emotions that complement each other in a confessional mode. As Ahmed eventually manages to leave for Sweden to participate in a parkour tournament, his journey of self-discovery begins to run parallel to Areeb’s own path, and they ultimately meet — both physically and spiritually.
Yalla Parkour, part of the , had its .
In an interview with °®Âţµş, director Areeb discussed the events and emotions explored in the documentary.
Reviving memories
Talking first about the opening scene, Areeb explains that it reflects a pivotal moment from her childhood, when she was just four years old, walking along the beach with her mother in Gaza.
Areeb tells °®Âţµş that her connection to Gaza is personal and an important part of who she is. She remembers spending summers there as a child, which was very different from her life in Saudi Arabia, where her family moved when she was young.
“Gaza was like paradise compared to Saudi back then,” she begins. “I never felt I belonged where we lived in Saudi Arabia.”
As Areeb articulates her longing for home, she finds comfort in the memories of her mother. “My mum really gave that to me,” she says. “Whenever we went back to Palestine, everybody knew who I was. Everybody knew who my mum was,” she explains, describing the sense of familiarity and belonging she felt in Gaza.
For years, Areeb's memories lingered, haunting her thoughts as she sought to recreate those exact childhood moments with her mother, constantly returning to them as if searching for her roots.
“Actually, I wanted to start with this because it was really impactful for me,” Areeb explains.
“I am always visiting that moment,” Areeb continues. “Then I came across a video of parkour players, and one of them reminded me of my mum's smile — a smile which is more of a metaphor for belonging.”
Areeb adds, “I was following the news and saw them jumping in front of bombings. It was fascinating for me to see this guy smiling, and I immediately wanted to connect with the parkour team.”
Determined to collaborate with them, Areeb reached out on social media. Her initial contact quickly led to a strong relationship with Ahmed, a key member of the team, who began sending her videos of their daring feats set against the backdrop of a war-torn city.
Watching these videos, Areeb says the parkour athletes’ daring stunts serves as a form of rebellion against the constraints of their environment. “They’re practicing freedom, no matter what the cost is. The contrast between that sport and the city where they live, with narrowing limits and borders — it’s like they are challenging all of these walls surrounding them.”
What it means to be Palestinian
While watching the documentary, there are several moments for reflection, particularly on what it means to be Palestinian. In the documentary, it seems that for a Palestinian, it is either the feeling of being trapped, as in Ahmed’s case, or the feeling of nostalgia when being away and longing to return, as in Areeb’s case.
When asked about the nuances between these two feelings, Areeb elaborates: “There are many answers to this question. What connects Ahmed and me is that we are both Palestinian. For me, we are one community, which is what connects me to him, even if I’m halfway across the world.”
Areeb adds that she strongly relates to Ahmed's feelings of hopelessness in Gaza, especially after she gradually came to understand what it feels like to be an outsider.
“No, it's not possible,” she says firmly when asked about the possibility of a definite return to Gaza. “Ahmed feels locked inside the city, and that's the main reason he wants to leave.”
Duality of experiences
Beyond reflecting on what it means to be Palestinian, the documentary also offers an opportunity to reflect on the duality of experiences, such as Ahmed's, who feels both geographically and politically trapped.
“We became so close, but I have no access to where they are,” Areeb explains, continuing, “If he could live in Gaza while having access to the outside world, it would be easier.”
In saying this, Areeb considers the weight of financial restrictions, the constraints of politics, and the profound impact of identity on their lives.
Yet, amidst the despair, Areeb recognises the nuances of freedom expressed through Ahmed’s and his mates’ passion for parkour and the extreme risks taken in that sport.
“You know, as time passed by and me spending time with the footage, they’re sending me and seeing what they're doing… maybe they don't care,” she contemplates. “It's this freedom that has no limits.”
Unique storytelling
While piecing together her documentary, Areeb admits to °®Âţµş that she used a unique storytelling technique. “There was a lot to go through regarding how I got in touch with the group,” she explains, acknowledging the gaps in her narrative. “We thought it would be better to present it in a more elliptical way, with jump cuts.”
According to Areeb, this approach allowed her to capture the disjointed nature of memory and the complexities of identity.
Continuing further on the documentary’s storytelling technique, Areeb says, “From the moment I meet him until the banner that says 2015, all the footage you see is theirs. After that, it’s footage shot by someone whom I hired in Gaza to film for me.”
For Areeb, this reflected her desire to bridge her perspective with Ahmed's, creating a narrative that conveyed the realities of life in Gaza through the lens of someone who lived it daily.
Striving for belonging and longing
Ultimately, upon reflecting on her documentary, Areeb says that Yalla Parkour strove to capture that sense of belonging and longing, utilising visual metaphors to convey her emotional landscape.
For example, there is a moment at the very beginning of the documentary when we see her in a dark room, in front of the screen, watching footage from Gaza, and one can feel her longing.
“What I wanted to do is to remain more of a shadow, to speak through reflections,” she explained, discussing her creative choices. “I diffuse myself so that I go into the screen with the characters on the other side.”
Areeb concludes, saying, “I would hope that this film will continue to resonate, even after Gaza is destroyed,” she remarks, emphasising the importance of preserving stories and memories, especially in a world where so much feels at risk.
Mariana Hristova is a freelance film critic, cultural journalist, and programmer. She contributes to national and international outlets and has curated programs for Filmoteca De Catalunya, Arxiu Xcèntric, goEast Wiesbaden, etc. Her professional interests include cinema from the European peripheries and archival and amateur films