J'étais dans ma maison et j'attendais que la pluie vienne

At a time when we are witnessing, in many neighborhoods, the diktats that brothers impose "on their wives", isn't it interesting to question the mechanisms of submission that structure the family cocoon? And aren't these mechanisms particularly obvious when one of these kingpin brothers returns after years of absence with nothing to offer but cruel indifference to the five women who have never stopped loving him?

These were the preliminary questions raised for me by "I was in my house waiting for the rain to come".

Then, beyond these questions about machismo, I wondered if these five women didn't have a responsibility in perpetuating such a situation. It seems to me that their love, subject only to the hope of restoring the meaning of so many years spent under the weight of grief, is nothing other than a sickly injunction that perniciously unwinds the process of negating their brother's singularity. By their inability to break out of the patterns of hierarchy, they maintain around their lives the wall of barricades they'd had imposed on them.

Catherine Decastel