Childish repudiations reverberate. A daughter and son crouch side-by-side, speaking both modestly and defensively about their fathers. The boy’s dad is dead. He criticizes Kidane, his adopted father, of passivity in defending his values. Kidane’s daughter, Toya, refutes her brother’s criticism. The reason that Kidane is alive, she suggests, is because he is an artist – a musician – whereas her brother’s father was a fighter. Toya’s words prophesize, they catalyze internal struggle, and they ultimately determine Kidane’s fate. He undergoes a metamorphosis as his values and sense of belonging slip from his grasp. He is challenged by the tumultuous state of Timbuktu, overrun with Islamic jihadists. This pressure pushes Kidane to the point of transformation – from artist to warrior – which ultimately leads to his death in the final execution scene of Timbuktu.
Kidane loses that which grounded him, his connection to identity of himself and of place. His cow, GPS, was that connection. A fisherman kills the cow, and in return, Kidane murders the fisherman, embarking on his quest as a warrior and defender of his old values. Unable to understand his fiery drive in killing the man, Kidane knows that his actions were justified at the time. The murder of the cow is a symbol of devastating loss – physically and morally – because cows are prized pieces of livestock and also akin to family members. Meaning direction-finding mechanism, GPS is an apt name choice because the cow was a means of connecting and guiding Kidane’s family to their values and their background. The cow symbolizes a beacon of hope as the jihadi fundamentalists infiltrate and attempt to destroy a culture, eradicating and chastising old values and ways of life. In vengeance, Kidane kills the fisherman, murdering not only a physical man, but also attempting to murder the concept of a new regime, of imposed values, and of loss of culture.
An establishing shot: camels bellow. The camera zooms from medium to a close-up of the animals’ heads. The lingering camels represent non-western culture. They represent old Timbuktu, before Islamic fundamentalists began their grasp for power. They represent opposition to a new order. They serve as a reminder to the jihadists: old values still remain. They bolster Kidane’s values of old Timbuktu, of livestock, and even of music through their choral bleats and bellows.
A second establishing shot: a crowd stands waiting, circled around seven jihadists. The scarf-covered jihadist faces confront us in a close-up. The external diagetic sound of camels endures, reminding us of the lack of nondiagetic sound. All is present, raw, and fulfilling jihadist rules. Nondiagetic sound, or music of any sort, seems as if it would undermine the new laws. We then hear an engine rumble.
A panning POV shot: the motorcyclist drives by the crowd at Kidane’s execution site, stirring questioning glances on behalf of the fundamentalists.
Establishing shot: the story is cross-cut to reveal Satima and Toya, Kidane’s wife and daughter, standind in front of their tent amidst sand dunes and sun. The mise-en-scene displays barren desert dunes hosting an olive-colored tent – the family’s home – and the family centered in the shot. We observe and reminisce upon the family’s old life, following the diegesis that their past was less turbulent and more comfortable in a Timbuktu that mirrored their own values of familial love and self-expression. This shot moves from long to a close-up of Satima’s face, accompanying the viewer in an attempt to discern emotion. Determination sparks her eyes, followed by grief and rage. This cut from the execution scene reminds us of the family’s old lives, values, and home. We know that their lives and values have undergone turbulence and change, and we see their home, still standing yet so fragile amidst the upheaval of the new fundamentalist government, serving as their slowly disappearing sense of place.
Establishing shot: another crosscut reveals the execution site. The eclectic, powerful, seemingly delusional woman – a witchlike character – walks into the frame. Her presence is a motif and a reminder to the Jihadists that they do not hold ultimate power. Her bold assertions in earlier scenes give her authority even against the fundamentalists: she blatantly chastised the guards, calling them assholes, and positioned herself in front of a truck carrying extremists, raising her arms as if in sacrifice, to block their path. This woman is a threat to the new regime. An embodiment of Timbuktu’s old culture and values, she struts into the scene as a representation of rebellion and womanhood, standing up against the new government. The frame is cut, changing to show us a somewhat close-up profile of the witch woman’s head. Her hair is adorned with ribbons and she carries a rooster on her shoulder. The camera pans like a POV, tracking down the woman’s body to observe her attire. The tracking stops after reaching the sandy ground. The woman’s tattered black cape trains behind her, sliding out of the shot. She is a representation of old culture, of the mysterious, enticing Timbuktu that used to be. She serves as an artifact of sorts – a beacon of hope that the true culture and old values still pervade. Her rooster represents the non-westernized, old Timbuktu. Her dragging black dress represents the old values, tattered, torn, almost broken, yet still intact and flowing mysteriously, just with less strength. Perhaps it is because they recognize their own old values in her, perhaps she intimidates them, or perhaps she reminds them of their instability; either way, the fundamentalists leave the witch woman free to do what she pleases.
Cut. Toting Kidane and a cluster of guards, a sand-colored Toyota drives from left to right across the medium shot. Attached to the truck is a black and white flag: a jihadist symbol. The fundamentalists are seemingly well organized in this scene, yet we know that as a budding regime, they are a flawed and misguided entity. Enticed by “western” norms, technology, and ideals such as rap music, trucks, cell phones, and machine guns, the jihadists almost embody westernization. Despite their fascination with the western world, though, they outlaw things like soccer balls and music, creating stagnation and struggle in the lives of the people in Timbuktu. The guards seem to be stuck between values, struggling to discern what it is they truly seek. Their humanity shows through at times, they are lost, too – stuck between their old culture and their new, fundamentalist views of the Quran.
The camera crosscuts to reveal a close-up of Satima and Toya. They execute their last embrace, and Satima descends the dune. External diagetic noise of an engine revving accompanies Satima’s descent. Waiting, the motorcyclist is turned away from the women, ready to deliver Satima to her husband. Satima kicks sand as she walks, almost caressing the site of her pastoral life and home. Mounting the motorcycle, we know that Satima’s will and longing for unity in family and culture are leading her, converting her into a warrior.
Crosscutting, the scene returns to Kidane. He turns to gaze with hope and longing into the distance. Confused, two guards remark, “Mecca is that way,” pointing behind them. “I know,” responds Kidane, “My daughter and her mother are over there.” This speaks to the dichotomy and struggle between religion and family. Islam has been misinterpreted, enticing the fundamentalists to mold and bend the law, always “according to the Quran”. Kidane chooses to pray to his family. He substitutes the search for salvation in Allah with a search for his family and his true values. Bending down, Kidane begins to pray in a traditional manner before the guards, demonstrating his faith, but it is faith to the religion – the family – that he believes in rather than the conceptualized and brutal faith of the extremists.
Satima arrives on the back of the motorcycle. External diagetic noise of wind and camels and the vehicle’s engine follow her. With billowing hair and bare feet, undermining new laws about women covering themselves, Satima runs toward the center of the crowd. Kidane sees his wife and is pummeled by love and anxiety. The camera pans from above, following their trails, and then the scene cuts. A gunshot penetrates through the silence. A jihadist holding an AK-47 spontaneously slays Satima and Kidane with his bullet.
Blood runs from Satima’s mouth in reference to the earlier scene of GPS’s death, tying the two roles together. Wife and cow – two of the most influential individuals in Kidane’s life – are shot. Like Satima, GPS bled from her nose, relating the two and emphasizing their importance to Kidane. They both served as anchors, beacons of hope for him, grounding Kidane in the midst of the struggle. They bolstered his feeling of belonging. When GPS died, Kidane – who used to be an artist, a musician who would keep living as his daughter suggested – turns into a warrior. Kidane decides to fight after losing a connection to old values and old culture. He sacrifices his pacifism in order to stand up for his beliefs.
The guards disperse to search for the fleeing motorcyclist. Only external diagetic noise accompanies the scene, setting a bleak, weighted tone. Cut. An antelope sprints as the camera, zoomed in to a medium shot, pans to follow the animal’s path. This shot is almost like a flashback to the beginning of the film, when we observed an antelope chased by guards in a truck, blasting their weapons in pursuit of the innocent creature. As viewers, we feel our hope drown with the feeling of absolute terror of prey chased by predator. The sound of short, child-like panting fades in, and the scene is crosscut to reveal Toya centered, running towards the camera. Nondiagetic sound appears for the first time in the entire scene: traditional string instruments play a forlorn melody. Shut down by the fundamentalists, this music is a form of self-expression not tolerated in the new order. The presence of the nondiagetic song underlines the motif of struggle between old and new, and accompanies Toya in her escape. Toya embodies purity, childish joy, and someone completely untouched by the jihadist regime until her parents’ death. Even now, as she runs, she evades the fundamentalists, sprinting towards salvation and away from the establishment that slayed her family. Her sprint relates her to the antelope – prey chased by predator – and the accompaniment of music shows Toya’s purity and foundation in old values.
The execution – the ultimate scene of the film – compiles various motifs introduced earlier in Timbuktu. Values of family, art and home are confronted by the fundamentalist brutality. It is a perfect storm: a clash of old and new, of hope and death, of predator and prey. Kidane’s death is a symbol of sacrifice and an acknowledgement of his conversion from artist to fighter in order to save his beliefs. Metamorphosis is his weapon, and as he turns into a warrior, we feel Timbuktu’s old cultural identity slipping from our grasp, pushed away by the brutality of the new jihadist order. Timbuktu shows the fragile balance between culture and oppression, and Kidane’s ultimate stance as a warrior leaves a lasting, hopeless impression of fundamentalist power.
