This work by Lebanese filmmaker Danielle Arbid is based on the secret, ardent and obsessive sexual experiences that are freely recounted in minute detail by her friends. Archival super-8 footage of prim young girls alternates with darkened shots of men and women discussing their formative experiences and their fantasies. Their words and the visual representations create a highly poetic erotic tension.

A man who is not there. A woman who receives his letters. She reads them to us, but remains out of sight. The man who sends the letters describes his journey. In the end, he stops writing. Has the journey, then, ended'

We follow the director's camera into the kitchens and living rooms of a community of Moroccan women. inside the walls of their apartment in Casablanca's old Medina, the women cook, clean, take care of their families and help each other. With their hands in the dough, in the soap whilst washing the laundry, doing the house chores, in the market or at the hammam, between laughter and tears ("We are housewives, that's all. ... Our sport? House cleaning!"). These courageous women, proud of their role, talk about their miserable lives with a great sense of awareness, but without self-pity. They show a surprising vitality, curiosity for life and solidarity. These house-proud housewives may not all know how to read, but they know exactly what would improve their lives: equal rights for women and men, more money, and a better future for their children so they wouldn't have to emigrate to support the family. A sense of hope and the possibility of change radiate out of the everyday lives of these heroines ("batalett").

A military helicopter circles in the sky like an evil wasp. Chaos on the ground after the attack. A fast-paced sequence - bleeding people, burning cars and confused soldiers. Subheading: From Beirut - with Love. A cinematic postcard-greeting, so bitter and cynical, it can only come from a city at war with itself. The only dialogue in the film reveals a surprising connotation: Beirut is Paris, or Madrid, or any other metropolis. The scene is set: youth without a future, bomb attacks, drugs, arms, soldiers. The postcard has arrived.