In Tangier, Badia and Imane, two young Moroccan girls of around twenty, walk in line amongst an army of workers who fill up the city with their coming and going back and forth. They both work in a shrimp-packaging factory, a difficult and humiliating job, where the strong odor of shrimp seeps into the pores of their skin. Badia’s hands are busy but her head is idle; she perfumes herself with lies to wash away the shrimp smell and pretends to be someone else. Badia can flap her wings as much as she likes but she’ll never fly.