“Mortality is something far removed from our lives”

You’ve made a wide variety of films—from commissions and documentaries to installations. You’ve also created films that are more activist in nature. Can you talk about how you got into this field, and what led you toward a more proactive, humanitarian approach?

I worked for almost 15 years at a production company that focused on making videos for NGOs. Besides that, I’ve always had an activist persona in me. These were mostly commissions, but I wanted to bring important themes—like human rights, immigration, and discrimination—to a wider audience. It’s a different format, which is why I started making documentary films that were broadcast on television. Sometimes they were commissions, but mostly they were my own ideas.

I did this for around ten years, and then I made a very personal film about my mother’s suicide, about depression and burnout. That put me in a more philosophical state of mind, and I started making films about our relationship with mortality.

That’s how Corpus. A Quest for Eternity came about—a more philosophical film featuring artists working around these themes. I felt I should make another film about this, but I also wanted to broaden my scope and explore how other cultures cope with death.

Coincidentally, I got to know a friend who lived in the north of Ghana. This eventually evolved into the film Long Live the Dead!. Mortality is something far removed from our lives, in our religion and traditions, and that’s not necessarily a good path to go down. We can learn a lot from these ancient cultures.

So you started this research from a very personal place.

I think becoming a documentary filmmaker was already a personal choice—for understanding myself, but also the world around me, and my place in it. This whole research really emerged from that personal experience.

Can you talk about the film and your relationship with Stevo? How did the shooting work in practice, since you were present during very intimate moments of bereavement with relatives and friends of the deceased around?

We actually got an invitation from Stevo via a Belgian friend of his who lives there. She knows the local community and told me about the extraordinary events that take place during the dry season—it’s almost like a festival. Everyone dresses up, and there are dances and rituals. It’s unbelievable. She sent me photos, and then I had several video calls with Stevo before going there.

It was really important to have this invitation from Stevo—to not just be another European filmmaker observing everything for its exotic nature. We were actually the first film crew ever to enter this area to make a documentary.

Stevo was very happy to welcome us, also because the north of Ghana is often seen as less developed compared to the rest of the country. It was important to him to show the beauty of these rituals. We had been talking for about a year before we finally went there.

I did a lot of research online, but you can only read so many books or essays. You really have to feel it and experience it yourself. We decided to stay for one month during the dry season. We were lucky because it was post-COVID, and many funerals and rituals that had been postponed during the pandemic were happening then.

I think we attended more than 20 or 25 funerals in that one month. We stayed at Stevo’s place, which was great because he would knock on our door in the middle of the night, saying, “Hey, we have to go.” We’d hop on our scooters and ride out. There wasn’t much preparation—I just decided to film everything.

Initially, the idea was that this would be a research trip, a starting point to put together a teaser and apply for funding. But we gathered so much material, and the collaboration with Stevo worked so well. He was very natural in front of the camera—everything clicked. We decided to interview him more extensively.

After that month, we started editing. Stevo later came to Belgium a few times, and we did additional interviews. In the end, we made the film without much funding or co-production. It evolved organically—a true passion project.

How did the locals react to having a film crew there?

It’s not a tourist area, and the locals aren’t used to outsiders. But Stevo is very well respected—he’s a funeral singer and knows all these families. We came along as Stevo’s camera crew, which was completely fine. People barely looked at us. I never imagined that could happen.

I’ve filmed in Congo, Rwanda, and other places in Africa before, and this experience was totally different. Here, it felt like we were invisible. I think people were ultimately happy that a professional crew was documenting this, because they are a minority in the northeast, and most attention in Ghana goes to the south. It was an opportunity for them to show who they really are.

Funeral songs are a specific tradition that’s deeply rooted in this culture. Can you talk about this tradition, and about funeral songs as a musical practice more broadly?

The songs Stevo performs are all improvised and shaped around the life of the deceased. He usually knows the families, but before each funeral, he meets with relatives to learn more about the person and what the family wants to share. He then uses this information as the basis for his songs.

It’s a truly unique practice, specific to the region, where music becomes a way to give people space to grieve—together—and to connect through a shared experience.

With this film, I wanted to show how powerful and healing music and cultural traditions can be in a collective grieving process—how music can transcend reason and directly address the heart, giving expression to what cannot be put into words.

Can you talk about Stevo and his role in the film?

At first, we didn’t know what to expect. Would Stevo be an interesting character? Would he have enough to say? In the end, everything felt very natural. We were a minimal crew—just two people—so it was very intimate.

Stevo has been doing this for 15 years and grew up in this culture, but he also has another side. He’s a musician who plays in other bands and travels the world. He’s not “just” a local musician—he’s internationally respected. That contrast really interested me. He wants to preserve his culture, yet he’s also a man of the world.

The local community adores him. He’s a role model, especially for young men. He’s very respectful toward them, and it’s important to him to continue living there.

He’s also an exceptional singer. His performances are interactive—almost like a question-and-answer exchange with the audience. There’s a real dialogue happening through the music.

Can you talk about the cinematography? The landscape shots are very striking and play an important role in the film.

Our approach was very observational. We went to funerals, stood there, watched what unfolded, and captured it. You can’t really direct something like this—you just document what happens.

Because people didn’t pay attention to us, it was easy to film. We also did drone shots on days when Stevo had time off. It is a very arid, but also a poor and underdeveloped area.

The focus was always on the funerals—we traveled from village to village, but we didn’t want to film daily life. The rituals and Stevo’s role within them were central.

Are you still in touch with Stevo?

Yes. I told him the film was shown at WOMEX. I also met Dominic Eschmann, a musician, and Lorena Colletti at WOMEX 25. Dominic plays in the band Worldwide Citizen together with Stevo, and Lorena is their manager. We hope to collaborate in the future, presenting the film alongside a live performance by Worldwide Citizen.

What are you currently working on?

I’m currently working on a new project about femicide for Belgian television. It’s a major but underestimated issue—not only in Belgium, but worldwide.