GOMA

Goma, once home to sixteen families, is now a ruin visited only by nomadic herders sheltering their animals through the winter. But for Hacı Mehmet Demir, in his eighties, that land is still alive: every stone marks a border, every tree carries the trace of a dispute or a bond between brothers. Resentful that his children and grandchildren left the village for the city, he occasionally takes them back and recites the boundaries of their inheritance from memory — boundaries no land registry states so precisely. Filmed over fifteen years, this footage is watched again by his son after his father