Hugo Salvaterra’s “My Semba” and the Politics of Art

Hugo Salvaterra’s My Semba premiered at the 2026 edition of the International Film Festival Rotterdam (IFFR). Watching My Semba recalls the divisive conversations held at the recently concluded 76th Berlin International Film Festival about silence and activism in cinema. The festival jury President, Wim Wenders, and others suggested that filmmakers and the festival should “stay out of politics.”  This was followed by a massive boycott led by Arundhati Roy, and an open letter signed by 80+ stars. Globally, film directors have been imprisoned and killed for making art. In contemporary cinema discourse, Iranian director Jafar Panahi has been constantly imprisoned for making films that challenge the Iranian authorities. Courtesy of his Oscar-nominated It Was Just an Accident, the director will be facing another jail time for making art in 2026. 

In Nigeria, films like Gangs of Lagos, A Very Dirty Christmas, Half of a Yellow Sun, and many queer films, despite their non-political nature, have been politicized and censored. In Kenya, where homosexuality is illegal, Wanuri Kahiu’s Rafiki was banned after it was released in 2018. On 23 January 2026, after an eight-year legal campaign by the film producers, the Kenyan Court of Appeals ruled that the 2018 ban was not reasonable under the country’s constitution. This rule allows Kahiu and the producers to submit the film for classification under Kenya’s Films and Stage Plays Act as part of the process to allow public screenings. This is another example of how filmmaking can become politicized. In this way, art becomes political because it seeks to correct, represent, and center important issues. 

The above context is important in understanding Salvaterra’s My Semba. The deeply moving, possessive drama revolves around X (Euclides Teixeira) and his two siblings: Lelé (Willi Ribeiro) and Maria (Eliane da Silva), as they navigate the harsh realities of being working-class citizens in Luanda, Angola. X, a poet and person with albinism, captures the invisible and unappreciated labor of the working-class citizens in his notebook and poems. In his frequent bus trips, observational journey through Luanda, and conversation with his siblings, he compels us to see the quotidian struggles of the marginalized workers. The maids, drivers, broken soldiers, and informal workers who make up 70% of the workforce possess his thoughts and writing. Their struggles, which he relates deeply to, aren’t accessorized but documented and celebrated. 

As a housekeeper, Maria’s efforts are constantly undermined by a boss who sexually assaults her. Lelé, the most violent and angry of the siblings, lives an unsatisfying life as a delivery man until he gets compelled towards armed robbery. X, the most introspective of the trio, lives with the trauma of being abandoned at childhood, bullied by a friend, and society due to his albinism and the overwhelming compulsion to process his trauma and pain through poetry. Trained under the divine and spiritual guidance of  Father Jonas (Clemente Chimuco), they all seek solace in the comfort of Father Jonas’ preaching and the safety of the church. Lelé and X get additional succor in poetry and rap. As the story progresses and the endless and frustrating cycle of poverty keeps diminishing their individual efforts, they will learn to find alternatives to religion. 

X’s introduction, courtesy of  Lelé, to the Clandestine Poetry Club will further sharpen his artistic and political consciousness. At the club, he watches as fellow young writers carry and convey their pain and discontent with words. This portrays music, rap, and poetry not just as entertainment, but as vital tools for survival and political expression. In African cinema and art, this isn’t a strange responsibility for a filmmaker and artist to carry. An African filmmaker and artist can’t truthfully speak about their country and its citizens without addressing its politics, history and the need for change. Additionally, filmmakers can’t speak about young Africans without addressing their social and economic circumstances. This is an artistic and political responsibility that Salvaterra’s My Semba is conscious of. 

My Semba is a heavily stylised film with an elusive storyline. The film’s non-linear narrative glances across months, moving effortlessly from one period to another, allowing the story to unfold in a fluid, episodic manner. The script doesn’t gesture towards explanation or provide time markers. Characters’ mental development indicates time transition. The film’s locations have deeper meanings. Father Jonas and the church represent solace and comfort. But for Lelé, the sermons and the church begin to lose its appeal. He starts to believe that God is dead and art has replaced it. For him, prayer cannot solve economic hardship but decisive actions will. The hospital, where X works, is a warehouse full of broken bodies and dreams. The hotel is a site of abuse and dehumanization. That Maria, despite being abused, keeps going to the hotel shows how economic systems and hardship deprive working class citizens of their right and voice. 

What’s also remarkable is how each location has its own soundtrack and sound design. The church’s scenes pick a spiritual, accommodating, transcendental, and soothing sound. It’s the only space without ongoing oppression and dehumanization. But, on the street, the hotel, the poetry club, and hospitals, the sound is heavier, unforgiving, unembracing, alienating and pulsating with battle-ready rhythm. 

My Semba is a portrait of Luanda, its people, and particularly one family residing in the city. The film has strong political messages but it  is also about the layered search for identity as an African, a person with disability, and a human being. Salvaterra’s film, through X’s poetry and Lelé’s music, mobilizes art as a resistance against a failing state. The world is bleak, cinema, especially African cinema, is deeply underfunded and artistically deficit and political consciousness is systematically being obliterated. But, amidst all this, one finds a film that brings us hope.