Kilma (كلمة) means “word” in Arabic. In Arabic, “word” is gendered female, but Kilma is “genderless and genreless”. Born, raised and based in Cairo, her art is a soulful audiovisual exploration, “creatively planting Egyptian roots”. As a musician, playwright and healer educated in between Egypt and the UK, Kilma’s art merges Arab sounds with western influences. Her work offers us societal critique and personal reflections at the intersection of journaling, meditation and sound-healing.
We sit on cushions on the floor of my Cairo apartment and light a candle as her laughter fills the room. She just completed a fellowship with OneBeat, a US-based initiative that invites young musicians to discover new ways of thinking about how music and artistic expression can help us collectively build healthier communities, prosperous societies, and a more peaceful world. “It was the right opportunity for me to follow my path”, Kilma smiles. In her elective, Journaling the Back of the Mind, she explored scores for difficult times, grief and healing: “It was so powerful to create in a space with people from all over the world who care about social issues as deeply as I do. Sometimes it gets lonely because it feels like no one cares, but in our conversations, I could be completely vulnerable, and we held each other in a way that I never thought strangers could cultivate so quickly.” Kilma’s purpose is to make art for social change and inspire people to be more open with their emotions. She offers her creativity for us to heal and grow collectively.
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The neighbourhood that Kilma grew up in is serene and sheltered, characterised by caved roads and big blossoming trees. Leaving this bubble, she sometimes gets culture shocked by her own culture, and she writes about it in her plays. "Most of the time, I walk, and I feel like this street doesn't belong to me; it belongs to all the men gawking." Both her music and writing play with the "good and bad Egyptianisms". Her song "9/10" is about sexual harassment and short for the statistic that in Egypt, nine out of ten women are victims of sexual harassment. The lyrics go: You think it's your fault, it never truly is. I know that you might think so, but your body isn't his. You will reclaim it. You will rise like a phoenix from a pile of acidic ashes. "I love that song", she says. "It came from a very painful place. This track is FOR the 9/10 women, for all women, for myself, for trans, GNC and queer people, for everyone who's struggling trying to figure out how to heal their hurt, or questioning whether it's even possible."
The sound and meaning of her artist name, Kilma, encompass the importance of language and culture in her life. She places an emphasis on the intersection of writing and music as equally important parts of her being. “Music is innate and my emotional output. Playwriting is much more meticulous and thought out.” Both, however, serve the same purpose - to encourage healing and offer education. Currently, she’s working on a play about child marriage, a topic less personal and yet deeply rooted in the experience of witnessing the multifacetedness of Egypt. For Kilma herself, language is a tool to question her existence in a conservative society that doesn’t leave much space for self-exploration and critique. In Arabic, fluidity is made into a foreign concept. She reflects on the tensions of desiring to stand in her full identity and navigating a reality that limits conversations and creative expression. She talks of a deep sense of anger and a frustration with the complexities of having a mother tongue that makes it difficult for people of all identities to affirm themselves and each other. Kilma embodies all the limitations and possibilities of Arabic words.
Mental health is written all over her work. In her song "Affirmation", she repeats "I am transient. I can handle it". An assertion to herself as well as an offering to everyone who needs to hear it. “Everybody has issues”, she states. “I know that the biggest thing holding me back in my career is my mental health.” With certificates in Neuro-Linguistic Programming and Hypnosis, Kilma is extending her musical explorations into the realm of sound healing. She explains with excitement, “There’s a whole science behind it. I practice it intuitively. Different frequencies heal different wounds.” She uses singing bowls to create soundscapes that are meditative and easy on the ears. All of her sound baths include nature sounds. She points to a plant in the room, telling me to notice how it moves with the slight breeze coming in from the open window. “If you really listen to nature, you will find healing energies everywhere.” Kilma draws on ancestral connections to reconnect with the healing frequencies of the earth. Her strongest affinity, though, is with bodies of water. I think of her Wave Interlude as she tells of the harmonious rhythm between breath and water - along with the meditations she does while swimming. “When I float on water, I feel like mother nature is giving me a hug. I feel literally and spiritually held.”
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Talking with Kilma is a pleasant reminder that, yes, life is hard, but it is also beautiful. She speaks poetry and her music, made out of the desire to release in catharsis, becomes catharsis for the listener, too. Kilma "firmly, firmly think[s] that if you just focus on your self-development, healing and growth, everything else that you want to achieve in life will come. When I can take the most difficult things I've gone through and channel it into something positive, that's one of the most profound ways through which I heal." Her compassion and awareness for everything and everyone around her are deeply inspiring. She closes our discussion by announcing, "I am excited for my future", which is revolutionary in itself is revolutionary. For now, listen to her latest releases, "Blu Ryd" and "Shawshara", and stay tuned for more.