For seventy years, I never thought about prizes. My writing was devoted to the human being—never to the tribe, nor to authority, nor to the market.
I grew up in an environment deprived of awareness of human rights, where fear replaces justice, loyalty replaces freedom, and repression is always justified under the pretext of conspiracy. For this reason, my pen remained aligned with the individual human being—his dignity, his freedom, and his right to be a citizen, not a subject.
Today, I submit my nomination because I believe that humanistic literature—no matter how silent it may be in one place—can find its voice in a wider space, where the human experience is read away from local pressures.
Since my earliest beginnings, before the 1960s, writing was never a commercial project for me, nor a pursuit of profit or fame. It was always a human act, an inner necessity I could not escape. I wrote because writing was my way of communicating with the world, and of leaving a trace that would outlive my years.
I never earned money from my books, never chased a publisher, and never asked about royalties. I paid from my life, my savings, and my spirit. I traveled twice to Cairo to print my books and returned with significant financial loss—yet I never felt defeated. What I write is not a commodity; it is part of a human legacy I believe will endure.
One day, a close friend asked me: “Do you make money from your books?” I told him I never ask publishers or follow up with them. Then I said: “You own three buildings and have four children. I also have four children. If you die, your children will fight over your inheritance. But if I die, my children will be proud of me, because I left humanity a legacy the world can speak about.”
I personally, and single handedly, carry out every stage of producing my books and films: from the first idea, to writing, editing, design, artistic direction, and finally publication. Every step bears my own imprint, with no external contribution. My technical journey began in 1996, when I bought my first computer on credit. My children abandoned it after two days, so I decided to teach myself without any help. Over time, I mastered the programs I needed, developed my tools, and later my children encouraged me by buying me a camera from Germany—opening the path for me to begin making films as well. Step by step, I built my creative world with my own hands, teaching myself everything necessary to turn an idea into a book, an image into a film, and a work into a project that carries my name alone.
This is the essence of my literary project, now approaching seventy years: to leave a trace, not a possession; to build meaning, not stone; to write what endures, not what is sold.
Zouheir