The museum-goers gaze at the displayed installation: a recreation of the ecosystem in the Upper Nile. Unaware of the continuity of events that led to that view, children observe the scene, mesmerized. Laughter, curiosity, and excitement. A man with his camera takes a picture of the exotic land-one that would be inaccessible if not displayed at the museum.

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The naive organization of such discourse, however, rests on a secret a secret so fundamental in its origin that it becomes ungraspable for the viewers. Occult and buried, witnessed only by the stuffed birds on display. It is through the point of view of these birds - or rather, their ghosts that our narrative unfolds.

 

Born to become immortal, these birds are spirits that grant us access to reflect upon the narrative thresholds, ruptures, and ultimately, the homogeneous historical reduction intrinsic to the museum narrative. Immersed in a well-researched and carefully crafted scene, the viewers remain oblivious to what the birds have to tell us. Their call sings of what happened to their bodies, he origin of the bullet that shot them midair, and the bizarre result of the subjugation of species and people.

 

This is not said to criticize researchers nor institutions, but rather, these birds sing to point out the irony of constructing an image of resemblance to a place that could only be made possible through its exploitation.