Eyeforce
ARTHUR & RAPHADU TRAVEL AFRICA FOR VICE X EU
23 August
/
9 Min
We’ve been working alongside VICE and the European Commission on a powerful new campaign spotlighting inspiring African creatives. Directors Arthur Neumeier and Raphadu Maphoto travelled across Benin, Morocco and South Africa to capture stories deeply rooted in culture, creativity and change. As part of the campaign, they also crafted a 20-second TVC.
In the first episode we follow award winning photographer Ismail Zaidy in Morocco where tradition meets imagination, and photography becomes a tool for connection.
We’ve been working alongside VICE and the European Commission on a powerful new campaign spotlighting inspiring African creatives. Directors Arthur Neumeier and Raphadu Maphoto travelled across Benin, Morocco and South Africa to capture stories deeply rooted in culture, creativity and change. As part of the campaign, they also crafted a 20-second TVC.
In the first episode we follow award winning photographer Ismail Zaidy in Morocco where tradition meets imagination, and photography becomes a tool for connection.
We’ve been working alongside VICE and the European Commission on a powerful new campaign spotlighting inspiring African creatives. Directors Arthur Neumeier and Raphadu Maphoto travelled across Benin, Morocco and South Africa to capture stories deeply rooted in culture, creativity and change. As part of the campaign, they also crafted a 20-second TVC.
In the first episode we follow award winning photographer Ismail Zaidy in Morocco where tradition meets imagination, and photography becomes a tool for connection.
Ismail Zaidy didn’t wait for a studio, a degree, or even a proper camera. He had a rooftop, a phone, and a vision, and that was enough.
Ismail Zaidy didn’t wait for a studio, a degree, or even a proper camera. He had a rooftop, a phone, and a vision, and that was enough.
Ismail Zaidy didn’t wait for a studio, a degree, or even a proper camera. He had a rooftop, a phone, and a vision, and that was enough.
Growing up in Marrakech, he discovered beauty in the everyday, fabrics drifting in the wind, his siblings poised in quiet moments, pastel neighborhood walls, and he started capturing it all with his phone, teaching himself as creativity took hold. His early rooftop experiments evolved into a distinct visual voice defined by color, silence, emotion, poetic intimacy.
Growing up in Marrakech, he discovered beauty in the everyday, fabrics drifting in the wind, his siblings poised in quiet moments, pastel neighborhood walls, and he started capturing it all with his phone, teaching himself as creativity took hold. His early rooftop experiments evolved into a distinct visual voice defined by color, silence, emotion, poetic intimacy.
Growing up in Marrakech, he discovered beauty in the everyday, fabrics drifting in the wind, his siblings poised in quiet moments, pastel neighborhood walls, and he started capturing it all with his phone, teaching himself as creativity took hold. His early rooftop experiments evolved into a distinct visual voice defined by color, silence, emotion, poetic intimacy.
It didn’t take long for his shots of his siblings to blow up, catching the eyes of Apple, Adobe, and even Vogue. One pandemic-era photo of his sister rocking a vintage dress in a faded hotel hit differently, radiating a rare calm and hope when the world was losing its mind.
“People think you need big gear to make big art,” he says, “but I built my career with bars of Wi‑Fi and a cracked phone.”
It didn’t take long for his shots of his siblings to blow up, catching the eyes of Apple, Adobe, and even Vogue. One pandemic-era photo of his sister rocking a vintage dress in a faded hotel hit differently, radiating a rare calm and hope when the world was losing its mind.
“People think you need big gear to make big art,” he says, “but I built my career with bars of Wi‑Fi and a cracked phone.”
It didn’t take long for his shots of his siblings to blow up, catching the eyes of Apple, Adobe, and even Vogue. One pandemic-era photo of his sister rocking a vintage dress in a faded hotel hit differently, radiating a rare calm and hope when the world was losing its mind.
“People think you need big gear to make big art,” he says, “but I built my career with bars of Wi‑Fi and a cracked phone.”
In Morocco where creative industries are still emerging, improved digital infrastructure supported by European partnerships became the launchpad he needed. Faster, stabler connections meant speedier uploads, bigger reach, and a straight shot from his rooftop to Milan, Paris, and beyond.
“Frames of Morocco” follows Ismail from that modest rooftop to the silent expanse of the Agafay desert, into the warmth of family living rooms, and through the digital portals that changed everything. His perspective is expansive, capturing not just how Morocco looks, but how it feels, breathes, and dreams.
In Morocco where creative industries are still emerging, improved digital infrastructure supported by European partnerships became the launchpad he needed. Faster, stabler connections meant speedier uploads, bigger reach, and a straight shot from his rooftop to Milan, Paris, and beyond.
“Frames of Morocco” follows Ismail from that modest rooftop to the silent expanse of the Agafay desert, into the warmth of family living rooms, and through the digital portals that changed everything. His perspective is expansive, capturing not just how Morocco looks, but how it feels, breathes, and dreams.
In Morocco where creative industries are still emerging, improved digital infrastructure supported by European partnerships became the launchpad he needed. Faster, stabler connections meant speedier uploads, bigger reach, and a straight shot from his rooftop to Milan, Paris, and beyond.
“Frames of Morocco” follows Ismail from that modest rooftop to the silent expanse of the Agafay desert, into the warmth of family living rooms, and through the digital portals that changed everything. His perspective is expansive, capturing not just how Morocco looks, but how it feels, breathes, and dreams.
For the second episode we followed Afro House DJ AMÉME on a journey back to his roots exploring how the energy of the streets, the sounds of the coast, and the spirit of community continue to shape his global path. Shot across Cotonou, Porto Novo, Ouidah and beyond, this episode celebrates identity, movement and the power of homegrown talent.
For the second episode we followed Afro House DJ AMÉME on a journey back to his roots exploring how the energy of the streets, the sounds of the coast, and the spirit of community continue to shape his global path. Shot across Cotonou, Porto Novo, Ouidah and beyond, this episode celebrates identity, movement and the power of homegrown talent.
For the second episode we followed Afro House DJ AMÉME on a journey back to his roots exploring how the energy of the streets, the sounds of the coast, and the spirit of community continue to shape his global path. Shot across Cotonou, Porto Novo, Ouidah and beyond, this episode celebrates identity, movement and the power of homegrown talent.
DJ AMÉMÉ left the dusty streets of Cotonou for clubs around the world. Now he’s dragging heritage Afrobeat into the future, one bass drop at a time. While most Western fans are still figuring out how to pronounce “Cotonou,” AMÉMÉ’s been busy crafting globe-spanning soundscapes; from Berlin’s sweaty basements to rooftop ragers in Asia. His recipe? Smash Beninese rhythms with deep house and feed it to club kids who’ve never heard anything this wild.
DJ AMÉMÉ left the dusty streets of Cotonou for clubs around the world. Now he’s dragging heritage Afrobeat into the future, one bass drop at a time. While most Western fans are still figuring out how to pronounce “Cotonou,” AMÉMÉ’s been busy crafting globe-spanning soundscapes; from Berlin’s sweaty basements to rooftop ragers in Asia. His recipe? Smash Beninese rhythms with deep house and feed it to club kids who’ve never heard anything this wild.
DJ AMÉMÉ left the dusty streets of Cotonou for clubs around the world. Now he’s dragging heritage Afrobeat into the future, one bass drop at a time. While most Western fans are still figuring out how to pronounce “Cotonou,” AMÉMÉ’s been busy crafting globe-spanning soundscapes; from Berlin’s sweaty basements to rooftop ragers in Asia. His recipe? Smash Beninese rhythms with deep house and feed it to club kids who’ve never heard anything this wild.
People think African music is just drums and chanting, AMÉMÉ tells me over a crackling WhatsApp call. “But we’ve been making electronic music for decades. We just didn’t have the plug-ins.” Back in Benin, where AMÉMÉ cut his teeth mixing tracks on borrowed equipment, basic electricity was a luxury. While Western kids were learning Ableton on their MacBooks, young Beninese producers were literally waiting for the lights to come on. The infrastructure was so broken that entire generations of potential electronic artists never got past the bedroom.
People think African music is just drums and chanting, AMÉMÉ tells me over a crackling WhatsApp call. “But we’ve been making electronic music for decades. We just didn’t have the plug-ins.” Back in Benin, where AMÉMÉ cut his teeth mixing tracks on borrowed equipment, basic electricity was a luxury. While Western kids were learning Ableton on their MacBooks, young Beninese producers were literally waiting for the lights to come on. The infrastructure was so broken that entire generations of potential electronic artists never got past the bedroom.
People think African music is just drums and chanting, AMÉMÉ tells me over a crackling WhatsApp call. “But we’ve been making electronic music for decades. We just didn’t have the plug-ins.” Back in Benin, where AMÉMÉ cut his teeth mixing tracks on borrowed equipment, basic electricity was a luxury. While Western kids were learning Ableton on their MacBooks, young Beninese producers were literally waiting for the lights to come on. The infrastructure was so broken that entire generations of potential electronic artists never got past the bedroom.
AMÉMÉ’s label, One Tribe, isn’t just about putting out bangers. It’s about proving you don’t need to travel and connect in order to make it that matters. “We were always musical,” he says. “But now we’re connected.” The “I’ll Rise Beats of Benin” documentary follows Amémé back to his mother’s house in Cotonou, where he flips through old family photos and walks streets where he first heard the polyrhythms that became his signature sound.
AMÉMÉ’s label, One Tribe, isn’t just about putting out bangers. It’s about proving you don’t need to travel and connect in order to make it that matters. “We were always musical,” he says. “But now we’re connected.” The “I’ll Rise Beats of Benin” documentary follows Amémé back to his mother’s house in Cotonou, where he flips through old family photos and walks streets where he first heard the polyrhythms that became his signature sound.
AMÉMÉ’s label, One Tribe, isn’t just about putting out bangers. It’s about proving you don’t need to travel and connect in order to make it that matters. “We were always musical,” he says. “But now we’re connected.” The “I’ll Rise Beats of Benin” documentary follows Amémé back to his mother’s house in Cotonou, where he flips through old family photos and walks streets where he first heard the polyrhythms that became his signature sound.
Standing on the beach at sunset, AMÉMÉ looks out at the Atlantic: “I’m bringing Benin to the world.” When you’ve watched him build bridges between 200-year-old folk songs and cutting-edge production software, it feels like a mission statement.
Standing on the beach at sunset, AMÉMÉ looks out at the Atlantic: “I’m bringing Benin to the world.” When you’ve watched him build bridges between 200-year-old folk songs and cutting-edge production software, it feels like a mission statement.
Standing on the beach at sunset, AMÉMÉ looks out at the Atlantic: “I’m bringing Benin to the world.” When you’ve watched him build bridges between 200-year-old folk songs and cutting-edge production software, it feels like a mission statement.
Then lastly, we spent time with the founder of Laaniraani, to understand how personal style can be a form of resistance, and how creativity can open doors for the next generation of South African women. This episode is a tribute to making something beautiful with what you have and using it to dream bigger. Wrapping up the inspiring “I’ll Rise” Documentary series on a high.
Then lastly, we spent time with the founder of Laaniraani, to understand how personal style can be a form of resistance, and how creativity can open doors for the next generation of South African women. This episode is a tribute to making something beautiful with what you have and using it to dream bigger. Wrapping up the inspiring “I’ll Rise” Documentary series on a high.
Then lastly, we spent time with the founder of Laaniraani, to understand how personal style can be a form of resistance, and how creativity can open doors for the next generation of South African women. This episode is a tribute to making something beautiful with what you have and using it to dream bigger. Wrapping up the inspiring “I’ll Rise” Documentary series on a high.
Shamyra Moodley was never supposed to be a designer. In her past life, she crunched numbers as a corporate accountant. But when the 9-to-5 started to feel like a slow suffocation, she turned to fabric, scissors, and a vintage sewing machine inherited from her grandmother, and Laaniraani was born.
Shamyra Moodley was never supposed to be a designer. In her past life, she crunched numbers as a corporate accountant. But when the 9-to-5 started to feel like a slow suffocation, she turned to fabric, scissors, and a vintage sewing machine inherited from her grandmother, and Laaniraani was born.
Shamyra Moodley was never supposed to be a designer. In her past life, she crunched numbers as a corporate accountant. But when the 9-to-5 started to feel like a slow suffocation, she turned to fabric, scissors, and a vintage sewing machine inherited from her grandmother, and Laaniraani was born.
What started as self-therapy, stitching together old saris, discarded denim, and scraps from second-hand stalls, quickly turned into a movement. Shamyra wasn’t just designing clothes. She was building an aesthetic rooted in circular fashion, identity reclamation, and rebellion against fast fashion’s wasteful churn. “People think African fashion is all wax prints and beadwork,” she laughs, adjusting a jacket made from upcycled ties. “But we’re telling new stories with old material. Literally.”
What started as self-therapy, stitching together old saris, discarded denim, and scraps from second-hand stalls, quickly turned into a movement. Shamyra wasn’t just designing clothes. She was building an aesthetic rooted in circular fashion, identity reclamation, and rebellion against fast fashion’s wasteful churn. “People think African fashion is all wax prints and beadwork,” she laughs, adjusting a jacket made from upcycled ties. “But we’re telling new stories with old material. Literally.”
What started as self-therapy, stitching together old saris, discarded denim, and scraps from second-hand stalls, quickly turned into a movement. Shamyra wasn’t just designing clothes. She was building an aesthetic rooted in circular fashion, identity reclamation, and rebellion against fast fashion’s wasteful churn. “People think African fashion is all wax prints and beadwork,” she laughs, adjusting a jacket made from upcycled ties. “But we’re telling new stories with old material. Literally.”
Her home studio in Cape Town doubles as a playground for color, texture, and memory. A family photo here, a mannequin draped in nostalgia there. Her daughter runs through the space barefoot while Shamyra prepares for a Paris drop at Galeries Lafayette, a milestone made possible, in part, by partnerships that aim to level the global playing field.
Her home studio in Cape Town doubles as a playground for color, texture, and memory. A family photo here, a mannequin draped in nostalgia there. Her daughter runs through the space barefoot while Shamyra prepares for a Paris drop at Galeries Lafayette, a milestone made possible, in part, by partnerships that aim to level the global playing field.
Her home studio in Cape Town doubles as a playground for color, texture, and memory. A family photo here, a mannequin draped in nostalgia there. Her daughter runs through the space barefoot while Shamyra prepares for a Paris drop at Galeries Lafayette, a milestone made possible, in part, by partnerships that aim to level the global playing field.
Infrastructure is shifting. So is the narrative around who gets to lead fashion’s future. And right now, it’s a South African woman in a floral headwrap who’s redefining what power dressing really means.
Infrastructure is shifting. So is the narrative around who gets to lead fashion’s future. And right now, it’s a South African woman in a floral headwrap who’s redefining what power dressing really means.
Infrastructure is shifting. So is the narrative around who gets to lead fashion’s future. And right now, it’s a South African woman in a floral headwrap who’s redefining what power dressing really means.
The “I’ll Rise: The Power She Wears” documentary follows Shamyra back to the roots, to the fabric stalls, the Victorian home, and the wild coastlines where her vision came alive. As she mentors young women, sketches new pieces, and reflects on the path from spreadsheets to the runway, one thing becomes clear: this isn’t just fashion. It’s a form of resistance. “Everything we wear,” she says, “should have a past. My job is to give it a future.”
The “I’ll Rise: The Power She Wears” documentary follows Shamyra back to the roots, to the fabric stalls, the Victorian home, and the wild coastlines where her vision came alive. As she mentors young women, sketches new pieces, and reflects on the path from spreadsheets to the runway, one thing becomes clear: this isn’t just fashion. It’s a form of resistance. “Everything we wear,” she says, “should have a past. My job is to give it a future.”
The “I’ll Rise: The Power She Wears” documentary follows Shamyra back to the roots, to the fabric stalls, the Victorian home, and the wild coastlines where her vision came alive. As she mentors young women, sketches new pieces, and reflects on the path from spreadsheets to the runway, one thing becomes clear: this isn’t just fashion. It’s a form of resistance. “Everything we wear,” she says, “should have a past. My job is to give it a future.”
Arthur Neumeier
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