We sat down for an exclusive interview with Elias Matar – director and writer of A Grain of Sand. Inspired by Leila Boukarim and Asaf Luzon’s anthology A Million Kites: Testimonies and Poems from the Children of Gaza, A Grain of Sand is a one-woman show that takes an intimate look at war through the eyes of a child, blending Palestinian folklore with real-life testimonies from children in contemporary Gaza.
This show runs from 21st – 31st Jan at Arcola Theatre ahead of a UK tour – Tickets here.
1. A Grain of Sand centres on seeing war through a child’s imagination rather than through spectacle or politics — what does that shift in perspective make possible for you as a storyteller?
Seeing war through a child’s eyes allows the story to inhabit the emotional truth of lived experience, rather than the headlines or statistics. It opens up space for wonder, resilience and the small but profound ways children make sense of the world around them. As a storyteller, it lets me explore imagination as a form of survival, where the fantastical and the real coexist creating a journey of metaphors, where audiences can connect to the human story and relate to it on a personal level.
2. Your work often blends folklore with lived testimony. How did you navigate the responsibility of holding real children’s voices alongside myth, without one overpowering the other?
Folklore, the voices of real children and the events happening in Gaza all vitally speak to one another throughout the play.
Through folklore and myth, Renad’s inner world, her imagination becomes a form of protection at a moment when there is no one physically there for her. It’s the creative space she retreats into in order to survive. The verbatim testimonies collected from the children of Gaza in the booklet A Million Kites are presented very clearly and directly, exactly as the children said them. Artistically, it’s always clear in the play when we are hearing a testimony, they stand on their own and are not altered or fictionalised.
And the narrative, woven from what we have collectively witnessed over the past more than two years in Gaza is inspired by the news and witness accounts. It’s also shaped by a shared awareness of recent history.
In making the piece, I listened very carefully to the children’s testimonies; they are the guiding light. The narrative connects and holds these different stories together, rather than overpowering them. And the myths carry the cultural history of Palestine. I don’t feel that any one element dominates the others, because they are deeply interconnected.
I’m very sensitive in how I use this material as both a writer and a director. Everything is informed, supported and ultimately strengthened by the children’s voices. Together, these elements connect to tell a fuller picture, one that is shaped for and through the perspective of a child.
3. The show is performed by a single actor, yet carries many worlds. What drew you to the one-woman form for this story, and how did your collaboration with Sarah Agha shape its emotional range?
The one-woman form mirrors the intimacy of a child’s perspective: a single voice navigating many worlds, memories and imaginings. There is something deeply powerful about a one-person show, one actor stepping into a direct, person-to-person encounter. Because this story is about children, and about children left alone, it felt especially right to embody these experiences through a single performer.
There is a sense that many stories are distilled into one voice; however, we are not telling just one story, but many held within a single presence, like a grain of sand small and specific, yet carrying the weight of something vast. One person can tell us so much, while also inviting us to imagine how much more there is if all those voices could be heard. There is real power in being in a room with one person speaking directly to us. The closeness allows for connection, reflection and empathy.
Sarah’s artistry has brought extraordinary nuance to the piece. Her physicality and emotional depth have made it possible for a single performer to carry multiple voices, times and places without losing the tenderness at the heart of the story. The piece also resonates with Sarah on a personal level. As a Palestinian artist, she has been deeply engaged with what is happening in Gaza and committed to storytelling for Palestine, for the Arab world, and for voices that have long been pushed aside.
4. You’ve spoken about imagination as a form of survival. In making this piece, did you discover new ways theatre itself can act as refuge — for audiences as much as for artists?
As a dramatherapist, I am deeply aware of how theatre and drama can support healing and offer a safe space for reflection. In making this piece, I was reminded of how theatre can become a shared sanctuary, a place where difficult truths are held with empathy rather than shock.
For audiences, theatre offers the chance to step into someone else’s world safely. For artists, it becomes a space to explore memory, grief and joy without having to carry them alone. I remember after the first performance hearing from several audience members that, for the first time, they were able to grieve together, something they had been missing after witnessing what is happening in Gaza and to the children there.
That sense of collectiveness and togetherness feels essential. It is often the first step toward refuge: a place where we can be present, feel and express together.
5. This production began as a one-off performance and has grown into a national tour. How has the work evolved as it’s moved through different spaces, cities and audiences?
A Grain of Sand began as a very early version presented at the Barbican cinema as part of the London Palestine Film Festival 2024, followed by its theatre debut after a period of development with Good Chance at the Liverpool Arab Arts Festival in 2025. From 21–31 January, the work enters its first official London run, before heading out on a National tour. In many ways, the piece is still unfolding, and it feels exciting that its journey with audiences is only just beginning.
A Grain of Sand is a living piece of theatre. It responds to a reality that is still unfolding in front of our eyes, and the audiences, the people in the room, are an essential part of that journey. Each space and each city brings a new energy, perspective and emotional texture that subtly reshapes the work.
We have intentionally built in at least two Q&A sessions at every tour location to create space for dialogue and connection. These conversations allow the piece to keep evolving, grounded in the lived responses of the audiences it meets along the way.
6. As a Palestinian artist working in the UK, how do you balance telling stories rooted in a specific history while creating space for audiences to find their own points of connection?
As a Palestinian artist working in the UK, I feel deeply connected to artists from communities that have been marginalised or silenced. Through these connections, I’ve learned that we often share a similar drive to use art to make the world more humane, and to represent the stories that exist behind statistics, headlines and biased narratives.
A Grain of Sand focuses on universal experiences like love, fear, resilience, imagination, grief and loss within a specific history. While the work is rooted in Palestinian narrative, its emotional landscapes are fundamentally human. This creates space for audiences from different backgrounds to find their own points of connection.