From silence to numbness in a world that knows but will not act

Excerpt: 

This morning I met a young woman. What began as small talk drifted into a brief exchange about media coverage of conflicts in the Middle East. *wink*. Those five minutes hit me like a smack across the head. I had assumed, hoped, that if not the older generation, then the younger would be informed enough to see through the propaganda. I pinned that belief on university encampments, student-led rallies, the energy of youth demanding justice. However I realised I was too optimistic.

That short conversation made me panic about how much of the population is truly aware of what is happening in the world...

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SUBSTACK

I am from Tel al-Hawa, Gaza.

Jood was part of my Dreaming Big with Cameras workshop in Egypt. At just 11 years old, she carried the quiet depth of an old soul—one who had already seen far too much for someone so young.

In this video, Jood shares her story—of life before and during the war. It’s a reflection on displacement, fear, loss… and a glimmer of hope.

Jood talks about Gaza before and during the war

Alongside her words, we’re showcasing some of her photography—images that reflect the quiet tension of suppressed emotions. Through her lens, Jood captured not just what was visible, but what was felt: traces of resilience, fleeting moments of comfort, and the unspoken weight carried by those around her.

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Before the workshop ended, I left one of the cameras with Jood. It felt only right. She had found a quiet power in photography - a way to process, to communicate, to dream beyond the present. With that camera in her hands, she could continue telling her story on her own terms, frame by frame. I hope it becomes more than just a tool for her - I hope it becomes a companion, a witness, and a doorway to something bigger.

Like all my projects, the days unfolded in a familiar rhythm of ebb and flow—hectic yet heartwarming, and always filled with laughter and the brightest of smiles from the children. I made them a deal: you teach me Arabic, and I’ll teach you photography. It was a hit. 10 year old Mohammed, cheeky as ever, loved throwing different dialects at me just to see me struggle. His 8 year old bother, Adam, enjoyed that thoroughly also.  The next day, they would both test me to see what I remembered—and I’d do the same to them.  Then there was 15-year-old Mohammed—equal parts guardian and creative force. He took it upon himself to look out for me, while effortlessly wrangling the younger children into line with a quiet authority that belied his age.

The girls were little angels—truly. They hung on to every word I said, eagerly waiting for the translations that bridged our worlds. One evening, when the Egyptian sun had finally surrendered its heat, Jood taught me the Dabke with gleeful pride.  Lugayne, shy yet deeply artistic, gradually learned to trust a foreigner she had never met—discovering, in the process, how photography could be another form of art, a new language to express what words could not - connecting the dots between photography and art.

Each child carried their own story which I will share with you. Some had endured far more than any child should. Others lived with memories that no one should have to carry—things that can’t be unseen, can’t be undone.

I’ll begin with Jood—one of the most confident of them all. She’s 11 years old.

Here's her story:

https://lltphotography.com/dbwccairo_Jood
 

Meet some of the incredible children who were evacuated from Gaza at different points last year - when escape was still possible, but only at an immense cost.  Most families paid well over US$17,000 to get their loved ones out.  For many, it was everything they had.  

Adam (8), Mohammed (10), Joude (11), Jenna (10), Juana (11), Dana (13), Lugine (11), Sila (7), Thala (9) and some little ones who joined us on day one - Hamoudi (5), Issa (7), Nasser (5) and Zain (6).

Our first week together in Cairo has been nothing short of joyful.  The laughter, the energy, the radiant smiles - each one a small act of defiance against the trauma they've carried.  The sparkle in their eyes was priceless.  

I'll be sharing the photos they captured very soon - raw, playful, and full of soul and all the behind the scenes fun! But for now, here's a picture of most of us together.  

xo

Liz

They say Cairo never sleeps, and neither, it seems, does hope.

I’m writing this just days before the first shutter clicks open in our Cairo workshop—a dream that's taken root in refugee camps, borderlands, and now, the ancient heartbeat of Egypt. Dreaming Big With Cameras is a project born from the belief that when you place a camera in the hands of a child, you offer them more than a tool. You give them language—one that speaks without fear, one that doesn’t wait for permission.

Thanks to the generosity of our donors to date, we’ve been able to purchase 10 cameras for this workshop, ready to empower children to express what words often can’t. Every contribution, no matter how small, has helped bring us to this moment. To each of you—thank you. You didn’t just donate gear; you helped fund self-expression, dignity, and dreams.

This Cairo chapter is being run in partnership with Muslims in Need, an organisation whose work on the ground is as heartfelt as it is critical. Together, we’ll be guiding children—many of them displaced and living on the margins—through storytelling, light, and lens. It’s not about creating perfect photos; it’s about helping them see that they are seen.

In the coming weeks, I’ll be sharing updates, images, and reflections from the field. Not everything will be tidy. But that’s the point. These stories aren’t curated—they’re lived.

With gratitude,
Liz