I had every intention of updating the blog daily—really, I did. But I’ll blame it on the Egyptian heat, my questionable stamina, and the long, relentless days that left me utterly spent by nightfall. Rinse, repeat.

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