I'm Not A Stranger

The cold water of the river caressed my feet, and the marble stones under my feet were shining inside the river. The tall Poplar trees surrounded the whole village and were covered by the warm sun of July. The chatter and laughter of kids drew me to the other side of the river, which was little houses on slopes of mountains and covered by Poplar trees. I grabbed my camera and crossed the river. I entered the village with a soul full of joy and hope. Young girls with colorful dresses, shiny bright eyes and a light smile standing by their home’s door and enjoying the afternoon of Sabzak. By passing each door, they were offering me a piece of homemade bread or fresh cherries.

  My eyes were captivated by the little girl crying and standing under the tree with a painful look staring at me. I changed my way to her direction, to under the huge berry tree. I sat on my knees and crossed my arms around her. After a few minutes, she removed her head from my arm, and started staring at me with those wide and shiny eyes. I didn’t ask anything, because her eyes were answering all those questions. They were talking about the dark days of her life without speaking a word. About the death of her mom by her dad, about her sister getting married at age of thirteen to feed her three siblings, about her three months brother that got sold to another family to be alive. 

She was waiting there for her sister to come back from a meeting with her fiance to get some money for a few weeks. She was still looking at me deep, looking at my camera and nike hat on my head. I was looking like a stranger for her, maybe from a different land or group of people. But I’m not a stranger, I’m one of them. Maybe with different looks or perspectives. But I can feel what they feel, I can see the destroyable pain inside their eyes, the terrible situations that they've been through. All these are the reasons why I’m writing this today, or why I choose to photograph the deprived children of my land.