Along the Mediterranean Coast: To learn photography

Excerpts from my journal during a recent 6 week journey to Gaza—now back home in the United States.

PHOTOS

Have you ever heard of the hour of the wolf? … It’s the time between 3:00 and 4:00 in the morning. You can’t sleep, and all you can see is the troubles and the problems and the ways that your life should’ve gone but didn’t. All you can hear is the sound of your own heart.

(Commander Susan Ivanova in an episode of the science fiction television show Babylon 5 entitled “The Hour of the Wolf” and from Swedish and Finnish folk religion, also the title of a horror film by Ingmar Bergman where I first learned the term and phenomenon.)

(Click here for an enlargement)

November 23, 2010, Tuesday, Gaza city, my apartment in Rimal

I’m nervous this morning, for a variety of reasons. 1. I teach the first session of the photographic workshop tomorrow [November 24, 2010]. Altho I feel very prepared and confident enough I always feel nervous beginning a workshop series. I focus more on past failures than successes, on my problems at Birzeit University and with the Haifa Israeli Arab youth when I taught at both sites, rather than the long string of successes at the Quaker Palestine Youth Program (QPYP), Cambridge Center for Adult Education and Harvard University. 2. My computer problems. 3. My flashlight’s bulb seems to have burned out, not a big deal but precipitating a return of my Hour of the Wolf syndrome, keeping me awake with flooding thoughts, visions, worries. 4. Where in Gaza can I find an ATM for cash? 5. The money transfer question. All of these swamped me last night as I struggled to return to blissful sleep—and eventually did.

I am befuddled by the weekly schedule here. Week begins on Sunday, Friday is a holiday. I have to shift my thinking from Monday begins the week, Saturday and Sunday are holidays.

A dream despite or inspired by the problems of the night: true to my habit (and I’m thankful for this one) I was preparing to teach a photo workshop, not in Gaza but at home. Working around my wife, a stand-in for my former wife, I gathered materials including an old digital camera that I’d dismantled, blank film, cords, and other paraphernalia that if I were actually home and about to teach I’d collect. A bulb had burned out. My wife provided me one. I inserted it and I could see better what I was collecting. Last night I devoted myself mainly to preparing for the workshop tomorrow and I’m certain the dream was an offshoot of that. Unlike at home, I don’t have the materials I dreamt about gathering.

The second dream was about gathering a woman to me—another sort of gathering—inviting her into my intimate circle. She was young, desirable, available. I’d arranged for her to sit with others in a sort of pit. The pit began enclosing her and others. I jumped in. Some in the pit became food. She finally agreed to be with me intimately. I felt mutual love. Patricia Watson, an old dear Quaker friend and mentor, entered the story somehow; maybe it referred to her without her actual presence. How strange this one was. Unlike any dream I can recall having and definitely unlike any known courtship procedure.

November 24, 2010, Wednesday, Gaza city, my apartment in Rimal

What provoked last night’s episode of the Hour of the Wolf was the following extremely vivid dream: I was meeting my workshop group for the first time. It was set in Gaza, large, around 15, the usual mix of people. For some reason a pole or column separated them into 2 smaller groups, which made seeing them at one time difficult. One of the students rudely and demonstratively played the piano loudly in the back of the room. I asked her to stop. Sullenly, she complied.

I was using my seminar approach, asking questions in the Socratic manner, mostly about photographic design. As an illustration I used  the element of repetition. I didn’t have actual pictures to look at, a major omission. At first I thought this was going very well, not plunging directly into the nuts and bolts of making photos but delving into some of the deeper topics—I love doing this. I felt I was doing it expertly. Gradually I noticed some of the students shaking heads at each other, a condemnatory shake, expressing, this sucks. This guy is a total shit. I do not like being in this workshop. I knew I was on the wrong path, not sure how to find the right one. I awoke with a sudden thud. Oh, oh, I said to myself, don’t take that road today when you teach, anything but that road.

On my morning walk a few minutes ago I realized I should begin the workshop by thanking everyone for the opportunity to work with them, for their choosing to enroll, do the work, and share my passion for photography, to give me a chance to learn from them. Yes, be very thankful and humble. To confess my gratitude, dependence on them, willingness to learn. Then to ask them to introduce themselves, with specific reference to photography. Tell us what you’d like to learn and why. The take away, the payoff. This will be challenging because of language barriers. (I’m hoping for good translation, which I had last year, making a huge difference.) Then maybe look at their photos, if they brought them as I asked Islam to invite them to do. At least look at my prints.

Then maybe a how to see deeply exercise, a guided meditation, and run thru the camera settings (how do this without the AV camera cable?). Concentrate on providing them many opportunities to actually photograph and later review their photos. To state this at the outset: make and comment on photos, the spine of the workshop. That usually works in most settings.

The QPYP staff were surprised to see me show up so early yesterday, ready to teach. Then I realized my mistake—I was one day early, one more night to suffer thru, the Hour of the Wolf will come again. I confided to Amal, the director of the program, how nervous I am. She is my mother in absentia. The moon, recently full, is waning. On the next full moon night I may either be preparing to leave Gaza or preparing to leave Yaffa and Israel, homeward bound.

Ibrahem Shatali and Amal Sabawai, program officer and director, respectively

November 25, 2010, Thursday, Gaza city, my apartment in Rimal

~~Electricity just went kaput as I was beginning this entry. Last night in an adjoining neighborhood near the sea, the power was out. Off at 7:20 pm, we’ll see how long before the generator kicks in.~~

The workshop yesterday, in my preliminary and self-interested perspective, went surprisingly well. 10 of the 12 enrolled attended, about half arrived on time, the others within 10 minutes of start time. They seemed engaged for the most part, those without English struggling to keep up. Rana and Hesham shared translation duties. All but one had cameras and that one used his mobile phone camera which apparently is fairly sophisticated. I lectured about a few basic digital principles like the difference between a photograph, a print, a file, and an image. For a later session we’ll discuss bits, bytes, and pix, color space, calibration, etc, rudimentary concepts that I find fascinating and vital to understand. Will they?

Because I lacked my AV cable allowing me to show camera settings, I lectured on the topic and had them follow with their cameras: auto, P for program, A for aperture priority, etc, leaving for later when and why these different settings are useful. All basic stuff. The students are less advanced than I’d assumed after talking with Amal and Islam. I thought they said these would mostly be practicing photographers who wished to upgrade their skills. Not so—some entry level, a few more advanced.

I’d laid out prints I brought of family and the coast, had them observe, comment on what they noticed, discuss how to improve certain photos, much like what I do at home. (No one else brought photos, even tho I’d requested it.) I also showed the slide show of photos from last year’s photo workshop, Starting Point, commending the photos and hoping to raise a standard. So that—and I tried to lay this out provisionally, not a promise or commitment—that if their photos are good enough we can have an exhibition at the Windows from Gaza gallery.

Maybe the hit of the 3-hour session was actually making photos, first in the room we worked in, and then the roof where I’d been several times with other groups. [A sampling of student photos from the entire workshop is at the end of this blog.] On the roof I challenged them to effectively show a vista and to make use of the high roof position. I’m saving my schema for making a good photo—be aware, observe the light, choose a camera position and shutter release moment, etc—for later. Returning down the stairs, I pointed out the viewpoint someone previously had discovered for making an abstract photo: straight down the stairwell. They all tried it, I photographed them trying it.

~~7:30, power returned a mere 10 minutes later, thanks to a local generator I’m certain. Last year the generator was nearly outside my door, loud and smelly, small also. It remains but is not used. I have no idea where the working generator is, probably on the rooftop. I’ve never heard or seen it. [Later I learned the building's owner has tied into another neighborhood’s power lines so that when that neighborhood has electricity our building is powered.]~~

I introduced myself, very personally—grandpa, divorced, love Gaza, photographing since my dad gave me my first camera at age 7, etc—and they did the same. They are young, perhaps between about 18 and 25, most are college students, a few in business administration, a few in media. Some work for partner agencies. Hesham works with the guy I’ll probably hire as cameraman, Yousef.

So I’m relieved, greatly relieved. From time to time during the session, silently I compared the nightmare vision I’d had the 2 nights before to what was transpiring in front of me: night and day, night and day. I slept very well last night.

At times I’m frightened by the situation here. I read reports from the Gaza NGO Safety Office, GANSO, such as:

At approximately 1550 hrs on 7 October 2010, an IAF [Israeli Air Force]  drone fired a missile targeting a private vehicle carrying Palestinian militants affiliated to Al Nasser Salah Ad Din Brigades on Al Mughraqa Bridge, between Al Nuseirat and Al Zahra, North West of Al Nuseirat. However, the missile failed to hit its intended target, and instead exploded in front of a passing vehicle, injuring 5 civilian passengers, and 1 seriously. Similarly, at 1130 hrs on 3 November 2010, a private vehicle was targeted by the IAF in the vicinity of the de facto security services headquarters in Gaza City, N of Al Azhar University, killing an Army of Islam operative driving the vehicle, with injuries sustained by a passerby. And just last week (17 November) at 1640 hrs, a private vehicle was again targeted by the IAF on Al Wihda Street in Gaza City, resulting in the deaths of 2 Army of Islam operatives.

The central concern with respect to these attacks is that they occurred during daylight hours and, most particularly with respect to the two most recent incidents, in built up areas. In the previous Bi-Weekly Safety Report (17 – 30 October) GANSO highlighted the danger of internal hazards and their unpredictability. Much of the advice imparted on that occasion can also apply in this context, though tempered perhaps by an even greater degree of unpredictability. At this juncture, the most effective mitigation measure that GANSO can suggest is that NGO’s clearly mark their vehicles (particularly from an aerial perspective) when travelling throughout the Gaza Strip, while organisations are also strongly encouraged to keep a First Aid Kit and fire extinguisher within their vehicles at all times (and ensure staff are aware of how to safely and effectively use the equipment).

This bothers me—first aid kit and fire extinguisher, big help, forget it! Reminds me that if I happen to be out walking or with someone driving, at exactly the wrong moment and place, I could be hit, hurt, killed. Damned luck. I’m not sure my muses can do much about this. I’m not sure how cognizant they are about either the Israeli military or the Palestinian militants. The OP’s, Palestinian Operatives, to use the language of GANSO.

From Prof. Abdelwahed, published July 18, 2009:

“Gaza war in child’s memory (True story),”

Raid Fattouh is a Palestinian. He is married to Natasha, a Ukrainian woman. They live in Gaza with their four children: Karma 13, Jabr 10, Diana 6 and Hakeem 1. Two weeks ago, Raid and his Natasha wanted to travel to Ukraine after 13 years stay in Gaza. It was so hard for the parents to convince their children that traveling by airplane is comfortable and safe! Children could not sleep well for long nights before their land trip to Amman. They were scared of the airplane! Their persistent question was on their situation if the airplane bombed somewhere and killed innocent people like what it did in Gaza during the war! The image of the airplane was an image of a machine to kill the people in the streets and at homes! It was enormously difficult for the parents to convince the kids to step up into the airplane at Amman airport. The nightmare remained, and children were really horrified; they cried until they were on board. Their father told me that the most pathetic moments where those when kids were going upstairs the airplane! Once they were in they believed their parents.

—Prof. Abdelwahed, Department of English, Faculty of Arts & Humanities,Al-Azhar University of Gaza, Gaza is phoenix in burning flame

TO BE CONTINUED

STUDENT PHOTOS (click photo for enlargement):

Photos by Samah Ahmad

Photos by Rana Baker

       

Photos by Omar Shala

     

Photos by Meslah Ashram

Photos by Lina Abd Latif

      

Photos by Khaled El Rayyes

     

Photos by Hesham Mhanna

        

Photos by Abd Nassla

LINKS

Quaker Palestine Youth Program in Gaza

My photo workshops in the United States

My teaching philosophy

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Travel Journal, North Carolina to Florida, February 5, 2009—day five

At home in Cambridge Massachusetts I am now recounting my trip to southeast USA with my photographic presentations about Palestine & Israel, in 15 parts, one for each day.

Photos from the trip, In passing: the south :: February 2009

Report of the trip

Photos in this entry from Al-Kamandjati Music Center, Ramallah, Occupied Territories of Palestine

Established in 2002 by Ramzi Abu Radwan, the Center trains young music students from refugee camps in various parts of Palestine (special thanks to Margaret Hawthorn for leading me here)

Photos: Al-Kamandjati Music Center

The boy, Ramzi Abu Radwan, at age 8, throwing a stone at Israeli soldiers during an invasion of his refugee camp in Ramallah, Amari, in the late 1980s—Ramzi later founded the Music Center

I’m in the home of K and Skip—yes, another Skip (given his name when deep sea fishing as a 4 year old, “The Little Skipper”)—near the main campus, downtown, an older section of the city, in a huge house of at least 10 rooms, housing just the two, plus their cat. They’ve recently remodeled, the kitchen is extravagant yet has little work space. The house sits on a ridge, overlooking another part of the city, not far from railroad tracks. So periodically I hear the captivating sound of a train whistle, reminding me, in 10 days or so I will be gliding home from Jacksonville on the train.

They have very fine art on their walls, and now, thanks to their taste and largesse, 2 of my 11 by 14 photos from Israel-Palestine will join that art. I offered to donate one but they insisted on purchasing them—another $40 into the kitty.

Teacher Margaret Hawthorne with her student

The show itself was to be part of a panel discussion organized by the heavily bearded Arnold K, arch activist locally. The other portion of the panel never showed up, a man long ago living in Gaza. The audience consisted mostly of students, some 30 of them, with a sprinkling of older folks. The show itself did not seem to radiate the energy it had the evening before in Charlotte. Always a mystery—how the same presentation can look so different each time. No spirited introduction last night, as from Said the evening before. No presence of Gazans or Palestinians, one loquacious woman from Syria. A young Jewish man who was very well spoken during the discussion but later in private conversation conveyed a strong whiff of hopelessness, despair and confusion.

A very lovely young woman asked 2 pivotal questions: why so much concentration of violence and extremism in Gaza, and the other I’ve forgotten, equally thoughtful and difficult to answer. For the first I laid out the history of the Strip, probably at too great a length, to show that at least it has had an aspect of isolation and neglect for a very long period. But this is a question I’d like to devote more attention to.

Other questions were about Hamas, the media, rockets, etc, very few if any about my personal involvement or about photography. I opened with a query: Why be concerned about Gaza, Israel-Palestine, and the Middle East? (Answers: It’s one focal point of problems, its relationship to Abrahamic traditions, presence of luminaries, so many in such a small region, and the light)

M wrote a relatively long letter, partly about attending Bread and Puppet Theater with Mark and his family, including his wife who’d won tickets, loving the show, feeling she’s finally understood Bread and Puppet’s Cheap Art, and about her nephew who turns out to be an extraordinarily talented actor. With mention of another debilitating bout of deep insomnia and a wish to continue our friendship, a promise to occasionally check in.

A very curious absence of questions about my life on the road. As if it doesn’t occur to her to ask me how the shows are going, the south, people I meet, local politics, etc. This is a major discovery of my days with M—that apparent killing absence of empathy with me. (Which is not to claim she is without empathy. Only with me.)

I am so relieved to have detached. Now I am in equilibrium, balanced, sane, past the stage of terrorizing love, that love bug that itches incessantly, never satisfactorily scratched. Now I scratch once and the itch is gone.

A brief walk around the neighborhood yesterday as the sun set, noticing the light on the trees and buildings. A photo or two.

David M showed up for the presentation last night, 1/2 hour late which is his pattern, a one-hour drive to his home in Aiken, and dropped me at the home of his friend, Christine, after the show. He lingered awhile for a chat and to nibble some of the Arabic sweets Mohamed had given me the evening before. The tour is mostly in place, he’s agreed to cancel the Birmingham gig, and now implores me to help find housing for my one night without, in Greenville, just prior to Atlanta. I’m to call Bert this morning and ask if he can pick me up at the train station on Sunday morning early.

This morning I have a few open hours before Dick M retrieves me for a ride to my next venue, Greenville. I’m afraid I have only a rough idea of the geography here, and really run blind. I should learn the map much better, come to visualize it without aids.

Poster of Edward Said

Yesterday a long chat on the drive to my next venue with Frances H, maybe in her 50s, short, blond, clear spoken, sharp witted, divorced, with a few adult kids. She works with homeless folks, and does installation art. Our nearly 3-hour conversation ranged from family, art, politics, love, and the region, to hope and sorrow. In Columbia we met the tall slender white bearded Dick M who I know from the last trip, residing with him and his wife Jane, and so connections formed 2 months ago continue.

Dick treated me to lunch at Shoney’s, a second visit to this emporium of gluttony, and then a rest at his house and some email. Like last time, he is trying to reawaken his fiction writing talent.

—February 5, 2009, Thursday, Columbia, SC

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Learn to write & photograph in Gaza

Photos

The hard facts first, then excerpts from my journal:

In January 2008, I offered 4 – 3-hour sessions of photography to an average of about 5 students, and 4 – 2-hour sessions of writing to about the same number. Overall I’d conclude the workshops were moderately successful, helping some, perhaps frustrating others.

Staff support was exceptional, beginning with Amal and Ibrahem, and most directly Mosab who was a consistent help and presence. Ehap and Issam pitched in. Without them the workshops might have failed completely.

One major problem was timing. This was exam period and I believe many felt stressed. Perhaps because my entrance into Gaza was not guaranteed—despite having a permit—I felt there had not been much preparation for my workshop, such as publicizing and recruiting. Summer or during the school semester well before exams may have been better times for the workshops.

The main theme was producing materials so the outside world could comprehend better what is happening in Gaza . I emphasized this over and over. We’ll see how effective it was.

One big unknown is how to follow up from these workshops. Maybe the idea of forming photography and writing units from coaches is a good idea. It needs much work to succeed.

Now for some very personal remarks, excerpts from my journal:

The photography workshop’s second session went surprisingly well. About 8 attended, a few had dropped, a few had joined (including Adham’s friend the singer and actor), all had cameras, most were on time, they worked hard, some taking notes. It was a very productive session, contrasting sharply with the day before when most came late and only one had a camera.

I outlined the principles I follow to make a decent photo: see, light, position, time, design, again and again, and then did it twice with their participation, photographing in the room ideas they had, putting it all up on the screen thanks to a video projector. We had a second look at menus and settings, with most finding what I talked about. They then tried it out in the office, all the principles and menu items. Thanks to a suggestion, I discovered we could look at most photos just made by hooking the camera to the projector. Works only on some cameras, not the cheapest ones which lack the proper port.

We began by reviewing photos brought in by Ahmed, very expert photos, of his home. That was the first assignment. Only he had photos. Others pleaded power outage. I had experimented with the printers and made a small set from the hospital, roof of Adham’s home, and out the window. We discussed approaches, styles, techniques. This set the stage for the later instruction and was effective I thought.

Our second try out was outside, on a clear cold day, with the objective of again practicing what we’d discussed, the principles, use of camera, settings, etc. Followed by a small group of students, I inquired about the water streaming down one lane of the road. Strolling east we discovered a pipe in the intersection was spewing out water, whether fresh or sewerage I’m not sure, I suppose fresh since it looked like a watering pipe. The fountain impeded traffic. Many of us photographed this. Then some of us wandered toward the universities and eventually went inside and photographed the director of the library. Thanks to Rawand who is translating, a spunky woman I met last year, with excellent English and a high spirit (tending to be giggly), we were able to get in. She teaches there as a professor’s assistant, a paid position in the English dept.

The director, a grizzled man about my age, short, stout, missing a number of teeth, insisted on giving us-me a discourse about current politics. He waxed emotional. He became problematic. I listened respectfully for about 5 minutes than interrupted with a request to photograph him. Others had already been doing this, freed from the obligation to listen. Here also is a good reason to be with someone else when photographing: the subject speaks to the other person, the photographer is then free to photograph.

Their project ideas included kids during vacation, water, fishing industry, and kids smiling in the midst of despair. I noticed that 4 had chosen to photograph some aspect of water, and wonder, is this partly my influence?

A joyful and effective session it was, we’ll see about today.

—January 13, 2008

Teaching photography, the third session, went poorly in that only 4 of the 8 arrived, one an hour late, leaving 1/2 hour early for work. All had photos from their projects and the assignment, only a few were printed. We looked at photos connected from the camera into the projector onto the screen, which is proving an invaluable technique. I might try it for my home workshops. This provides the feel of finished prints—on a large screen—before any alteration and as if a contact sheet since we see everything except what the photographer might have deleted in camera.

Mostly we discussed their photos and mine. I demonstrated how to do minimal alteration with a PC program called ACDSEE which I think is common to PC’s. Then outside for the last 1/2 hour for what I planned to be experimentation with some of the teaching inside, about when to use Program, Time Value, Aperture Value, and Manual. Two students seemed bewildered by this assignment—use TV or time value or shutter priority for stopping fast motion and blurring motion (one didn’t even have these options on his camera, all cameras are brutally rudimentary, reflecting the sorry conditions of Gaza) and AV or aperture priority (having tried to explain about depth of focus by demonstrating it which I believe worked) to experiment with the difference between foreground focus and background blur—but I asked only the more advanced student, Ahmed, to do this.

Today we’ll hear from Amal about the Quaker website, with a demonstration of it. I requested all students bring in a folder of their selected digital files on a CD or USB memory device so we can collect and later use their photos. I’ve been pinning up printed selections as they come in, onto a bulletin board in the main hall, hoping to inspire them to produce.

I’d conclude at this stage that the workshop had severe problems, I tried my best, a few of the students did as well, exams impinged. The workshop series turns out to be a revealing test case of the siege—destroying motivation and opportunity.

—January 14, 2008

The first session of the writing workshop went decently: 4 of the enrolled 10 attended, one late by about 30 minutes. All but one had good English. I’m more relaxed about the schedule and attendance than with the photography group, bending more to the situation. Rose was there, who I’d met last year, a very good and highly motivated writer of poetry. A black woman, Samra (which is a contraction of the Arabi word for black) also seems promising. Rawand is a definite plus. Ibrahem gave a spirited introduction to several relevant websites. I hope this will inspire them to write for web publication.

At my suggestion they used free writing to draft a story about something that touched them deeply, that indicated some part of their reality living in Gaza, and that was written as if a journal, no worry about grammar, punctuation, spelling, etc. I wrote about hearing the explosion and intend to finish it this morning and print it for others to read.

Since it was Martin Luther King Jr’s birthday yesterday I put up his quote, Silence is betrayal, which is also on my lapel pin. I asked them first, do you know the word betrayal? Rawand did and explained it to others in Arabi. Most interpreted it as we need to speak our truth, despite the costs. Which is close enough.

I felt this was a good start, Rawand promised the others would arrive today, not needing to take exams.

—January 16, 2008

Once again the erratic nature of the context—electricity and attendance mostly—forced improvisation. The four students, including Ibrahem, worked hard at their writing, offering thoughtful commentary on each other’s work. One of our main topics at this third session was interviewing, designing a set of questions that will elicit a story from another person and finding ways to craft the writing to tell a broader story, one that includes the interviewer’s story and appeals to a wider audience.

Personally, I found the criticism of my story about Ibrahem dismaying and daunting, also very helpful. I used most of the comments to finish and post this story on my blog. I hope others have discovered equally beneficial effects of the workshop.

—January 18, 2008

A writing sample (unedited):

Shady

By Samher Abu Daher

Every day we meet new people, every day we see new faces, but the question is all people we had met or all faces we had seen consider friends??

Absolutely not, the famous Arabic saying state that “it is difficult to get friend, but it is too easy to lost him” .Actually I do not totally agree with this saying, this time iam sure it is diffirent because I get him quickly, when I met him for the first time I knew he is my friend, yes he will be my friend. Do you believe that friend from the first meeting, may be because he is really different he is especial guy, shady his name is shady.

Shady is tall and thin, he has black hair I loved his glasses, he is a symbol of love, innocence and courageous. He is kind, quite, lunatic, and cute, No it is not words in paper it is him.

The first meeting, we did many things together we were a couple, laughing, planting, digging even we stole two flowers together.

In fact, I have many memories which remind me always with shady, when I fell, when we planted, when the car broken down, every moment we were together. I remember when we were in school and supposed to plant flowers, shady and me started planting near a class , the teacher was explain about negros and their characteristics ,”Negros people have big noses and wide lips…..”Shady loo;ed at me and yelled “samra they talk about your relatives” no comments.

In addition to , we were on El Montar mountain I tried to climb a little hill I fell down , he laughed at me loudly then he decided to help me , honestly I was too mad at him. If he had been here now , I would not have be mad at hime again..

Till this line shady is alive, he still alive even that new informed me he is not alive any more, I did not believe that and told my self it is not shady who I know , there are many shadys but not him, I tried to phone him many times but no answer , iam worry now but iam sure it is not him .

Three days later, my cousin who study in Al Azhar university where is shady did , came and said “it is truth” , sorry what you talking about ? shady is killed , I replyed no thing just one cold tear and a lot of anger .

Why did shady die ? who is killer ? who is the responsible ?where is my friend? ..many questions , no answers, but I know one thing shady must not die he do not deserve that………..

Photo samples:

Photo by Sohail Albes

Photo by Ibrahim Khalil

Photo by Abdulallah Abu Zaiter

Photo by Ahmed Abu Sall

Youth from Palestine

Shady & Ibrahem

Popular Achievement in Gaza thru the American Friends Service Committee

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