Some of you may be wondering why I only share beautiful photos of one of the most deprived countries in the world.Â
Isn't it denying reality to share with a curious audience only the colour of minarets and the harmony of prayers facing the setting sun?Â
The misery is there, everywhere, and itâs hitting me in the face every day.Â
Disfigured children and grandfathers shattered by mines, women with hidden bodies whose outstretched hands are all we see, their babies in their arms...
Then there are the emaciated men toiling in the fields to pluck green tufts from the dust to feed their meagre households.Â
There are the lines of unemployed workers waiting by the roadside with their shovels and their arms for hire.Â
This truth needs to be told, but I don't think it needs to be shown. There is a crass indecency in photographing misery, because the process immortalises the individual in a vulnerability that they hope is only temporary.Â
If the image shocks, and makes a deeper impression than words, it identifies people forever, whereas writing anonymises them.Â
Some famous photos may have travelled around the world, but they have not yet changed it.Â
To evolve in a world where the gaps in privilege are so wide, the individual is forced to develop defence mechanisms.Â
I have already spoken of the armouring of the heart and soul that most people have had to develop to keep their spirits up in the face of horror and indignity.Â
Although this armouring is sometimes necessary, it doesn't seem to me to be an enviable thing, and you don't grow out of closing your eyes.Â
The most effective solution seems to me to be the daily application of charity. It's one of the pillars of Islam (sadaqa), and my lifeline to evolve in an environment where not one in a million has my chance.It doesn't save me from great distress at the injustice of the world and my inability to make it a better place, but at least it keeps me afloat.Â
Thanks to it, I can drift on the waves of existence, watching the stars shine, despite the abyss.