catch those fish

tea time

A young Egyptian man prepares tea at his pavement stall for customers promenading along the Nile Corniche, Cairo.

fishermen

this. this is a fishing expedition. or, really, an expedition of mine to find the fishing port of nouakchott. i found it, and was delighted by its noise. and colour. and madness.

the objective was to unload the boats as fast as possible. to use the vessels as wave breakers and to shield the waiting crowd.

the men, dressed against inevitable wetness, carried the fish uphill. up over the sand. from sea to ancient pickup trucks. children - those brave and blessed with height - followed the men, waiting for lapsed attention.

and in between balancing - measuring what was required to bridge sea and truck, traversing the return, swatting those daring, reaching children - their free hands stretched upwards. 

pocketing silver for themselves, 

those wet fish men.

madrid experimental, el rastro

guardian of the subway

look at me

angry birds | shatila palestinian refugee camp

squeaky clean

brothers in arms

motor sports

all seeing eye | al-bahri station, khartoum north

hat tip to ‘halfawi’, far from his usual haunts

steel harvest | al shifa pharmaceutical factory, khartoum

street kid, downtown cairo

love triangle. mosque of mohammed ali, cairo

pastries

those pastries we ate last time - where did you get them?

at the protest.

i want some now, can we go and get them?

no.

why not?

i’ve only seen them at the protests. they don’t exist anywhere else.

that’s impossible. how can that be?

i don’t know. but the revolution lives on these. at every protest, these pastry sellers materialise. and we all eat. it’s like the revolution happened only because of these pastries.

and one million cigarettes, all smoked into the dirt.