Ahmed...

In a village called Samanoud, on the Delta of the Nile, 160 km south from Alexandria, there was a group of travelers, coming originally from Europe and America. On our way to the village, we saw many emblematic portraits and landscapes so specific to Egypt, but a new one was the radish goddess: a lady selling radish in the middle of the streets, as many street sellers do, but she had gathered a bouquet of radish and tucked it on the top of her head, making it her humble vegetable crown.

The reason for our presence in this village is yet another token of the Egyptian hospitality: a wonderful lady and her husband, a great embodiment of the Egyptian family, carrying this country and their children on their shoulders and standing proudly upright, had invited us to their place. A beautiful place, near the family juice factory, where each brick and plants were built and planted thanks to the efforts and hard work of the elder and current family generations; a haven in the middle of a small village, gated by banana trees and weeping willows, trees of my childhood that I hadn’t seen in a long time.

The people who catered for us are at the image of the place they welcomed us to, and "Alhamdulillah" for the magical hands of the two wonderful ladies who prepared a feast for us three times a day. Egyptians people are absolutely wonderful when it comes to honouring their guests by their presence, their homes and the means they use to ensure that you are spending the best possible time you could fathom at that particular moment.

We were fortunate enough to catch a glimpse of the village of Samanoud, on our walk outside of the villa. If you wander the streets of Egypt, whether you are at the pyramids, in Mokattam, in the streets or in the villages, and if you own a camera, one pleasant and recurrent occurrence is the magnetic attraction that you will have on children. They will come and gather around you, and be the best possible models for your photographs.

Once you have photographed them, you will be expected to show it to them and each will look, smile and run for yet another one. This has happened several times and I am ashamed to admit that, when it happened the first time after my arrival here, my European fearful and patronizing self thought that they would come to me to request money, but this has never happened, they are just children excited to see their photos.

Since then, when that wave of little bodies fluctuates towards us, it is with a genuine welcoming smile that I let them gather and take their pictures, as all of our traveling companions do. I have seen many children, who I have wanted to snatch out of this life and take home, and I hate our materialistic and judicial system for not allowing me to do so, but until Samanoud, I had not really connected with any of those children.

Perhaps it is the western guilt that generates this feeling of wanting to save everybody in the village; the children do not have a guaranteed education, and most of them will never set foot outside of their village. They will be expected to work very early, gather enough money to marry and will have their own children, with a daily struggle to provide for them as much as they possibly can – these children I see today are the dots that start tracing the infinite traced and carved natural circle of life in the village.

Yet, as sad as it may sound, to a Western, comfortable person whose worries are as pathetically materialist and meaningless on the grand scheme of human tragedies, their lives could be much worse. Out in the village, they play and run around with their friends, a continuous kinesthetic experience that gives them much awareness of the world they live in. They also have enough food and clothing to be comfortable and enjoy the beautiful nature, fields and environment around them. Comparatively, their lives are blessed to the ones living currently in nations torn apart and open by implanted wars, such as Syria or several other nations on this continent.

However, this time was different, because one child planted a seed, in all of us. I wish you could meet Ahmed, who did nothing different and yet left an indelible mark on the canvas of our souls.

Ahmed came along with most of his friends, bearing a huge and typical beautiful smile on both his lips and his eyes. When the traditional photo shoot had started and body language wasn’t sufficient to be understood, he started talking with us in Arabic, which was translated by our friends. Ahmed expressed how happy he was to meet us, and his inquisitive self came to each of us to ask where we were from and other questions; when confused about the geographical location of Austria and France, he was satisfied by the overarching term of Europe and knew about America. He often said that he was having the best day of his life. All this time, he is walking alongside with us, respecting our walk but satisfying his own need for answers.

Once we reached the village, our group looked like as though we were on a school trip with a class, and more children started to gather around us. For the first time, in the past half an hour, some girls appeared amongst the masculine crowd.

My older Bul got a little scared, given the amount of attention and willingness to touch his hair, I tried to explain to him that this is simply sheer and uncontrolled enthusiasm and curiosity, we turned around. On our way back, followed by 25 other children and Ahmed, a couple of men chased them away from us, threatening them with banana branches. Just as we were about to enter the flowery gate, Ahmed and two friends re appeared, after having run around the fields with the simple purpose of saying good bye properly.

He requested individual pictures with each of us and asked whether we would re appear tomorrow. Ahmed, with his curiosity, smiley eyes and kind manners, left us all nostalgic to leave him.

I wouldn’t wish to snatch him away from his family but I wish I could stay here, come back regularly and support his bright little self.