Dusty Wyndow Blog

Not so long ago, particularly in one of my summer trips to Lebanon, I meet a woman called Marie, she endlessly wept as she was telling me . It was then when she hit me with the worst, as she was heartbroken over the fact that her son would be 62 the next day. I didn't get it, and upon me asking why is this making her so sad, she frantically said "he's been missing since 37 years now". News got on social media through the below post, and it took some time before it got some interaction and, only in March 2016 had the story's exposure started to pick up. Many people shared the story, some of them recognized Marie (or somebody who looked similar, or had a similar story), but then there was only this guy, Aly, who was literally head-first in the story, he left me wondering what's in it for him as he was privately messaging me over the course of the next two months on the updates of his search. Some time passed and I had not realized at all, that Aly had never ...

Waking up today after -finally- a decent sleep shaking off the thrill of the last two days has left me in such an awe, not realizing anytime before the amount of encouragement we are receiving, the thumbs up and the curious ones wanting openly to join us next time. Long story short, as an immediate result of my early morning sluggishness, we had decided, we as in a bunch of fellow white-hearted friends, to carry on the clown flashmob habit that started in 2013 by Mutaz Salloum, as a concrete reaction to the horrible tremor that was taking place in Jabal Mohsen & Tebbaneh, both of which areas now are thankfully in a state of peace after a political resolute earlier last year. We invaded both towns regardless of the warnings and all the threats. They were a blast, a total success. Fast forward to 2015, Maya Abas and a bunch of enthusiasts that gathered from all over the country, literally, had also taken their toll on both Haret el Tanak (literally the tin neighborhood) and Dahr el ...

Photo by Globotreks.com I had never seen it coming, in the middle of my chaotic arrangements prior to moving to UAE, that my few-years-old couchsurfing account would be one of the main factors for making it easier for me to enjoy it out there in the desert. Ras al Khaimah, the place I’m living in, is one of those lazy towns with moderate infrastructure, a few malls here and there, a fraction of the amount of cars/people you’d see in Dubai, and a whole lot of senior westerners and young expats, who thought it’s best to move to such a town, away from the extravaganza of Dubai, its horrible traffic and its insanely high real estate prices. I might be mistaken to assume the whole world knows what couchsurfing is. Here’s a summary, as found on the website’s about section: We envision a world made better by travel and travel made richer by connection. Couchsurfers share their lives with the people they encounter, fostering cultural exchange and mutual respect.  Travel the worl...

It wasn't until I had met Oriol that Wednesday in Gemmayze that I realized I’m finally going to teach photography in a refugee camp, the thing I had been dearly hoping to do, especially that my life was going to take a drastic turn. “Well of course you were accepted”, the words that made that day unforgettable found their way at last from his lips and to my heart. Despite of all that was going on with both my professional and personal life, all had to be put on hold for I was going on an unforgettable one-month trip that will manage to remain deep dug on my heart. Two professional photographers provided training in basic digital photography to 92 children aged between 12 and 16 for a period of seven months.  Among the beneficiaries, 46 are Syrian refugees and 46 from Lebanese host community families. In addition to developing the photography skills of the children, the program engendered in the children an appreciation of art and provided a productive outlet of self-expression thr...

Our first Volunteer, Mr. Michel from Koura. Picture by Rimal Abeed. Being severely brought down by all the notorious stench in the air the last few weeks, the three of us had decided to do something about it. Just as any other activity in Trablos, things had happened so spontaneously and smoothly. Discussions have been taking place for almost a month before that, but never were more serious than the week before, where we managed to borrow a guitar for Rimal to practice with, Moussa would practice his drawing skills, and I would prepare basically everything else in order to have a smooth chillout time for everybody, and offer people something they were craving for, I assume. I wonder to myself sometimes, what have we got in this, all of us? It’s neither Rimal, Moussa or le moi that are getting paid anything for taking that action (something society fiercely teaches you in order to survive), neither are we taking any credit, any promotion, not even appraisal. And the photos & sto...

One of the most beautiful pictures I ever seen. The clown mob in Tebbaneh and Jabal Mohsen I wonder how easy it is to make somebody's day. Now that I and some friends had brightened the day of more than 200 children at least, I can simply ask myself what would stop me next from bringing joy to somebody's heart. I and everybody else have heard a handful of "You're the first ones to visit us in Eid", how could that be cold-heartedly overheard anymore? All it took was Mu'taz's message last night, inviting a bunch of local friends for a gathering the next day morning. Point was to visit the two most damaged and violent areas in Tripoli: Jabal Mohsen and Tebbaneh. The resonance of both names in the back of our minds was an alerting sign of a bad thing to happen, only for a split second. But in fact, several got the kick to declare their participation and say "I'm in". Although rumours were spreading around yesterday in town (as they alwa...

I've been thinking a lot lately of the day I get cancer. Would I be the man with a well-fit family by his side, and lots of friends supporting him, which by the way would be unknowingly helping in letting him go? I was just reading the story of a man, with a wife, kids and lots of friends, and who just had discovered he had throat cancer. He was taken to the hospital where the doctor in charge had ordered an operation, after which the infection got worse and another operation was put in place to finally take out the throat. The man, all desperate and miserable of had come to him and what would happen later on, just when he was about to fall for his friends and family's recommendations to take his throat off, received a message from a long-forgotten friend, talking about a center for treating cancer, run by a doctor, a woman who follows unorthodox ways to "cure" cancer (by curing I mean eliminating) with mostly live, green, uncooked food. That was it. His despair ...

I had always wondered what the Baddawi Camp for Palestinian Refugees looked like. Although it was only 10 minutes away from my residence in Tripoli, I've never been there before. We Love Tripoli ’s event Shoot as you walk was my opportunity to have been there for the first time in my life, and to my good luck, holding my camera, fully loaded and focused on taking pictures. Waylon and Reine were invited to come along and spend the morning with us in the camp, to have a better outlook on the situation Palestinian refugees are living in. Eight-thirty that morning was our time to ride the bus heading to the camp. I was, as most of the people there, concerned about the security measures and of course, whether a permit was taken in order to take photographs inside the camp. The organizers, and especially Taha Naji, have already taken this into consideration and obviously got the permit and an additional entourage throughout the camp. Our first stop was around an old dysfunctional ...