Shurooq
The time to take the flock out
I took an early morning stroll, attempting to reach a lake that appeared close but proved to be almost like a mirage. As I made my way back, the sun cast its rays over the landscape,revealing shepherds gracefully leading their flocks into view. Captivated by the scene, lingered behind my family to capture some moments on camera, catching the eye of one shepherd who was leaning on his crutch.
"As-salaamu aleikum," I greeted.
"Wa aleikumu salaam," he responded.
Curious, he asked, "Where are you from?"
I explained that I was staying with family in a nearby house. He nodded thoughtfully, then spoke of his own dwelling close by. His words carried the weight of years shaped by hardship, his mention of the relentless drought casting a shadow over the beauty of the plains. We stood, our feet on what was once the lake’s bed, the arid earth a silent witness to vanished abundance.
After some time, I asked if I might photograph him with his flock. His face softened in quiet agreement. As I adjusted the lens, he inquired about my life—specifically my education.
Before parting, I reached into my pocket, offering a token of gratitude. He waved it away with quiet dignity, his refusal firm yet tender.
His gaze remained gentle, fixed on the flock, as he softly murmured,
‘I’m doing quite well.’