Hassan and his sewing machine
Walking along the streets of Saida, with my camera around my neck, I noticed a small shop around the corner of a narrow street. As I approached the shop, I was welcomed by Hassan. A solemn pale-face man, Hassan had white hair which betrayed his age, at least in the late sixties, yet his youthful black eyes beckoned me, and I asked him a question which seemed odd: Are you happy with what you are doing?
The old man nodded solemnly. As I started to take pictures of him, he seemed very content; he showed me a photograph of him taken by a French journalist 20 years ago in the exact same place where we stood. So I took a portrait of Hassan from the same angle as the French journalist before me and I promised to print it so he can hang it next to the old one.