“I was walking by the sea in my hometown, Tyre (Sour), in the south of Lebanon, heading towards the graveyard where members of my family are buried. As I arrived, I noticed two boys wandering among the graves. These children were familiar to me; they were street vendors who usually sell tissues, gum, and sometimes zaatar. I called out to the them – they recognized me immediately. I wondered what they were doing there, and we started conversing. I shared with them that several members of my family were buried in this cemetery. One of the boys asked for my family name. ‘Bahsoun,’ I said, and their faces lit up with recognition. "Oh, we know where they are," they said pointing towards the graves. Their familiarity with my family's resting place took me by surprise. We walked together to the graves. They told me that they try to pray for all the deceased there as often as they can, and that they knew the name of each person buried in that cemetery. Curiously, one of the boys then mentioned a doctor with the surname ‘Bahsoun,’ pointed at it written in Arabic, and asked me if I knew him. "It's my father," I said. The boys had warm smiles on their faces and were happy to know that they had met the child of a deceased man whom they pray for every day. This photo was taken at the cemetery.”

— Nader Bahsoun