He was sitting on a broken woody box, near one of the small streets of the Old Medina, waiting for a customer whose shoes needed a nail here, some glue there or even a new layer of leather.
His eyes, rarely looked away from his craft, reflected a buried pain or maybe was he just worn out..
I approached him with a whole set of confused emotions to ask for his permission for a photo, I couldn’t make out the words.. It maybe showed on my face so he had pity on me and let me..
Awkward as I am, I didn’t get the camera settings right the first two times, which made my task even harder and made me feel even more awkward and clumsy..
It was one long second, yet one great experience, a fraction of time but one that tells a story of a lifetime.. Reflected by every lane drawn on his face, traces of hope and perseverance, of struggle and survival.. Traces of the passage of time..