“The compassionate life is the life in which we believe that strength is hidden in weakness and that true community is a fellowship of the weak.” (H. Nouwen)

We live in a society that tends to discard things that are slightly faulty. Our thriving thrift stores, yard sales around every corner, and bursting garages are a clear witness of this. Perhaps the ease with which we discard damaged belongings is connected to the plethora of options we have to replace those broken goods. Many of us lack the time and patience to fix a damaged good, and would rather add another ‘Made in China’ product to our possessions. After all, those imports are as cheap as chips!

Sadly, this attitude is often used towards people. High divorce rates are an indication of this. Rife homelessness is another sign. The recent proposed cuts in government spending by slashing government programs that serve the elderly and the poor, yet another. Why invest in a troubled marriage with so many fish out in the great big sea? Why spend time with a broken human being who wasn’t strong enough to keep up with today’s world and its demands? And the elderly and the poor? Come on now, millionaires and billionaires need to be our priority as they are the ones who create the jobs after all!

One might argue, discarding a broken object and turning our back on those who need us most are altogether different. But you see, in essence they are not. To discard someone because of their inability to make us happy, their apparent woundedness, or because of the burden they have become, is very similar to piling up our garages with old couches, broken furniture, and faulty bikes. We are just ridding ourselves of that which does not benefit our needs, our interests, us anymore. The only difference lies in that our old couch was man made; the poor, the old, the broken remain children of God, created in His image.

The other difference is that I doubt God spends much time crying over a discarded couch, but His heart breaks in a way that we can never fully fathom for the destitute whom we have likewise discarded. The Bible is stained with His tears, heavy with His righteous anger over such injustices. Dismissing someone purely because of their brokenness, regardless of its shape and form, is not what our Savior taught us and lived out through His own life amongst us and so, since when have we become so flippant about bartering obedience and love with ruthless power and greed?

I use ‘we’ to include myself. I am not particularly fond of self-righteousness. But then, neither do I want to communicate that, around me, all I know are materialist, greedy, unloving, and selfish fellow human beings. That would be a lie. These last few weeks, I have been sharing about a local non-profit, Mika Community Development Corporation, that works with low-income Latino immigrants in Costa Mesa. Immigrants are frequently termed as quite the costly, inconvenient burden, which is why I was drawn to Mika’s work and mission. So far, I have shared photos of neighbors from three communities. Today, I share photos from the last neighborhood, Baker Street, Mika’s most recent addition to the communities that it is so committed to help out of poverty, dependence, and stigma.

I recently joined Walter Garcia, Mika’s neighborhood advisor for Baker Street, and listened and observed as he talked with neighbors who want to make a change in their community, and who are being empowered to do so on their own terms and through their own strengths, skills, gifts, and abilities. Precious wealth is often hidden behind the mask of weakness. If only we didn’t find weakness so repulsive…

Originally from Guatemala, Walter has been on staff with Mika for the last three and a half years, and has been pivotal in gaining the trust of city officials, police officers, and other community agency leaders in Costa Mesa. His Bachelor’s degree in Human Development has equipped Walter with an understanding of what it takes to motivate underserved people to recognize their leadership abilities and prompt the change and growth needed and desired in their communities.

One of the families of Baker Street that is involved in Mika’s neighborhood development program.

Although most of the neighborhood leaders in all four communities are women, Mika has seen an increasing interest expressed by the men of these communities. Men and women are taking on leadership roles within their neighborhoods and becoming much-needed role models for the youth and children amongst them. One example would be Luis and Lydia, a married couple who, a few months ago, decided that it was time for Luis to give up his second job and join his wife in mentoring young couples in the Baker neighborhood. The couple has participated in Mika’s Healthy Marriage courses and is now leading a Healthy Marriage initiative for all of Mika’s four neighborhoods.

Story by Nathalie Borg Seale | Photos by Joshua Seale

There are days when I knock on heaven’s door and all I hear is the knock echoing back. Then there are those other days when it is as if the Father anticipates my desperate visit, and my knocking brings Him running to the door. Today was one of those days.

Reading the news this morning left me sadder, more angry and frustrated than I have in the last couple of weeks. Nothing new made the headlines, but as I read of the continued unrest in the Middle East and the violence triggered by the genial decision of a Floridian Pastor to set Islam’s holy book on fire, I felt wearier than I would have liked to feel after a good night sleep. When will Your light and love heal such intense brokenness, I asked of God.

Later in the day, I joined the Mika team for a wine-tasting fundraising event. As I have shared in previous blog posts over the last couple of weeks, Mika Community Development Corporation is a small non-profit that works with low-income Latino immigrants in four neighborhoods in the city of Costa Mesa. After allowing the guests to savor the delectable wines and appetizers, Crissy Brooks, Mika’s Director, talked briefly on what fuels their work: God’s command to act justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with Him (Micah 6:8). And, to act justly and to love mercy requires that we first commune with those against whom injustice is done. For how can we bring justice and show mercy to them, unless we first truly understand and closely witness the injustices carried out against them? How can we speak of their injustices if our hearts are yet to be burdened by them?

A brief message, but God needs not many words to speak to my heart. There and then, that door I anxiously knocked on this morning opened, and the Father reminded me that He would never fail to heal if only we paused to love those around us; to share His love with those who need it most. Many find it easy to ‘love’ from afar. Our relief and development aid funds have earned us the reputation of a mightily generous people. Yet, showing compassion and expressing genuine love and respect is much harder to do face to face than with thousands of miles standing between them and us. We would be fools to believe that our monetary donations are tantamount to true compassion, for compassion can never be bought with money, but is rather instilled as we come along the poor and increased as our lives become intertwined with theirs.

At Mika they do that well. Humbly, simply, but well. Rain or shine, they walk alongside their neighbors, with compassion and a love that deepen and become more resilient with the years. Like I have done in past weeks, I would love to share photos of the people Mika works so closely with. This week I share from the Maple Avenue neighborhood, where I spent time with the children during their after-school program, and with the adults during a Neighborhood Action Committee meeting. I was also able to visit some of neighborhood leaders in their homes, allowing me a more intimate look into their lives. All along, I was trusted because I came with their beloved friends.

Maple’s Learning Center on Maple Avenue is used for an after-school program and neighborhood leaders meetings on a weekly basis.

***Mika’s work can be read about in further detail on www.mikacdc.org. The new website is still under construction, to be launched next month.

Story by Nathalie Borg Seale | Photos by Joshua Seale

This is Facia, a single mother of three boys and one of Mika’s key neighborhood leaders on Center Street. The passion and vision she has for her neighborhood are infectious, and my conversation with her – besides making me regret not knowing Spanish better – left me wondering why I don’t talk of my neighbors or my neighborhood the way she does. Facia’s commitment to bringing positive solutions to the issues that her low-income neighborhood is facing is undeniable, not only through her words but most of all through her actions.

For the last five years, Facia has been working with Mika staff and fellow neighbors to instill transformation and empowerment into the people of Center Street. She has participated in city meetings, planned community events, spoken to university classes, and been a key decision-maker in neighborhood planning – all because she has been acknowledged as a leader and empowered to identify her community’s needs and desires. Today, Facia is only one of many neighbors who actively participate in Center Street’s Neighborhood Action Committee (NAC), a group of neighbors who, together with Mika, identify, design, fund, implement, and evaluate sustainable neighborhood initiatives.

When the neighbors on Center Street began dreaming about what their neighborhood needed, a community center seemed to be a great desire for many; a safe place where children could get help with their homework, where adults could be educated on health and local resources, and where all could gather together as a community. And so the committee set out to search for both a location and the necessary funding to open a community center. After several months, during which parents volunteered their homes for in-home tutoring groups, the committee together with Mika opened the Centro de Esperanza, Vision hacia el Futuro (Hope Center, a Vision for our Future). In another couple of months, the floors were replaced, the walls were painted, and the Hope Center opened its doors to the community.

After school, K-12 students get assistance with their homework from tutors who fully volunteer their time. When not used for their children’s academic enrichment, the neighborhood leaders maximize the space available to them for their own growth and education. They have initiated ESL courses, health education classes, physical exercise classes, and healthy marriage classes.

In addition, evening meetings are held at the center by the NAC to discuss plans for the future of their neighborhood.

From its very beginning, the Hope Center has modeled the true interdependence of Center Street’s community. On their own, one person could not have accomplished this vision, but together the neighbors were able to dream big and see that dream fulfilled. Each year the neighbors take on an increasingly larger portion of the funding and actively participate in the operation of the center. Dignified, they are able to invest in what their community needs the most.

***Mika’s work can be read about in further detail on www.mikacdc.org. The new website is still under construction, to be launched next month.

Story by Nathalie Borg Seale | Photos by Joshua Seale

He has shown you, O mortal, what is good. And what does the LORD require of you? To act justly and to love mercy and to walk humbly with your God. (Micah 6:8)

The Newport-Mesa area in Orange County is an area that has always triggered mixed emotions. Having worked there for almost a year, I can definitely appreciate its nice restaurants, its busy pubs, its luxurious marinas, and its natural beauty, the area being so close to the ocean. Yet, the distinct divide between the wealthy and the poor that I have so often observed as I have ventured out into the area’s diverse neighborhoods has left me perplexed, troubled, and burdened by the deep lack experienced by so many whilst others live in great excess.

For the past few months, my fiancée has been interning at a small non-profit based in Costa Mesa: Mika Community Development Corporation. Their work and mission immediately drew me to them, as it seemed that their heart had been broken for things similar to what had been breaking mine. In a nutshell, Mika’s focus is on loving those neighbors that many find it difficult to truly love. And because true love empowers, strengthens, and heals, these neighbors have been able to shine and to set off much needed transformation in their communities.

Founded in 2003, Mika’s founders and its current team believe that Costa Mesa’s social issues need to be addressed locally, and this by acknowledging and involving not only the rich but most especially the poor. Over the last years, Mika’s staff has developed and invested in relationships with neighbors in four low-income communities residing on Shalimar Drive, Center Street, Maple Avenue, and Baker Avenue. Their work is mostly focused on Neighborhood Development and Youth Development, with Mika’s broader mission being to identify and equip leaders in low-income neighborhoods to build communities with VISION…

• Vision: neighbors share and agree on a desired future for their community
• Interdependent Relationships with God and Each Other: neighbors support one another in all facets of life: spiritually, emotionally, socially, and economically
• Servant Leadership: leaders are committed to serve, listen, trust, collaborate, and empower other neighbors to serve effectively
• Impact: neighbors identify, design, fund, manage and evaluate sustainable initiatives that transform their community
• Organization: neighbors have established efficient and effective local systems and structures to reach their shared goals and vision
• Networks: neighbors collaborate with public and private partners from inside and outside the community to maximize the impact of their initiatives

A few weeks ago, Mika trusted me with the redesigning of their website, which I am doing in tandem with building a new photo portfolio of the neighborhoods they work in. The main focus of my work has been to communicate Mika’s mission and vision as clearly as possible, with the desire that more will be drawn to their work, and to partner with Mika in however ways they are able to. As I captured these images with my camera, I yearned to communicate the beauty that is found amongst much hardship, the familiarity that can be experienced amongst those most unknown to us, and the close-knit community that is formed when strength lies not in living alone but in living peacefully with others, walking together towards a common good.

Today I share some photos taken on Shalimar Drive, where I spent a few hours getting to know the neighbors Mika has been working with over the last few years. The next few weeks will feature faces from the other three neighborhoods.

The Shalimar neighborhood is comprised of three streets that are blocked off on three sides, creating a safe atmosphere for children and youth to interact and play. These boys, first generation Americans of Latino immigrant families, were more than keen to be photographed; a great way to break the ice!

The neighborhood’s park, once used by drug users and gangs, has recently been returned to the children of Shalimar. Together with Mika, the neighbors were able to meet with the Parks and Recreation Department to ask for support in upgrading and remodeling the park.

Recently, the neighbors planted a community garden behind the park that encourages families and generations to work together and provide vegetables for individuals and families in need.

While the neighborhood is still fighting a reputation of crime and violence, a new history is being written, one telling of neighbors working together. Shalimar’s weekly block party is one event that clearly witnesses this. This block party allows for families to cook and sell food, allowing for another source of family income. And the food is good!

Two of Mika’s seven staff members live on Shalimar Drive. Their presence in the neighborhood speaks not only of their personal commitment to their neighbors, but also of their willingness to experience at first hand the neighborhood’s hardships and needs.

***Mika’s work can be read about in further detail on www.mikacdc.org. The new website is still under construction, to be launched next month.

Story by Nathalie Borg Seale | Photos by Joshua Seale

I don’t know about you, but I got away with a lot during my teenage years. Reckless adventure, a deep passion to experience novel things and emotions, the drive to create and to be different, and a good dosage of foolishness made for a good start in transitioning from childhood into adulthood. And I am grateful that no one tried to fast forward that transition. During those years I had some around me whose adolescence was speckled with dark things, but none were quite as different as the youth I was exposed to this summer: Iraqi teenagers, no longer children, not quite adults, juggling childlike dreams and adult responsibility, torn between the desire to stay young and irresponsible and the fierce determination to be an adult and provide for their families.

In my opinion, the Iraqi teenagers temporarily settled in Lebanon have it the hardest. They live in a limbo within a limbo. They are suspended somewhere between childhood and adulthood, unable to grow up so quickly yet aware that childhood no longer bears their identity. In addition, they are caught between what was and what is yet to come as bureaucratic organizations process their asylum application in what is often a long-drawn-out manner. With the invasion, and the violence and uprising that followed, to graduate from high school into college became a luxury in Iraq. As family businesses were targeted, jobs lost, and life became more expensive, families could no longer support further education, especially their sons’. Besides, attending school was becoming dangerous as school buses were being blown up and children kidnapped outside schools. And so many teenage sons had to pick up jobs, usually with the American army, the one sustainable entity in Iraq throughout the war. Girls, on the other hand, were safer at home.

With the move to Lebanon, the grass did not get any greener. With little savings, if any, higher rent, and a higher cost of living, Iraqi families could not afford to have their teenagers at home. This time, however, the context is even more complex. Iraqi refugees enter Lebanon legally. They fly in, get a month-long visa, and are allowed to enter the country without any questions. The Lebanese authorities know that arriving Iraqis are not tourists, but they let them in nonetheless, ever so aware of the consequences. Upon arrival the Iraqis register as refugees with the United Nations High Commissioner for Refugees, only to become officially illegal a month later. Lebanon is not a signatory of the Refugee Convention and so authorities have little regard to Iraqis’ refugee status.

What makes the context complex is that although their presence is not concealed, no one seeks them out, allowing for the Iraqis to gain a sense of false freedom. Iraqis know that any work they do is illegal and strictly seen as so with harsh repercussions, but as many get away they believe that they can too. Ironically, Lebanon’s economy is booming and so Iraqis look for work, find it, and take it. Lacking any and all rights, their wages are pitiful and days worked are long and hard. Teenagers are in demand, their strength favored over that of adults. Most of the families I met are being sustained by their teenagers, not only sons but also daughters. And so they take the risk and choose to take up work to sustain their families. Then one faithful day they come across a street patrol, are asked for their documents, are unable to provide them, and are arrested and imprisoned, indefinitely unless they are willing to be deported back to Iraq.

I met a father whose two teenage sons, 14 and 17 years old, had been imprisoned. When he opened his empty fridge to offer us some cold tap water, I knew that it was out of need that his sons had looked for work. As he talked of how hard it has been for them to be locked up amongst criminals, my translator whispered that many amongst them are abused, often frail and alienated in dark, filthy, and overcrowded cells. This was sadly confirmed by Hani, a young Iraqi who had been imprisoned for five months until he agreed to be deported. Soon after his deportation, Hani returned to Lebanon and when we visited with him he was willing to share about time spent in Lebanon’s largest prison. He talked of his cell being so dark that he could never tell whether it was day or night. He said that he was brought out into the sunlight once a week for an hour and before he knew it he spiraled into depression and started to harm himself just to feel something. Hani still suffers from breathing problems and other health issues, which he blames on the filthy food and water that was served in prison. He shared how he is now terrified of being caught again but has no choice but to leave for work every single morning.

Having had many conversations with other Iraqi youth, some resettled in El Cajon, San Diego, and others in Lebanon, I know the dreams they have to start life anew. Their life was hijacked at its best by a war that tore their innocence apart and demanded that they grow up, fast. Yet, they dream big, unwavering as they face many challenges, adjustments, and unknowns. Their hopeful determination is what drives them to bravely face the risk of imprisonment, believing that their courage will win the day. Their teenage spirit is not easily consumed by fear but I do wonder whether it is valiant enough to stand against the evil that roams the prison cells. I know mine would have been gravely bullied by it, but perhaps you’d stand to differ.

The following pictures were taken in Zaaytrieh and Sed el Bouchrieh, two neighborhoods in the suburbs of Beirut that host many Iraqi refugees.

Story by Nathalie Borg Seale | Photos by Joshua Seale

Daud and his two daughters

There are times, seldom but eternally remembered, when I meet someone for the first time and, for some inexplicable reason, my heart immediately warms up towards them and I let down my defenses a bit quicker than I typically do. In hindsight, I am quick to see that first acquaintance as God-ordained, but there and then I am merely intrigued by that person’s face, mannerisms, look, voice, and interaction with me or with those around us.

Amir is one of those people. When we were greeted by him and his family outside their one-room apartment in the suburbs of Beirut, his face immediately struck me. It carried a tender look, a face adorned by the brightest blue eyes, creased by the weight of life yet smiling for Amir knew that visits paid by his Lebanese friends were a nice break in a life full of routine and isolation. Squeezing into their poorly ventilated apartment, Amir helped us get as comfortable as we possibly could and then, as is customary, offered us some Arabic coffee. He was eager to talk about life. For my sake, he talked of life in Iraq, of how things changed with the US invasion when as a Christian he was no longer able to freely worship as he had before. Reluctant to bow down to fear, his family still attended mass every now and then, and when Easter came around they were thrilled to make it. Sadly, that night was to be their last night at church. Returning home before sunset, what awaited them was an ugly scene. Their house had been broken in once again, their belongings stolen or destroyed, but this time words of hatred had been painted over their walls, calling them traitors, double-agents, and threatening to kill them all if they stayed. In Amir’s words, he did not want to give the perpetrators the pleasure of killing them. He has seen the same happen to his neighbors and knew that their message was not empty. And so they packed their bags and left Iraq. Curious as I was, I asked Amir if he though he would ever return to Iraq, but my curiosity seemed badly-timed as Amir stood up, grabbed a towel and walked out, allowing me a fleeting look of his crying face as he did so. I learned that Amir had to leave his father on his deathbed to protect his family. It was hard for him to walk away, knowing that he would never see him again. Amir eventually came back, sat down and, fiddling with a rubber band, listened as one of his Lebanese friends shared what she had gone through during Lebanon’s war in 1982. His demeanor was different now. No longer sitting straight, no longer making eye contact. Amir respectfully let her finish before he asked if was allowed to ask one question, “Why did America do this to us?” His question begged a response, yet I believe none could be ever given that would satisfy his heart, a heart that visibly struggles with the injustices done to him, his family, his people, his nation.

Similar to Amir in many ways was Daud, pictured above with his two beautiful daughters. Yet Daud travelled a different journey to Lebanon than Amir. Daud was kidnapped and ransomed for three times. His two younger brothers were killed right before Christmas. In Lebanon, he is often immobilized by fear, thinking up the worst when coming across clusters of men. He is unable to find work, physically incapable to do the jobs most Iraqis do with a back maimed by the multiple beatings that kept him under control while kidnapped. And so Daud has had to do what is perhaps the hardest for any Iraqi man to do, and pass the breadwinner role to his wife and four young sons. His heart struggles, like Amir’s, caught between too many enemies, too much evil, too little comfort. Yet, in the midst of great turmoil, I believe Daud’s heart is being touched by Love, for there is simply no other way to explain the otherwise foolish behavior of giving to others when living in so much lack. For it is truly reflective of a compassionate and loving heart the act of freely choosing to give his family’s monthly food ration to Iraqi neighbors when he has been stripped of so much.

One more trait that Amir and Daud shared was their heroic spirit. Manhood ought no longer be entered in with images of ludicrously built, heavily armed, narcissistic men, displayed on little boys’ personal computers and families’ TV screens as the lords of our time. Rather, it should be built on the lives of men who have looked evil in the eyes but are still operating in love; a selfless love that drives them to give up all they had ever lived for to provide their children with a future. For it takes the spirit of a hero to endure war for seven years, refusing to leave their nation until their family is threatened with death, leaving them with no choice but to protect their loved ones at any cost. These are men stripped of their identity the minute they part from Iraq, becoming one of many refugees, aliens, Arabs, Muslims whom we have kindly provided with asylum, given first that they swear to always protect the nation receiving them. Indeed, men like Amir and Daud are heroes, and it is their stories that little boys need to hear when put to bed.

Ghanim and his wife Nagiba: Ghanim shared that it hurts to think how the war has dispersed his family in so many different lands. He wondered if they would ever find themselves in the same place again.

Remon and his wife Nawal: Left Iraq after their shop was blown up. Life in Lebanon has been rough as they continue to wait to be granted asylum in Australia.

Hani, as he talked of how two of his children had been separated from the family and granted asylum in Canada. Hani, his wife, and their four remaining children will resettle in El Cajon, San Diego, but they will be unable to see the rest of their family until they are granted the Green Card, which would allow them to travel.

Thaqer lost one brother to the 2003 war. One of his sons was kidnapped but released when his family promised to leave Iraq. Many Christian Iraqis shared how they have been targeted by both Sunnis and Shiites, getting the worse of both ends. The aim of the latter is to drive all Christians out of the country, as they are considered to be American allies.

Adenan, Nasima, and children Valentina and Divan: Adenan’s brother was kidnapped six years ago and they never heard news of him. Adenan shared how his faith has faltered as he struggles with what has happened to his family and the unknown that lies ahead.

Story by Nathalie Borg Seale | Photos by Joshua Seale

Manuel, standing between his parents, with his Iraqi friend.

I met Manuel after I had listened to his story, and it was only for a brief moment, mostly taken up by posing for the picture shown above. He had peeked into the room we were visiting in a few times, every instance giving us a quick curious look and a shy smile, and then running back into the hallway where he had been playing with one of his Iraqi friends. However, albeit brief, I savored that moment. I looked at Manuel, intently, debating whether the five-year old would receive a hug or a hair-ruffle best. I never got to attempt either, as the minute he was able to get out of his parents’ grip and our sight, he did so, running back into the hallway with his friend.

Manuel is like a precious gem to his parents. A gem, that was briefly lost but found again, now held dearer than ever before. At the frail age of three Manuel was kidnapped from right outside his home in Baghdad, Iraq. He was held for ten long days, during which he was awfully treated, as the bruises and the cigarette burns on his body clearly attested when he was returned. The ransom demanded for him was of $30,000 but between combining savings and borrowed money from family and friends, Manuel’s parents barely managed to come up with half the sum. The kidnappers agreed to return their son for half the money, as long as they agreed to leave Iraq. And so they did. Two years later, most of which were spent in Lebanon, Manuel does not leave the house unless he is accompanied by at least one of his parents. He has come a long way from using everything as a weapon, acting aggressively towards others, and continuously wanting to fight other children, but he has not quite forgotten what he went through. And how could he. Listening to his story I understood why Manuel was curious as to who we were, but not curious enough to come in and meet us, until he had to.

Sadly, Manuel was not the first Iraqi child I met who had been kidnapped and luckily released. Children are easy targets during any war, and in Iraq they are snatched from outside schools, homes, and from the streets. Some are ransomed. Others are never heard of again. Allow me to tell the story of one other child, this time a girl, Fabiolla, also five years of age. I wish I had a picture of Fabiolla to share, but since I don’t you will have to take my word for it when I say that she was just beautiful. Her dark wavy hair and big brown eyes sure made for a gorgeous little face. The tiny room she shared with her parents and two young siblings was too small to provide her with a hiding place and so, although she never left her mother’s side, I got to enjoy her presence. She was clearly apprehensive about our visit, coming out last to greet us and, as her mother shared, asking if we were armed with weapons when told that we were paying them a visit. When Fabiolla was kidnapped, her family was asked to either pay a ransom or leave Iraq, and because her young parents could not afford the former, they chose to leave Iraq. The nightmare is still very real for all of them, as the family had been in Lebanon for just a few months when we paid them the visit.  They all want to forget, but it is easier said than done. Fabiolla’s father lost his father to the kidnapping, who instantly died of a heart attack when he heard the tragic news. It is difficult not to look back and dwell on the hard moments, but the parents need to be strong for their three children, and so they are being, putting on a brave face, their eyes only giving them away.

The Iraqi children I met in Lebanon are a living witness of the many faces of the war in Iraq. They come first amongst its most vulnerable victims, physically and emotionally tainted by close to a decade of hatred, endless violence, and death. It is all they have ever known. But they are also bundles of immense and infectious joy, able to live for the moment and enjoying every second of it. Their innocence allows them to forget, enough to enjoy the here and now. They are a ray of light in the dark, bringing hope to families who have lost brothers, sisters, husbands, wives, fathers, and mothers to this war and others before it. They are the passion that drives their parents to survive, to make it through, to hope for a better day. Their life will attest to heroic fathers and mothers who willingly gave up everything they had to start anew, that their children may gain what they have lost forever. Children’s laughter and playful shrieking is what resounds in the staircases of dull, old buildings, in streets deserted in the scorching heat. Their voices are a soothing balm to many broken hearts and weary souls. And, I hope that the children of Iraq will be key players in the nation’s future, redeeming an exodus by returning with a vision and a passion to see their nation transformed and restored into a new land that reflects who they are as a people.

The following pictures were mostly taken in the Dekwaneh neighborhood, Beirut, one of the four neighborhoods where most of the nominal Christian Iraqi refugees have temporarily settled in.

Story by Nathalie Borg Seale | Photos by Joshua Seale