The mountain dwellers

Whenever I get my summer holiday, I go to a small village on the mountains where my parents were both born and grew up.

I usually notice no change in the place: The same houses whose owners’ names remain vivid in my memory, the old mosque building but well looked after by the local inhabitants, the green fields, the barns and, especially, the irresistible smell of earth.

Apparently poverty prevails every detail here but doesn’t defeat the pure humane reservoir of people. Their outlying village is deprived of everything, no drinking water ,no electricity, no roads and an endless series of no …. and the dwellers expect nothing from anyone.

Their life is so beautiful with its splendid simplicity and naivety. They always stand generous, welcoming and proud. Seemingly they inherit the mountain’s self esteem, pride، mystery and highness: a pure communication between the place and its dwellers.